Scars

About 10 days ago, I was cooking dinner and I burnt my hand. It left a painful welt. I immersed it in cold water and "shook off" the pain, while carrying on with the food preparation.

Over the next few days, the burn scabbed over and was really unsightly. I just left it alone. I had a couple of people grab my hand to have a look and said "Oh wow. Doesn't that hurt?." Again, I brushed it off. I was tough. I mean, it was just a burn.

A few days ago, I realized it wasn't healing properly so I went and applied some antiseptic and a band-aid. Low and behold, it's beginning to heal. I might end up with a scar. At this point, it's hard to tell. I'm just pleased that the darkness of the scab has subsided and the injury is starting to itch, telling me that it's healing.

I was walking down the hall today and I looked down at my hand. I was suddenly struck by the thought of how incredible the human body is. It can heal itself if the proper attention is applied.

Within another 10 steps, I realized that our heart is part of that very human body that heals itself.

I paused to consider the bruises and scars that are on my heart.

I love with vigor. Be it loving friends, family or a significant other. In the beginning, it's almost as if I am going into battle. Like a warrior, nothing will stop me from penetrating another's heart and conquering it.

Looking back on my loves ( all of them, friends and family included) I can see how the "battle" continues long after the conquest and with it comes challenges, which I'll call stab wounds. These stab wounds disguise themselves as lies, betrayal, loss of trust, small hurts, jealousy, competition, insecurity and, sometimes, rejection.

Let me say this; not all relationships leave me bruised and battered. And even the ones that wound me are well worth the effort.

I've noticed, in the last 18 months or so, however, that I've been withdrawing my "troops" and backing off from the battlefield. This is because my heart has been injured. It's been scarred, burned, stabbed, whipped, and even torn from my chest cavity.

It's a horrible feeling to become someone that you don't recognize anymore. It's a horrible feeling to hold back love and generosity and to approach every new relationship with trepidation or indifference.

It's a horrible feeling to not feel.

As I was considering all of this, the elevator door opened. I walked in and pressed "Parking". Before I got to my destination, I had a very important realization.

To survive in life, we need to eat. Just because I burned my hand doesn't mean that I will stop preparing food for myself. I don't have a choice - in order to survive, I must eat. In order to eat, I must cook.

The same can be said for love. In order to survive in life, we need love. We need love from our family (blood or chosen), our friends, and our lovers.

I don't have a choice. In order to survive, I must love.

In order to love, I must bandage my heart and head back out on the battlefield.

Alvin

Tonight I stopped at the gas station to pick up some pop. I waited in line while the gentleman behind the cash machine performed transactions with 3 people in front of me, I noticed that they just plopped their goods on the counter, waited for him to calculate the total, passed over their money, got their change, and walked away.

I decided to chat the guy up. His name was Alvin. He was so pleasant to me, even after being merely ignored by everyone else that he had served before me.

I asked if he'd grown up here - he looked familiar, actually - "No" he said "I'm from the Philippines"

"How long have you been in Canada, Alvin?", I asked.

"2 and a half years now. I applied to move to Australia, Canada and the U.S. Canada was the first country to accept me."

He went on to tell me how safe he felt here, and that he appreciated that if he did get in trouble, he could call 9-1-1 and someone would help him. He said he was glad he didn't live in the middle east - It wasn't safe there.

I learned that his wife and children were still in the Philippines.

It occurred to me that he wouldn't be tucking his children in tonight, or kissing his wife before rolling over and going to sleep. He must be lonely. His family must miss him terribly. They have each other, at least. He has no one that he can hug tenderly at night.

He moved to Canada to create a better life for his family. It's ironic that foreigners have to leave their families in order to improve their lives.

I thanked him for his time and went to my car. I got in and put my seatbelt on. I had to take several deep breaths to prevent me from crying. I felt so damn sad in that moment. Then I got mad.

I'm mad that so many of the people I know bitch about the little things in their lives. They go home and complain to their spouse or their parents. They go and take their bad mood out on their innocent children. At least they can hug their children and say "I'm sorry". At least they can hug their spouse and say "I love you."

Alvin can't do that right now. One day, if he's lucky. But not now. And still he smiles and doesn't complain.

It also brings me back to the current situation in Japan. With that frightening and heartbreaking disaster occurring there, we have no basis for complaining that our PVR didn't tape our favorite show, or that the pizza delivery guy forgot to give us napkins. We waste food, we waste time, we waste away. It's so sad that so many of us waste our lives being ungrateful and unmotivated.

I'm going to go talk to Alvin more often. I think he has a lot of valuable things to share with and teach me.

All I want for Christmas

I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to "stuff". I'm serious.

It's gotten so bad that I shudder and nearly break out in hives when my esthetician will offer to give me something as simple as the nail file that was barely used for my nail service, merely because I simply do not want another thing in my possession.

Which leads me to this whole Christmas thing. I'm a generous person by nature, and anyone who knows me well understands that I like to do things that are my idea...not because I am expected to. That is why I have a hate/hate relationships with all Hallmark holidays. I'm not religious, so Christmas is just another consumer/Hallmark holiday for me.

I'm not trying to take away from the joy that giving and receiving brings each and every one of us. I just do not get any joy in things.

When I grew up, we weren't really wealthy and Christmas, Birthdays and other important events were fun because my mom and dad would each get me one very nice gift and some other essentials. I don't remember ever demanding gifts or expecting them. I appreciated everything I was given. And I loved to give. I still do.

As an adult, I've managed to accumulate a bunch of stuff. Piles and piles of useless stuff. When I look at it all, I imagine it would make incredible kindling. It's absolutely meaningless to me. The only thing it represents is all the hard work I've done and the time I've spent working, in the past 16 years....often at the peril of my personal relationships.

My husband and I were talking and both agree that some of our happiest days together were when we were dirt poor. We had no other choice than to snuggle up on our (only) couch and watch our crappy 19" TV. We struggled financially for a few years and then became financially successful. And then we filled our house with crap.

I imagine what it would be like not to have the burden of all of this stuff. I imagine it would be incredibly liberating. In fact, I have been purging our things and it feels tremendous. Next year for me will be the year of cleansing. Less things, More people.

Back to Christmas. As I mentioned, I am not religious. I used to attend church on Christmas Eve with my grandparents or the Italian friends I grew up with....mostly because I enjoy singing and the company of my family and friends. That tradition passed when my grandparents did, and when my friend Luke got married. I cherish those times together. Notice there is nothing tangible in that experience other than perhaps a hug shared between loved ones.

Because I'm not religious, and because I don't worship possessions any more, Christmas holds a different meaning. I'm sorry if I appear jaded, but I just really don't want to participate in the exchange of things any more. They hold no meaning to me when they are given to me, and unless they are heartfelt and thought out, they hold no meaning when they are given by me. I'm sorry, but that's the truth. I also think it's sad that people go into debt at this time to the year to prove they love someone, or worse, because they are expected to give a gift to someone for whatever reason.

However, in trying to keep the true spirit of the season, I've thought about what I want for Christmas, and have come up with this list. If you must do something for me this Christmas, please consider the following;

- Shut off your computer & your cell phone and sit down with someone you love, look in their eyes and really listen to them. 5 minutes. That's all I ask.

- When at the drive thru at Tim Horton's or Starbucks, pay for the coffee of the person behind you. It's a small price to pay to make someone feel special. You don't know what kind of day or life they are having...that could be a game changer for them.

- Go visit your grandparents. If they aren't alive, go visit someone else's grandparents. Ask them lots of questions. Write their answers down. One day those words on a page will be all you have of them, but that one hour of your undivided attention and your genuine interest in them will mean the world.

- Make dinner for your parents. Sit at the dinner table. Talk. Laugh. THANK them for being your parents.

- Read your child, or someone else's, a story. Hug them. Ask them about your day. Look them in the eye. They are watching you. Make a good example.

- Volunteer your time. Offer your services through Big Brothers/Sisters, go serve a meal at the homeless shelter, become a mentor, shovel your elderly neighbor's walk.

- Write someone a letter. On paper. With a pen. Address the envelope by hand. Put a stamp on it. Mail it.

-Instead of texting someone, pick up the phone and call them. Sometimes people just need to hear your voice.

- Be kind. Be humble. Be generous with your time.

That is all I want for Christmas.

On GRANDparents

Grandparents are aptly named. They are Grand. At least mine were.

I have 3 sets of Grandparents: My father's parents, My mother's father and his 2nd wife ( the only surviving Grandparent I have left) and My mother's mother and husband.

I had a very special bond with my paternal Grandmother, even though I rarely saw her. She made great efforts to be connected to me. The mother of 6 boys, she was the ultimate care-giver. I lost her the summer before I began grade 4. I was devastated. My grandfather, her husband, had passed away when I was too small to be adversely affected. I do wish I had known him better.

My mom's father and 2nd wife were great to me too. I spent a great deal of my time with them when I was a young girl. My fondest memories of their house was my uncle's bedroom and his gerbils. I was fascinated with those rodents. My grandma also collected those Avon perfumes: the women whose torso came off to dispense the potent perfume inside. I also vividly remember those Christmas tree icicles that lit up and had liquid in them. Remember those? My surviving grandma is 84 and we just attended a wedding together - she was dancing up a storm. She's an absolute treasure.

The Grandparents I was the closest to were my Mom's mother and her husband. I spent every summer of the first 12 years of my life with them in hot, dry Saskatchewan where grandpa had 2 farms and a barber business, while grandma ran a successful accounting firm. I made really good friends there, learned to swim, had my first crush on a boy, and even started grade 1 there because my local school board was on strike that year.

These Grandparents were young when they started caring for me in the summer. I think they were in their mid/late 40s. But they were always young at heart. Grandma played the piano by ear, and Grandpa played in a polka band. They loved to dance. He never had any children of his own, so I held a special place in his heart. I felt more like a daughter to him than a granddaughter. He wrote me a song on his accordion - to this day, I regret not recording it or having him write it down. It saddens me to know I will never hear it again. I can't even remember what it sounds like. Their love of music was part of the glue that bonded them, as well as their love of laughter. I loved being with them. My grandma was a tremendous woman. There are no words to describe her that do her enough justice.

I feel like I knew all of these people quite well, but I could have known them better. I regret that I will never have the chance. I have to savor the memories of all of my Grandparents.

Last summer I had a dream about my Grandpa from Saskatchewan and my Dad's mother. It turns out it was a night that was right in the middle of the dates that they both passed away. I couldn't sleep so I got up and wrote this down....

Grandpa

A vision of you woke me

on the eve

of your death's anniversary

And with it

all of my memories

of you

So dignified, you were

Farmer's arms

Sparkling eyes, trouble maker

Wax paper sandwiches

and chocolate bars

in your worn metal lunchbox

Harvest Time

My sundress

complimented by your rubber boots

12 sizes too big

The dusty streets of the hamlet,

Playing marbles in the church pews,

The song you wrote for me

We were bonded

Not by blood

Yet, thicker than blood

You fell in your field

onto your bread and butter

Dignity lost

You disappeared before our eyes

Buried next to wheat sheafs

Dignity regained

Summer fallow

Of all the people I'd like to impress....

I used to really worry about what people thought of me. Then I learned something that made it impossible for me to worry about what others think of me. So, for the last 12 years I have continued on with my life without that concern. Now, of course I haven't been reckless with my integrity, I just know that I cannot please everyone all of the time.

That said, there is one person that I have always hoped to earn the love and respect of. He joined my family when I was 9 years old. He is my Brother.

We are half-siblings. We share a Father. However, ever since we could explain our relationship to others, it has always been "This is my brother"/ "This is my sister". There are no halves about it.

Because we didn't grow up together full-time, we have never fought. I don't even think there are any pent-up feelings of hurt, resentment or jealousy. I'm sure if we lived together full-time we would have created a typical brother/sister-love/hate relationship. Instead, we created a friendship.

My brother got married in May. I think I've only seen him twice since then. It's okay because we both know that we can always rely on one another. Obviously, I'd like to see him more often. Yesterday, he sent me an email that brought tears to my eyes. The essence of the email was that my brother wants to spend more time with me. I emphatically agreed. I'm so happy that I am the kind of person that my brilliant, loving, amazing brother wants to spend time with.

I've never doubted that he loves me. It's just so nice to hear it.

I wrote this for my brother last year. It seems fitting to share it.....

Brother

Do you see it?

The greatness that you are?

Like a huge bright light

not easily contained

intangible

Amaze me

you do

But I'm not surprised

You are my teacher

taking me back

before bitterness and

defeat ate away at my heart

You restore me

my salvation

Do you know?

You are my muse

my mentor

my blood

Do you feel it?

My overwhelming

love, joy

admiration

respect

It's yours.

Light Bulbs and Glass Balls

I used to be a workaholic.

I used to spend a lot of time on my cell phone checking emails, trolling facebook and talking to people on twitter while I was in the company of people I loved; friends & family.

I knew it was kind of rude, but they understood. They know that my profession is time consuming and doesn't really have any set hours. So they let it slide.

I realized that while at my Dad's I would leave the room to babysit my phone and I would come back part way through a fun conversation and feel left out. Why the hell should I have felt left out? I took myself out.

Imagine my brain is like a light switch with a dimmer feature. Let's assume the light was turned on but when it came to my issue of being attached to my phone, the dimmer switch of awareness was set quite low. There was a light glow of sight for me when it came to this issue.

As I realized I was missing out on things going on without me, even when I was in the room, the dimmer switch slowly moved up the slide, bringing a little bit of awareness with it each time. More and more, the dimmer would move up and things would come into sight much easier and clearer until I decided that enough was enough. I decided that if I committed to being with someone, I wanted to be with them. That meant, as few distractions as possible. I was pretty sure I was committed to that value and then one day, while I was practicing my new found habit of being present I was with some people I had met through social media. If anyone was going to be lenient about social behaviors and short attention spans, it was this group of people. Admittedly, I checked my social outlets a few times during our time out, but when one of the people I was with pulled out a phone charger and plugged it into the wall in the restaurant, so that they could keep texting and tweeting people that weren't with us, the dimmer switch went all the way to the top of the slide. The lights came on for me fully.



I was a bit shocked that this person didn't value the company of the people they were with enough to just let their phone die and be with the rest of us. I was a bit disgusted actually. And then I thought back to all the times I had done the same thing, or something similar.

If I, as someone exposed to social media, and a heavy user of the medium was appalled at this action of another, imagine how my family and friends felt when I halfheartedly participated in conversations and get togethers.

Since that night, I've done my best to be totally present with the people I am with. I admit, I am not perfect at this yet, but more often than not I leave my phone in my purse while out with the important people in my life. It's not always easy, especially when they reach for their phone to check what calls and emails they have missed, but I am trying.

If you are my friend or family member and are reading this, please know that I am conscious of this shortcoming of mine and I am working on it. I value your time. Time lost with my loved ones is time that can't be replaced.

I was at a seminar last week, and the facilitator shared this quote by Brian Dyson, the CEO of Coca-Cola.

"Imagine life as a game in which you are juggling some five balls in the air. You name them – work, family, health, friends and spirit and you’re keeping all of these in the air. You will soon understand that work is a rubber ball. If you drop it, it will bounce back. But the other four balls – family, health, friends and spirit are made of glass. If you drop one of these, they will be irrevocably scuffed, marked, nicked, damaged or even shattered. They will never be the same. You must understand that and strive for balance in your life. How?"

This has stuck with me ever since. It's so true.

It's important to take care of those glass balls. They are irreplaceable.