Monday, December 19, 2022

Soft Carpet


Soft Carpet 

 

I wake in the pre-dawn hours, my to-do list already scrolling in my head. 

 

Groceries to buy, meds to sort, bills to pay. Navigating routes to ferry one to a medical appointment while efficiently running errands for the other. An endless list, devoid of my own needs or pleasures. 

 

I just want to stay in bed. I want a day when no one needs anything from me. When taking time for myself isn’t guilt inducing. I want to paint and create, write poetry and string beads. I want a long soak in a hot bath. I need a pedicure. There is no time for such luxuries. 

 

I’m feeling sorry for myself. Time to put my feet on the floor. As I stand, I am reminded of how soft the carpet feels under my bare feet. And in that moment, I know that I am already surrounded by pleasures and luxuries

  

I just need to pay attention. 

Thursday, August 25, 2022

Crack and Shatter



Crack and Shatter 

 

Standing on the corner of Crack and Shatter

Wondering where the pieces will fall.

Some of the small ones are already flaking away.

I try to pick up the tiny shards, but they disappear in my hands. 

 

Some days I can't remember how I got to this place.

I suppose it was step by step but perhaps it isn't helpful to know, 

There is still a long road ahead.

I need to find some glue. 



Tuesday, May 31, 2022

What Does Broken Look Like?

 


What does broken look like 

When there are no fragments of glass on the floor 

And there are no cracks in the wall? 

 

What does broken look like 

When the meals are made 

And the house is clean? 

 

What does broken look like 

When the music still plays 

And the artwork is bright? 

 

What does broken look like 

When greetings are cheerful 

And smiles are unwavering? 

 

Perhaps it looks like the man on the subway 

The woman in the grocery store 

The child on the school bus. 

 

Perhaps it looks like the clerk in the convenience store 

The receptionist in the dentist office 

The server in the restaurant. 

 

So much invisible pain 

So many invisible people 

So few glances in the mirror.

Saturday, May 28, 2022

Changed and Unchanged

 

 

Mostly I have come to terms with being a sponge for the emotions of the broader universe.  There are still days when it is hard.  Even if I don't want to, I tend to feel things so deeply.  And there is so much going on in the world right now that it is a constant challenge not to sink into darkness.  Add to that, the recent diagnosis of Alzheimer's for my eldest sister has made me abundantly sad, not just for her but for myself and our other sister too.  I am mourning the loss of the future I imagined we had - three sisters sharing adventures in our old age.  I am her primary caregiver now and I am already tired.  Nothing to be done about it but to soldier on, one day at a time.

 

I wanted to believe the challenges of the Covid 19 virus changed the world in good and important ways.  That we, the people of the world had finally learned that the fate of some of us, affects the fate of all of us.  Viruses don't respect politics or borders.  Given that there is a war raging in Ukraine, it doesn't appear we learned that lesson.  But it isn't just wars in far off lands that have shattered my illusions.  I've watched Republican politicians in the U.S. work hard to successfully obliterate the rights of women to sovereignty over their own bodies.  It doesn't take a rocket science to know that obliterating the rights of other groups will be next.  Old, white, "Christian" men just can't seem to accept that their time of ruling the universe has passed so they try with every last vestige of their strength to tamp down anyone they see as "other".  It's a bad time to be female, gay or dark-skinned in America.  And while I know this has not, so far, affected our legal rights in Canada, I also know that hate does not respect borders either.  God help us.  So while I have certainly felt angry about what is happening south of the border, it is the events of the last week that pushed me into the darkest place.  Nineteen children and two teachers killed in the latest mass shooting in an American elementary school in Texas.  And just like the other mass shootings before this, we all know nothing will change as a result of it.  The cable news networks will incessantly broadcast coverage of the funerals, memorials and press conferences and then it will stop.  More eighteen-year-old boys will go into gun shops and legally buy assault weapons.  More little children will die.  But isn't that the way of modern day American politics?  Protect embryos and fetuses at all cost but the lives of women and children don't make the list of things that are important.  The right to own a gun is more important than the right of nine-year-old children to be safe in their schools.  The GOP right-to-life belief system is good for a six-week old fetus but once children are born, they are screwed.  It is the parents I cry for.  They don't just mourn the loss of their children, they mourn the loss of the futures they thought they had.  No graduations.  No weddings.  No grandchildren.  The very thought of the pain of those mothers shatters me.  

 

Today is supposed to be a happy day for me.  For the first time this afternoon, I will attend the wedding of one of my kids.  Covid restrictions blocked my last chance to attend the wedding of a couple of my other kids when they got married in 2020 but this bride postponed her planned wedding until she could have a larger gathering.  We will be an intimate group of 75 and the wedding dinner will be outside.  It suits me just fine.  I took my mandatory Covid test this morning.  I've never had to do that to attend a wedding before so I guess things have changed somewhat.  I will put on my new party dress and paint my nails and do my hair.  I will, no doubt, cry when she walks up the aisle with her mom and dad and tonight I will dance.  This morning I made jam and planned a new painting.  I haven't read the newspaper and I won't be watching the news.  It is a day for joy.  The mess of the world will still be here to look at in the morning.

Friday, March 11, 2022

The In-Between Hours


  

 

The In-Between Hours

 

The in-between hours is when it is hardest
Body aching for slumber
Mind yearning for rest though sleep is not to be found.
In the void is anxiety, angst, pain
What if? What now? Can I?  Should I? How?


Perhaps it is the darkness that fuels the fear
In the long hours between dusk and dawn
When the memories of long past loss, pain and failure
Stoke the fear of more to come
Making the release of sleep impossible.


And when finally the gray morning light  
Creeps into the bedroom window,
I rise to find a blanket of snow has covered the yard
And new blooms have opened on the orchids
Lined up against the kitchen window.



Sunday, February 13, 2022

It's Not a Freedom Convoy!

It's days like today that can easily bring me to my knees if I'm not careful to keep myself in check.  The most mundane of activities, grocery shopping, is no longer mundane.  It's not just about getting my groceries as efficiently as I can and getting out of the store, it's about numerous modifications to my plans due to recently empty shelves and dodging the newly emboldened shoppers who don't want to play by public health rules.  It's about keeping myself from exploding at unmasked strangers who for some reason, won't take even the simplest of measures, like not standing so close to me in the checkout line that they or their unmasked and unchecked children keep bumping into me.  I don't want to fight with them, there is no margin in it.  It would be too much like wrestling with a pig - we would both get dirty but the pig would like it.

 

I'm in an unfamiliar head space these days.  I vacillate between weariness and rage.  Rage is an emotion I have rarely experienced and certainly never sustained, but I find myself there much of the time now.  For almost two years we've been living with the Covid 19 pandemic and like the rest of the world, I'm tired.  There are times when I feel hopeful that we are coming to the end of the complete mayhem it has made of our lives but those times are fleeting.  And as my hopes have diminished, I have moved into rage.  Two years ago we had no tools at our disposal to end this scourge.  We longed for the day the vaccine would be created and we could all get it and get back to our lives.  We got the vaccine but we are still in the midst of the pandemic.

 

I realize now that there was a flaw in my thinking when I believed the vaccine would signal the end.  I assumed that everyone would jump at the chance to take it.  I remember the days when we had vaccine envy as we waited for our turns and watched our friends post the news on social media that they had received their doses - first, second and third.  I remember feeling absolutely giddy the day I got my second dose.  I was going to be safe and even if I did get Covid, maybe I would be protected enough not to die from it.  I know it sounds dramatic but it is a reality for those of us with serious underlying health issues and God help me, I don't want to die of Covid.  If everyone got protected and the virus couldn't find hosts to invade or morph into new strains, we would all be unmasked again in the grocery store.  We could travel again and go to concerts and sporting events and parties.  But in Ontario, fifteen percent of our eligible population remains unvaccinated.  It is a bizarre choice to me.  The anti-vaxer  truckers convoy that calls itself the Freedom Convoy is being controlled, not by the small group of anti-vaxer truckers who are railing against public health restrictions, but by a hateful group of far-right nut bars, most of whom are not even resident in Canada.  The money to support the invasion of Ottawa which has now been going on for nineteen days as well as the protests which have crippled most major cities in Canada and closed the Ambassador Bridge in Windsor hasn't even primarily come from Canadians.  Roughly seventy percent of the money comes from foreign contributions, the vast majority from the U.S.  This group is calling for insurrection against the Canadian government.  They have held the Canadian population for ransom, crippling the supply chain, harming our economy and thwarting the will of the Canadian people who elected our current federal government to office only a few short months ago.  It is hardly imaginable that this is were we are today.


Last night, I watched the news.  I have been deliberately limiting my news exposure for the last week or so.  If I watch it too late at night, I find I am unable to sleep but last night, I watched at six.  A reporter was interviewing a young woman who was protesting the public health restrictions.  She was particularly upset at the requirement to show a vaccine passport in order to eat in a restaurant.  Her parting words to the reporter were that she is protesting because all we are seeing right now is not Canadian.  In that moment, I found something that we could agree on.


The Canada I know and truly love, has never been about granting freedoms to individuals at all costs, even when those freedoms impinge on the safety and security of the broader population.  Canadians have always been about community.  It's why we have such strong social support systems and provide health care to all of our people.  We have always needed to help and rely on one another.  Our climate is harsh.  The support and participation of everyone is how we have learned to survive.  It's not just a stereotype that we are nice.  We are nice.  And generally, we have been pretty lawful.  For many years, I worked at an American bank and in my frequent travels to visit my American colleagues, I was often teased for being so Canadian that I would not cross the street against a red light even if there were no cars in sight. And yet, day after day, I watch these convoys break the law.  They have defaced our war memorial, blocked access to our buildings and destroyed the peace of those who live in the neighbourhoods they have invaded.  They have urinated on our sacred monuments and defecated on residents' lawns.   So the protester was right.  What we are seeing right now coming from this hateful group, doesn't look Canadian to me.  


All of that should be more than enough to drive me to anger but it took more than that to drive me to rage.  In many ways, I love social media.  It lets me connect to my friends all over the world.  That's the part I love, but it is a double-edged sword.  I can also see the things my Facebook friends post and there have been several times I have deplored what I have seen.  Interestingly enough, the most upsetting posts come from people with whom I have a shared religious background.  I am not claiming to ever have been particularly good at the practice of the faith in which I was raised, but even now, I try to embrace what I believe to be the most important tenet.  Love thy neighbour as thyself  (22:37-39).  Some of the most offensive of the posts have come from a friend who counts herself as a religious devotee.  She posts Bible passages most days and has likened the actions of the so called "Freedom Convoy" to the slaves trying to escape Egypt that The Bible references in Exodus.  Seriously?  Another Facebook friend wants all masking restrictions lifted for her unvaccinated children because only a few dozen Canadian children have died from Covid and we shouldn't be making our kids feel like they need to protect either their elderly grandparents or their vulnerable peers.  I guess the lives of just a few dozen children aren't important enough, especially when they aren't her children.  And both her parents have serious underlying health conditions and like me, may not fare well if they catch Covid.


I am beyond angry.  I understand that they are tired of this mess.  Trust me - we are all tired of this mess, but we are still here and will still be here for months to come if everyone doesn't step up to do their part.  They are both good people and I have known and loved them both for decades.  I can only surmise that these absurd and harmful positions they have taken are based in their own fears and anxieties.  I have avoided confrontation with them, choosing instead, at least for now to unfollow but not unfriend them on Facebook.  I don't want to get to a place where our long friendships have been irrevocably broken.  They may, or may not read this post.  I don't know if either of them reads my blog but just in case they do, let me ask them  - is your fear really greater than your love?  After all these years and all we have been through, and all the times I have tried to help and support you, do you really not love me enough to get a needle and wear a mask in public places?  I'm happy for you that a bout of Covid if you do get it, will likely have a limited impact on your or your children's futures but please hear me when I tell you that I cannot say the same.  And please don't throw anymore Bible verses at me because your refusal to protect your neighbours is sadly un-Christian and even Pope Francis will tell you that.

Friday, February 11, 2022

Caged

 

Caged 

 

It wasn’t a gilded cage 

It was a cage forged of expectations 

She pushed against the bars 

But they did not budge. 

 

She couldn’t remember how  

She got locked into the cage 

Or when the bars went up 

Or when she realized she couldn’t leave. 

 

She was a good girl. 

Except when she wasn’t.  

Don’t be so loud, so passionate, so confident, so strong. 

Boys don’t like girls who are smarter than they are. 

 

She learned to tuck herself away. 

Good girls don’t upset anyone 

It is unladylike.  Serve the coffee.  

Paint your nails.  Smile. 

 

Go to work, but be careful 

Even if you rise to the C-Suite, don’t get too big. 

Plan the parties.  Stroke the egos. 

Serve.  Be a good girl.   

 

It got harder as she aged. 

And stopped being pretty.   

Lipstick and painted nails don’t hide wrinkles. 

Hair dye doesn’t hide a thickening waist.   

 

She paced inside the cage. 

And thought about how to break the bars 

She pushed and pushed,  

But it was futile.     

 

Years passed and she grew old and became invisible. 

She was no longer strong enough to push against the bars 

One afternoon, she unlatched the door  

And walked into the sun.