I'm Ready

As I arrived home on a beautiful spring Saturday, on a much-adored Canadian long weekend, I decided to immerse myself in the totality of my alone-ness and have a bath. I poured my self-indulgent red wine, lit the candles, ran the water until it steamed, poured in the bath salts with lavender and skipped my usual step of adding enough bubble bath to make the tub overflowing with lather and luxury.

I lowered myself into the clear water dotted with the lavender that filled the bathroom with a scent equally intoxicating and relaxing. There was nowhere to hide. And it is in these moments, those of you who know me best, that my mind carries me to a place of curious observation.

In my 50 years I have crafted a consistent and hopefully stylish outward message of who I am. I am enveloped in my style, my mask, my costume that is specific to me and honed after years of succeeding and failing, loving and losing, winning and falling down. We all do that. Each mask is different but we all possess one. It was in the quiet of my bath, in the absence of every defense even against my own loudest-of-all judgment of myself that I saw myself clearly.

I saw my legs, still seeming long from where my eyes see but looking somehow different from the ones that have carried me so far. But they are the legs that guided me away from destruction, by self and others. They are the legs that stood by my children in hospital emergency rooms, as they lay broken and bruised and they did not falter. They are the legs that walked away when the time was right and will carry me forward to whatever awaits me.

I saw my hands, drops of water shimmering as they glided down my fingers, lingering, pondering the great fall. The wrinkles magically moved from the backs of my hands to the tips of my fingers, reminding me that all things, beautiful or not, are temporary. And so are we.

I saw my belly, now round and giving. The one I try so hard to hide and suppress when I put my mask on every day. And I felt thankful that I was blessed to carry and birth three beautiful, perfect people. Without them, my belly, in its wrinkled, rounded form would not be the same; nor would I. How sad would that be?

I sank deep in the warmth of the water. I took a sip of my wine. I took a deep breath of the lavender. And I was happy. Let the next great chapter begin. I’m ready.

If you have enjoyed my ramblings today, even just a little, please send out a thank you to Ernest Hemingway who provided the wonderful advice, “Write drunk. Edit sober.”

Shelter

I am writing this from my balcony, under cover during a summer thunder storm. As the rain pours around me, lightening sparks and thunder crashes I am safe surrounded by my concrete protector.

I am reminded of the many times when I was a child that I would do the same, sitting on our veranda at 223 Orchard Road and watch the storm swirl so close but not touching. My Dad would often sit with me and we would watch Mother Earth’s show together. We didn’t talk, we let the rain and wind speak for us and they said a lot. There was comfort in hearing the anxious, angry storm around us knowing we were peaceful and content regardless of its wailing.

And so I feel that way now… There is a storm around but peace is right here with me.

I Heart Whatever

It's that infamous week.  I would say infamous day but the mega-marketing, all-consuming, like-it-or-not global "day" that is Valentine's Day has been blown up into at least a good week of advertising enticements that if you truly loved your partner, sibling, child, neighbour, mail carrier, pet, you would show them by buying some sort of Valentine memento.

Do I sound jaded?  I don't mean to.

But what is it about this non-holiday "holiday" that makes singles feel so badly?  I Googled "holiday" and chose the Wikipedia hit.  This is what Wikipedia defines as a holiday:

"... a day designated as having special significance for which individuals, a government, or a religious group have deemed that observance is warranted."

First off, if I had known I could designate my own holidays, my life (and that of the whole entire world) would be so different!

But really, what are we now defining as holidays or days worthy of global (or at least national) recognition?  Again, back to Wikipedia, "Types of Holidays; Religious, Northern Hemisphere, National, Secular, Unofficial."  And included in that list? New Year's Day, Passover, Independence Day, Earth Day (familiar to us all I'm sure).  But also in the list?  Monkey Day (December 14th), Talk Like A Pirate Day (September 19th, this one I know and have personally observed) and get this, Blasphemy Day (September 30th... WTF?!).

So why don't I feel badly about not celebrating any of the other individually, governmental-ly or secular-ly recognized holidays?   No good reason, I'm sure.  But you can bet your life I'll be celebrating Monkey Day this year.

And FYI, February 12th is Buy New Shoes Day.

Enjoy!

We to me

As life continues in my newly-dictated singledom, there are bits and pieces of me that require adjustment.

The biggest one I find is the "we" to "me."  Ordinary things, simple questions, habits turn away from Us and are left with just Me.  Not that Me can't handle it, she can handle it just fine.  It's just it's an adjustment of thinking, processing, remembering, talking.

I think even my closest friends will weary of "D and I used to do this" or "D and I used to go there" and I know even if they don't weary of it, my heart does.  I look around my home and everywhere reminds me in some way of him.  And when I think of the years we were together, he is imprinted on each of those memories in some way. 

So I am actively working at making memories that don't have his heart print on them; writing a new story that doesn't include "D".  The story may be essentially the same, but it will be mine alone. 

With love

Life has ways of surprising you.

When you write like this you are writing alone.  There is the possibility of having someone with you in a virtual reality but there is no promise of that.  There is the possibility of support or criticism.  Interest or apathy.  But you never know.  I think all you can do is write what you feel, put it to the virtual universe and see what comes back to you.

Today, I received support.  Love.  Kindness. 

Several years ago I got my first (and to this point, my only) tattoo.  It's on my lower back (which I am sad to hear is now referred to as a 'tramp stamp'... I can't tell you how disappointing that is) and it's the Chinese symbol for strength.  I got that symbol in that place for this reason; we all have strength.  It's not always where you can see it but it's there.  It's got your back.  And it's there when you need it.

My beautiful gift today was that along with the strength I have come to rely upon from myself, I am also blessed to have the support of friends who I also cannot see but are as real and true as the ink on my back.  You are my strength too.

I thank each and every one of you.  And I will most certainly talk to you soon.  And often.

We have a lot in common as it turns out.

With love.

If you try sometimes...

What am I doing?  Writing a blog.  What do I want to be doing?  Kissing.  Dancing.  Laughing.  Cuddling. Singing. Sharing.  Wishing.  Planning. 

You can't always get what you want. 

Today I laughed.  And danced (just a little and alone but it was to a really good song so that's ok in my book).  And sang... In my car.  Again to a really good song so still, ok.  I can still wish.  And I am planning.  And hoping. 

And I'm sharing with you. 

You get what you need. 

The Last Supper

So tonight we got together for dinner. 

It's his birthday and I wanted to give him the gift I had bought for him months ago when I felt certain of our future and of us.

I was certain it would be hard and it was.  I was certain I would cry and I did.  Before.  During.  After.

There is nothing ugly in this end.  Only sad.  Deep sorrow. 

I wept.