May Two-Four

Mummy Linda came for a visit from Lacombe, Alberta. There was frolicking with kitties...

There was a spa day at Le Nordik...

There was a wonderful overnight jaunt to the Wakefield Inn...

More glorious food than you could shake a stick at...

And gardening. Finally.

There were also giggles with friends, visits with stepchildren and so much more. It was a wonderful visit and I miss you already, mummy.

Community

When I was in high school, I was a part of a very close and vibrant church family. My mum required me to go to church but she didn't specify which one, so I chose one where several of my high-school friends were members. I found a wonderful family there; I felt valued and included, rare commodities for a teen-aged girl. That church and its youth group formed a safety net for me and became the whole of my social life.

I moved away from that sleepy city after graduation from high school, moved away from Christianity a few years later, and more recently moved away from organized religion altogether. I have too many issues with specific theological points to swallow the pretty fairy-tales, not to mention the rampant hubris and blatant arrogance of religions when they invariably make the claim that they are the ONLY one way to God, and everyone else is wrong. Only frail, weak, stupid humans could make up a story like that.

I don't miss my faith. I am fine with the framework of beliefs I have created through the destructive process of testing every belief and tearing it down if it did not hold weight. I am left with a rather minimalist view of God, and He and I are okay with that.

What I do miss, though, is the sense of belonging that comes with attending a church. A community of people who all hold the same beliefs is a powerful force, and I have effectively painted myself out of that warm glow. I have a neighbor across the street who is quite active in the JW community, and every Saturday when nicely-dressed people pull up in their cars and come into his house for post-church coffee and fellowship, I am envious and lonely for that type of interaction.

My mum feels this, too. She, like me, is post-religion yet longing for community. We discussed going to church anyhow, but in order to be truly accepted into a church family, they need to get to know us... and our lack of belief would eventually betray us.

In an era where families are geographically peppered throughout the globe, organized religion has failed so many of us, and technology seems to isolate us even further, where does one turn to find a sense of community?

Sunday Outing in the Park

A couple of years ago I made a promise to myself to get out more and explore. Ottawa and area is huge and diverse and I've only seen the smallest fraction of what it has to offer. Strangely, though, the Plan Fairy didn't come and hand me a schedule of events, so I never did do much. After some time spent thinking this over, I began to realize that if anything was to happen, I needed to make it happen. Accordingly, I informed my husband that we were going to go hiking in Gatineau Park on the weekend. (Four years in the NCR and I've never been there. That's flippin' shameful.)

My stepdaughters were with us that weekend, and they were less than impressed when my husband shared my big plans with them. Nonplussed, I went to the store the evening before and bought the makings of deli bun-wiches and a box of Pop-Tarts. (I love 'em but I only eat one every half a year or so on Special Occasions. Everyone in the house loves them, too, and was completely freaked out that I love them too and bought them. Also surprising is the fact that all four of us adore strawberry... I think this is the only thing that all four of us agree on.) We made our sandwiches after breakfast on Sunday, packed a couple of backpacks with munchies and thermoses of hot tea, and set out for our big adventure.

The park wasn't as green as I thought it might be, and was a little disappointed at first, but careful attention revealed signs of spring everywhere.

We also had the pleasure of watching a lovely red-headed woodpecker rat-a-tat-tat on a tree for a spell...

We were searching for the Waterfall Trail, but due in part to The World's Worst Trail Map (that we actually paid $5 for at the visitor's center) and the complete lack of signage in the area we were at, we didn't find a waterfall at all. However, we did run across the ruins in the Mackenzie King estate... which were really just as picturesque.

We walked for hours, poked around the woods, admired flowers and kidded around. We sat on a toppled birch tree and ate when we were hungry, enjoying our lunch and its treats, and the hot tea warmed our cold fingers. We got lost a little, thanks again to the utterly useless map, but found our way to the car eventually, tired, wind-burnt and happy. The girls talked eagerly of future trips camping and canoeing, and my husband and I smiled at each other, remembering the surly attitude with which they greeted our trip. The day was a total success.

You Can Pick Your Friends, But...

DH and I don't fight often, but when we do, ten chances to one, it's about his daughters. Last night in the heat of an exchange, he said something to me that really stunned me. He said, in frustration, "You treat your friends better than you treat your family" (by family, meaning his daughters.)

Um. Well, yeah. Of course I do. My friends are my friends precisely because we're compatible. I like and respect my friends, otherwise they wouldn't be my friends.

As for family, the only member of my family I get to choose is my husband. Everyone else, from my brothers and sisters to aunts, step-daughters and in-laws, I inherit as part of the package deal. I don't subscribe to the notion that you have to like everyone in your family just because you have some genes or other tenuous connection in common. I believe that every individual needs to prove their worth... not necessarily their worth to me, but their worth as a person in general. They need to demonstrate traits that I find admirable before I like them; they need to do something worthy of my respect before I respect them. TANSTAAFL.

The fact that I hold each individual responsible for their own worth should be no surprise to my husband; for many years my adoptive brother and I have been distant; I disapproved of his lack of direction and purpose and his general fecklessness, though as of late we're getting a little closer as he matures and shows ambition and drive.

Likewise, my step-daughters have (thus far) failed to impress. There was a brief span where they seemed to shed the self-centeredness of childhood and a glimmer of the women they were to become gleamed through. I genuinely enjoyed their company for those few months, and looked forward to the relationship that I saw might be possible. However, then the hormonal tides began and it's been frankly awful since. They are sulky, deceptive, devious, conniving, thieving, vindictive, selfish, whiny, lazy and spoiled rotten... typical young teen girls. I see nothing worth liking or loving about them 90% of the time, and the 10% when they are sweet isn't enough to carry me through.

Perhaps it is asking too much to expect children of 13 and 14 years to be likable. I don't know. What I do know is that we're at a bit of an impasse; my husband expects that I love/like them just because we're "family" and I won't pretend to like them all the time in order to smooth things over.

The Big Reveal

Back in October, a dear friend's illness was revealed. I'm never good with these situations... beyond support and well-wishes and prayers as applicable, there's not really much one can *do*, and that drives me wild. If you're in town, you can take her to medical appointments and make dinners... when you're an hour and a half away, not so much. I'm a do-er. I wanted to DO something.

So I did. When the going gets tough, the tough get knitting. Having been a part of two separate hug blanket projects, I knew what to do. I started trawling Velda's blog comments, emailing everyone I could find and asking them if they could knit or crochet or wanted to try to learn real quick. I got in touch with Tammy, who put me in touch with a pile of Velda's friends from the cross-stitch boards. Emails flowed in, and eventually, so did the funkiest, sparkliest collection of purple squares you've ever seen.

I knit like a fiend through November, as did my dear friend Lisa. She'd never met Velda, but any friend of mine was a friend of hers and she cranked out about 9 lovely crochet squares before I could turn around. I encouraged my youngest step-daughter, who was one of V's day-care kids, into practicing her knitting for her beloved friend, and another square (mostly!) was born. Another family friend and knitter saw my step-daughter's knitting, heard the explanation, and immediately hit the needles hard, adding two more lovely squares as a show of support and love for a woman she'd never met. That's what knitters do when there's nothing else we can do.

I sat on the floor of my sewing room and seamed all those pieces together during breaks in exam week. Somehow, through complete chance, I had enough squares to make a blanket the size I desired. Somehow, also through chance and love and fate, all the squares look like they were meant to be a part of this whole.

It was Jan 2 by the time my husband and I could arrange to make our annual Xmas pilgrimage to go visit Velda and family.

Hubby's smirking. He knows what's coming...

This is the closest V got to crying over the gift... which was very surprising! :)

I know she's not admiring my shoddy seaming...

Now that's what a hug is all about.

All the women who schemed with me behind the scenes to make this happen... thank you so much. It would not have happened without you, and means infinitely more to both myself and Velda that you chose to be a part of this.

PS... isn't she gorgeous, Moon Boots and all?! :)

In My Brother's Shadow

As a child, I lived under different rules than my older brother. Jim was allowed freedoms I never enjoyed; stayed out late with his friends, went places I wasn't allowed to go, did things I wasn't allowed to do. At the time, I chalked it up to my parents learning from their mistakes; my brother was permitted much and was a constant social, legal and academic disaster; the way I saw it, they would never allow me the latitude to make the same mistakes. I thought it rather unfair, as I was a very different person than my brother, but of course completely at the mercy of my parents until I moved out from under their control at 17.

I developed into a strongly responsible and motivated woman, while my brother smoked dope with his friends and lived at home with my parents until his early 30's. I managed a store and joined the Army while he worked as a seasonal labourer in silvaculture and drew unemployment all winter. He has been, until very recently, purposeless and without ambition.

It was within the last decade that I realized that I was, and would always be, second best. No matter what I did, he would always come first to them. My victories, my medals, my awards, my commendations would be politely applauded and then put underneath the scanty pile of his achievements. Every success I have, every mountain I climb, I call up my mother, excited to tell her, thinking that maybe at last I will have won her affections. I tell her and she makes the appropriate happy noises, and then tells me that she has to go because she's expecting my brother to come by. She sees him every day but his visits always trump our phone calls.

I know that there's absolutely nothing I can do to change the dynamics in this relationship but it pisses me off and breaks my heart every time I get shelved for him. It probably always will.

I Love a Challenge.

Mum Linda and I compared notes last weekend, and realized we were both out of steam in our work-out routines. Seeing how she's in Lacombe and I'm in Ottawa, you wouldn't think there'd be much we could do to motivate each other, but with a little bit of scheming, we came up with a plan to keep us honest and engaged in our work-out routine.

Between the two of us, we agreed that our ideal week was comprised of 180 minutes of cardio in whatever form we desired, 120 minutes of strength-training, and an hour of yoga. We also agreed to cut the "whites" out from Sunday to Thursday... no white flour, pasta, rice, or sugar. Friday evening and all day Saturday are "within limits" treat days. Red wine is unlimited, with the caveat that for each glass, we perform 100 crunches or equivalent ab exercises.

Last week was technically the first week of the challenge, but it was messed up due to Thanksgiving, and besides was absolutely a horrible week for me on almost every level... evil school assignments/exams met up with personal turmoil etc etc. It was not the week to begin such a serious undertaking... much therapeutic eating was required, and schoolwork left not much time for heading out to the gym.

However. It's Sunday night of a new week and I declare the games open. I took some time tonight and set up a mini-gym in the basement.

Although my "real gym" is only a five-minute walk away, I need to change, don winter clothes etc etc... a simple 20-minute cardio break during studies becomes an hour-long event when I have to leave the house. This looks like a much better option, and it also buys me guilt-free TV time!

I can now watch Glee and Grey's Anatomy while virtuously working out. I love me some multi-tasking.

The Philosophy of Loss

A dear friend, persistent commenter, and in fact the reason that this whole blog even exists has just been handed a death sentence: lung cancer, with multiple mets to the brain.

Although we're a part of each others' daily online lives on Facebook and through our blogs, we've only seen each other twice in the three years since we moved to Ottawa from Kingston. That's actually an improvement... when we were in Kingston, we really didn't know each other at all, just *of* each other; my husband being the common link. (She was his daughters' day-care provider for many years.) It doesn't matter, though. We've found that face-time is nice but the lack of it doesn't stunt a friendship from growing.

And now, she's been given 4-12 months to live, and I can't think of much else these days. It feels so unfair... she's so young, so big-hearted, and beloved of so many. I suppose it's a reminder that it's all so very random. I am so sorry, Miss V.

Whatever has happened to anyone else
Could happen to you & to me
And the end of my youth was the possible truth
That it all happens randomly.

~Indigo Girls, The Philosophy of Loss

Daddy Issues

I envy and hate my step-daughters.

Not for their age and potential. Not for all the money in this week's lotto jackpot would I subject myself to the vagaries of being a young hormone-ridden teen girl-child, and as far as potential, well, I don't think the life I carved for myself lacks in any aspect. I've done what I set out to do and I have no regrets about my trajectory.

Instead, I envy them the loving, doting father they possess; my husband. I envy them his presence in their lives, his active interest in all they do, and his obvious love and concern for them. I envy how he spoils them rotten with attention and material goods. I envy them the chance they have to express their love and thankfulness for all he does.

I hate them for their uncomprehending reception of his largess. They accept his love and attention and gifts and devotion to their well-being as if it simply is their due, and no thanks is required. They have no idea of the sacrifices and care he takes on their behalf, and if they knew they wouldn't care. It's simply his job, you see. I hate them because they won't realize what an amazing man their father is until they're much older, and maybe he won't be around for them to tell him how they appreciate him. I hate them for the words that may remain unsaid; that should never remain unsaid.

I hate them because they're me at that age, and I hate myself for not saying what I should have to my father before he died. I always thought there'd be more time... more time to get to know the man he was; more time to tell him what he meant to me. I hate them because they don't understand what a wonderful life he's given them. They've never known want, or pain, or hunger, yet they think their spoiled little self-obsessed lives are sooo hard. I hate that they let him slave on behind the scenes in complete self-abnegation, without recognition, aside from the occasional kiss on the cheek.

Somehow, for him, this is enough. Not being a parent, I don't understand how it can be, but he is content and is quite puzzled at my indignation on his behalf. I can only hope that my own father took his own kisses on the cheek as payment in full for all his efforts on my behalf.

Just Rewards

From the utterly trivial to matters most important. Today at a rather informal BBQ, my husband received his commission. As a nod to the fact that the wife is always the higher rank in a relationship (!), I got the task of actually putting his new rank up.

My husband, who is usually so composed, was noticeably jittery this morning. It was kinda cute, but I wasn't surprised. It's the biggest career move for him since he joined the military 22 years ago. I am so proud of him for having the guts to make such a major change at a point in his career when it would be so easy to just ride it out until quittin' time.

Wayne with two of his proud girls; myself and daughter H.

Where he's come from, and where he is. Where he (and by extension, we) are going is a big mystery now that we're stepped into the whirlwind, but I am his biggest fan and we can handle whatever comes.

Mum and Grandma Come to the Big City

I got home from Ste. Anne's at 1600 Weds, went for two hours of dance lessons with hubby followed by dinner at the Keg and then straight to the airport to pick up my mum and grandma. From utter relaxation to pandemonium in one smooth step.

They're not usually high-maintenance people, but I got the distinct impression that I was staff in the house while they were here. They sat and reminisced about dead people they used to know while I cooked, cleaned, tidied and chauffeured them around to fun places in the area. It was exhausting but fun.

We cruised the 1000 Islands, lapping Boldt Castle since Mum and Grandma didn't have passports so couldn't we go land.

We went to Rideau Hall and toured the GG's residence and came out feeling very patriotic at the end, and a little giddy that we had walked in the footsteps of Presidents and Queens.

We toured show homes, a time-honoured family tradition when visiting out-of-towners. And finally, I treated mum and grandma to their first-ever spa pedicure, which they both pronounced divine.

It was a busy six days, and it went by in a flash. Now they're gone and I can begin my real holiday.

A Little Bit Of Everything

It's been an awesome week.

• I made the Dean's List for last semester! Although I know full well how hard I worked, getting that letter in the mail brought tears to my eyes.
• I have income again. Huge relief.
• I'm booked into Ste. Anne's for three nights in August. After a little dithering I decided to splurge large. I can't wait!
• My husband and I went to Richmond Nursery and picked over 40 lbs (!) of strawberries. It's all berries, all the time now in the house... most went into the freezer but some were dehydrated and of course shortcake was consumed with copious amounts of real whipped cream.
  
• I worked like a dog the last couple of weeks to get the homework situation under control, and now can sit back (just a little!) and relax. However, midterms still continue... pardon my questioning, but doesn't "mid-term" imply that the tests should be... um... in the middle? And not continually throughout? Of course, exams are in a month, too.
• The garden is insanely fertile. The radishes have come and gone, I planted a second round of rapini, and we're eating sugar-snap peas to surfeit daily. The sweet peas are beginning to perfume the air at the front of the house.

On the "what the hell?" side of the coin is city council's decision to make students over the age of 27 pay full price for bus passes; we're no longer eligible for the student prices. This is apparently because older full-time students obviously have less need for money than the city does. I don't understand this move at all, aside from the blatant cash-grab. I've already written my city councillor.

Pictures! Yes!

Ever wonder what 40 lbs of strawberries looks like?

What else has to happen after you pick that many berries?

There was baking last weekend... cinnamon rolls with pecans and cranberries. Ooooh yum.

The cat gets everywhere...

...including, on occasion, stuck between the screen and the glass patio door.

Ummm... help? Anybody?