Lately I’ve had a real problem with my stuff. It’s weighing me down. It leads me to fantasize about losing everything in a fire. Which is a total fantasy, I realize…the reality of it would be devastating. But, being a fantasy, it is incredibly freeing, to think of it all just disappearing and starting over. To have nothing suddenly, but the clothes on my back. And having to rebuild from there. I’d like to think I’d do it differently this time, but like losing weight, if you don’t do the inner work/changes, you get the same outcome again eventually. As I did already. Too much stuff, once again.

You see I was almost in the above fantasy situation once. The conflagration was not a physical fire, but leaving my first marriage. I had almost nothing, compared to what I left behind in my old life. And my new life was incredibly scary, but also incredibly freeing. I remember noticing that I wasn’t panicked or grieving about the lack of stuff in my life. What I was feeling was RELIEF.  All the stuff I left behind was not my worry anymore. I didn’t have to think about it, clean it, dust it, repair it, maintain it, organize it, or try to remember where I left it last.

I could enumerate all of my current possessions in my head easily. I knew exactly where everything I owned was in my shabby rental townhouse.

Of course, soon I started accumulating again. My mom gave me a microwave oven. I bought some furniture to replace the folding lawn chairs in the living room. I bought a spatula so I wouldn’t have to flip pancakes with the paint scraper in my toolbox any more (OK, that was a totally necessary purchase). I remember at the time considering my purchases carefully – did we really need this? I was conscious of not wanting to be burdened down with too much stuff once more. But I also wanted to give my kids some semblance of a “normal” home again.

Then I bought a house. Now I needed even more stuff. Gardening stuff. Lawn mowing stuff.  Snow shoveling stuff. I had plenty of new places to stow stuff. And stow it I did. I made a cozy TV room for the kids to hang out in. I haunted HomeSense and Value Village for cute little inexpensive items to decorate walls, floors and every available surface with. I forgot about the freedom of owning less, in my joy of having my first ever home-all-to-myself to express my personality in.

And I bought books. Lotsa books. Mostly second-hand or sale-bin books. And music. Lotsa CDs. On sale, second-hand, or 2 for $20 (damn you HMV!).

When you buy these things one or two at a time, you don’t quite realize what is going on. Even when you bring them home and try to find space for them, it’s easy to tune out the niggling little voice that says – Whoa, gettin’ a bit of stuff here girly! Time to get things in check, doncha think? It was easy to justify these one- or two-at-a-time purchases.

Till it comes time to organize/purge them. Which I did this weekend. When I looked at my entire collection of (hundreds of) books and CDs and was struck by the years of mindless consumption it represented. And looking at specific types of books and CDs en masse I recalled what drove the impulse(s) to buy them.

All of the career/change your life/find your focus/find your purpose books? Yeah, I wasn’t happy where I was working then and was looking for guidance on how to get out/make changes. Someday, someday…

All the dinner/party music CDs? My wish to entertain more than I was capable of, in my tiny abode (with the even tinier budget). Someday, someday…

All the gardening books? My wish for beautiful perennial/kitchen gardens. Quite unrealistic, as I had neither the money, time or energy (anemic at the time) to create one. Someday, someday…

All the psychology/self-help books? My wish to become a stronger person/better mother/better girlfriend/less afraid of conflict/figure out who the hell I am/why am I the way I am, anyways? Someday, someday…

All the fiction hardcovers I accumulated? Partly a wish to escape into another world, to take a break from my own…partially a wish to someday develop a large library of beautiful books to gaze upon, to dive into when I took a notion. Someday, someday…

All those books on writing/the writing process/creativity/art? Easy. Instead of doing the hard/scary work of trying to write/create something, I could just read about it instead. Someday, someday…

In short, when I felt I couldn’t do what I wanted/needed to do in my life when I wanted/needed to do it, I assuaged those frustrated feelings by buying a book or CD that represented what I wanted,  instead. For temporary relief.

This is the crux of all impulse purchases, if not most consumerism, in my opinion. We buy a thing to obtain something other than the thing itself, we buy what it represents to us instead.

(As well, I’ve realized for some time now, that when I need to take action on some part of my life, my first instinct is to find -buy, usually- the “right” book and read up on what it is I need to do first. Sometimes this is useful – like reading up on how to repair a leaky toilet before actually repairing it. But for me, often it is just a means of delaying taking action, of hiding behind a book instead of JUST DOING WHAT NEEDS TO BE DONE.)

So this weekend, I tore apart my book shelves and revealed not only a lot of dust and piles of books and CDs I had totally forgotten I owned, but recollected the reasons and frustrated dreams behind them as well. I’ve consigned about 85% of them to the “To Be Donated” pile I’ve got started in my living room and it feels oh so good, oh so right.

I doubt I will ever be a true minimalist and have a spare, bare and tidy home, and be able to itemize my possessions in less than triple digits. JD and I struggle a bit with emotional attachment to inanimate objects (him more than me, but I definitely have those leanings too). And I love my pretty things and gadgets, especially in the kitchen.

But I can be a lot more mindful about my purchases and my possessions, and that is my goal, going forward towards our new home, our new life. Books can be borrowed from the library. Music can be also, and is found free on internet and regular radio. Both can be stored digitally, freeing up literal and psychic space for other things. Or nothing. Which brings about peace of mind. The most treasured possession of all.

One week from today, JD will be golfing. Specifically, it will be his Player’s Ability Test, the qualifying exam for the Canadian Professional Golfer’s association. He will be playing 36 holes of golf in one day, and needs to get a maximum score of 155 strokes to qualify for his “pro” status.

As you can imagine, every spare moment has been spent on the golf course and the driving range, the chipping and putting practice areas. Lessons have been booked with our favourite golf instructor guru god, the one and only Shawn Clement, who has been MOST generous with the time and energy he has devoted to JD.

All of this practice/instruction is paying off. JD is shooting the best scores of his life – scores that mean he will get his “card”. Still, many things could go wrong on the day of the PAT, and we are taking nothing for granted.

We are experiencing the worst heat/humidity of the summer right now. No one in their right mind would be on the golf course today. But that is exactly where we are headed this evening for another practice session. Because, of course, we are not in our right minds. We are in Golfing CrazyTown.

More to post later, should I survive. 😉

A few days ago, I read this posting by Yarn Harlot.  She, without fail, publishes a great Canada Day post – one that I love to read and makes me feel so proud to be a Canadian. This year’s was no exception. I urge you especially to click on the link in her posting,  to read and savour former Prime Minister Paul Martin’s speech about same-sex marriage, in its entirety.

In this year’s  posting however, she did something uncharacteristic, which was to prematurely complain about the critical emails and comments she was sure to receive from some of her readers for being pro-Canada and for being accepting of gay people and gay marriage. I think I understand her frustration, although I have not experienced much of this kind of response myself, and I hope under the same circumstances I would think twice before hitting the publish button with that remark in the posting…but (sigh) I probably wouldn’t.

I scrolled through the comments (and there were a TON of them, as usual) and most were very positive. Of course, some weren’t. She did, after all, pretty much ask for it. One commenter’s  thoughts  in particular, really have stayed with me, days later. The commenter, Em, left several comments about gay marriage and her view of  homosexuality. “IT IS AN ABOMINATION AND A SIN and God hates it”, is how she put it.

Wow. Strong words.

Then later, in the comments (copied exactly, spelling/grammar errors included),  Em reveals that she is all of 17 years old and about to enter the military:

Well I really don’t know what else to say that hasn’t already been said. I’m only 17, a week a way from leaving for bootcamp for the United States Navy. Despite everything, I am honored to serve my country.
The botom line is if you don’t belive in the Bible, then you have no reason to think that gay marriage is wrong. Period. Quite frankly if our founding fathers wanted gay marriage to be legal they would have put it in the constitution, or there would have been an amendment soon after when people saw that it wasn’t legal and became outraged. Fact is, that didn’t happen, back then people would have been outraged if the idea of it being legal was even thought of. Its only been in the last couple of decades that people have wanted equal rights. It tells you something about the way our thinking has gone.
If you don’t like gay marriage being illegal in most of the United States of America, then go live in Canada. And quit harping about how you are embarrassed of the United States, which despite most peoples thinking, is the greatest place in the world. Just go ask the people living in Haiti, or Uganda if they would like to move here.
One more thing, I am not a hater, although I have never personnally known a gay person, or at least I didn’t know if I did. I don’t hate them nor do I think they are disgusting. I think there sin is disgusting, just as is mine. I can only fall on my knees and thank Jesus Christ for dying for me so that I can be with him forever. And I would pray that everyine would find HIM.
“Every way of man is right in his own eyes; but the Lod pondereth the hearts” Proverbs 21:2

When I read this comment, my heart just melted for Em. I think she is a thoughtful and passionate young woman and I wish her only the best.  If she was commenting on my blog, this is what I would say to her:

Dear Em,

How I would love to hear from you again when you are 27, 37 and 47, to hear your thoughts on this subject at those times in your life, as you progress and gain life experience! I hope in later years, that you do get to know some gay people (you probably already do, but they are afraid to be honest around you due to your beliefs) and perhaps your mind and heart will open a bit, and you will begin to think independently and critically, and question the motives of those telling you what is a sin and what isn’t.

There are many people who believe that being gay is a lifestyle, a choice (your comments suggests you might think the same). And to those people, I’d like to say: Is your sexuality a choice? Did you get to choose to be attracted to whichever gender you are attracted to (whether that is the gender you publicly profess to be attracted to or not is another story)? Did you choose to be right or left handed? Did you choose your eye colour or your height? I would be surprised if you say yes because that has not been my experience nor the experience of any people I know.  In the words of certain pop star – I was born this way. Being 5 foot four (on a good day), green-eyed, right-handed, and straight is something I am, not something I choose to do or be.

And let me paraphrase Dolly Parton here, to share with you my views on the subject of homosexuality.  She said it best for me when she said being gay is not something you do, it’s something you are. Then she followed with: How can it be a sin to be who you are, when that is who God made you to be?

I’d like you to consider these statements, now at 17… and later, as you gain more life experience.

And Em, I hope you came back to the Comments to read this one, from Aidan. He pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about love – there isn’t even close to enough of it on this earth to then limit it only to those who “qualify”, according to certain religious groups:

I don’t believe in Gay Marriage. I believe in Marriage. Period. If teh ghays wants to get married, well, all right by me! Let me know where you are registered.

Twenty-something years ago, when I was younger and thinner and had more hair, Reform Rabbis in North America were getting together to vote on whether or not teh ghays should be allowed to serve as Rabbis or Cantors. Our congregation held a meeting to provide our Rabbi with counsel. At this meeting there were some horrible words springing from the mouths of people I cared a great deal about — words like “abomination” and “evil inclination”.

Then an old man I had never seen before stood. He rolled up his sleeve and he showed us the tattoo on his arm. And he said “I want you to see my credentials for speaking to you today. I lived in time when I thought love was dead. The sun had disappeared, tolerance was gone, G-d was dead. Well, somehow, love survived. And I don’t care if men love each other, or women love each other, I’m going to side with love every time. If they want to be Rabbis? They will have my support. If they want to marry on the bimmah, under a chuppah? I will dance at their weddings. G-d only survives as long as love and tolerance survive.”

I cried there. I have cried every time I have thought about it over the last twenty-some years. I am crying now, as I type. I never saw the man again, and I never learned his name. But as G-d is my witness, I will always come down on the side of love and tolerance. And G-d survives.

Em, I wish you only the best and I hope that your experience in the military is a positive one, that you serve proudly and escape harm. Continue to be passionate about your beliefs. Too many of us are afraid to stand up for what we believe. Or afraid to even think deeply on the subject of WHAT IS IT exactly, that we do believe and feel in our hearts. I hope that as you mature, you do continue to think deeply about your religion and your beliefs and will not be afraid to challenge those ideas that don’t sit quite right with you.

And mostly, thank you Em, for creating for me this opportunity to think deeply about what I feel on the subject of  love between two consenting adults, whatever their gender.

Best regards,

Anyone who knows me very well, knows I struggle with my feelings about organized religion, though I consider myself to be a spiritual person. Most days my feelings are leaning towards viewing organized religion as among the worst of the evils that escaped Pandora’s box.

Is there any human-controlled force on Earth that has caused more war, death, persecution and suffering than organized religion?

Are there any teachings, that have been abused more, twisted more, promoted more, to push and control people to live and behave a certain way in order to further the agendas of others, than those found in religious materials?

I wonder. When I read comments such as posted on YH’s blog (mild compared to some I have come across on the web), this only reinforces my thoughts on the subject.

I am sure there are those who will tell me there has been a lot of good done by individuals in the name of religion as well, but I wonder if these people wouldn’t have been compelled to help the less fortunate among us anyways, and organized religion just afforded them to an outlet to express their basic nature and altruism? (Just as organized religion provides the perfect vehicle for those with evil,  self-serving motives .  Unfortunately, there are examples of this in the news just about every day.)

We human beings are slow-learners. We are getting there – women are considered to be human nowadays in most parts of the world, as an example – but we still have a long way to go.

 

JD’s Auntie Hazel passed away last night. And, unknowingly, JD and I visited with her just before she died.

We arrived at the hospital just before visiting hours ended. We had been trying to pay our respects to an acquaintance who lost his brother, but the receiving line at the funeral home was so long, we left so as not to miss a visit with Auntie Hazel, who was recovering from surgery from the broken hip she suffered on Sunday. We are so thankful now that we did this.

When we entered her room and greeted the departing, exhausted immediate family members, we were shocked to see how much she had deteriorated from our visit the day before. The day before she had been so bright and lively with good colour, and was quick to demonstrate how she was able to do all of her rehabilitating exercises – moving her legs and arms, and rotating her feet. An unsettling thought went through my mind at the time: “a candle burns brightest just before going out”, but I quickly pushed it away.

Yesterday a whole ‘nother Auntie Hazel greeted us. She was uncomfortable and restless. I asked her repeatedly if she wanted me to get the nurse but the answer was always no. As visiting hours ended, I disobeyed her and went to the nursing station to get them to check in on her and investigate her discomfort. Then JD went back to her room to let her know a nurse was coming and away we went after kisses and proclamations of love.

A few errands later, we arrived home just as the phone was ringing – JD’s dad calling to tell us the sad news that his sister had passed away. We were shocked. I was overcome with guilt – why hadn’t I been more forceful, both with Auntie Hazel and the nurses. Why hadn’t we risked a scolding and stayed beyond the visiting hours, to make sure she was looked after properly?

Today I researched signs of dying to see what we had possibly missed. What I learned actually gave me more comfort than I had thought it would. What we didn’t realize, was that Auntie Hazel had been showing signs of dying for days already, perhaps the process had started even before she broke her hip. I think the hospital staff knew this, as she had been moved to a private room the 2nd day after her surgery (another little “uh-oh” thought that I had at the time, but also quickly pushed away).

She had no appetite, she was having trouble swallowing, she had that burst of energy and liveliness the day before…perhaps there really had been nothing we could have done. Perhaps the last natural process of each life had begun and couldn’t, wouldn’t be halted. I try to take comfort from that.

Auntie Hazel would have turned 88 later on this month. She was a truly great lady and an inspiration to me on how to grow old. She was an avid and talented oil painter, a long-time member of the choral group: the Sweet Adelines, a homemaker, a gifted writer, and that all-too-rare someone who really believed in AND exhibited Christian values. She really walked the talk of compassion and kindness and love. I have never met anyone more humble than she. Auntie Hazel saw the absolute best in everyone, and, in the nine years I was lucky to know her I never heard her complain about her circumstances (not always great) or speak ill of anyone she knew.

These characteristics meant that more than a few people commented negatively on her “rose-coloured glasses” approach to life. Auntie Hazel chose to focus on the cup half full rather than half empty. She chose to focus on the good bits in everyone she met, rather than the faults. She believed in the power of love and family and thus was rich in both.

A brilliant mind, Auntie Hazel had to leave her beloved school by grade eight to keep house and raise her younger siblings when her mother had to go to work. (Her brother – JD’s dad – also left school and got a work permit at the tender age of 11 to keep the family going, when their alcoholic father was kicked out of the family.)

After a somewhat Dickensian childhood, she fell in love and married, and she and her husband Jack spent 11 years sleeping on a pull-out couch in their living room so her mother could have one bedroom and the kids the other in their tiny war-time home (the same home she left on her final journey to the hospital this past Sunday).

And still later she spent many years nursing her beloved “Jackie” through his final illness, learning to feed him through a tube and ensuring his comfort at all times.

These things I learned, not through any complaining on her part, but through her simple story-telling, describing her life and its “happy” memories. For she really did have so many happy memories, as that was always her focus, her choice.

I am the better person for knowing this extraordinary woman.

I try to comfort myself in thinking that Uncle Jack was waiting in her hospital room last night, waiting for all of their kids to gather to say goodbye (and they did all make it there in time, amazingly), so he could gaze on them gathered together once again, and then finally bring his Hazel home.

Sometimes I congratulate myself on being older, wiser, more compassionate, less rebellious etc. etc., than in my youth. Thinking happily that my days as a smart-a** and a sh*t-disturber are far behind me.

And THEN…

…Along comes someone and all my so-called higher self-development melts like sugar left out in the rain.

Sunday night I climbed into the hot tub at the local hotel where we have a pool membership. Another couple of members were already there and the woman, who was monopolizing the conversation much to her companion’s dismay (the glazed over look and half-hearted uh-huhs gave it away), was holding forth on the proposed half-way house for drug addicts soon to happen in her neighbourhood. This was in the local paper, and all the NIMBYs (Not In My Backyarders) were in full umbrage about this.

This woman couldn’t believe that the City would allow this to happen on a street that had 5 schools on or near it.

Hmmmmm. I really don’t understand how a bunch of ex-junkies could pose a threat to schoolchildren so I said with great enthusiasm:

“I agree – what are people thinking? Those poor half-way house people are in way too-close proximity to drugs, what with 5 schools in the neighbourhood!!”

This brought about a guffaw from Mr. Glazed-Over but Ms. Nimby was not impressed, nor did she stop her tirade against the half-way house.

So I asked her to explain. “What is the issue here? I don’t understand. These are not sex offenders, they are drug addicts. How are they are threat to schoolchildren?”

I honestly wanted to know if I was missing something. I was not trying to be a PITA (pain in the butt) by asking.

No response. Just a glare that spoke volumes. Volumes as in: if I have to explain this to you, you are way too stupid for me to waste my breath on. Then she continued to speak about another proposed half-way house, but one in which the inhabitants had to pay $2-3K a week for the privilege of being there. She appeared to think 2 things about this:

1 – these people were “serious” about recovery because they were paying so much for it.

2 – they were “better” people to begin with because they could afford to pay so much.

Then she questioned why people had to go to half way houses in the first place, when they should just go home to their families after rehab. I explained to her that to my knowledge, rehab is just the beginning, and that half way homes are important so that the newly sober have a safe abode in which to relearn how to live in the real world again, without drugs.

I could have also mentioned that the families often contribute (unknowingly or otherwise) to the addiction in the first place and need counselling as well but I could see she wasn’t at all interested in anything other than her own point of view so I just shut up.

I also kept my mouth shut when she then opined on how sneaky the social service agency was to try to get this house set up with as little publicity as possible. “If it’s such a great thing, why wait till the last minute to tell us this house is coming to the neighbourhood?”

BECAUSE OF PIN-HEADED NIMBY’S LIKE YOURSELF WHO WILL MARSHALL FORCES TO DERAIL THE PROJECT, I wanted to shout at her, but didn’t. Ah, self-control at last……

Then she started some evil gossip about the woman heading up this project (who actually lives in the same neighbourhood as this woman and the proposed half-way house)…blah blah blah. Yuck.
At this point I turned my attention to the other gentleman in the tub and switched the conversation to a seemingly safe topic: golf.

However, also in the local paper, was an article about the 18 hole golf course (also close to this woman’s home), that is suffering financially and is cutting back to one 9 hole course with the intention of putting other sports-related facilities (golf academy etc.) in the remainder of its grounds.

Again, umbrage from Mrs. Nimby – what about the poor folks who paid a premium to have their homes back onto a golf course, and now this happens!! Someone needs to reimburse them; if not the golf course, then the City!!!! Because they are “allowing” it to happen.

“Look,” I said, “This stuff happens. There are no guarantees in life. You buy your dream home and 5 years later the gov’t appropriates the land next to you and puts through an expressway. It’s bad luck but what can you do? This is a business decision, to save the business.”

Again, no direct response, just more illogical spewing of outrage. I left the hot tub at this point.

I am sorry I let this woman get to me. It scares me to think how many people there are out there who think just like her. It saddens me to think of the suffering this woman inflicts upon herself, let alone others, by her attitude.

Offering my opinions was just a waste of air. It did no good. It probably fueled the fire. She couldn’t enlighten me on her point of view. My verbal volleys back at her did not change her mind. As Dr. Phil would say, how’s that workin’ for ya?

Didn’t work at all.

Since that exchange, I keep asking myself WWDLD (what would the Dalai Lama do?) in the face of such close-mindedness. When I know the answer, then I’ll be the Grasshopper, snatching the pebble from the master’s hand, or I’ll know what the sound is, of one hand clapping…or some such other Zen mystery!

Until then, I still have lots of work to do.

For the past coupla years, whenever I had some down time (or was ill, a favourite time to…ahem…sprout my couch potato inclinations), I inevitably gravitated towards one of those Life Channel or TLC Wedding shows. I just couldn’t get enough of Rich Bride, Poor Bride, Wedding SOS, Bulging Brides or Say Yes to the Dress. I’d grab my knitting, or my dog, or both and settle in, eyes glued to the 13 inch screen of the only TV in the house.

I tried to do this a few days back and somehow it just wasn’t the same. The shows that absolutely held me rapt in August now made me yawn and channel surf. The wedding has passed and with it, the TV wedding show mania.

Now I find my focus being directed towards home renovation/design shows and the Cooking Channel (Alton Brown, where have you been all my life?). I believe this is called “nesting” and quite understandable for a young bride to be interested in. But me? I’ve been creating my own nest for about 30 years now. It’s not exactly new to me.

Yet, when I have a moment and sit down, I surf my way over to HGTV these days, or Food, or the design shows on W.

Hmmmm….to be continued….

Feeling like life is getting away from me. Like I’m on this roaring freight train called Our Wedding, and hanging on for dear life, determined to get to the final destination but not enjoying the ride very much.

My discomfort is because we have too many loose ends at this point of time for me to feel good, to feel relaxed. I’m a GET IT DONE ASAP person, and JD is a TAKE IT EASY, THERE’S STILL TIME person.

I like to get to appointments early, so I can relax and take it easy and know I am not holding anyone up. I am where I am supposed to be at the right time.

He likes to roar in at the last minute, so he doesn’t “waste” any time sitting around waiting for someone else to be at the right place at the right time.

Of course, this means we are sometimes late as JD doesn’t always consider building in time for the unforeseen e.g. traffic. I have learned that being late will not kill me. Age me…but not kill me. JD is learning to heed my advice on adding extra time as being late doesn’t age him, but sooner or later if this keeps up, I may have to kill him. Ahem. Kidding!

I like to decide fairly quickly and move on to the next project – I get tremendous satisfaction from crossing things off of a list. I can’t relax until a decision has been made and the ball is in someone else’s court, the paperwork is on someone else’s desk.

He likes to wait until it absolutely has to be decided – he feels rushed and fenced in, by having to decide before he needs to. Some pertinent piece of information that will affect his decision could be revealed just before the deadline, doncha know? He can’t relax if the decision is made “too soon”.

There is no right or wrong “way” to do these things; there are just different approaches. Sometimes his approach works out to be the best one for a particular situation. Sometimes mine does…of course I firmly believe that more often than not mine is the better approach (for my sanity if nothing else). Hehehe….

I have decided I need to chill. Everything is going to come together and work out just fine, and if it doesn’t, OH WELL. People will get over it. We will get over it. Now, if only the crazy anxiety dreams would stop.