Can Prayer Move Houses?

Here is a cute essay about the perils of dating a blogger. Hee!

Well, I think Catherine had a great idea.  I hereby bid you all to say a little prayer to the house selling gods this Saturday from 2 to 4 Eastern, as that is when my realtor is having another open house. This time–per my request–she will even put up an OPEN HOUSE sign.  What a novel idea.  We’re lowering the price by 10 K and–thank you to my friend Helen for this idea–we’re updating the exterior photo, as the one up now shows the house covered in snow.

Now I just need one of the lawn cutting people I’ve contacted to come through with a yes and then actually show up,  unlike mowing candidate number one (Joe) and mowing candidate number two (Josh).  Maybe the chipmunks and rabbits enjoying my jungle are praying harder for the mowing not to take place than I am for it to happen.

Sevens and Threes, Dragonflies and Elephants

To add to the appearances of 7 in my life, the book that called to me this week from my bookcase is Caroline Myss’ Anatomy of the Spirit. This is one of eleven books I FOUND last year on my way to work one morning. The subtitle is The Seven Stages of Power and Healing. I am not that far into the book, but so far she is talking about the seven chakras and the seven Christian sacraments.

Then there are dragonflies, frogs and elephants. On a whim, I posted Lynn’s stunning dragonfly photo before flying off to Toronto for a day with Elspeth. E saw it and–as I was en route to the bus station– sent me a link about dragonfly medicine. What does it mean if a dragonfly comes into your awareness? That night, after reading some stuff via Google, I reached for my copy of Animal Speak and read the section on dragonflies. The author recommends I also read the section on the frog because frog eats dragonfly.

On Monday I made myself a clue for the day or week, and it was the colour chartreuse and sharp things. All week I have only seen one thing that is chartreuse and that is an origami frog sitting on a shelf in my bathroom. It has sharp points. Nothing else yellow-green nor sharp has come into my awareness all week. Just that frog.

Elspeth’s post today got me to thinking about Elephant medicine. I don’t do well on my own. I need a tribe. When Katryn and I first wandered onto the Grand River Intentional Communities meetings, I was sold. Yes, that is for me. I suck at solo (sola) home ownership, but I think I’d flourish as a member of an intentional community. I started attending the co-housing group meetings. The more I learned about this lifestyle, the more I felt it was for me.

Then I met Sylvain, who lives in a co-housing arrangement with other family members.

It is very hard to explain to you or to myself what is happening between me and his parents. They love me and I love them. I don’t know how else to put it. I have very often missed a boyfriend I couldn’t be around for days on end, but I have never MISSED a boyfriend’s parents before. I miss them. I miss his shy sister, too. I miss creeping downstairs while Sylvain is thumping on his own chest in the morning (some sort of self inflicted respiratory therapy) to start the coffee. I miss the little cup full of tea spoons his mom keeps on the breakfast table. I miss seeing her sitting in her spot in the living room doing cross-stitch on a table cloth (petit point in French).

Tonight he and I were talking away and suddenly he asked me to wait a sec. Then she was on the phone saying bon soir to me. Comment ça va? And my heart leapt to hear her voice. How crazy is that? Ça va bien, et vous? I asked, enunciating very loudly and clearly in case she had already taken her hearing aids out. She thanked me for the earrings I sent her for her birthday. She’ll be 70 tomorrow.

“We miss you,” she said.

“I miss you TOO!!!” I said with all my heart. I do. I miss them so much.

Sylvain is coming here this time, this weekend. I am giving him a tour of my fish bowl.

Flowing With the No Go

Thank you, Violet, for posting this.

I was just saying to Sylvain that I am starting to resent everything standing in the way of our being together. Good little lovesick puppies that we are, we miss each other terribly when we’re apart.

I’ve been moving through a series of phases in my emotions. Right now I am just angry at this stupid “niche market” house for not selling. I am angry and disappointed with myself for how easily I get frozen and feel as if I cannot take the next step or undertake the next little task necessary for keeping up the house’s curb appeal. Some days I can’t find the energy or motivation to vacuum, and then the bits of lint staring up at me from the carpet are like little nagging, pointing fingers who accuse me of being a big fuck-up.

Then I feel guilty for feeling bad on a sunny day. I have no right to be in a funk when my life is fine, when I have no ‘real’ problems compared to zillions of people in the world who have real shit to deal with.

So thank you for that post, Violet. It helps. It reminds me to turn back to Taoism for the truths I know can pull me through.

Three

Further to the number synchronicities mentioned in the previous post, need I point out that it was the adjacent Church of the Holy TRINITY that built the labyrinth?  Or the fact that Elspeth’s motherland is Trinidad?

I feel like doing a meme I found on Carla’s blog and also a meme I found on Leah’s blog.  But I’m going to mutate both of them and do them in threes.

Three random facts about me, taken and adapted from Zena Musings:

1. I always set my alarm clock to a number divisible by 2 or5.
2. I have 24 teeth (wisdom teeth and canines removed by the orthodontist) .
3. I am reading Anatomy of the Spirit by Caroline Myss.

And adapted from Leah’s page:

Three jobs I have held:

1. Clerk on a book mobile
2. Teacher of Japanese language and culture
3. Office manager of independent bookstore

Three films I can watch over and over:

1. Fiddler on the Roof (hold your ears…I am going to sing along with ALL the songs)
2. Babette’s Feast
3. Me and You and Everyone We Know   (Miranda July ROOOOOOOCKS!!!)

Three places I have lived:

1. Fresno, California
2. Sapporo, Japan
3. Fayetteville, Arkansas

Three categories of TV programming I enjoy:

1. Educational (Nova)
2. Quirky, slightly surreal drama series (Six Feet Under, Northern Exposure)
3. Brainy quiz shows (Jeopardy)

Three places I have been on holiday:

1. Grand Cayman, B.W.I.
2. Everglades National Park and Sanibel Island, Florida
3. Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas

Three of my favourite dishes:

1. Veggie tempura
2. Sushi and more sushi
3. My mom’s hot water corn bread

Three websites I visit (almost) daily:

1.  Now is Wow
2. Art in the Garage
3. Little Rock Daily Photo

Three places I’d rather be right now…  Well, I am where I am supposed to be now, but soon I hope to be:

1. With Sylvain
2. Visiting my mum
3. In a room with my realtor signing closing papers (not necessarily in that order)

Nellie Elephant Squirts Water

…all over the place.

I rose at six a.m. to be on a bus to Toronto at 7:30 so I could spend a day with Elspeth, an amazing woman whose blog I’ve been visiting for many months. She came to Toronto a few weeks ago for a reflexology course that ended up being canceled.   Elspeth didn’t even get angry about the cancellation after flying all the way from Trinidad to be here for it. She knows there must be another reason for her journey and her stay here.

I had never taken a bus nor train to Toronto before and so emailed my friend Ada to ask her how it’s done. This is the sort of thing I am famous for botching…being in the right place at the right time and then not mis-communicating the details of the rendezvous on the other end. After so many incidents in my life where a friend waited and waited for me in the wrong spot, I have got a bit of a complex around the whole task of properly planning meeting times and places. Now I tend to spend way more energy than the average person describing and double and triple checking that we are both talking about the same day, same place, same calendar year.

So it is funny that I would not have confirmed with a little Googling that–like the trains–buses arriving at Toronto disembark at Union Station. I just assumed they do and asked Elspeth to meet me there at 9:00. She said she would.

At 6:50 I was sitting in my bus seat wondering why I’d left myself facing an hour and a half ride with nothing to read. Then through the bus door came Rachel, Ada’s daughter and my good friend and sister-in-law. City’s population: over 200,000. Seats on the bus: 60. Chances of ending up with one of my best friends in the seat next to me? Chance has nothing to do with it.

Rachel was going to Toronto for a homeopathy workshop along with her business partner and fellow doctor of naturopathic medicine, Michael. We talked for the first hour or so heading into the big city, then got quiet. As we neared the first Toronto stop, however, Rachel asked me, “where are you meeting your friend?”

“At Union Station.”

“Then you’ll want to get off here at the Royal York and walk there, it’s just a block. Otherwise you’ll have to take a subway back to Union Station from the coach terminal when we arrive there.”

And so I did. I hopped off at the Royal York and easily followed Rachel’s directions to Union Station. Elspeth and I both wandered into the deserted station at around the same time and celebrated our finding each other with the sort of long, warm, tight embrace that not everyone knows how to give.

====

Let’s do the labyrinth first. Yes, yes, let’s. I’d like that.

Do you already know about the labyrinth?

No, I’ve never walked a labyrinth before.

Elspeth explained to me the different parts of the labyrinth. First, you can ask the labyrinth a question or ask it for what you need. Or you can say, “labyrinth, surprise me.” You can take the walk at any pace. When you get to the middle, you can spend as much time standing or sitting in each of the petals as you feel you need to. You can do anything. Stay open.

When I was walking the labyrinth, a sort of chant came to me. I saw the winding path of the labyrinth as my journey from birth to death to transcendence. This is some of what came to me while I walked.

Sometimes you are in the shade; sometimes you are in the light.

Sometimes you trust the path; sometimes you doubt the path.

Sometimes you pass someone who seems to be going in the wrong direction; know that you share the same destination.

Sometimes you are tired; sometimes you are full of zest.

Sometimes you feel large and important; sometimes you feel minute and insignificant.

Sometimes you feel grounded; sometimes you feel lost.

Sometimes you feel cold and exposed; sometimes you feel warmly cloaked.

Sometimes you feel agitated and impatient; sometimes you feel one with what is.

Sometimes you think you are going in circles.

And you are.

But that doesn’t mean you aren’t still on the right path.

====

After the labyrinth, Elspeth told me about a thing she sometimes does.

We pick a clue. It can be a colour, a compass point, a number, anything. You go first.

Ok, … um… PURPLE. Our first clue is purple.

There was a large church beside the labyrinth with a big banner beside the open door: “DOORS OPEN TORONTO.”

Oh, right. Historic buildings all over the city are open for public tours now as part of this event. We can go inside this church. And we did. Among the pamphlets, Elspeth found a purple one and I picked up a scavenger hunt colouring book. I love colouring books. Elspeth suggested we do the scavenger hunt. Our whole day was a scavenger hunt, so this was a scavenger hunt within a scavenger hunt. Inside symmetry is one of the themes that would come back to us throughout the day. We found all thirteen things in the Church of the Holy Trinity, second oldest still standing church in Toronto. It is 160 years old.

While we were in the chancer looking for the third of three things that should have been there, a lovely octogenarian gentleman with a long white beard crossed through and spoke to us. “Are you going to help us with this third item?” I asked him.

“NO!” he said. “You are having fun!”

He told us that is what God’s house is for…whether the space is being used to marry a Gay couple or whether homeless people are coming in there to sleep each night. God’s house is no place for dour piety without joy.

Carry on. He went on his way and left us struggling to find the next item on our scavenger hunt.

Our next clue was Seven East.

The clue East put us on a trolley. “You choose when we hop off,” Elspeth said. This brought us to Kensington Market. I looked up. “Elspeth, is that a number seven?” Yes, the shop is called Collective Seven.

We had a great time wandering in and out of the funky vintage clothing shops and other little businesses here. I was captivated by this poster outside the Global Aware information centre.

We had some lunch in the open air.

Leaving Kensington Market, we spied this little alleyway fronted by a row of tall, narrow homes. Someone has incorporated an M.C. Escher work in the facade of their house.

The next chunk of our day was a bit frustrating. Neither one of us has a good sense of direction. In fact, neither of us has any sense of direction at all. We went in circles a lot. We were trying to find some of the CONTACT photo exhibits using the festival map Elspeth had picked up. Everywhere we went to find one of the exhibits, the building was closed Saturday. Dead ends, dead ends. We walked many, many blocks and took many trolleys trying to find even one open exhibit on this tour. No luck.

Our feet were getting tired. My back was getting tired.

“Do you think maybe we need another clue?” I asked Elspeth. Yes. Yes, your turn to pick.

“The number three,” I said.

“Ok. I am sensing FRUIT.”

Three of some kind of fruit, I thought as we set off in a new direction. Very soon we were standing in front of an antiques mall and there on the door was a CONTACT sign, indicating there was a participating photo exhibit inside. One of the antiques vendors was able to direct us to the booth toward the back of the large antiques mall where we finally could see a festival participant’s work.

The first thing I noticed as we approached the booth was the apple sitting by the guest book. And then I saw the other two apples on the bookcase behind it.

“Elspeth?”

Mmm?

“How many apples,” I said, grinning.

Elspeth found two sets of three pears in the photographs, as well. Three sets of three. More of that fractal stuff going on, that symmetry in more than one dimension that they talk about in chaos theory.

After a long outdoor dinner back in Kensington, Elspeth put me on the southbound subway to Dundas, where finding the coach terminal should have been as easy as walking one block west upon emerging from the subway station. “Nellie Elephant squirts water!” she called to me just as the subway doors were closing. That is the childhood mnemonic she was taught for remembering the compass points. It didn’t seem to stop us from getting on the subway going the opposite direction from where we wanted to go more than once. It didn’t stop me from turning the simple directive on a sign (Toronto Coach Terminal One Block West) into an hour ordeal of walking, walking, paying a beggar to get me turned back around, managing to mess up those directions and getting lost a third time. Nellie elephant! Your water is squirting all over the place!

Sylvain asked me when I arrived home after eleven and called to let him know I’d arrived safely what Elspeth is like in person.

It was nice, I told him, to be able to talk about non-linear time and simultaneous reincarnation with someone and have her get it, have her know instantly what I’m talking about without having to explain how I find this logical or why I sense these things to be true.

It was nice playing the question game at dinner with two pens and two pieces of paper, folding the paper to hide the mystery question for the other person to answer and being told, “not everyone can play this game.  Some people get confused.”

Here is the product of our question game. We didn’t get to unfold the pieces of paper and see the full quetions we were answering nor the other’s answers until the whole thing was done.

What did you want to do when you grew up? Three encounters with someone who always provided a new surprise.

How many times have you smiled since Sylvain? Three.

When will you return? When there is a full moon and a song in the background that has something to do with France/French.

What is the magic of now? My dream come true.

Why do you love? Because it makes me feel strong, independent and free.

What is today’s lesson? It is something indescribable, but close to the sky.

How do you feel when you are happy? With love and curiosity.

Will a door open? Yes! Most definitely, because that is divinely ordained.

Kikipotamus Meets Now Is Wow

What do you get when you put Kikipotamus the Hobo together with Now Is Wow for a whole day and turn them loose on the city of Toronto?  Stay tuned and find out.

I leave you in the meantime with this photo my friend/cousin Lynn took the other day in her yard.

Much to Miss

“Another world is not only possible, she is on her way. On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing.” — Arundhati Roy

I had to snatch that quote from this month’s Utne Web Watch because not only is it a good quote, but Arundhati Roy is the author of one of the best novels I ever have read: The God of Small Things.  My good lord, that woman has a way with the English language.  She is one of few I can honestly call a wordsmith… along with Gerard Manley Hopkins and The Bard.

===

My city is having a birthday party.  Waterloo is 150 years old and this Sunday we are celebrating.  There will be a parade in the morning, a picnic in the park, a few thousand free sausages and cupcakes, and thanks to some anachronistic thespians, we will have an opportunity to meet and chat with some of the city’s first prominent citizens.  Brought back from the 1800s will be Moses Springer, Waterloo’s first mayor, and his wife Barbara, Elizabeth Ziegler and Joseph E. Seagram.  They’ll be riding in antique cars and wearing period costumes. After a decade in storage, the newly restored 1918 Pierce Arrow (Seagram’s delivery truck) will make its way down the street complete with whiskey kegs on the back.

Perimeter Institute is having their own Community Day celebration, as is CIGI.

To top this off, Waterloo has just been named Top Intelligent Community for 2007 by the non-profit international organization Intelligent Communities Forum.  That’s top IN THE WORLD, people.  We rock.  We totally rock.

There is no doubt about it, I love this city.  I am fiercely proud of this city.

First I moved–in 1999–to a country I am now proud to call my own.  I became a Canadian citizen in 2004.  And then, quite gradually in fact, I have fallen in love with this community.  My love for this community has been brought into even sharper focus for me since I’ve begun considering leaving it behind.

My friend Lynn wrote me tonight, “what will you miss most if you move?”

I will miss all of Uptown Waterloo and the half mile or so that houses so many of my favourite haunts.  I will miss fine vegetarian cuisine at the Jane Bond, freshly made soups at Princess Cafe, knowing I can find a thought-provoking film to rent at Generation X Video,  having the Princess Cinema guide posted on my refrigerator door year-round with yellow highlighting around the must sees.  I will miss Eating Well Organically where they never assume you want a plastic bag for that, Words Worth Books and the fact that they are side by side.

I will miss Anatole.

But you know what? I know humans are adaptable.  I know I have moved before and that no matter where I go, I manage to carve out a place for myself.

In Little Rock I was especially fond of Vino’s and Pizza D’Action.  I loved walking through Hillcrest and Stifft Station.  Just before meeting Pete online and deciding to move to Canada, I had moved into a bright little duplex in Cammack Village.  The backyard was no bigger than a postage stamp, yet it was my haven.  Every day after work I sat on my park bench and watched the birds at the feeders and in the bath.  I read my news weeklies and looked up now and then to talk to a squirrel or Downy Woodpecker.  I thought I had arrived and life could never, ever get better than that.  The hardwood floors had been refinished and walls repainted since the prior tenant moved out.  The landlord had just put in all new appliances.   I liked my next door neighbour.  Her dog and my cat were becoming friends.

I will find things to love about my new city.  I will find a diner or cafe with a sunny window where I can read my news weeklies and sip a cup of peppermint tea or a cafe latte.   I will join the thriving francophone club and maybe the local Green Party.

P.S. I will miss the Stitch ‘n’ Kitsch Show and Sale.

Photos and Recipe

Sylvain sent a few photos from our long weekend together:

Bailey has concluded that I am not an ax murderer after all.  No more saucer eyes or tail puffed out like a bottle brush.  She’s quite bored with me now.  Sylvain said when he came home last night, she looked for me, sniffing around and behind him.

Here I have taken over the kitchen and am trying to keep the ham hocks submerged in the simmering water. Greens are in the big pot on the left, black-eyed peas on the right back burner. Cornbread is in the oven.  I had never prepared nor even eaten ham hocks before, so was very pleased when Sylvain’s sister–a self-proclaimed picky eater–went back for seconds on the meat and told me it was yummy.

The cornbread turned out great.  Sylvain’s Ma saved me the bacon drippings from that morning’s breakfast so I could use them in this classic southern recipe:

4 Tablespoons drippings

2 cups finely ground WHITE cornmeal

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1 large egg

1.5 cups buttermilk

Preheat oven to 450 F.  Put the drippings in a 9″ cast-iron skillet.  Place the skillet in the oven and let the drippings heat up.  You want them very hot but not smoking.

In a big mixing bowl, combine the dry ingredients.  I usually combine the wet ingredients by cracking the egg into the measuring cup of buttermilk then stirring with a fork.  Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir until just blended.

Carefully (with a VERY thick oven mit) take the skillet from the oven and swirl gently to coat it with drippings.  Pour the rest of the drippings into the batter.  It should crackle and pop.  If it doesn’t, just make a note to leave them in the oven a bit longer next time.

Mix quickly and lightly just to blend, then pour the batter into the hot skillet and put it back into the oven.

Bake 20 to 25 minutes until the bread is set in the middle and browned around the edges.  Serve wedges hot with lots of butter right from the skillet.

The Unexamined Life

The unexamined life is not worth living.  Socrates’ words are one answer you could give when asked why you blog.  Private people, self-conscious people, shy people often have a hard time understanding WHY.  Why on earth would you bare your soul in front of the entire world?  Why would you post intimate details of your life, your thoughts, your innermost fears and hopes… on a forum open to every single human with internet access in the WHOLE WORLD?

Why?

Why do you do it?

Why do you think I do it?

La leçon de Français

Some French phrases and terms I have learned this weekend:

Ça fait mal? = Does it hurt?
Attache mes souliers = tie my shoes
Mon visiteur du mois = my monthly visitor
J’ai besoin de mon éponge = I need my sponge
Prendre les pilules = take (the) pills
Est-ce que je peux t’aider? = Can I help you?
Est-ce que l’eau est trop chaude? = Is the water too hot?
Oui, un peu. = Yes, a bit.
Rincer = to rinse

Est-ce que le chocolat est bon? = Is the chocolate good?
Oui, c’est délicieux. = Yes, it’s delicious.
Je t’adore. = I adore you.
Je t’aime tellement = I love you so much.

And these are some expressions and sentences I am practicing for tonight at the dinner table with Sylvain, his mom, dad, the sister who lives here and his other sister whose husband is away in Calgary now. She is coming for the meal I am preparing for everyone. Since Sylvain can’t drive right now, his mum took me to the market yesterday to get all the things I need for tonight. I’m jazzed!

C’est un repas typique d’ou je viens. = This is a typical meal where I’m from.

Je me souviens quand j’étais une petite fille, mon grand-père préparais ce repas pour nous. = I remember my grandfather making this meal for us when I was a little girl.

Feuille de chou = collard greens

doliques à oeil noir = black-eyed peas

pain de mais = corn bread

Le pain de mais est bon avec beacoup de beurre. = The corn bread is good with lots of butter.

poêle de fonte = cast iron skillet

jarret de porc = ham hock

tarte au noix de pecan = pecan pie

Helping

When you are in a relationship and one of you has a physical disability, boundaries become of heightened importance. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my ex-husband Peter for teaching me how well this can be done, for giving me a course in “best practices,” if you will.  He had seen too many disabled/non-disabled couples’ marriages disintegrate because they were not very careful from the start.  The non-disabled partner wanted to help with everything and thought himself or herself capable of that.  But this is not sustainable through years of marriage and inevitably ends in first resentment and then burnout.  Perhaps I should write Peter a letter to let him know how grateful I am for his strong indoctrination in good healthy boundaries between lover and helper.

I love to help.  But Sylvain and I have to be careful about this.  We may indulge my wish to help one day, but we have to be careful not to assume the same routine will be followed the next day or the next. Some days I will want my space or be too tired or not be in the mood. Then I am relieved that my lover is self-sufficient when he needs to be.

We decide each day anew if I’m in a help a lot mood, help a little bit mood or help not at all frame of mind and body.  Sometimes I get to help with everything because… well,…to be honest… I get off on it.  And Sylvain gets a charge out of knowing I get off on it.  That is one of our areas of compatibility.

Since the evening Sylvain decided to play gymnast and pull a muscle or ligament at the base of a rib, I’ve gotten to help with everything.  Reaching for things causes him a pang of acute discomfort, which triggers a very uncomfortable series of muscle spasms.  At the beginning of the weekend, there were a lot of “I’m sorries,” as he assumed I would be disappointed by the change in our long weekend plans.  We discovered he couldn’t drive me to the market to get the fixings for that night’s barbecue–the event whose purpose was for his closest friends to meet me for the first time. I cannot drive his van because it has no driver’s seat, rather a raised platform with lock-in for his wheelchair.

It quickly became obvious that postponing the festivities might be in order.  Sylvain was agonizing over the decision.  He, like me, is a people pleaser and doesn’t like to inconvenience others.

“If you’re going to cancel, do it soon,” I suggested, “before your friends start making their salads and side dishes.” Still not looking completely at peace with his decision, Sylvain got on the phone to one friend then the next.  Of course they were all understanding.

Slowly, oh so very gradually, Sylvain has come to realize that I really and truly am not put off by, annoyed by or in any way whatsoever disappointed in the turn of events since he failed to stick that landing. It took my saying it a few times, saying it with words and with eyes and with actions, but Sylvain finally has come around to understanding my attitude toward all of this.

“It has brought us closer together.  It has given us an opportunity to bond more,” I told him.

For me the most illustrative example of this I can give you is what happened when we got to radiology. He was nervous. “I’m right here,” I told him. “I’m not going anywhere.”  I told him that if they had an extra lead apron, I would even stay with him when they took the x-rays.”

He’d be okay for that part, he told me, but asked me please to be there if they insisted he transfer out of his chair for the pictures.  One thing I learned from Peter was how scary it can be being passed from nurse to tech to orderly to doctor when you don’t have the energy or coherence to explain things like, “on my left side, I can’t breathe,” or “don’t straighten my legs right away,” or “the ventilator settings are 60, 22, 43.” I swore to Sylvain I would stick to him like glue.

Then came the time when the young radiology techs ushered him into the narrow room. One of them came right up to me (behind him) and walked me backward toward the door.  “He wants me here,” I protested.

“You can’t be in here when we take the x-rays,” the woman said, continuing to walk right into me, forcing me out the door.

Shit. Before I could even make eye contact with my best friend to let him know what was happening behind his back, I’d been removed.  I waited with ear to the door for him to ask them to bring me back.

It took a while (they were doing the first shot in the chair), but eventually the door opened and I was invited back inside for the transfer to the table.  “Please go get my girlfriend,” he’d asked when advised the next x-rays would have to take place on the gurney.

“See? I told you!” I said to the one who had pushed me out. “Sweetie, they kicked me out!” I blustered as I was allowed back near my love.

Sylvain told me later that when I had to leave the second time–this time with his knowledge after he was settled in for the next x-rays–the young women had rolled their eyes at one another. He told me he’d said to them, “She’s a sweetheart, you know. She’s just worried about me right now.”

Grrrrr.

Practicing French in Emerg

I am in Sylvain’s fair city for the long weekend.

I was beginning to get frustrated by how difficult it was proving to be to get Sylvain to speak French with me. Of course it takes a lot of will power to stay in the second language of the beginner when a common fluent language is at your disposal. You don’t want to repeat and wait for the learner to figure out that you’re saying please pass the ketchup. You just want the ketchup.

So I proposed…  Ok, I insisted… on a French speaking period every day.  Ten to noon is French time.  If Sylvain speaks to me in English between ten and noon, I pretend I don’t understand.  Lucky for me, he loves the idea.  Today was our first chance to see if we could do it.

We did! It was fun. Sure, I had to say, “quoi?” an awful lot, but we muddled through. By the time noon came around, I was DYING to speak English again.  That night at the dinner table I didn’t feel the least bit perturbed by lapses into English. I’d gotten my French fix and fill.  It’s all good. 

I brought my French book with me to the emergency room and Sylvain corrected me as I went over pages of new vocabulary words while we waited.

Sylvain’s xrays were fine. His rib is not cracked; he probably just pulled a ligament, the doctor assured him.  Doug, the triage nurse, said they would not call the police THIS TIME, though he eyed me suspiciously when Sylvain was evasive about just how he had incurred his injury. 

We were, um… wrestling.  Yeah, that’s the ticket!

Bailey the cat has decided I might not be a serial killer after all, though she keeps careful watch on me.

May your long weekend and Victoria Day be as exciting as ours.

Mine San and the Yakuza

How many people can say they hitchhiked across an ocean? It can be done.  Ok, I guess I’m embellishing the truth a bit, but that is one of my specialties.  I met Xavier while hitchhiking and bumming around Europe.  Right about the time he fell in love with me, he got word from the Japanese Ministry of Education that he had won a fellowship to study architecture at Hokudai.

Hokkaido University is in the city of Sapporo on the northernmost of the Japanese islands.

Xavier was torn. He had hoped and prayed he would get the fellowship, but this meant leaving soon for Japan.  He didn’t want to go without me.  “Will you come with me,” he asked.  I was 19 years old.  I told him that if he wanted to pay my passage, I’d be more than happy to go with him to Japan.

And so it was.  I had to return home to apply for a visa, but eventually I was able to join Xavier in Sapporo where we found a small apartment in a ferr0-concrete block of six units on the dusty edge of town.  The secretary of the architecture department was a stunningly beautiful young woman I called Miho san, “san” being an honorific you put after most everyone’s name.  Exceptions would be your own name or the names of your family members, since you must humble yourself and yours while elevating others.  Small children’s names can be followed by the affectionate “chan,” while to your teachers’ names you append “sensei.”

In Japan, strangers also often use terms from familial relationships to refer to one another, as if there were only one big Japanese family.  Small children might refer to me as Oneesan (older sister) or Obasan (auntie).

Tonight’s anecdote comes to you courtesy of the young woman who very quickly became my best friend during my year in that country.  Tall, willowy Miho san took it upon herself to see that I had friends. She introduced me to her friend Mine (pronounced Mee-neh) san and Mine san’s younger sister Aya san.

Mine san and I hit it off immediately.  She was into astrology and palmistry.  She didn’t speak much English and my Japanese wasn’t all that great when I first arrived, but we managed.  Miho san and I would go over to Mine san’s apartment to spend the night.  We had a good old fashioned bunking party.  Mine san read my palm and taught me how to make ume boshi gohan, or rice with a pickled plum on top.

I liked listening to Mine san talk.  She explained to me with a bit of sadness in her voice some of the facts of her life.  Her life was not the life of a typical Japanese woman.  She had never had a boyfriend and wasn’t sure she ever would.  She loved her babysitting job because the baby she cared for didn’t have a problem with her face.  One day she was trying to teach me the word “sugoi.”  I had heard the young boys–the ones who rode skate boards and had a shock of hair hanging over one eye, use that term a lot.  I surmised from context that it meant something like “awesome!”

Mine san said yes, it does mean awesome like really cool, but it can also have other connotations.  For example, she said pointing to her own face, “sugoi kao.”  Not the same kind of awe-some.  I guess I didn’t see her as having a disfigurement because I just loved her so much.  But I realized she really was different the day I wanted to share my piece of pickled daikon with her and held it out for her to take a bite.  Her malocclusion was so severe she had to move my hand so she could bite using her molars.

When time came for us to roll out our futon on the tatami of the sleeping area, Mine san and I would lie there facing each other and whisper way longer than we should have.  Miho san and Aya san would be asleep, but Mine san and I just didn’t want to let go of the day. We still had more to share and more to share.  Finally, unable to keep my eyes open any longer, I reached out and took Mine san’s hand in mine.  We slept like that the whole night.

In the morning Mine san told me that the previous night had been the first she could remember that she wasn’t plagued by nightmares.  Not one single nightmare all night long.  I looked at her and smiled.

We made plans that when I went back to America, she would come visit me.  But I have since lost contact with her.  So if you know Ota Mine of Sapporo, please send her word that I miss her.

I so enjoyed Mine san’s stories.  This is my favourite.

When she was a toddler, no more than two or three years old, Mine san’s father took her with him to the bath house.  Of course she went with him to the man’s side of the bath house.  All the men, young and old, were sitting on their little stools soaping up and rinsing off, preparing to go in the communal bath with the piping hot water.  Suddenly a very large man came in and everyone knew by his tattoos that he was a member of the Japanese mob or Yakuza.  Everyone got quiet and gave the man very wide berth.

People carried on soaping and scrubbing, cleaning their nails and brushing their teeth…all the stuff you do before you get into the common bath.  The big intimidating man with the tattoos had settled onto his little stool and was taking care of his hygiene when suddenly he stopped, looked around and bellowed “WHERE’S MY SOAP?”

Silence.

He bellowed even louder, “WHO TOOK MY SOAP?”

You may know that in Japanese culture it is of utmost importance that you not cause another to lose face.

And so nobody would say a word save the one wee tiny girl name Mine chan who hesitated not at all before pointing and chiming in, “Uncle, it’s in your hand.”

Care

You people are awesome, you know?

It occurs to me that–assuming this little house eventually sells–I am going to be a bit of a nomad for a while. And that is a time when my virtual community will be my only community. You will be my only neighbours. My cyber circle of beautiful souls will be my anchor.

You people will be my rock.

Catherine says that the two sequoias in Yosemite are called the Faithful Couple and you can see them if you Google that.

Miriam sent me a photo she took of a special tree or trees, as the case may be.

Sylvain took and sent me a photo he knew would cheer me up…one of his backyard with all the bird houses hanging down.

I think yes, hormones were the culprit yesterday. Finally around six in the evening I started to turn the corner and feel a small surge of energy and optimism. I was walking past my favourite cafe and saw on the blackboard outside that the day’s special was a black bean and avocado sandwich. It sounded so yummy that I decided to pop in the grocery store and buy myself the ingredients for just such a sandwich. Wow, what a great idea that turned out to be. I made mine with gluten-free bread, alfalfa sprouts, tomato and a bit of balsamic fig mustard mixed in with the mashed black beans. There was only one ripe avocado in the whole pile, but I found it. Yeah, baby!

Today’s French lesson was good. It got me out of the house and into the sunshine. I asked my tutor to talk to me for a solid hour in French, just telling me the story of his life. I sat there while he recounted his life story from birth to about age 18 and only had to ask him to repeat or explain a word three times. My favourite vowel shift in the Quebecois dialect is the diphthong in words such as tasse (cup). In Quebec it sounds like taus (almost rhyming with English mouse). Isn’t that far out?

I’ve enjoyed going from blog to blog seeing how the other Finding Water course participants are winding up the twelve weeks. For me the absolute best life lesson I gleaned from the experience is the strong connection between my happiness and my level of commitment to small (and large) acts of self care.

Letting myself have that nap. Going to bed early if I’m exhausted. That gourmet sandwich.

I come from a long line of martyrs. It has taken me four decades of deprogramming to come to the point where I can turn the thermostat up a degree or two when I feel cold. Yes, it will cost a few cents and yes, it will be slightly more damaging to the environment than if I kept the thermostat where it is. But sometimes you’re cold and it’s just okay to do that.

Such are my minute lessons in self-care.

Can Spirit Catch Cold?

Can your spirit catch a cold?

I awoke this morning feeling full of toxic crap. But not physically.

I hit the snooze button (having set the alarm so I wouldn’t miss NIA class) and lay there a long time debating. So much garbage was ruminating in my head. Negative thought loops. Grrrrrr.

Morning Pages. That’s what I need to do right now, I thought. I need to siphon off the negative.

NIA would be good for the spirit, too, I thought.

NIA. Morning Pages. NIA. Morning Pages. There isn’t time for both.

I got up, started the bath, put water on for coffee. I was bathed and dressed in time to go to class. I sipped my coffee and moved slowly through the house, walking gingerly as if my body and soul were made of fragile glass.

I got one half page filled before tossing the notebook aside like a petulant child. Even that much gave a bit of relief, though. I should have stuck it out, drained off even more of the poisonous nonsense whirling through my psyche.

Silently, I made my way from one small chore to another. I knew that would help. Write the cheque to the dentist for the small balance insurance didn’t cover. Find a stamp. Pay three bills online.

Owen’s cage is dirty and needs a change of litter. He’s out of rat food. That’s a chore I can’t put off any longer. The bag of Yesterday’s News is huge and can’t be carried back from the store. Normally I would take a taxi, but money is going to be tight this month. I need to be more frugal.

The grass is illegally high already and I don’t have a lawnmower. I let my neighbour and ex-boyfriend take back the electric one he had parked at my house in exchange for my being able to use it when I wanted. When he saw the For Sale sign and read on my blog that I was decluttering, he offered to take it back. The snow was still knee deep in the back yard. I never dreamed the house would not have sold before mowing season.

Tall grass now. No lawn mower. I won’t ask him if I can borrow it back. We tried friendship for a while after the breakup. I couldn’t do it. I can’t be in the same room with him. I even get a sick feeling walking past his house.

It was grey and cold out when I walked down the driveway with my little rollie cart in tow. Colder than I’d expected. I went back inside to put a cotton turtleneck on under my sweat shirt. Try again. Okay, I can handle this cold, grey day. Just barely.

I shuffled through my errands, moving stiffly, guardedly. Where is my smile? Where is my energy?

By the return walk I managed to notice a row of yellow tulips against a blue-grey fence. The sight of them didn’t quite bring a smile to my sour face, but it soothed me. Feels like I’m walking a tight rope and I look down to see angels beginning to weave a safety net. Calming.

Edgy. Good word, that. It describes very aptly how I feel. On edge. On the edge of what? Teetering, precarious. I’m find so long as nobody looks at me sideways. I’m fine so long as a car alarm doesn’t go off, the phone doesn’t ring, nobody inauthentic tries to say something cheesy to me.

While I was blogging this my realtor sent an email: “there is a showing tonight 5:30 to 6:30.”

The hell there is. Uh, what ever happened to 24 hours notice, may I ask? What happened to asking me instead of telling me people will be barging through the door in a matter of hours?

There goes the precariously balanced one, teetering.

I remind realtor of proper protocol. I agree to showing.

Time to clean the rat cage.

The Two Sequoias

Thank you all for the comments on my last post about preserving my Self as I enter into this relationship. Sylvain is aware of my previous pattern, and the last thing on earth he wants is a repeat of the scene from my past relationships where I wake up in a cold sweat screaming, “where the hell did Kelly go????”

Both of us are talking freely about past mistakes and how we can be proactive this time around.

Our weekly formal check-ins are proving helpful. Here are some of the questions we use to guide us through those talks, taken from Dr. Carter-Scott’s book If Love is a Game, These are the Rules:

• Are you getting your needs met?
• Are you speaking up and asking for what you want?
• Are you feeling heard?
• Are you feeling encouraged and supported to grow?
• Do you feel as though your thoughts and feelings are taken seriously?
• Is there a collaborative spirit about decisions?
• Do you feel safe to say what you feel?
• Do you feel encouraged to tell your truth?
• Do you feel the division of tasks is working?
• Do you feel that task allocation is fair?
• Is there anything that you want to change?
• Do you feel like you spend enough time together?
• Do you feel like you need more alone time?
• Do you want to try something new?
• Are there financial agreements that are fair?

Having a list like this has helped me enormously to squeak out the first few words of a subject I otherwise would avoid broaching. This exercise, which we do every Sunday, is helping me keep the stones out of my basket. On Sundays we test the waters, forcing ourselves to take risks. This is leading to more trust and a more solid feeling of safety for us both to say what is on our minds.

I love it when Sylvain breaks a pregnant pause with, “Can I ask you something?” I love it when he takes a risk. I love being able to reward that leap of faith with attentive listening and a thoughtful, loving response.

Lynn: yes, there is a lot to think about. It is my hope that we will continue to be openly communicative with one another on this topic.

Annie: you’re right. We have an easier though not easy road. It is especially not easy when my own psyche harbours saboteurs sneaking around in the shadows.

Elspeth, you could be right.

Eileen, I know what you mean. Thinking that way, I am hopeful. I know I’ve put a hell of a lot of energy into nurturing myself and growing a life that feeds my soul. Kali and I, we do okay on our own. Finally I am entering into a relationship at a time when a relationship is not a necessity but an enhancement.

Catherine, you are right on. When I first encountered Sylvain online, I judged him based on superficial things. Because he has a management position in a well-known corporation, I had him pegged as conservative. I did not want even to entertain the notion of involvement with someone so different…someone who I imagined would expect me to compromise myself and join him in his world. I–as if to divest him of any illusion that he and I were even minutely compatible–painted a bold picture for him of my personality and lifestyle, emphasizing the traits in myself I assumed we did not share. He told me he was tired of swimming round and round in his little fish bowl. He told me the water was murky. He would like to come visit my fish bowl.

What? Someone is willing to come visit me on my turf? Well then, what do I have to lose?

I can’t believe you mentioned the two trees at Yosemite. This weekend as I sat on the edge of the bed, Sylvain was lamenting the lack of art on his walls. He gestured toward the one picture he has and asked me what I thought of it, what feeling did I get from it. The painting is a winter scene, very stark. There is a single leafless tree and a fence cutting geometrically through the white of the snowy world. It’s a cold picture.

“It’s serene and peaceful,” I said diplomatically.

“Anything else?”

“Mmmm. No,” I said. It’s not something I would have chosen for my own walls, but to each his own.

Sylvain told me that when he picked it out, he was feeling–as he often used to–rather lonesome. He identified with the solitary tree standing in the middle of nowhere. I understand that tree, he thought. I know how that tree feels.

Lately I’ve been scanning gallery windows for a picture of two trees in love. So your reference to the sequoia lovers was right on time.

photo: Brian Lary

His Cab Driver Dream

The counsel I’m about to offer is not given lightly. If you choose to heed it, it could wreak discomfort and disorder, at least initially. And you’ll have to pump yourself up with more courage than you’re used to feeling. Still, I’m convinced it’s the right thing for you to hear; I believe that any breakdown it might engender will ultimately lead to a breakthrough. So here’s the advice, courtesy of Franz Kafka: “Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.”   Freewill Astrology by Rob Brezsny

Thank you, Violet, for posting that.  It’s just what I needed to hear now.

I’ve never yet mastered the fine art of loving my partner without losing myself.  Losing my Self.  I have a long, consistent history of disappearing into my lover’s identity and world.  When I was seeing Cameron, I stopped listening to my music and switched to his classical station.  When I was with Bill, I memorized all the members of the Dallas Cowboys football team, their jersey numbers, their positions and even some of their stats.  I am not kidding you.

When I met Pete, I moved to his country, moved into his tiny apartment with its Star Wars posters and electronic gadgets everywhere.  I tried keeping my soul by turning the spare room into my Room of Her Own.  His friends became my only friends.  I kept birding as my sanity saving sanctuary.

But it wasn’t enough.

We bickered constantly as I struggled with the fine line between pleasing the man I loved and being who I am.  A naturally controlling person, he tried to micromanage many aspects of my life, specifically my food intake and exercise habits.  He wanted me to work out, wear hip young clothes, show my belly, pierce my navel.   I pierced my navel.

Anna (Jungian analyst) and I spent a lot of time on my negative animus.  Through dream interpretation and Shadow work, I came to understand that I have a part of me that colludes with a part of my partner’s psyche to subjugate Kelly.

One day Anna and I were talking about a figure from my previous night’s dream.  I described this figure. He was from a certain country I won’t name.  She asked me what I associate with men from that culture.  I told her the first thing that popped into my head: “they see women as chattel.”

I had dreamed about my inner misogynist.  This is the part of me that had hooked in with Bill’s inner misogynist. The two of them had gone to town and given me a stepped down position in our relationship.  He was the decision maker, I was the blind follower, rarely questioning his reasoning.  When my inner Wise Woman would sound alarm bells and I would challenge him, he could always browbeat me or soothe me back into a position of accepting all his edicts.

Sylvain reported a wild dream he had the other night.  At first we couldn’t make head nor tails of the crazy dream about a cab driver from a certain country I won’t name.  But then it hit me.   The next time we talked, we each contributed pieces to the puzzle until the whole dream was crystal clear to us.

“My inner misogynist is trying to seduce and draw out a part of you that resonates with it,” I told him.  “She is being very seductive and subtle.  She is calling him out.  But you–evidenced by what the You of your dream does and says and feels in this dream–you want no part of this.  You don’t want that cab driver in our relationship.  And you don’t recognize or like this seductive Kelly who is trying to draw him into a triangle with us.”

Kahlil Gibran said, ” When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep.”

I believe that is right.  But how do I balance following Love and being true to my Self?

That is my challenge.

Fun Happenings

The sun is back and the world is coming alive. My community is coming to life.

Saturday, May 12th is World Fair Trade Day. My local Ten Thousand Villages will be celebrating that. Fair Trade helps protect children’s rights.

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Sunday, May 27th is Community Day at Perimeter Institute for Theoretical Physics. If you missed bringing the whole family to EinsteinFest, don’t miss this! The Physica Phantastica area will again be set up for the delight and enlightenment of children ages 5 to 12. If you squat down low and pass through the door really quickly, you might be able to sneak in as a big kid, too.

In the mezzanine, quantum physicists will be on hand to answer ANY QUESTION you have about the universe! Films will be running all day in the Bob Room, too.

In the Mike Lazaridis Theatre of Ideas, the following lectures will be going on:

12:00 – 1:00 The Weird World of Quantum Theory
1:15 – 2:15 The Mystery of Dark Matter
2:30 – 3:30 Einstein, Black Holes, and the Search for a Theory of Everything
3:45 – 4:45 Before Spacetime

And last but not least, wander up to the swank Black Hole Bistro for lunch or a snack between 12:00 and 4:30.

Remember, all lectures are geared toward the general public. No physics or mathematical knowledge is required or presumed.

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The fifteenth annual Uptown Waterloo Jazz Festival is being planned and they are looking for volunteers. If you’re interested in helping out this year, go to the festival website and look for the volunteer form. Or contact the volunteer coordinator, Michael Hunter, at (519) 885-1921. Shoot, I might do it just for the jazzy tee shirt. This festival always brings in amazing talent, so don’t miss it.

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Sylvain alerted me to a cute comedy coming to theatres soon.  It’s called The Ex and you can watch a trailer here.  If you watch the trailer, watch it all; the funniest line is near the end.  Hee.  We are going to see it together if it comes to a cinema near us.

Butterflies in the Bath Water

The Divining Rod exercise at the end of chapter eleven of Finding Water asks us to witness our own transformation.

Have you reorganized your living space?

Have you thrown anything away?

Has your colour sense shifted?

Has your relationship to music shifted?

Do you find yourself being more plainspoken?

Have there been any shifts in your intimate relationship?

Have you experienced any difference in your energy?

Have you experienced a weight gain or weight loss?

Have you relinquished–or seriously thought about relinquishing–any other “bad” habits?

Are you conscious of having more choices in your daily life?

Has your relationship to a Higher Power altered?

Are you more comfortable with your spirituality?

Is it more a fact of your everyday life?

You are your own butterfly. What further changes can you envision?

Well….

Wow.

Where do I begin? I stumbled onto the Finding Water course during a period of broad transformation in my life.  I am feeling the tugs and tides of midlife and the reassessing that goes along with reaching my early forties.  I have put my little house up for sale, and with that has come a major purge of material possessions that started off with a big Freecycling bang back in the winter and continues in small spurts still.

And then came this course.

Yes, I have rearranged my living space.  Because people are marching through the house all the time on little notice, I have been keeping my environment free of clutter, sink clear of dishes, carpet vacuumed, bathroom vanity clear of stuff and wiped down every day.  At the same time, I realized I could not live in a museum for weeks on end and allowed myself to set the sewing machine back up–albeit in a more appropriate space than a corner of the living room–so I could engage in a lifelong passion I had neglected since my move to Canada in 1999.

Has my colour sense shifted? Goodness, yes! My whole life I have loved the colours of the sea shore, the pale opalescent tints found inside sea shells.  Suddenly I like red. Yes, red.  This is the colour I’ve believed all my life did not look good on me and it might not. But I am now drawn to it, wearing it, not caring.  RED!  Speaking of red, Sera Beak (author of The Red Book) left a wonderful comment on my About Me page.

I am not aware of my relationship to music shifting.

Do I find myself being more plainspoken? I do find that in my new relationship, I am being more gently candid than I ever have been with anyone. I am taking more risks, revealing the true me more and earlier. As these small leaps of faith are rewarded, I am feeling safer and safer to speak my truth in an undramatic way.

Yes, big shift in my intimate relation in that I am in one now.  Just before Sylvain found me, I had been participating in some exercises from the DVD The Secret, including vision board and wish list to the Universe.  I was consciously studying the behaviours of couples who treat each other with tenderness and respect, trying to absorb their couple energy and attempting to picture myself with someone smart, loving, tender, conscious and communicative.

My energy levels are better now that the sun has returned to the world.  One big transformation I’ve experienced as a direct result of my participation in this course has been my new commitment to going to sleep at a reasonable hour at night.  I awaken refreshed with a whole morning at my disposal before I have to report to work at noon.  In fact, the later work shift is a new development that I wanted and received.  Avoiding sugar and highly refined carbs has also helped tremendously with my energy levels.  They are now steadier instead of the energy roller coaster I was on this time last year.

My weight seems to have found where it wants to land and stay.  I’m not as slender as I’ve sometimes been in the past, but not as chunky as I’ve sometimes let myself get, either.

Yes, I have relinquished another small vice.  I was in the habit of turning to wine in the evenings after particularly stressful days at work.  My body–perhaps because of all the detoxifying I’ve been doing with a gluten-free, low-sugar diet–has decided I can’t drink anymore.  In Niagara Falls, Sylvain and I tried sharing one glass of red wine with dinner one night.  We couldn’t finish it.  It just doesn’t agree with me anymore. He wasn’t enjoying it, either. It now just gives me indigestion, and I don’t sleep as soundly all night.  I am still looking forward to a late harvest Riesling we picked up at an artisanal winery last month, but I know I’ll take only a bit and sip slowly.

The course most definitely has left me more aware of the choices I have in my daily existence.  Taking better care of myself is a choice.  From keeping my environment tidy and cheery to daily walks, from journaling to making sure I get out on regular Artist Dates, I have become acutely aware of the connection between my small choices and my happiness and quality of life.

My relationship with God/dess?  Yes, it is more a fact of my everyday life because I am now in a relationship with someone from whom I do not feel any hesitance in talking about my spiritual framework.  When I told my last partner about how Kali had come to me in dreams and what she looked like to me, he laughed.  No really, he laughed out loud.  Because he was laughing, I laughed as well.  But later I brought it up and said, “that wasn’t a joke.  She is the most important part of my life. She is the centre of it…and yes, she does appear to me in dreams looking much like Aunt Jemima.”  You can stop laughing now.  (Note for wish list: no more atheists.)

Sylvain didn’t laugh when I told him my God is a large Black woman.  I can talk about her with him, gush about her, go on and on about how important my spirituality is to me.  He is able to echo my feeling that She is wise.  She knew what she was doing when she introduced us.

Butterflies, eh? Funny you should mention those.  This morning I dropped one of the Lush bath bombs into the tub and watched it fizz and explode, filling the water with purple flowers and aromatic oils.  While I was bathing, I noticed something floating past that didn’t look like a flower.  I plucked it from the water and laid it on the side of the tub.  It was a small man-made butterfly with glittery lavender wings.  Then another floated by.  There was a pair.

Can I envision further transformations? Oh, yes.  I feel as if there is no limit to the growth and transformation on the horizon.  Time will tell what is in store for me next.

I am ready.

Exploring His World

I’ve just returned from my trip to see where Sylvain lives and meet his parents. I can’t say I wasn’t nervous on my way down. I was.

The house Sylvain has built in collaboration with his folks is beautiful and completely wheelchair accessible, with lowered counters in the kitchen and an elevator going from basement to main floor to top floor where the bedrooms are. In the back yard there is a collection of bird houses hanging from the branches of the trees. Mourning Doves and Red-winged blackbirds come and go at the feeders.

I spent the weekend getting to know the three people with whom Sylvain shares his home: his mom, dad and the sister to whom he rents a room. Sylvain enjoyed showing me his city, where he works, the street they lived on when he was a little boy, the factory where his dad worked until retirement (after escaping the copper mines of northern Quebec), the street where his mom was a crossing guard for a little while.

The moments that stick with me from the weekend are:

• Finding an 85% dark chocolate bar on the nightstand by my side of the bed
• That Sylvain had gone out and gotten me a selection of natural bath products from Lush
• Going to the farmer’s market Saturday morning to pick out the veggies for Sunday’s barbecue
• Having Sylvain tell me on Saturday morning that when I was not in the room, his mom had said to him, “give Kelly the paper; there are lots of jobs in there today.”
• Getting my toenails painted by my lover
  

  

• Putting on my new dress and being taken out for a nice dinner

• Going for a long hike through a nature preserve. Sylvain spotted the spring migrants and I helped identify them. We got a pair of White-throated Sparrows, a Solitary Vireo, Black-and-white Warblers, a female Red-winged Blackbird, an Eastern Kingbird and a Canada Goose on the nest. Not bad for roosting hour.

• Giving Sylvain’s shy father a big smooch on his unshaven cheek
• Repeating after Sylvain’s mom the French names of all the market vegetables as I took each out of the bag
• Watching Sylvain and his dad out on the deck labouring together over the barbecue
• Seeing Sylvain’s mom get all geeked about the new rice cooker we brought back from Canadian Tire

I never in my wildest dreams would have imagined the meeting could go so well. Normally I am so self-conscious and stressed out in other people’s kitchens that I cannot even bring myself to offer to help load the dishwasher or peel carrots. I usually find a dark corner, grab a magazine while others work in the kitchen and pray they know I’m neurotic, not lazy. Yet somehow there I was working side by side with Sylvain’s mum–me slicing red peppers while Sylvain washed mushrooms and his mum monitored the progress of the rice in the new magic cooker. We didn’t bump into one another or get in each other’s hair at all. I didn’t have a meltdown. We just had fun.

I do have one unfortunate piece of news to report, however.

Sylvain’s cat does not care for me one bit. I don’t think it ever occurred to her that she might one day have to share him.