Lover

~A true lover always feels in debt
to the one he loves.~
Ralph W. Sockman

there is a sea between his shoulder blades

above, his thoughts an echoing endless sky

like star gazing, up and eons away

twinkling, bursting and fading in the distance

bits of beauty unable to be bound

his body; the solid earth

ground to cling to when the sky opens

and the earth shakes

bound to the land

thrown to the sea

Things that Make Me Happy

~Happiness is the harvest of a quiet eye.~
Austin O'Malley

1. Long hot baths..no wait...Long, hot sex

2. Long hot baths

3.Watching my son sleep.

4.The laughter of my friends

5.Daffodils
6.Leonard Cohen poetry, music, prose
7.Waking up on my own without an alarm clock
8.Tea and Cross Stitch
9.Being spoiled
10.New Nighties

Things that Annoy Me

~I prefer a pleasant vice to an annoying virtue.~
Moliere

1.Squirrels
2.Facial sweat
3.Alarm clocks
4. A loose sheet corner
5.Cat puke on the carpet just an inch away from the tiled floor
6. Limp handshakes
7. People who point out your flaws like they're doing you a favour (very french of them n'est pas?)
8. When someone says, "I'm sorry to interrupt but...."..No you're not or you wouldn't flipping interrupt!
9 People who push their grocery carts up to your butt while waiting in line at the register. Where's the fire?!
10. Warning about how hot a "hot" beverage is on the paper cup. Are we that helpless? I mean really.

Tired

my head is travel weary

tired from this long journey

lost

trying to find the

shoulder

to rest upon

my heart is travel weary

barely beating with no

love

to quench it's thirst

parched

dying

my body is travel weary
aching deep in my bones
abandoned
wreckage
from the first wars
salvage

my spirit is flying away
stretching cobweb wings
crackling
gauzy and fragile
in another life
gone

Meeting the Parents & the Perils of Super Glue

~ There are no grades of vanity,
there are only grades of ability in concealing it ~
Mark Twain

I don't even know where to begin ....

This is the second week that my son has been away from home this summer and I get all out of sorts when he's gone. Just when I'm getting used to not having to cook, not having to go to baseball, not having to do anything, it's almost time for him to come home.

Last night was the first night during the two weeks that I've had to myself. No work. No friends. No having to be here or there or doing something for someone else.  There was a baseball game however, and I wanted to go see my son play. So, on my way (unusually unrushed), I stopped to pick up a bag of soil for a few summer bulbs that I have neglected to plant, hoping that they will grow just enough to feed the bulb for next year.

So, there I was, happily home after a baseball game with my 30 litres of  soil waiting to be used up outside on the patio.  I tidied a bit, and potted my bulbs. Before closing the patio doors and getting ready to snuggle in for the night, I stood back and admired my work. I needed to get ready for bed, after all, tomorrow was a big day. I was taking my friend's mother to the art gallery and out for lunch. Since we had only just met a few days before, I was a bit nervous about being on my own with her.  In addition to the we've-just-met-jitters, I only speak English with very limited French and Spanish.  She  speaks Dutch and French  and limited English. My spoken  french (that I thought was not so bad until a few days ago actually) stinks.  On top of that, I wasn't going to be driving my own air-conditionless car. I would be driving my friend's car - a car I have never driven before. I laid awake reminding myself to adjust the mirrors.

I awoke with the sound of my alarm. It felt good to sleep in a little bit, and looking forward to spending the day with this lady at the art gallery. I pressed the snooze button for half an hour. Indulgent bliss. It would be a good day I decided, and then I got out of bed.  I staggered to the kitchen in my light blue summer nightie and put the kettle on for a cup of tea.  I opened the patio door , and it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.  There was a nice cool breeze, and the birds were chirping. I filled up the watering can and watered the plants. To my relief, the squirrels (I hate squirrels) had left my newly potted bulbs alone, and in that moment, the world was good. Just in that moment.

Back into the bedroom I went to pull out my outfit for the day, and to the bathroom to brush my teeth. The kettle long past boiling switched itself off as  I showered and dressed.  I was relaxed putting on my eye makeup, thinking of when I bought it with my friend for her wedding.  I strolled back out into the living room, hoping to boil the kettle again and finally have my first cup of tea.

To my left, just outside my patio door, only the width of a pane of glass away from Leonard, my killer giant cat (ok, lazy, spoiled cat), was a squirrel with his little, guerrilla warfare paws clenching one of my bulbs...and chewing it!!!!!! I ran to the door and the little commando took off with the darn bulb! Finally he dropped it (it's an elephant ear bulb about the size of a small teacup) and ran up a tree to be with the rest of the little hairy satans. ARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!! I hate squirrels. I retrieved the bulb, shoved it back in the dirt, and went in to find some cat hair to put over top in an effort to keep the vigilante squirrels away. I hate squirrels.

No time for tea. No time for breakfast, a quick coat of my fingernail polish and out the door. Oh. Wait. My sandal looks like the lining is separating. I'll just give that a quick dab of super glue, and it'll be right as rain.  Right. I rambled through a buffet drawer, careful not to smudge my nail polish,  and found the just-in-case bottle of super glue that I always keep in stock, just for occasions like these. I'm so smart.

My pretty black and white polka-dot sandals needed some TLC, and I was going to give it to them.  Oh poop. No hole in the super glue.  In the same drawer as the super glue is a collection of miscellaneous "speciality" utensils. My fingers blindly grabbed a salad fork. Perfect.  I poked one tine in the top of the glue tube, and holy hell, grab your grand kids, was that glue ever under pressure. No sooner had the fork pierced the tube than the glue escaped like Mexicans over the border, and right into the corner of my left eye!!! (I still haven't figured out how to truly convey a screaming sound with words, but if I could, I would do it right here!)Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!! Blinded in one eye, with the fork lodged somewhere in the wall, and the tube of super glue stuck to my left hand, I ran back to the bathroom.  Oh! My! Gawd!

The glue had mercifully missed the white of my eye and my contact lens, but had managed to spray under my eye, on the inside by the tear duct, and on every single one of lashes on the bottom of my left eye. I very calmly said the f word.

Now, here's the irony. As a funeral director, I have had the very uncommon experience of using superglue on human skin.  On purpose.  So, I knew that after it dried it would be easier to peel off.  I walked back to the door, eye glued shut and glue tube adhered to my left hand.  I pried the glue out of my hand, and fixed my sandal.  It's important to note here that the sandal has a high heel. In other words, it slopes down toward the toes.

I walked to the kitchen with the tube now glued to my right hand, eye still glued shut and said a good old fashioned Gaelic curse as I threw my emergency superglue into the trash. Damn glue. Damn fork. Damn shoe. I went back to the washroom, and as any practiced embalmer would do, I took to the tender flesh around my eye with spring forceps (aka known in the real world as tweezers). I think the skin around our eyes  is roughly the same composition as foreskin. Boy does it stretch!!! 

I could only get most of the glue out of my eyelashes by actually pulling my eyelashes out. My carefully applied eye make up no longer looked so very carefully applied. I looked like I had three months worth of morning boogers in the corner of my eye, and that I'd been crying for as long.  With most of the glue removed, and my sight still in tact, I made my way back to the door, slid my feet into my sandals, and then remembered - MONEY! I need to go get some cash.

Off came my left shoe, off came my....off came my....Oh for flip, frigging, mother of gawd's sake!!! I glued my foot inside my cute black and white polka dot sandals. I wanted to cry. I wanted to kick those flipping sandals through the patio door, past my newly planted bulbs, right up the tiny arse of one of those satanic- rodent-devil squirrels! After what I'm sure the neighbour who was walking his dog outside of the patio doors thought was a very elaborat dance routine fit for a Vegas stripper, I decided that I would just leave my foot glued to the sandal.  After thinking about it some more, and staring at my foot hoping that by the grace of some funky, white, hoodo, voodo magic my foot would come unglued, I decided that I'd better free my foot in case the occasion required. With my luck I'd end up being required to take off my shoes for a strip search after rolling my friend's car and scaring his mother half to death on the highway.  I finally managed to pry the ball of my foot out of my sandal with a butter knife. Note: bring your own cutlery next time you eat at my place.

The entire way to the house, I was trying to chew the superglue off my fingers so it wouldn't look like I had the worst case of eczema on the planet. The sandals looked great by the way.

Powerless

"Suffering is nothing. It's all a
matter of preventing those
you love from suffering."
~Alphonse Daudet~

Part of the Impact of the Social Environment Theory in crisis intervention states that one of the ways to affect positive intervention is to engage in coalition building with the person in crisis, and to help the person in crisis move from a place of powerlessness to one of power. I love that theory.

I also love the philosophy of companioning as explained by Greg Yoder. As a professional, I can "companion" until the cows come home, and feel more empowered because of my ability to "companion".  I continually preach to my clients that their mere presence provides support to their loved ones. I often go on about how we're a "doing" society, and that sometimes, just quietly being present, listening, sitting next to a bedside is an incredibly powerful support to the ailing person. 

Theory and philosophy. Interesting, thought provoking, but much like socialism when you put it into practice.  Quite often, it's not something that you can sink your teeth into and really feel like you're accomplishing anything-that you're affecting any change, or being of any help to someone you care about or love.  It leaves the caregiver feeling powerless. 

For someone who works in a caring profession, being unable to see an outcome when offering support on a personal level to someone you love really stinks.  You want more than anything to bundle up their fragile spirit, and nurture it back to health. 

Maybe I just need to  take some of my own advice and accept being powerless to take away the pain from someone I love.  If I could I would wash it all away and fill up your life and heart with joy. You know who you are. I'll be present for you, even if it means being blind to the path. xo 

Got Gratitude?

"Success is the ability to go
from failure to failure
without
losing your enthusiasm."
Author Unknown

PART I - The Fine Art of Bitching & Moaning

My friends all know me as a bit of a firecracker. Or, rather, have known me as a bit of a firecracker.....lately I've been more like a spitting fire - you know, the kind of campfire that sputters and spits just before dying a pathetic death under an assault of painfully tiny raindrops.

Where did it go, that joie de vivre that was untampable for so long? Has it dwindled in the wake of a turbulent life, flying by the seat of my pants from one moment to the next? Now that I'm calmer, more centered, dare I say even "stable", is there room for the fireworks any more?

All of the sudden, I'm grown up. I have a stable job that I'm actually good at, and I no longer scramble to prove myself. I've reached a stage (and age) where people seek me out for advice and guidance, and for my (LARGE gulp of sauvignon blanc here), reasoned approach....WHAT? Me?! Trishy McDishy? Trish the Dish? McDish....sought out for her ability to reason and find a solution. What the hell is going on with the world? Everybody take your portable toilets and can openers to the bomb shelter and pray for a halt on the apparent oncoming armageddon.

What's wrong with all of these people who need to talk to me?  Suck it up. Deal with it. Oh, for goodness sake, just make a decision and do it!  What an annoyance! I've explained this to them a zillion times!  I'm tired of doing it all by myself! How come I'm the one who has to do this? Doesn't anyone care about how I feel? I'm tired of....blah, blah, blah, blah, blah........I feel fat and old and frumpy, and nobody loves me. Na-na-na-na-boo-boo....

Funny how it's all part of a downward spiral? Defeating self talk. The mind natter of champions.

"Stress is when you
wake up screaming &
you realize you haven't
fallen asleep yet."
Author Unknown

PART II - Overview of Things You May Not Want to Know About My Day

The fireworks have given way to days packed with tasks. The first one, always a good indicator that the day will be less of a period romance novel and more of a boring foreign flick with no plot; turn off the god-forsaken alarm clock (note to self - complain more about whoever invented that damn thing). Clean and dress thyself (very important not to skip this part).  Make breakfast, pack lunches, check homework, scold for homework not done, feed the cats, feed the bird,double check my first appointment/meeting time, double check I have my pants on (no kidding). And so the days go, Monday to Friday, January through to December 31, with the odd day or week off here and there.

Evenings run along the same schedule, arrive home, check for homework, clean up after the cats, clean up after the bird, open the bills, worry about having to pay them, after school snack, to the gym or to baseball practice or, or, or.....make dinner, do the dishes, return phone calls, do the laundry, clean the house, work some more from home, get food ready for the next day, tell my pre-teen to shower, tell my pre-teen to shower again, feign passing out as I sniff my pre-teens armpit and point emphatically toward the shower....

Somewhere in there, my fireworks have fizzled, been gagged by the damp ground and the drizzle of adult responsibility.  Every so often the spark gets oxygen, maybe at a meeting when  feel passionate, when I treat myself to a night out at a concert, or party, or, gawd-forbid my favourite thing....a night in with my partner - a bottle of wine or two (checking to make sure that I don't have my pants on).

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing
I know." E. Hemingway
By the way, check out Johnny in the white pants.
WOW! He's the only man on the planet that can
pull that look off without making me want to vomit.

PART III - What Keeps Me Afloat

Booze and Johnny Depp. No really - the end.  Ok, ok, booze and Johnny Depp when I'm in the deepest darkest pit of self-pitty-poop.  Just before I land there, one of my friends usually manages to throw down a safety rope with a glass of champagne or piece of chocolate attached, and pull me up out of the depths of my 9-5, 24/7, single parenting, paying-the-bills-alone-for-a-decade,wishing-for-romance-of-some-kind, pit of eternal bitching and moaning.

So, as you all know, as hard as I've tried, I am not an alcoholic, nor do I live on chocolate and wine. I've tried, and despite my attempts, it just didn't work for me. What - you may ask, has kept me healthily cynical, and spontaneous this long....well..YOU! You guys - the ones most likely reading this dirt I like to call entertainment. I have gratitude for you!!!

"I awoke this morning with
devout thanksgiving for my
friends, old and new."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

PART IV - What I'm Grateful For

Vicki - with her little surprises, and down on the ground commitment to treat me like a daughter. No one, since I have been a very little child has drawn a bath for me.  One day I arrived home after a long day at work, and even longer night at school. She had picked up my son from school (as she did every night when I had a class), fed him dinner, helped with homework, talked to him and made him feel special, and then cared enough to make me feel cared for above and beyond what she already had done for me.  As I slipped into the blissful warmth of the tub, she was driving herself home after her own very long day at work and babysitting.

Lisa - with her patient listening.  Holy smokes, she could quote every single complaint from part I of this diatribe.  She has known me since I was 12 years old, through my wildest, loneliest, scariest and joyous times. Believe me, it's been a wild ride!!! And get this - she still speaks to me!!!  She encourages those fireworks that she knows are still inside of me somewhere.  We have stuck together through first dates, breakups, university, college, weddings, funerals, divorces, babies, and a zillion sizes......my longest friendship.  It feels so good to have a, "remember when" friend.

Carrie - I say her name, and I laugh. She's like my little sister. I see in her some of the same characteristics that I have watched slowly disappear in me, and that helps keep the flame burning.  I love her uncensored talks, and that she's the only friend close to my age who  knows what it's like to be down and out. She too knows what it's like to be at the very bottom of the "Phuck-it-all" philosophy.  I've seen her struggle and thrive.  We've cried (and laughed even more) over boys. I was so proud of her on her wedding day. Now, every day I wait  to hear that she and baby-on-the-way are doing ok. She inspires me and scares the hell out of me all at the same time. We all need friends like that.

Mark - one of a few relatives that I actually like. What an amazing person.  I read his writing, and observe how he (as he puts it), "...shows up every day" in the world.  Conscious living isn't easy, but he balances it well, and is one of the strongest, most insightful men I know....and believe me, I've know a few...When he writes, "I love you Trish", it's the only family connection I have to that sense of unconditional love to which we instinctively all cling, regardless of the pain being members of a family exposes us to.

Jan -  she convinced me to read Harlequin novels and looks like a lady in plaid...a delicate dynamo! What would I do, and where would Andy and I be without our go-to-girl...a couch for a sick kid, and a real tea cup for the important visits...a true friend to the end this one...I admire her silent strength, her unflinching faith, and eye for interior decorating...thank you just doesn't begin to cover it....oh yah...salt beef and cabbage (that's right Jerry!!!)

Randy -the male version of me. "Oh for gawd's sake Trish- suck it up!".  I can now say, "Remember when..." to him, and we go back a decade now, remembering when.  We've worked together (not so successful!), and played together, and laughed our crazy heads off at how stupid we are sometimes.  He holds a mirror to my fireworks and I to his...and that's how our friendship helps to keep the other alive. Most of our conversations end in one of us laughing and hanging the phone up on the other. He also knows that nothing cures my hangovers like runny eggs, tomatoes and two aspirin.

.....and Andy,Tish, Kathleen, John, David, Barbara, Dwight, Diane, Stan, Lucy,Cindy, Cynthia, Jacques, Terri, Josee, Paul, Sandy, Leona, Todd ,Jim, Evan, Aunt Debbie, Aunt Penny, ...there is so much inspiration in the little ways of everyone around us - all of my colleagues who inspire me every day, my son's friends as I watch them grow, my clients, the rare relatives I keep in touch with....

Beyond good friends, wine and a hot soak, it's the divinity in the mundane that I'm most grateful for. And that divinity shines through every one of us...if we just have the courage to look down into that well of the deepest, darkest,self-pity-poop when the ones we love need it the most.