Sunday

It is Sunday... and I really don't enjoy Sunday.  I should..but instead I spend most of Sunday wondering what I have to do in the coming week.

I've been so busy lately that my organized, OCD-self is starting to fall apart.  I'm forgetting little things, and I feel drained of all energy.

Don't get me wrong..I do love being busy, seriously I do.  Especially at work, if I'm not busy, I don't feel like I'm contributing...and I'm one of those old school folks who still believes contributing is important....but sometimes, if I don't slow down and take care of me...my contribution is half-hearted anyways.

I currently manage staff in two locations, I manage my home..a blended family (which includes a teenager, my step-son who has Aspergers, and a very busy 3 year old).  I manage home and work often remotely..while trying to maintain an adequate work-life balance.  During this, I also try to focus on me. 

For the last month or so, I've not been successful in taking care of me.  Taking care of me means more than just shaving my legs... THAT I manage to do.. but it means; Reading a good book, focusing on my writing, listening to some great music, working on my family tree, and taking time to go to Yoga or the gym...but even as I write this (hiding in my room) my daughter (who discovered my whereabouts) is jumping on the bed, insisting I sing 5 little monkeys and help her find a buried treasure.. I'm trying to do it all, and sometimes I just get tired.

Someday however I imagine I'll have too much time on my hands, no one screaming at me that they can't find any underwear, no one jumping on my bed, 2 loads of laundry instead of 6, a quiet din as hubby watches sports and I figure out what to do with all of my time, and truthfully... I don't think I"m ready for that either.

I'm grateful for all that I have, and with all the time management and other related books and coursed..you'd think I'd have this all figured out by now, but I don't.

My daughter, who is 3, has just rejoined me on the bed (she left to take care of some dinosaur's teeth).  She is laying her beside me with a book and a pen.."I'm working too Mommy"..which brings this blog to a close..for tonight.. she obviously needs her Mama..and well I need her too.

Angels

Calling all angels...to quote Lenny Kravitz...

Do you have angels that you call on in your life in certain situations?  I do.  For instance..as I was driving the 3.5 hour (boring) drive to Edmonton in the wee hours of the morning today..I called on my Grandma McKim (aka Aggie) to get me here safe and sound.  Funny?  It's not a hard drive..I wasn't fearing for my life... but it's something that I do always, and it amazes me how I have certain angels for certain things that I'm doing.

Why Grandma Aggie and driving?  Well...she loved driving.  She drove everywhere in her big boat of a car.  I think she should have been a truck driver she loved driving so much.  As far as I know she was also a good driver...so I call on her when I'm driving to protect me on my long distance road trips.

I even have my angel when I'm crocheting.  First of all, I haven't really admitted to anyone that I crochet (I'm much cooler than that)... but I do..and I just admitted it publicly.  So..when I'm trying to crochet something that I've never tried before, or I don't understand a 'code' in the instruction book like 'ss' then I call on my Great Grandma Kennedy to ensure I do it right.  I don't want to have to start all over again!  Sometimes I even call on both my Great Grandmother and my Aunt Vicky to help me.  Do I make mistakes...yes...but I feel much better if I ask for their guidance.

I also call on my Great Grandmother (Eliza) when I'm making her shortbread.  This is an ancient Irish recipe...and it has to be perfect...so...I ask for her help...and most recently, this last St.Patty's day..I asked for her assistance in making Irish Soda bread..

When I'm feeling like I'm on a cliff, and I'm not sure how to make a decision...especially as it relates to my personal life, I call on my brother Duncan.  We didn't always see eye-to-eye, but I'm still looking for his perspective, and I can hear it as plain as day in my head...when I call on him.

When I'm trying to write, or be artistic, I call on my Poppa (Ed) or my Grandfather (Duncan)... they were artistic sorts...photographers, painters, writers... and I call on them to help me see the finished product and what it will look like.

I could go on for days...but I'm sure you get my point.  Who do you call on?  That Lenny Kravitz song calling all angels brings tears to my eyes, because it makes me realize how often I still depend on those that are no longer here on this earth.  The ones that are never gone far, who will never be forgotten, and who still hold very important places in my heart.

I encourage you to call upon yours!

To Give Thanks

It’s Thanksgiving time again..at least for us Canadians it is.  A time to reflect on what we’re thankful for (although we should be doing this every day), and of course I time to stop counting those calories and enjoy the food this holiday brings.

Over the years I’ve saved up all the things to be thankful for, and share them on this one special day.  In truth, I never spent much time wondering what I was thankful for.  Most of my time was spent wishing for things I didn’t have, or wallowing in pity or anger at things that were happening to me.  As I get older, I make a concerted effort every day to look at the bright side.  To find things that I am thankful for in each day.  A mental checklist in my head as I’m driving home of all the bright things that happened to me, even if at first they did not seem bright.

I wanted to share some things with you that make me thankful in my life.  Of course, there is the standard things that make me thankful; my family, my friends, a roof over my head, a job… and I am truly thankful for all of those things, but this year and for the purpose of this blog, I wanted to be specific in my Thanks.

-1- To my husband Mark, I am thankful for you so much this year.  You have been so supportive of me.  I have taken on more responsibilities at work; responsibilities that take me out of our home, causing you to work less and play single parent to our three children – Thank You for supporting my career decisions.  Thank You also for being supportive of my passion, which is writing.  Although you don’t read (except the paper), your encouragement and acceptance of my passion is important.  You encourage me to write, and you listen to my stories with an open mind.  I Thank You.  It is such a loving and freeing feeling to be supported by someone you love.

-2- My friend Lora.  Lora and I used to work together many years ago.  I always enjoyed her wit and her humor (and still do!).  Many years later, after we’d grown up, moved away (I did), had children, we reconnected through facebook.  Unbeknownst to Lora she encouraged me to go public with my blogging and writing.  It’s not like she said out of the blue “Hey Heather, you should blog like me”..but she did set an example for me.  I was always afraid of putting my passions out there for fear of the judgment that would come with it.  I also leaned on my crutch a lot; I’m too busy, I have three kids, etc etc.  Lora showed me that this could be done!  Not only do I look forward to her writings and inspiration every day, her support has become vital to me.

-3- My daughter. She was a ‘last minute decision’ so to speak…I was at that point where I was done with the child bearing years…but I had this yearning for another…so took a leap of faith, and was blessed with her.  Yes, she drives me mad..she is 3, and 3 is the new 2 after all.  She’s opinionated and bossy…uses a whole list of words she shouldn’t be using (I have no idea where said words come from!).  She wakes me up every night, and gets me out of bed too early each morning.  She has broken all of my necklaces in my jewelry box, and demands so much of my attention, even when I cannot keep my eyes open….yet, every day she makes me laugh.  Her little smile warms my heart.  Her “I love you too mommy” makes me want to dance.  I may not appreciate her temperament fully right now, but I know she’ll grow up to be a strong woman.  I’m thankful for that, and I’m thankful for her.

-4- My Aunt Kerry.  Often we are not thankful (or express our thankfulness) to things or people until they are gone.  This is true of my Aunt Kerry.  She lost her battle with cancer this year.  Aunt Kerry taught me so many things about being a great mother.  I have not mastered her skill, but I do think of her in many a situation when dealing with my children.  She herself has 6 children.  I say ‘has’ because I don’t believe she’s gone very far.  I imagine she stands by her children every day.  Aunt Kerry was a “shoot from the hip” woman with a great sense of humor.  Her children were not coddled, they had strict discipline and responsibility..but she managed to do this with so much love.  Today, her children are the most wonderful, hardworking, genuine people I know.

-5- My son Ben.  We’ve had a tough year or two.  The pre-teen years were not so kind to our relationship.  I think this may be typical in many families with young teens, but I struggled with it, finding it very difficult.  This year our relationship has made a comeback.  As he is still a ten, I do expect more trials… but I’m so very thankful that he’s let me back into his life.

I could write a book about everything that I am thankful for, however the list above is some of the things this year that have brought some joy to my heart and a bounce in my step…and for that, I am truly thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of my Canadian friends!  May you come up with your own reasons to give thanks in your life.

Fathers and Daughters

Fathers and Daughters have an intricate connection.  I see this in my friends relationships with their fathers, my sisters relationship with her father,  hear this often in phrases like "she's a Daddy's girl", and witness this everyday while watching my own husband with our daughter.  Some girls/women such as myself however did not grow up with our fathers.

I envy the father-daughter relationship whether it's good, bad, short or long.  It impacts a woman's life in such an enormous way.

In my own tickle trunk I have certain characteristics that I believe are derived from not having my father in my life.  These include, but are not limited to; The fear of abandonment, anxiety, problems with commitment, and anger issues.  I would like to say that these are solely my issues, however I've noticed many fatherless daughter with these same characteristics, and a few of her own.

In my experience, the death of your father does not offer you the necessary closure required to move forward with your life.  I was lucky enough to have a strong mother (or one who remained stoic).  Without her strength and ability to plod on, my life may have taken a very different turn.

This blog is not meant to disrespect my step-father who himself childless, stepped up to be a father to two kids.  Having a step-father however can be both a godsend and a tragedy.  A godsend because the girl has a male figure in her life who loves her mother (which is a great thing for a girl to witness), and a tragedy because there are often constant reminders that her father is not there.  It still bugs me to this day, that my father was not there to dance with me on my wedding day (either one :))..

Women who are struggling with a life without their fathers, you need to remember that although it's a guarantee your life would have turned out differently... there is no guarantee that your life would have turned out better.  You must also realize that you are not responsible for the past; for your fathers absence whether it was a death or other absence or transgression.  You are responsible for yourself.  You must learn to rely on yourself.

Although I am still learning the walks of life every single day, one way in which I learned to overcome my "Daddy issues" for lack of better words was to meditate, to reflect on myself, and to be knowledgeable about the reasons around why our psyches are the way they are. 

There is one meditation that I learned that I found helpful.  It may sound a little odd, but it did help me learn to appreciate myself more, and to experience healthier relationships with people. 

"Imagine you are a little girl.  Imagine what you looked like..the favorite piece of clothing you are wearing... the way your hair looks..they way you used to laugh..you are a little girl.  Imagine now that you are walking down the street, the same street on which you lived when you were a little girl.  Really imagine these things, the breeze, the weather, the houses.  You are walking down this street all by yourself.   At each corner or interchange you run into a person in your life that you feel responsible for, that you feel let you down, that you feel shaped your life, that you felt/feel dependant on.  To each of these people imagine their characteristics, their qualities, their look, their smell.  You may say "I love you, I really really love you...but I don't need you anymore.  You helped shape my life, but I'm good now all on my own.  I am strong, (insert your own mantra).  You are an important person to me, but I've let you/depended on you/ in these ways/or do these things, and those things have changed my life.  I am here to say goodbye to you"...

The meditation goes something like this, and for each person it will vary or be a little different.  I do suggest you give it a try.  I can't explain it exactly, but it makes me feel stronger. 

I do believe that everything happens for a reason, no matter how cliche that may sound.  It is never too late to come to terms with losing someone, even if it is years later.  Coming to terms with the loss or absence, forgiving the loss or transgression, is a liberating and freeing experience. I trust you will experience more peace and love in your life once you are able to do this. 

5 Things I know for sure

Just a light quick blog today as I'm tired..yawn..

Let me preface this blog by saying there are not a lot of things in this world that we can be 100% sure of.  Even if we think we are certain, there is absolutely no guarantee.  The only 'for-sure-ness' in our lives tends to be the way we feel inside, the way we feel about others, and the way others make us feel.

This brings me to the 5 things I know for sure...

-1- I'm crazy in love with my children.  From the minute they were conceived until they were born.  Someone once said having children was like taking your hear and placing it outside your body..watching it walk around.  It's true, and it's scary.  That parental anxiety you feel from the time your child takes it's first breath until the time you take your last breath.

-2- I miss my brother Duncan every single day.  I'm not sure that in the 8 years since his death that one day has gone by that I haven't thought of him.  Whether it's a full out crying sort of memory, or whether I simply reach out and touch his picture every morning...I miss him.  I don't think he should have left yet, it was too soon..I spend a lot of time thinking he was taken by mistake.

-3- My family, all of them..my children, husband, mother, siblings are the most important things in my life and I am fiercely loyal to them no matter if our relationship is good or bad.  If anyone says an unkind word about this group of people I will stick up for them and protect them as only I can.  If anyone is going to pick on them or rib them it will be me.

-4- I love thunder storms.  Good ones.  I love to sit in the dark or lie in bed and listen to them.  I find them calming, meditative, and mysterious.

-5- I know that when I feel that anxious blackness in the pit of my stomach, that my intuition is kicking in, and that I should listen to it.  That whatever I'm feeling..whether it be a good feeling, or a bad feeling, I know to trust my gut, or to "follow my intuition".

This lists includes only 5 things.  There are other things that I think I know for sure, but the things in this list never change... What are 5 things that you know for sure?

My Short Story

First, let me tell you how happy I am to be connected to the Internet again!  I have had blog withdrawal!

As promised here is the short story I submitted and won runner up for.  This competition was called the New Rose Prize 2011, and I ran across it on twitter (Margaret Atwood 'retweeted' it)... so I decided to enter.  I have written many a short story, but have finally decided to take some risks with my writing.

The judges included Jamie Guiney, a literary fiction writer from County Armagh, Northern Ireland, Ruth Saberton (aka Jessie Fox and Georgie Carter) who lives in Polperro Cornwall and Miranda Dickinson, a Sunday Times best selling novelist.

Before you read..I will forewarn you that this story is not for the faint of heart... as most of my writing is a little on the 'dark' side... enjoy:

Margaret - A Short Story by Heather Gauthier

Living with Carl wasn’t the easiest thing, I’ll tell you that much.  We was married 6 years ago, and I’m surprised we lasted that long.  I wasn’t his first pick you see, some other girl was, but she wasn’t interested in my Carl.  I thought Carl was something else.  He reminded me of James Dean the way he smoked his cigarette, and wore those leathers.  As a girl, I was smitten with him…so when he asked me to marry him, even though I knew he was doing it out of spite, I said yes.  Truth be told, I slept with him first.  The real reason he asked me to marry him was because I was pregnant. 

Imagine Carl’s displeasure when I lost that baby.  I was 6 months, almost 7 months along.  I had to give birth to my angel, who was a boy, and I had to bury him too.  Carl was so angry at me for losing this baby, called me a slut and all other types of names, but I was angry too, I mean had Carl not given me that beating the night before, I don’t think I would have lost Carl junior at all.  But Carl didn’t see it that way, he said real women know how to keep their babies, he said that Juniper Rose (his first choice) would have known how to keep her babies.  Carl would-a-never hit Juniper Rose.  He idolized her, in her denim jumpsuits and her flaxen blond hair. 

Carl and I lived in Smithlock trailer park.  Smithlock was a great place.  Everyone kept their lots nice and clean and cared for.  There was a park in the middle for the children to play in, and even a pool.  I felt proud living there.  I tried best I could to make our trailer and lawn look as nice as everyone else’s.  I didn’t have much money, and didn’t bring in a lot of money from working down at the Wendy’s, but I’d save some throughout the month, and buy a little something for my trailer or my yard when I’d saved enough.  Most of my money had to go to Carl, he said I had to help him pay the rent, but I’d keep a few dollars in my pocket.  Woo if Carl ever found out I’d get it good.  I used to keep my money hidden under our plant by the front door, but one day Carl decided that might be a good place to put his key.  When he saw the money sitting there his eyes turned into something else, he grabbed the money and punched me in my face with it… then he stuffed it in his pocket, covered with my blood and all, and went down to the local bar.  Now I kept my money in a jar in the toilet, I knew Carl would never go in there.  Handy he wasn’t, and cleaning was women’s work.  Every time I’d get something new, I’d tell him that one of the ladies in the park gave it to me, and they’d concur just in case, they didn’t like Carl.

I stayed with Carl, because you see I think Carl had a point.  Maybe I wasn’t a good woman?  Maybe I didn’t know how to be a good wife?  My mother and father both were drug addicts, and I didn’t know either of them.  I was raised in one foster home after another, until I was 14 and my foster father started having sex with me, then my foster mother called me a slut and threw me out on my ass.  I tried my best, I tried to learn to cook, I was pretty good at cleaning, and sexually I agreed to try anything Carl wanted to do, but nothing ever seemed good enough for Carl.  I think that if I was Juniper Rose and just sat around in my Jammie's all day watching soap operas, he would have liked me a lot more.

I bought a pretty bird house on a pole for my front lawn.  It was so pretty, I couldn’t resist it.  It was white, with a white picket fence, and pink and purple flowers painted all over the base.  This little bird house would have been my dream house had it been big enough.  I smiled every time I looked at it.  While Carl was at work that morning I put it out, and stood on the road to admire how it looked on my lawn.  It was a little brightness, and I thought just what my front lawn needed.  Wal-mart bag, and receipt.  I was still out on the lawn when Carl came home.  I had stew in the crock-pot ready for him, I felt good.  The house was clean, the dinner was made, and well my birdhouse looked wonderful.  I must have been outside for all of 3 minutes when I heard Carl roar.  Yes, Carl would roar, at least that’s what it sounded like to me.  Then he would call out “Maaargaretttt  come in the house for a minute would ya?”  In a sweet syrupy voice he would, and that always meant trouble.  When things were going well, Carl just wouldn’t talk to me at all.  What could it be I had wondered?  What could I have done now?  Did he find my jar in the toilet?  My heart raced, I could feel the sweat across my brow, if it was something bad, and I knew what was coming.

I don’t think I got two feet in the door before he plowed me in the head with his fist.  I think I blacked out he hit me so hard, and then he threw me on the floor.  I just lay there, I knew better than to move.  In a few seconds he was standing over me with my Wal-Mart bag, and my receipt.  I tried to tell him it was a gift from one of the ladies in the park, but the receipt was date stamped for today, and he knew it was me, there was no way around my lying he said.  I lay there while he hit me, over and over and over.  Eventually I couldn’t feel anything.  He hit me with his fists, with his belt, and with the metal ladle I had sitting beside the crock pot.  I could see my own blood, but I was too tired to scream anymore, so I just laid there quiet. 

I lay there all night I think.  I had a pounding in my head that would not go away.  I must have fallen asleep for awhile, because when I woke up Carl was watching The Price is Right, and eating my stew.  I sure hoped he liked the stew, I couldn’t handle another beating tonight.  He was laughing and happy, so the stew must have been good.  He must have been drinking too because he kept saying “Margy…you’re the next contestant on the Price is Right! Come on Down!”  I tried to smile, but I don’t think I did. 

The next morning I was still on the floor, Carl must have left for work already.  I had a blanket over me though, and for a second thought Carl must have felt bad for leaving me there on the floor like that.  I got up and moved around a little bit.  My face was destroyed, I thought I probably should go to the hospital, but how would I explain it to them?  I was naked too, from the waist down, so thought Carl must have gotten frisky last night while I was sleeping, it wouldn’t have been the first time.

I could do nothing.  I ached so bad.  I just sat on the couch and cried for myself.  I watched a little of the TV, because Carl hadn’t turned it off.  I don’t know how long I was there when I noticed the police cars pull up to the front of the house.  My first thought was to hide, I didn’t want to have to explain why I looked the way I did.  My second thought was “What had he done now”, my Carl was always getting into some kind of trouble with someone.  My third thought “Did Carl get injured or die at the factory? I hoped not”. 

I felt a little panicky when they started knocking on my door.  There was 4 of them I could see through the slit window.  I couldn’t get up to let them in fast enough, and they was mad.  They were pounding on that door, I tried crying out to them that I was coming, but my voice was horse from not talking for so long.  I made it onto my feet, but not before they busted down my door.  They didn’t even look at me when they stormed in, didn’t even make eye contact with me.  Here they gone broke down my front door, and they can’t even look at me, tell me what they’re there for?  They just walked all around the trailer, shouting things at each other.  They looked through my bedroom, my closets, in my deep freeze.  They found my blood from the night before all over the front floor, and that’s when I noticed that my rug was missing.  My dusty rose rug that I had for so long in front of our TV.  There was blood all around were the rug used to be though, and they was looking at that.  I tried to tell them I was fine, thinking that maybe one of the ladies from the park told them what had happened the night before, but they weren’t listening to me.  They didn’t answer me when I asked if something happened to Carl, they didn’t seem to care when I told them I hurt myself, and that’s why there was all this blood around.  I was still naked from the waist down, but my shirt was long enough to cover…but I tried explaining that too, that I just woke up, and apologized for my nakedness.  They didn’t pay me no mind.  They just went about their business.  Carl must have done something big this time I remembered thinking.  I was still standing on my feet, it was getting a little easier to move, and I was feeling a little less like I was hit by a truck. 

About the time I thought they were going to leave, I saw them pulling some of that yellow crime tape out of the trunk of one of their cars.  They looped that tape all around my house.  I went out on my porch, to see if maybe I should leave?  Maybe they didn’t want me here for their investigation into whatever it was they were investigating.  I even went out as far as my front lawn, but they just kept walking past me.  I was getting quite upset about it all; it made me so anxious and nervous.  All I wanted to know was what was going on.  When I got out on my lawn I noticed my lovely bird house first.  It was ruined.  Carl had taken an Axe to it, and it sat in pieces.  I just cried and cried.  That birdhouse meant more to me that it just being a birdhouse you know?  I mean it brought me joy, and there it was, all over my yard, all my joy.

I followed them around a bit, keeping my distance.  They seemed so angry, I didn’t want to get in their way, but I needed to know what they was doing.  I followed them out to the back of the trailer, not really a back yard, just a slit between our yard and the next trailer.  They started pulling off the lattice that was around the bottom.  I was upset about this; it had only been a few months ago that I painted that lattice white to match the trim on my blue trailer.  But there they was, just pulling it off, with no cares.  One of the officers climbed underneath, and shouted to his buddies that he’d found something.  I waited, I wanted to know.  Had Carl been hiding drugs down there?  It wouldn’t have surprised me, not a bit.  I waited for what seemed like forever.  Some more people came, and they did a whole bunch of stuff there under my trailer.  I couldn’t see, so I didn’t know… I sat on the grass for a bit and waited.  These guys still never even looked at me, and neither did the new guys that showed up.  My eyes must have been welled up with tears that whole day… about dinner time; they were finally ready to pull out what they found.  Three guys went under with rubber gloves on, and started to pull the stuff out.  I was astonished to see them pull out my dusty rose rug.  What the heck was it doing under there?  I don’t get mad often, but right then I was mad at Carl.  That rug was one of my favorite things, and it had cost me a lot of money and a lot of favors for Carl. 

When they got it out on the grass I noticed how dirty it was, brown and rusty looking.  But there was something in it, something big.  The officers started to unroll my rug, and I saw that there was a body there.  It was something awful it was.  I couldn’t look at it for a minute.  All I could see was the feet hanging out the bottom.  They left the carpet open for awhile, and then went to their cars.  I think they was taking a break or something because they just left me there beside this body in my dusty rose rug.  I could hear them talking in the front, I could smell one of them at least was having a smoke. 

That’s when I decided I must look at the body.  All day I wondered what was going on, but would have never guessed it was someone dead, under my trailer.  I started at the toes, and made my way slowly up the shins, to the knees… when I saw the pole for my birdhouse shoved up this poor ladies cooter I was sick, physically sick, and I vomited.  When I was done I just got up and started walking.  That poor lady was me. My Carl had finally done me in.  I walked until I felt peaceful, and I did, for the first time in my life.  There was no bright light that I followed, just the laughter of my Carl Junior.  I took his hand and together we walked, I realized I’d been dead my whole life and now I could finally live.