Can you feel the hint of fall in the air? It's coming. The air is cooler. Maple trees show a hint of red on some of the leaves. Mornings are darker, night time comes sooner. Even the sounds are different this time of year. The leaves rustle differently than they do in early summer.
This time of year fills me with melancholy and nostalgia. Even at fifty, I find that "Back to school" feeling is hard to shake. I feel I should be starting a course, starting a new project, or reinventing myself in some way. Time to put aside the lazy days of summer and gear up to get serious. Get back to the routine instead of lazing about in the heat.
It's a transition time as one season flows into the next.
Life is full of transitions. I find them difficult and don't like that in between feeling where I struggle to figure out where I'm going next. It's unsettling and pushes me out of my comfort zone. I like security and like things the way they are. I get comfortable and then everything is disrupted once again.
I should be used to transition by now though. We're always in a state of transition with all the stages of being a baby, a child, an adolescent, a young adult, middle aged, old aged and finally death.
Then there are the rituals of life like preschool, elementary school, high school, college or uni, getting a job, getting married, having children, and retiring.
All those beginnings and endings can be challenging and somewhat disconcerting. It's important to be accepting of change and aware that things don't ever stay the same even if I'd like them to.
I'm not the same person I was yesterday. As much as I'd like to stay in my safe little bubble and keep things the way they are, transition is inevitable.
Might as well embrace it.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Images of Montreal
It's been such a joy to get reacquainted with Montreal again after moving away twenty three years ago. I'm enjoying visiting as a tourist and can appreciate all this great city has to offer.
My son Eric has been so fortunate to have the opportunity to go to the garage band camp at McGill for two weeks. I am so grateful to my sister in law Wendy and her husband Jean for giving him this opportunity and letting Rory and I come along for the ride.
Even though French is the official language of Quebec, you hear every language imaginable depending on what part of the city you're in. The multicultural aspect of Montreal is part of what makes it so special. You can travel the world without leaving the city.
The other morning I spent a leisurely time drinking cafe au lait and eating a chocolate croissant at a sidewalk cafe in Old Montreal, the section of the city near the waterfront of the St. Laurence River. It's here where the original city was born hundreds of years ago and it still retains that old world charm with the cobblestone streets and architecture.
I thought the waitress was very relaxed as she didn't ask me to pay right away. It would have been easy to walk away without paying but being an honest girl, I didn't. I found it refreshing that she trusted me as you don't often see that kind of thing in a big city.
I sat and watched the drivers of the horse-drawn carriages get water out of the fire hydrants. They gave the horses a drink and washed down their carriages adorned with fake sunflowers or roses. The woman driver even had a pink carriage which stood out from the mens' carriages.
A while later, I saw the carriages clopping down the street carrying passengers. The woman driver in the pink carriage carried Japanese passengers. She spoke English with a heavy French accent in a monotonous voice. I could tell she'd probably done the spiel hundreds of times as she droned on like a recording. I imagine it would get like that after you'd said the same thing hundreds of times.
I visited the newly restored Bon Secours Market with its gorgeous architecture. The dome reminded me of St. Paul's in London, England where I was lucky to go last fall. The inside of the market has been all redone and houses lovely (and expensive!) clothing and jewelry boutiques. I went to one of the tourist shops and the guy there talked to me for the longest time not caring if I said much. I didn't mind and took it all in as part of the experience. I bought two Montreal t-shirts for the boys and continued on my way.
As I walked up the hill towards Centre Ville, I passed homeless people sleeping on ratty mattresses under the overpass. I saw an angry woman pounding on the window of a taxi and shouting in English, furious with him for not giving her any money.
My tranquil state was temporarily shattered by these ugly images and I was reminded of how fortunate I am to have a home and not be in that desperate state.
Montreal is a city of great contrasts; the old with the new, the rich with the poor, the beauty with the ugliness.
I've really enjoyed reconnecting with the city where I moved with my parents and brother back in 1979.
It's the city where I went to art school, joined the Air Reserve as a musician, and spent seven years of my young adult life making the transition to an independent adult.
What fun to come back and view it all again from the perspective of a fifty-year-old married mom of two teen boys.
Montreal, je t'aime!
My son Eric has been so fortunate to have the opportunity to go to the garage band camp at McGill for two weeks. I am so grateful to my sister in law Wendy and her husband Jean for giving him this opportunity and letting Rory and I come along for the ride.
Even though French is the official language of Quebec, you hear every language imaginable depending on what part of the city you're in. The multicultural aspect of Montreal is part of what makes it so special. You can travel the world without leaving the city.
The other morning I spent a leisurely time drinking cafe au lait and eating a chocolate croissant at a sidewalk cafe in Old Montreal, the section of the city near the waterfront of the St. Laurence River. It's here where the original city was born hundreds of years ago and it still retains that old world charm with the cobblestone streets and architecture.
I thought the waitress was very relaxed as she didn't ask me to pay right away. It would have been easy to walk away without paying but being an honest girl, I didn't. I found it refreshing that she trusted me as you don't often see that kind of thing in a big city.
I sat and watched the drivers of the horse-drawn carriages get water out of the fire hydrants. They gave the horses a drink and washed down their carriages adorned with fake sunflowers or roses. The woman driver even had a pink carriage which stood out from the mens' carriages.
A while later, I saw the carriages clopping down the street carrying passengers. The woman driver in the pink carriage carried Japanese passengers. She spoke English with a heavy French accent in a monotonous voice. I could tell she'd probably done the spiel hundreds of times as she droned on like a recording. I imagine it would get like that after you'd said the same thing hundreds of times.
I visited the newly restored Bon Secours Market with its gorgeous architecture. The dome reminded me of St. Paul's in London, England where I was lucky to go last fall. The inside of the market has been all redone and houses lovely (and expensive!) clothing and jewelry boutiques. I went to one of the tourist shops and the guy there talked to me for the longest time not caring if I said much. I didn't mind and took it all in as part of the experience. I bought two Montreal t-shirts for the boys and continued on my way.
As I walked up the hill towards Centre Ville, I passed homeless people sleeping on ratty mattresses under the overpass. I saw an angry woman pounding on the window of a taxi and shouting in English, furious with him for not giving her any money.
My tranquil state was temporarily shattered by these ugly images and I was reminded of how fortunate I am to have a home and not be in that desperate state.
Montreal is a city of great contrasts; the old with the new, the rich with the poor, the beauty with the ugliness.
I've really enjoyed reconnecting with the city where I moved with my parents and brother back in 1979.
It's the city where I went to art school, joined the Air Reserve as a musician, and spent seven years of my young adult life making the transition to an independent adult.
What fun to come back and view it all again from the perspective of a fifty-year-old married mom of two teen boys.
Montreal, je t'aime!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Getting a new perspective
For twenty two years I've been going out to my inlaws' place on the St. Lawrence River, a picturesque place on the Canada/US border with New York.
I've visited the little town of Morrisburg many times and know it fairly well from a visitor's perspective.
Yesterday we took a boat trip in Brian's antique wooden speed boat that he fixed up. It used to belong to his grandparents who took such good care of their boats that it is in excellent shape for its age.
We zipped down the St. Lawrence River towards the town of Morrisburg and it felt like I was seeing a completely new place just because I was seeing it from a different perspective.
The town was busy enjoying the height of summer with outdoor events galore. We saw kids swimming, people sitting out socializing on pastel Adirondack chairs of pink, blue and green, dogs jumping for frisbees, people eating icecream cones from Dockside, and people listening to a band play in an open air tent.
Canada's summer season is so short that it was good to see people taking full advantage of it while they could. Winter will be here soon enough and hangs on much too long for my liking.
We saw a wedding that had just finished. What a funny image when we saw the bride on a dock at the riverbank. She pulled off her wedding gown and gave it to her maid of honour. She ran to the edge of the dock in her undies and dove into the river. Now that's something you don't see very often.
Seeing Morrisburg from this different perspective made me realize that it's a good thing to break out of our routines occasionally. Take a different route. Leave at another time that you usually do. Walk on the other side of the street for a change. Go somewhere completely new than where you usually go. You'll see things in a brand new way and open your mind to new possibilities.
Give it a try. I know I'm going to.
I've visited the little town of Morrisburg many times and know it fairly well from a visitor's perspective.
Yesterday we took a boat trip in Brian's antique wooden speed boat that he fixed up. It used to belong to his grandparents who took such good care of their boats that it is in excellent shape for its age.
We zipped down the St. Lawrence River towards the town of Morrisburg and it felt like I was seeing a completely new place just because I was seeing it from a different perspective.
The town was busy enjoying the height of summer with outdoor events galore. We saw kids swimming, people sitting out socializing on pastel Adirondack chairs of pink, blue and green, dogs jumping for frisbees, people eating icecream cones from Dockside, and people listening to a band play in an open air tent.
Canada's summer season is so short that it was good to see people taking full advantage of it while they could. Winter will be here soon enough and hangs on much too long for my liking.
We saw a wedding that had just finished. What a funny image when we saw the bride on a dock at the riverbank. She pulled off her wedding gown and gave it to her maid of honour. She ran to the edge of the dock in her undies and dove into the river. Now that's something you don't see very often.
Seeing Morrisburg from this different perspective made me realize that it's a good thing to break out of our routines occasionally. Take a different route. Leave at another time that you usually do. Walk on the other side of the street for a change. Go somewhere completely new than where you usually go. You'll see things in a brand new way and open your mind to new possibilities.
Give it a try. I know I'm going to.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Timelessness
Each year my sons and I make the 24 hour train trek from Ottawa, Ontario to Truro, Nova Scotia and then my dad drives us two and half more hours to their home on the island of Cape Breton at the Eastern tip of Canada on the Atlantic Ocean.
There is a sense of timelessness that comes to me every time the car drives off the Trans Canada highway and onto the Canso Causeway, the manmade strip of land that connects Cape Breton to mainland Nova Scotia.
We drive through the town of Port Hawkesbury, through the neverending forest and then onto the winding coastal roads. Lilting Cape Breton fiddle and bagpipe music pours out of the car’s CD, a fine accompaniment to the sights of rolling green hills, lush meadows and rugged coastline.
As we drive over the hill, the sight of the ultramarine Bras D’Or Lake greets me like a faithful friend.
I see my parents’ cheerful green house with the red roof nestled on the hillside. The salty air and the scent of wild roses fill the air as I step out of the car. Crows and seagulls squawk overhead in greeting. They’re happy to see us as it means more scraps and leftovers for them.
Nothing ever seems to change in my parents’ house. The knickknacks and books are in the same place as they were last year. I see the blue glass mother bird and her babies that my brother and I bought my mom one Christmas years ago. There might be a few new trinkets to add to the collection but everything still looks the same as ever.
The sun faded photos on top of the piano show the past frozen in time. There’s the black and white one of my brother and I back in the 1960’s when we were small. I remember the goofy photographer and how he tried his best to make us laugh.
There’s the sepia photo of my great grandmother, looking stiff and formal in her prim white blouse, in that Gibson girl look of the early 1900s, a big flower adorning her hair. Her simple beauty radiates out of the photo and I see how my son has her eyes and lips. Even though we never met her, she lives on in that mysterious chain of DNA that connects us to our ancestors.
There is that photo of my wedding day twenty-one years ago when I was a naive twenty-nine year old. We look so youthful, me in my satin ankle length wedding gown with the poofy crinoline underneath, hubby in his formal jacket and tartan kilt.
My parent’s two orange cats never seem to change either. Mykie, the bobbed tail cat is eager for affection while the elusive Bigfoot ingratiates us with his presence in between killing sprees in the forest.
I look down at the panoramic view of the lake, its ultramarine beauty stretching from one side of the window to the other. As I walk along the beach, I listen to the waves lapping the shore in the way they have done for thousands of years. I look at the rounded stones beneath my feet that the glacier pushed there. Smooth and worn from millions of years of being shaped by the forces of ice, water, and air. Ecological time moves so slowly that it seems timeless from my perspective with my short life span.
Time seems to stand still and I lose track of the hours as one day lazily slips into another. No rushing, no need to be anywhere. The schedule is loose without too many obligations.
Of course it is all an illusion because things do change and time is going by. We’re all getting older. My boys are becoming men, their round baby faces replaced by pimples, chiselled features and facial hair. They tower over me and speak with deep voices. I feel an ache of sadness as I say goodbye to their childhoods.
And of course my parents are aging too. Their daily rituals and routines are a comfort to them and add to the illusion that nothing ever changes. They’ve worked hard raising a family, working at their careers and traveled a lot. Now they are content to live out their retirement in this little bit of paradise on the hillside overlooking the lake.
I’m getting older too. Even though my inner child shows herself at the most inappropriate times, the mirror shows the reality with a greying plump fifty-year-old gal staring back at me. Where did she come from? Wasn’t I a child just a moment ago? Have fifty years really gone by?
All around me are reminders of the child I once was. This is both comforting and disconcerting to realize how much time has passed. Time stretches out like a long chain, linking me to my past, and connecting me to the present.
As much as I’d like to believe that time really can stand still, the hourglass continually trickles sand, grain by grain, at an ever increasing speed. The grains fall silently like the passing seconds, faster and faster, accumulating on the bottom of the glass no matter how hard I want to reach out and hold onto the grains before they fall. My hourglass grows bottom heavy and each grain of sand that passes through becomes that much more precious to me.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
Today is the day we celebrate all the fathers in our lives and thank them for all they do for us. We reflect on memories of childhood and how our fathers shaped us into the people we are today.
I feel lucky to still have my dad who is now 76 and doing well.
I feel for others who have don't know their fathers or who have lost their fathers.
My dad has always been there for me over the years and still is. I am very fortunate to still have him in my life.
He has always been supportive and accepting of me, even when I mess up.
He is one of those quiet unassuming dads, an unsung hero who avoids the spotlight.
My hubby is the same and is quietly supportive, always there for his family, and a wonderful father. Even his four dogs think he's the greatest and call him their Alpha Da.
Today I salute my dad, my hubby and dads everywhere. Thank you for all you do and the love and caring you give to your families. You're the best!
I feel lucky to still have my dad who is now 76 and doing well.
I feel for others who have don't know their fathers or who have lost their fathers.
My dad has always been there for me over the years and still is. I am very fortunate to still have him in my life.
He has always been supportive and accepting of me, even when I mess up.
He is one of those quiet unassuming dads, an unsung hero who avoids the spotlight.
My hubby is the same and is quietly supportive, always there for his family, and a wonderful father. Even his four dogs think he's the greatest and call him their Alpha Da.
Today I salute my dad, my hubby and dads everywhere. Thank you for all you do and the love and caring you give to your families. You're the best!
Friday, June 18, 2010
Being too emotional and overly sensitive
I've often been told I'm too emotional and that I overreact to situations. The emotions often get the better of me and explode to the surface before I can suppress them. I'm a bad girl to show too much emotion.
"Just sit there quietly and don't bother anyone, Cathy. There's a good girl."
I can be angry, joyful, bored, and sad all in the course of a day. Maybe that's why I enjoy writing so much as I have a safe place to express these emotions that threaten to consume me at times.
As a child, not a day would go by without me crying about something or other. All it took was an angry look from my mother, a snub from a classmate, or a teacher being short with me and I would dissolve into tears.
I was also good at getting angry, pouting and giving the cold shoulder if I felt I'd been wronged. I still do that on occasion and tend to retreat to my corner to lick my wounds. I recover much more quickly now though. "Let it go" is my motto.
It's been a mixed blessing being overly sensitive. On the one hand, I can misinterpret a look or someone's tone of voice as being harsher than they intended. I tend to speculate about how I think they're feeling and am often wrong. I've learned that I should never assume I know exactly how someone is feeling.
If someone is mean to me, I feel it deeply and react strongly, even if it's something as silly as a stranger being rude to me. Once a man in the movie theatre leaned over between my son and I and whispered "You two are eating your popcorn like pigs!" I was completely shocked and unable to reply to his rudeness. Initially I took it very personally. I felt hurt and singled out. A victim.
Later we saw that same man at the shopping centre and my usually shy son confronted the man about his rudeness. The man was extremely ignorant and didn't even listen to our side of it but I was proud of my son for taking a stand and realizing we'd done nothing wrong.
The wisdom of age has helped as I realize that a person's mood usually isn't about me and I'm not responsible for it. When I was a kid, I used to take everything so personally, convinced it was my fault for causing the person's reaction. Maybe I was too noisy when eating that popcorn. Maybe I was responsible for my teacher's angry mood.
What a burden to think that you are somehow responsible for the moods of those around you. Some people will feed into this and exert power over you, making you feel guilty for their mood.
When you can have that insight that you have no control over another person's feelings, you break free of the power they hold over you.
On the positive side of being overly sensitive, I do think I can feel empathy for people. If someone is sad, I feel sad for them. If they're happy, I'm celebrating right along with them.
Tuning into another's emotions is a real skill. According to a book I'm reading, "The Power of Women" by Susan Nolen-Hoeksema PHd, women are much better at this skill than men. They are able to read the subtle signs of body language and facial expressions that tell the real story that the words don't tell.
In the workplace, emotions are often a problem. I always found the workplace was such an artificial environment with everyone trying their best to look good and impress the boss.
Sometimes the pressure of trying to appear perfect and compete with others would cause people to crack and their emotions of jealousy, resentment, and anger would come out. Those who lost it would be seen as less than professional and had a strike against them after that. I never found the workplace a very forgiving environment for people like me who displayed too much emotion.
In some cultures, being emotional is seen as a good thing whereas the North American culture seems to frown on too much emotional display, especially for men.
I say we should accept that emotions are a part of us and need to be expressed. Like our five senses, emotions are another way that humans experience our world.
Why not embrace them and accept them as part of being human? How do you feel about it?
"Just sit there quietly and don't bother anyone, Cathy. There's a good girl."
I can be angry, joyful, bored, and sad all in the course of a day. Maybe that's why I enjoy writing so much as I have a safe place to express these emotions that threaten to consume me at times.
As a child, not a day would go by without me crying about something or other. All it took was an angry look from my mother, a snub from a classmate, or a teacher being short with me and I would dissolve into tears.
I was also good at getting angry, pouting and giving the cold shoulder if I felt I'd been wronged. I still do that on occasion and tend to retreat to my corner to lick my wounds. I recover much more quickly now though. "Let it go" is my motto.
It's been a mixed blessing being overly sensitive. On the one hand, I can misinterpret a look or someone's tone of voice as being harsher than they intended. I tend to speculate about how I think they're feeling and am often wrong. I've learned that I should never assume I know exactly how someone is feeling.
If someone is mean to me, I feel it deeply and react strongly, even if it's something as silly as a stranger being rude to me. Once a man in the movie theatre leaned over between my son and I and whispered "You two are eating your popcorn like pigs!" I was completely shocked and unable to reply to his rudeness. Initially I took it very personally. I felt hurt and singled out. A victim.
Later we saw that same man at the shopping centre and my usually shy son confronted the man about his rudeness. The man was extremely ignorant and didn't even listen to our side of it but I was proud of my son for taking a stand and realizing we'd done nothing wrong.
The wisdom of age has helped as I realize that a person's mood usually isn't about me and I'm not responsible for it. When I was a kid, I used to take everything so personally, convinced it was my fault for causing the person's reaction. Maybe I was too noisy when eating that popcorn. Maybe I was responsible for my teacher's angry mood.
What a burden to think that you are somehow responsible for the moods of those around you. Some people will feed into this and exert power over you, making you feel guilty for their mood.
When you can have that insight that you have no control over another person's feelings, you break free of the power they hold over you.
On the positive side of being overly sensitive, I do think I can feel empathy for people. If someone is sad, I feel sad for them. If they're happy, I'm celebrating right along with them.
Tuning into another's emotions is a real skill. According to a book I'm reading, "The Power of Women" by Susan Nolen-Hoeksema PHd, women are much better at this skill than men. They are able to read the subtle signs of body language and facial expressions that tell the real story that the words don't tell.
In the workplace, emotions are often a problem. I always found the workplace was such an artificial environment with everyone trying their best to look good and impress the boss.
Sometimes the pressure of trying to appear perfect and compete with others would cause people to crack and their emotions of jealousy, resentment, and anger would come out. Those who lost it would be seen as less than professional and had a strike against them after that. I never found the workplace a very forgiving environment for people like me who displayed too much emotion.
In some cultures, being emotional is seen as a good thing whereas the North American culture seems to frown on too much emotional display, especially for men.
I say we should accept that emotions are a part of us and need to be expressed. Like our five senses, emotions are another way that humans experience our world.
Why not embrace them and accept them as part of being human? How do you feel about it?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Forgiveness
This past Sunday, I went with a small group of choir members to a lovely old fashioned little white church in Carsonby near North Gower.
We sang and I played my flute along with Sharon on harp.
The minister did a wonderful sermon on "forgiveness" that was a good reminder for us all.
How many of us have been hurt or disappointed by others in our lives? It's an experience we all go through in our relationships.
How we handle that hurt and disappointment can be the difference between feeling bitter and angry or joyous and happy. Which one are you? Are you able to forgive and carry on?
I know I've often played the victim and hung onto past hurts as tightly as our Malamute, Loup hangs onto his old socks.
By holding all the hurt and anger inside, we are weighed down and preoccupied as we play the victim, convinced the world is out to get us.
We are allowing those who hurt us to have power over us. By forgiving the person who has hurt us, we let go of the heavy burden and open our hearts and mind.
People who can forgive are healthier as it's a fact that being angry and resentful stresses the body, leading to illness and disease.
It may take time to forgive and you may never forget the wrong done to you. The main thing is that you let go of the emotion associated with the event so that you can stop regretting and living in the past.
Living in the moment is all we have and it goes by quickly. Wouldn't you rather embrace it with joy instead of bitterness?
If you are able to move forward in a positive manner, letting go of the hurt, you will feel stronger happier and more free.
As Lewis B. Smedes says "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."
We sang and I played my flute along with Sharon on harp.
The minister did a wonderful sermon on "forgiveness" that was a good reminder for us all.
How many of us have been hurt or disappointed by others in our lives? It's an experience we all go through in our relationships.
How we handle that hurt and disappointment can be the difference between feeling bitter and angry or joyous and happy. Which one are you? Are you able to forgive and carry on?
I know I've often played the victim and hung onto past hurts as tightly as our Malamute, Loup hangs onto his old socks.
By holding all the hurt and anger inside, we are weighed down and preoccupied as we play the victim, convinced the world is out to get us.
We are allowing those who hurt us to have power over us. By forgiving the person who has hurt us, we let go of the heavy burden and open our hearts and mind.
People who can forgive are healthier as it's a fact that being angry and resentful stresses the body, leading to illness and disease.
It may take time to forgive and you may never forget the wrong done to you. The main thing is that you let go of the emotion associated with the event so that you can stop regretting and living in the past.
Living in the moment is all we have and it goes by quickly. Wouldn't you rather embrace it with joy instead of bitterness?
If you are able to move forward in a positive manner, letting go of the hurt, you will feel stronger happier and more free.
As Lewis B. Smedes says "To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you."
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