other people's words

As you know, my resolution for 2009 is to reclaim my house. From the clutter. From the memories of my parents (this is the house I grew up in and inherited.) For myself, and for my boyfriend. It's been a very long process, learning to let go of stuff, stuff with memories and stuff my parents bought, held, and cherished, clothes they wore and stuff they used. All over my home. And I've never been really good at expressing the conflicting feelings this stuff can bring up.

Over the holidays, I stumbled upon FlyLady, an organization-come-sisterhood to help people get, well, organized. Anyone who knows me knows my sink certainly isn't shiny yet (hell, it may be the last thing I do!), but the daily emails prompting decluttering and instilling the importance of routines to organize your time, if nothing else, have been useful.

We get bombarded by quite a few daily emails, including testimonials from other participants. The one from Monday really struck a nerve; in it, Kathryn describes lugging the sewing machine her mother bought her as a teenager as she left for college and across the country over several moves. Mind you, I've never moved in my whole life, but her words resonated:

I felt guilty -- not only because I was leaving projects undone but because, by not sewing, it felt like I was rejecting something important that my mother had shared with me. (...)

Every time I moved, I felt guilty about having it, about not using it, about abandoning my mother. (...) I de-cluttered around it, each time feeling worse when I saw it. Still, I couldn't get myself to put it in the car for Good Will. It felt like I was packing up my mother and taking her away. Never mind that my mother is still safe and happy in Wisconsin, that we now share a love of knitting, that she knows I don't sew anymore and that she's perfectly okay with that.

That's it, that's exactly it! Somehow, letting things go is a betrayal of people and their love. Now, my mother passed in 1994, so you can imagine how I've felt some of the things she describes, maybe worse, since mom wasn't around to tell me it was okay to let go (not that she would have - she was a pack rat herself.) I was stunned; I've read it several times over the past few days, and it still blows my mind how she figured me out and described it so succinctly.

I've added a list in the right hand column of things I have decluttered or given away, Freecycled or otherwise gotten rid of. (By the way, I'm aiming for 250 "items", which is a huge amount, considering a garbage bag full of clothes, or a box full of books, is one "item". I'm already behind, but that's OK.) One of those bags of clothes was part of my mother's wardrobe. Read back: she died in 1994. My father never went through her stuff before he died in 1998. I've been even worse. *sigh* But somehow, somewhere deep inside, something has clicked, and the sentimental attachment has started to fade, to slough off, to shed, like leaves in the fall. And somewhere, I've found the pleasure of giving things away that I know will be of use to someone else.

A box of mom's French books are leaving with a lady on Friday; when I spoke to her on the phone, she was just so excited at the idea of getting her hands on the three volumes of "La dynastie des Forsyte". I remember my mom reading those books, and now, someone else will get to enjoy them. And that, to quote a domestic goddess whose housekeeping and culinary skills I will never attain, is a good thing. Not to mention I get the cheap thrill of crossing out items in my OYS posts. YAY!

Edit, 30/01/09: Oddly enough, the lady and/or her daughter never showed. The box of books went to the next person who had inquired about them. She picked them up the day after I contacted her. I love it when a freecycle plan comes together.

day five

I am 37 words away from being 25% done. Wow.

It had improved very, very slightly, but most of it is still utter tripe. And that's OK. Maybe that's why this strange character came along and insisted I write this piece of historical fiction when I had never attempted anything remotely close: to make me hear my own voice. Because that's mainly what's wrong with my novel - it sounds like me, a contemporary woman, rather than the narrator of a piece of historical fiction about a young boy coming of age. Besides, I'm not overly fond of kids, so inventing his childhood has been, well, inconclusive. It would be painful to reread, but that is for another time. If NaNoWriMo teaches me that I can beat the monster that is procrastination into submission, even temporarily, and that I should write what I know, then it will have been a success, even should I choose to delete the file once December 1st comes around. I doubt that I'll do it, but it would be fitting to represent how NaNo is about the experience.

I wrote very little last night, because I was watching So You Think You Can Dance Canada, and constantly flicking to the election coverage on ABC (least nauseating and obviously biased - hell-o, Fox). Two things: if I hadn't posted it before, I've been telling my boyfriend that Nico will take it all. (I was right about the final three on the last season of SYTYCD, right down to the order. Yay Joshua and Twitch!) As for Obama, godspeed, my man, the road ahead is long. But somehow, your presence made my world feel a little safer today.

on differences

Cyber Sunday was never my favourite PPV, and this year, somehow, it's gotten worse.

Was it the fact that voting was restricted to the US audience and that it was a paid system? Was it the Big Show telling Kozlov he'd never get in because he wasn't American? Was it because the Big Show was right?

For a company that prides itself on criss-crossing the world and being watched across the planet, for a company that in an acknowledgement of its international appeal changed its audience program from WWE Nation to WWE Universe, where on earth does this restrictive, America-centric navel-gazing fit in?

Yes, once upon a time, USA chants had their place. But, really, in 2008? Actually, it goes back further than that, back when Chris Benoit was announced as being from Atlanta, because he was a babyface, but Edge has always been, and probably always will be from Toronto. (Then again, if you want to keep Benoit, have him. But I want Jericho back. He is a heel, isn't he?)

Sometimes I think I just don't understand this longing for division, for independence, for being standalone. Oh look, we're different, and I'm better. Hm. Right. So really, can't we just all get along?

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developing a habit

Writing every day. Seems simple, but to a professional procrastinator like myself, it amounts to a far more insidious task than in originally appears.

OK, here we go with excuse number one. I've also been getting these wild bursts of crazy energy in the evenings, which I've been using to propel my NaNoWriMo outline. It also means I've rarely been getting into bed before midnight; while that seems almost meek by my old standards, it really is an hour or so later than my usual over the past year. Add a little bit of freelance work on the side and the NaNoWriMo forums, and you've got the makings of a not terribly productive, or even prolific, writer. Oh, and wars to increase our value on facebook's Friends For Sale application receive far more attention than they should. I'm beginning to think that the best way for me to reach 50,000 words come November 30 is to turn off the internet as a whole. Luckily, on my laptop, that's just a flick of the switch away.

To add to the various things floating around in my head, my best office buddy has quit, and will be leaving on Halloween. I'm surprised she's lasted this long; lord knows a number of us have been asking how she manages to cope with her boss for a while now. She has this beautiful zen-like quality I admire tremendously, but it would appear even it has run out of steam. I can only wish her the best and insist on keeping in touch. This is one of those times when you actually say those words and mean them. She's planning on taking a good break from work, and she's aware I'm doing NaNoWriMo (in fact, she may be one of the maybe three people who might get to read my novel), so we know contact will be sparse at first. I am sincere in saying that I will not let her fade away into that "yeah, we used to be close coworkers" category: I think of her as a friend, and where she works, if she works, should have no bearing whatsoever on that fact. It is only as I wrote this last paragraph that I realize her last day will be All Hallows' Eve; I wonder if she realizes the marvelous symbolism behind it all. Note to self: discuss Celtic mythology with her. The only upside I can see is that it will free up most of my lunch breaks: if I bring my laptop to work, or even just a flash key, I can eat at my desk and type with my free hand! 50,000, here I come.

So what's my excuse this evening? Don't have one really, unless you consider my eldest dog (a seven year-old pug, or should I say simply Droz from my previous post) looked really lethargic this evening, not even bothering to fight with his sons for food. So that's been on my mind for the past few hours, although now it looks like he's had some sleep and feels a little better; he lapped up kibble from my hand without being asked twice. That's my boy. Dudley pulled the same kind of stunt a few months back; I'm thinking they may have picked something up the floor that wasn't entirely edible, much to the dismay of their digestive systems. It's certainly a trait that runs in the family. We'll see what tomorrow brings, I guess.

Man, it's past midnight again, and I have to wash my hair tomorrow; although it's nowhere near as long as it once was, it's still thick enough that it takes forever to dry, and by that time, I've lost all feeling in my fingers. Off to bed, where I will probably look at the drawing I purchased as part of the Art Montreal Tattoo convention and think it could be an incredible starting point for some funky pirate story. I gotta take a picture of it (oh shoot, I still haven't taken the pictures for the Trois choses blog, for the prompt that I put up. Nice going, there, champ.) and post it here. Then I'll have to write about it. But not tonight. My dreams beckon.

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writing prompt: there is no music

Writing prompt: There is no music. What sound inspires you? What living music makes your heart skip a beat? (…) Name your melody.

I once read the story of a long-term care facility somewhere that had adopted a cat. The cat would spend most days wandering the halls, but whenever a resident was at death’s door, he would jump on the person’s bed and purr, as though to accompany them to the gates of the afterlife. The cat was so reliable that whenever he settled down like this, they would summon the family to the resident’s bedside. Should it come to pass that my death comes at the end of such a decline, I can only hope to go like that, simply because the cat’s purr is the most soothing sound I know.

It’s a vibration, perfectly attuned to the hum of the universe. Its power is primeval and resonates deep within my being. It warms me from within better than any fire. Like ocean waves lapping at the shore, its meditative rhythm slows my breath to its pace. It calls forth blissful memories of comfort and home, of my mother stroking my hair, of being rocked to sleep, of pure, entire love. If my last experience in this lifetime is to feel a cat purring by my side, then I will have been truly blessed.

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touchy subjects shouldn't equal hysteria

There was a kerfuffle in the media last week or so about the decision to award the Order of Canada to Dr. Henry Morgentaler, a pivotal player in the legalization of abortion in Canada. Just so we're clear, I stand on the pro-choice side, but I will admit that some women abuse the privilege, either by using abortion as birth control or by demanding one at an advanced stage of pregnancy for no other reason than having taken that long to come to a decision. But I digress.

Dr. Morgentaler stated he was proud to have been able to contribute to the decline in crime rate since abortion was legalized in Canada. (Wow, I'll admit that was arrogant.) This prompted Richard Martineau to throw another of his indignant hissy-fits. He wrote that Dr. Morgentaler was passing judgment on all unborn babies and that they wouldn't all have turned out poorly. Well, OK, let's start at the beginning: Dr. Morgentaler never made such a blanket statement, and didn't actually imply anything about anybody. But let's follow that train of thought anyways:

• Would "unwanted" babies be more likely to be abused/neglected/left to their own devices as they grew up? Probably.
• Would "unwanted" babies be more likely to perceive they are unwanted and develop self-esteem/identity/rejection issues? Probably.
• Would these issues be more likely to push them towards gangs, particularly as a way to recreate a sense of belonging that doesn't otherwise exist at home? Probably.
• Would these issues be more likely to lead them towards drugs and other emotion-numbing addictions? Probably.

The issue is economic as well: parents, especially young people, otherwise forced into having a child, may turn to crime as a way of paying the bills for a family they couldn't afford. So while all of these "probably"s certainly don't add up to all cases, they certainly represent a possibility that is averted with the legalization of abortion. Sorry Mr. Martineau: Dr. Morgentaler might not be the most eloquent or charismatic guy, and that soundbite might sound awful, but his argument has merit.

On a side note, I'd also be willing to wager that we could all find someone who's received the Order of Canada over the years and whose stance we find offensive, whether from a religious, political or social point of view.

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seven days to choose

The deadline for applying to the graduate diploma is June 1, which means I have seven days left to decide whether I want to go for it. I think I'm going to need them.

It was my dad's birthday yesterday. My father was always pushing me to learn; he didn't really mind what I chose, as long as I kept going. He thought I was a smart girl, and wanted me to do something with my life. I guess he wanted me to make sure to keep as many doors open as possible until I chose what was right for me.

In that sense, I partially failed him, in that in finding myself I started and stopped along a number of paths before figuring out my place, and he didn't get to see that. But I'm pretty sure he'd be proud now, and I'm sure he'd see it as fitting that I finally stumbled back to something my mother had herself once studied. I always did remind him of her.

I'm also sure he would have no doubt that I should apply. Unfortunately, doubt is all I have right now. I'm really starting to feel exhausted from coming home at ten o'clock twice a week; I also have to consider the cost, and the strain it puts on my relationship with Pat just never being there, or available...

My gut tells me to wait. Besides, I already work as a translator, and I freelance, so it's not like I'm wanting for work. But given the issues with this last class I'm taking, is my gut really reliable, or is it just my instinct of self-preservation saying I shouldn't sign up for more (even though this teacher does not teach at the graduate level)?

I have a few more days to think about it.

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a life ruined?

There was some brouhaha this week when it was discovered that the ex-girlfriend of the Conservative federal minister of foreign affairs had previously been involved with two Hells Angels, one of whom had been murdered. Once identified, she was quoted in the paper as saying that the media had ruined her life.

Her life is ruined because her affairs with three past boyfriends have been made public? I'm confused. It does not appear she is still involved with the biker world, and in any case, she has no criminal record. At this point, I will also refrain from making comment as to whether she has really stopped cavorting with members of organized crime, or just moved on to better dressed ones.

But has this really ruined her life? I'm thinking she's a little thin-skinned. She might have a tough time finding a date for a few weeks, or longer among the "Google your new girlfriend" crowd, but otherwise, the world will have forgotten about her quickly enough.

As for me, I pondered whether revealing my past relationships would "ruin my life." I thought back, and I Googled, since I'm no longer in contact with any of them. Let's see:

Throughout my teenage years, I was involved on and off with R, a young rebel who dropped out of school, played in a punk band and did and sold drugs. Not the kind to bring home to daddy. I eventually grew up enough to walk away unscathed. Something I'm proud of? Absolutely not. Ruin my life? Not in a million years. And today? Surprisingly, still alive. Not so surprisingly, still rebelling, still in a nowhere punk band.

Moving on to S, whom I met in cegep. Well-mannered, clean cut, slight mama's boy tendencies (but don't tell him that.) Lasted a bit over a year, ended because, well, we were still teenagers and I was having a hard time dealing with his jealous streak. Ruin my life? Nope. Today? Masters in geology, working as an analyst. Sounds square enough.

Then C, one of the kindest souls I've met. Still not entirely sure why I broke up with him, apart from maybe sheer boredom, needing to explore the world some more. He's got a terribly common name which makes him hard to track down online; in fact, I never found him. I did stay in touch with him for a few years afterwards, so by my count, he is probably some kind of entrepreneur, like his dad, and living in the house he built with his wife in suburbia. Maybe a kid or two. Ruin my life? No way. Made it better, in fact.

Then G, which may have been an attempt to recapture what was lost with R. Best body I ever dated, though. Found him on Facebook; he's still in contact with quite a few of his high school buddies. My guess is he still jams on weekends with his pals, and he works some nondescript job that pays the bills. He was never the ambitious type. Ruin my life? Don't think so.

Then L, the most conventional guy I ever dated. I still can't figure out how our relationship ever got off the ground. Only time I ever got dumped. After a SF (sympathy @#$%) too, which I still haven't forgiven (him or me.) Another one with a common name; couldn't find him online, which is odd, 'cause he used to work in computer systems. Ruin my life? Nope. Today? Probably the ex-wife, house, kid every other weekend. Standard suburbia again.

And lastly Pat, with whom I have been for ten years. I believe my current relationship deserves more privacy than my past, so I won't go on about us too much, except to say he's had my back through a lot, for which I am grateful.

All of this to say that I can't imagine how past relationships can ruin your life. Break your heart, yup, make you stronger, for sure, but to ruin your life requires your consent. Live and learn.

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