Astonished

So I will need to finish this post at a later point as there are errands to run today as we are praying it might be the last day of harvesting for this season. Ah! So fast this year as a reflection on the poor quality of crops.

Just a quick note to say that yesterday was a rough day.

I was in a bad mood starting off my day because I drove 45 minutes to meet someone who, once again, did not show up, did not answer their phone or call or even apologize for not showing up. I am torn on whether I should scream or cry... so I did some of both.

Following this lovely start, I raced back into town to meet with Gramma. She recently purchased a laptop (so proud of her!) and needed help getting it set up and such. So, that required a bit of work yesterday and will take up a large chunk of this afternoon as well.

Annnnnd, to top the day off, I took Cory to the local leisure center to work out for a couple of hours. It was a great start - got our hot green bands of shame (as he likes to call them) and headed upstairs to do a few laps around the indoor track. I began jogging at a slow pace, but he was off - like the wind. Literally.

Omg - sweetest kid ever. He ran so incredibly fast and when he reached the turn at the other end, in his 19 year old sass, turns around and goes, "let's go turtle!" I had to laugh. He's hilarious. So as we continued doing some laps, he began to tell me that because he is "an Indian, I can actually run faster in bare feet - no shoes and no socks" - and off he went, sprinting to the end again.

However, there were two young men (probably not older than Cory) who were between Cory and I - one of whom, burst out laughing at Cory's carefree running.

To my shock, horror, awe, and pounding heart - it was my cousin.

Words cannot describe what I wanted to do to Matthew. Hopefully my temper will cool by the time Christmas rolls around and the whole family is gathered because otherwise, who knows what might happen.

A silent prayer was said last night in thanksgiving for the gift of temperance and patience - for if I had not had both of them last night, I would have mortified my dear (and stupid) cousin, right in front of his best friend and work out buddy.

What else can be done?

I once had a mentor and friend who used the phrase, "it'll plague me to my grave" to describe those undesirable, untalkable things in life that daily challenged her.

We all have that list of things that, regardless of what we do, will haunt our days until the day we die.

One of mine is the ridiculous, unfounded desire to please people in my life.

The habit is an unhealthy one and while I can recognize this basic fact - it is a behaviour that is insanely difficult to stop participating in.

I agree to meet people who repeatidly stand me up. I get all excited and psyched up to finally see them and catch up. At one point, we were as close as sisters could ever be. Now - I don't even know where we stand. I think I've seen this person twice in the last 8 months. We make plans, arranage the details, I clear my schedule... and they don't show. I sometimes wonder if it would be easier to just cut the loss and walk away, give up, refrain from putting myself in that situation on future occassions. Yet, when they send a public, somewhat sarcastic message about finally meeting up, my desire to please their request grows and I respond - placing myself in the vicious circle once again.

On other occassions, the innate "big sister" in me leads me to opening up in most intimate fashion either spiritually or emotionally (neither of which I am extremely comfortable with) to someone in order to pass on some, remotely related piece of life experience that might help in the situation of a close friend. In the desire to please this person, I go above and beyond what would be considered the norm. Kills me. One email or phone conversation at a time. The serious lack of response on their end is a toxin.

Slowly, I'm learning. As immature as it might sound to some, I make plans with the first individual in a public, busy place so that I may always have proof that I held our plans and showed up, but that no one ever joined me. I work to find the silver lining: a bit of individual time with a cup of tea is not the end of the world every now and again. With others, I am learning that I should not hold my breath for promised updates - when they want to fill me in, they will and their lack of updating should not be a reflection on who I am, but who they are. I am learning that emailing while they are at work, while convienient and possibly desirable for them, usually leads to frustration, hurt feelings, and a series of pointless wonderings on my part.

Contrary to the teachings, I am learning to take the approach of an eye for an eye: if someone wishes to see life from the position of my eyes, they have to be willing to enlighten me from their eye colour first. In order to take, there must be give. From my viewpoint, in the grand universe scheme of things, I deserve to take and not simply give in the give and take spectrum of life.

Maybe I'm just tired, whiney, or downright cranky, but realistically - I'm trying to level some relationships in life - something that has to be done if I am to survive the craziness. Notions of sarcasm and "fairness" only go so far. After that, what else can be done? Bring on the ritual sacrifice of eyes, ears, and any other dual body part we have!

Life is like a trip to the dentist

Okay, so this is going to be an exercise in convoluted thinking, but here goes. Last night was our first hockey game of the season and this meant that I had to dig the mouthguard out of my hockey bag, brush it out, and hold it in my mouth for an hour and a half. It was a test in patience.

Every year I go out and purchase and mould a new mouthguard, promising myself that it will fit and be strong enough for a few seasons of hitting, elbowing, and general tooth protection. However, every year I step out on the ice I am hit by the realization that my teeth have shifted ever so slightly and the mouthguard is now extremely uncomfortable. This realization lead to the impending trip to the dentist this morning to have impressions taken for a new one (a professional one that will hopefully last more than 30 games).

Life is like a trip to the dentist.

Climbing into the chair, the assistant clipped a drool cloth around my neck and begin to put the chair back into it's reclining position for when the doctor came in. At first, I was relatively comfortable - I got to lay there and "relax" for a moment or two.

But then the doctor came in, got his tools, and starting mixing up the cement for the impressions to be taken with. Annnnd, in typical Young Seeker fashion, it was at this moment that I realized how badly I actually had to use the washroom. Even after years of indoctrination from my mother (who works in the dental office), I once again – failed to use the facilities down the hall before climbing into the chair. The unfortunate ending to this story is that dental cement takes about as long to dry (and properly form) in one's mouth as regular, run of the mill, sidewalk brand cement. My bladder and stress level suffered horribly from my poor decision.

"Way why whooze wa waaaafffuum?"

"No, it's best if you don't move while the cement hardens because the more you move, the less likely the mouthguard will fit properly."

You see, at this inoppurtune moment, this young seeker realized just how similar life and the dentist visit really are. In life, we all need a drool bib from time to time - only, we use friends, family, or more unhealthy bibs like drugs, alchohol or shameful habits to catch the run-off from shit-ay circumstances in life that are beyond our control (and sometimes, even the ones that we have full control over!)

And to anyone walking by, the look of horrible discomfort on my face would have simply been attributed to dental-visit nerves, a painful procedure, or inadequate Novacane (freezing). In reality, the problem was an internal problem. I had to pee. In thee worst way. So often, we see someone, friend or stranger, and we assume that we know the causes of their distress or discomfort. 99% of the time, our assumptions are the wrong ones.

Finally, the comparrison is strikingly similar because even when the problem is an internal one, in reality, we are unable to communicate our needs, discomforts, or problems. We lack the language, the articulation, or the courage. Sure, I could have just stood up, walked out, and returned after I silenced the call of my bladder - but honestly... we don't. There are so many reasons and excuses for why we don't, but let's be frank about it - the bottom is that we simply hang tight, suck it up, and get 'er done.

Stop by next time for the blog: God is our Novacane.

Fool-proof Proof that God exists!

It is, by far, thee most childish and immature argument for why I believe God exists more than Santa, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy... but it is a proof that has never let me down. For some reason, it is the proof that I've always clung to and am reminded of each fall. Each time I remember this proof, I make the mental note of filing it in the back of the cabinet under "potential sermon illustration". Here it is.

I know that God exists because unlike Santa, God can hear the prayers that I say in my head; God can read my mind, but if you want Santa to know something, you have to either write it down or say it out loud. I know that God exists because unlike the Easter Bunny, God is capable of gifting more than chocolate and God doesn't leave a mess anywhere; God gifts things like love, forgiveness, grace, and peace, but the Easter Bunny is only capable of gifting those things which come in moulds - most often, in the shape of a bunny and rarely does the Easter Bunny gift anything aside from milk chocolate (not exactly a utility kind of gift). Plus, you don't have to clean up after God, he cleans up after you. But the Easter Bunny requires a pooper-scooper and a large pail in it's wake. Finally, I know that God exists because the rewards of making a sacrifice come in copious showers, but the Tooth Fairy never rewards more than a two dollar coin; God isn't cheap, but the Tooth Fairy certainly is. God understands that having an important, rooted aspect of your life is a painful, tedious process and never puts a numerical value on what is being lost, but the Tooth Fairy seems to think that Novacane makes everything manageable and clearly thinks that being able to break life into bite-size pieces is only worth small coinage. Plus, God does not hold our past against us but that stupid Tooth Fairy holds all the teeth in an envelope in Dad's bathroom - probably just to give back to us when we are old and start to lose these teeth.

I have been up for a few hours already, pre-sunrise thinking about this "proof" and how absolutely certain I was 18 years ago that the proof was infallible. Growing up on the farm, this time of year was one of mixed feelings. We only got to see my dad on Sunday mornings for church, if we got to stay up really, really late, or if it was pouring rain. He would always be out of the house before we got up in the morning and would never get back until after we were in bed. Every night, my mom would hear the instructions that she was to pass onto my dad when he got home. "Tell dad that as SOON as he gets home, to come and kiss me goodnight, make sure that Kristin didn't steal all the blankets or kick me onto the floor. Then, after he showers and eats his supper, tell him to come back in for one more kiss before bed, k?" She would nod, assure us that he always came into our rooms when he got home, kissed us goodnight, and made sure we were all tucked in. Night after night, my sister and I would be scolded for having to "use the bathroom" every five minutes, taking turns to see if dad was home.

If we were lucky, we would get to take supper out to the field for him. We would put milk in a canning jar and essentially, pack a small, cold picnic for him. Annnnd, if we were really lucky (and if the baby was sleeping in the car), we would get to go for a round on the combine with him. On the nights that we didn't go out to the field (we typically only took supper out on the nights where they were going to be combining into the early hours of the morning), we would leave him pictures, mis-spelled notes, and crafts by his plate for him to look at/read/admire while he ate his supper.

And this was the time of year, where part one of the proof was first discovered. Prayers were often said together, post teeth-brushing and pre-tuck in. Together, we would pray for good weather, good crops, safety, for people we loved.... and then silently, I would add a prayer for a whole day of pouring rain. I didn't necessarily want to contradict the good weather prayers that mom prayed for, but I just wanted one day of pouring rain so that dad could stay home.

Sure enough, after what seemed like eternity to a six year old, it rained. Two days straight. I didn't need to say these prayers out loud at bedtime for God to hear them. God heard my prayers for rain and didn't let me down. Now Santa on the other hand, should maybe take a lesson in the non-verbal, silent requests. If he did, I bet there would be a lot more Christmas presents of peace wrapped with a bow under the tree Christmas morning. And probably, a Transformer toy instead of that Barbie.

Thoughts on the day

There is no general theme to this blog, other than maybe the ramblings of a twisted and backwards day and it serves no purpose other than to blurt out the insane ramblings of today, in true Western Canadian fashion... by quoting an influential person from the United States.

In fairness, I shouldn't say that - Canadians are credible for original thought. But, today, I quote someone from the USA. I think I may have commented on this before, but when ++Schori was starting out her ministry, she was asked what the toughest thing for her was, as a Christian. Her response was simple, and yet - soooo incredibly powerful.

"The toughest thing for me is to remember that I am a beloved child of God."

This was the quote that immediately came to mind today as I opened up my email to read one of those chain letter emails that people forward around to everyone on their contact list that was entitled, "3 Things". The email was simple and read:

There are three things you need to do:

#1 Repent

#2 Forgive yourself

#3 Move on with your life

It went on to say that we cannot do anything to change our past, but we can always change our present and future because yesterday ended last night. It was one of those messages with divine timing, I assure you.

You know what though? Number 1 is honestly the easiest to accomplish. 2 and 3 still seem impossible. Instead of forgiving myself or moving on with my life, I am stuck in that vicious circle of repentance and penance (aka, self punishment). What can I say - if you cut me, I will bleed Catholic blood.

I honestly believe that moving onto #'s 2 and 3 requires a firm belief in that lovely statement of ++Schori, which - for this young seeker, is a long ways away. But at least now, I have something to work towards... maybe?

Not for the weak of stomach

Sorry, I apologize in advance for the "graphic" nature of the picture, but this dear toe is the subject of reflection this afternoon.

A few days ago, post the funeral of a young family friend, and before the craziness of this week set in, I went for a hike. Not an incredibly long journey, but long enough that I learned a valuable life lesson... hence, the reflective blog post.

Here is the short story of my toe, or "relatively short story" of my toe. When I was in grade 10, back in 2000, I was going to change from gym class, and had a heavy fire door opened on my toe. I was going into the gym and previous class was leaving. While wearing runners, my toe managed to get wedged between the bottom edge of the door and the floor, resulting in bleeding and a minor annoyance of pain. A few weeks later, before the nail had a chance to fall off, we were playing floor hockey in a friends basement and I managed to "accidently kick" (paradox, I think not!) the piece of 2x4 that was the beginning of them framing their basement. The nail fell off rather painlessly, but has been a pain in the ass ever since. I have had two complete nail ressections (removal of the entire visible nail), endless doctors appointments and open toed shoes, as well as one surgery to go in and remove the nail while also destroying the nail matrix.

Unfortunately, my toenail seems to be a close relative to the raspberry stalk because nothing will kill the damn thing. Since the surgery, the nail has grown back in on a sharp angle (like is seen above) and would catch on anything and everything, pulling it back a little more each time. Things like sheets, blankets, socks, edges of steps, the sidewalk, you name it.

So, really wanting to get out and go hiking this past week, I wrapped the toe in prowrap, and secured that on with a surrounding bandage of hockey tape. That sucker wasn't going to catch on anything as I hiked my way through the bush. About half way through the afternoon though, there was a twinge of pain coming from my foot. Sitting down in a resting grove, I carefully took my boot off, then my sock, and then the first layer of bandage before I noticed some blood.

Carefully cutting off the prowrap and tape together, I could assess the damage more easily. To my surprise, the jagged edge of a nail was gone and I only had some blood to deal with.

It's amazing what our feet can tell us. Before that afternoon, I never would have guessed that my nail had a purpose in my life, but in fact, it's purpose is pretty incredible. You see, when the little piece of nail was there, it was a reminder to slow down and watch where I walked, avoiding anything that might snag and hurt. But without the nail, I am still the same person. There was weeping blood to dry off and clean up, but eventually - the toe stopped bleeding and began to heal over. The pain subsided and I was able to hike back down, the same way I came up.

Sometimes, life is just like a toe. There are days where it might seem incredibly pointless to engage, as though it is something without a deeper meaning. However, if we are attentive enough to our own "selves", we know to look out for snagging material that will cause pain, further injury or headache. And sometimes, unfortunately, we will lose things in life before we want to. (I much rather would have preferred the nail to stay on until the doctor's appointment in September for him to see and evaluate!) But after some weeping and mouring, we will be okay, successful, optimistic in a brighter tomorrow. The pain will fade, the mess will be cleaned up, and the journey will be continued as though our crisis was nothing more than a resting place along the walk.

It seems so mundane and simple and I wish that I would have understood it before now, but I've always been a tangible learner and need to experience things to learn from them. I will miss Reed, the same way I will miss and wish my toenail was still here. Toes are certainly more beautiful when 10 are painted, not just nine; life more beautiful and spectacular with dear friends and near family. There will always be a gap in the nailpolish, but that's okay. My toe, just like my life over the past little while, was a learning experience I wish to never forget and may the (temporarily) nail-less toe be a reminder of the incredible grace and peace I experienced on that hillside that afternoon. And may this ugly looking toe be a gentle whisper reminder of the slow turning point to come back home, out of the bush - and into light of life. TBTG!

... is where my priorities rest

*deeeeep breath..... deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

This week, looking at the dry erase board on the wall, the schedule looks like this:

Monday

- essay due (still have to proof read and edit)

- ball game (playoff game, required to be there, take bases, playing first base)

- must have lecture one and two memorized for final (see Wednesday)

- call to arrange a possible work interview for Tuesday (calling to check on what time works best)

- 1.5 hours of class

Tuesday

- Movie analysis #4 due

- 4.5 hours of class

- must know lectures 3 and 4 for final exam (approx 20 pages of information total to go through)

- start reading for term paper

- potential interview time with home care client

Wednesday

- final exam from 1030-noon

- play off ball game, must play, short girls

- finish reading for term paper

- write term paper (due at midnight)

Thursday

- hand in a hard copy of the term paper

- hopefully get out to the lake for the last time this summer for a day (would be less than 24 hours, but after finishing up the requirements for my degree, I think it's okay to take 24 hours at the lake?)

Friday

- ball tournament in neighbouring city - approx 45 minute drive away, possible game (may end up with a draw that is the weekend only)

- do all my laundry

Saturday

- ball tournament

- wedding guest for Wonder Chemist (though, I'm a little annoyed that he only "found out about it" yesterday - leaving a weeks notice for the arrangements to be made to get out of other commitments)

- playing music at church Saturday night for a healing hour

Sunday

- volunteering at an Auto-Cross event

- playing music at church in the morning for the pilgrimage (people travel hours to attend this service)

- hopefully making it out to one or two ball games to sub the gals that would have been forced to play all morning

I'm feeling just a little overwhelmed. I was doing okay - but then I got a text from a friend informing me that THIS week is her last week before she goes back to an Orient country to teach for a year and probably won't be back in Canada until this time next summer. She is like an older sister, but her text honestly led to hyperventilation. After the events of last week, and the high stress of this week, I now need to re-work the week so that I can fit some sister-friend time in. Just need to remember to breathe. But until then, I shall sit here and continue to push the "panic" button that plays to the tune to "I am slowly going crazy, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, SWITCH!" from Sharon, Lois and Bram.

Today is a Moth Kinda Day

I'm not sure if it's "moth season" and I cannot pretend to know if certain weather conditions lead to an influx in the moth population, but I DO know that there are a whooooole lotta moths around right now. I did laundry over the weekend (our washer is finally fixed!!) and hung the clothes out over night, in between evening rain storms. Bringing them into the house on Monday, I have been putting on clothes while simultaneously booting moths out.

Note to self... shake 'em BEFORE bringing them in next time!

While they do not bite, make a lot of noise or creep me out... I cannot help feeling overwhelmed by the swarm of moths in my room, clothing, and life right now.

And, at the same time, I cannot help feeling like a moth myself. Reflecting the worldly shades of grey, searching everywhere for a speck of light to lead me home; bumping into everything on my way, wishing to nestle somewhere warm and dark to rest.

I have been told that when someone great dies, especially by surprise, we are entitled to get momentarily lost in a world that will never be the same. The world is allowed to be seen in shades of black, white and grey and the sun is allowed to hide behind the large clouds. The stars will appear to stand still while the music sings in a minor key.

Well, I guess this is just the way things will be for a little while and I should just be okay with bein' a moth.

the only good thing about losing someone you care about...

Actually, in all honesty... who am I kidding? There really, truly isn't anything good about losing someone that you care about. I was trying to be really, super duper positive, but the closest that I can get to "that" is to say that at least the most emotional, gut-wrenching, upseting, disgusting part of the day is done.

As far as funerals go, no offense to my Catholic friends, but the Catholics have a long way to go to improving them. But all in all, mourning and grieving aside, Fr. Paul did an okay job. And that says a lot coming from a "used to be Catholic" gal. He is pretty old fashioned, but equally pastoral.

And now, for lack of being able to reflect anything productive, it's off to the night class to stare off into space, pretend I'm listening, and look like I'm taking down the odd note about what she is saying.

Puffy eyes 'n' all... man, sometimes life just knocks the wind right outta ya.

My fingers are numb...

I was always taught when growing up, that if the world ever gave you something that stirred that urge inside of you to punch something/someone else, reach for an ice cube.

Well, my fingers are number than numb, so what I'm trying to say is that any spelling errors I make, are not my fault.

My fingers are numb because I am upset about the human condition and how people have been trained to respond to tragedy by saying, "I'm sorry...." I understand that there is a certain level of empathy at play here, whereby the other person is acknowledging the pain of a situation by potentially apologizing for the fact that life sucks. I get that.

But honestly, it is THEE most unhelpful, pointless, mundane, ambivilent phrase in the English language. Those two cursed words should be reserved for apologies and apologies only, where you are at fault for something and you are remorseful. And, as a huge introvert who likes to ponder the shit out of every little thing, I would rather hear "Wanna talk?" than "I'm sorry". Seriously. Because I would be more open to talking through how much life sucks and hearing their honest, unreserved account of why life either sucks or it doesn't than to hear that they are "sorry" for some random misfortune that they had absolutely no part in.

I don't know... maybe I'm just upset because on a night where I need to talk the days events out, the two people I turn to, immediately drop the "I'm sorry" bomb on the conversation as if it will make everything better. Or, maybe it's true... maybe "I'm sorry" is a phrase that is abused in our lexicon and we need to work on changing this.

Up to you. I'll supply the ice cubes.