tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72357852024-03-05T23:03:51.862-05:00Siddhartha's DaughterMusings as I live, love and learn...KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-50696214558809964182011-02-07T23:18:00.000-05:002011-02-07T23:18:19.655-05:00Silence is Deadly<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="sqtdq" colspan="2" style="background-color: #edf1f7; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px; padding-top: 5px;"><span class="sqq" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-decoration: none;">“He [sic] who conceals his disease cannot expect to be cured” ~ </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Ethiopian Proverb</span><br />
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</div><div style="padding-top: 3px;">For the last almost three months, although I've been as busy as always and moving ahead on projects and ideas, I've also not entirely been myself. I've been notably exhausted, unmotivated in some veins, somewhat disengaged at times and pretty cranky. <br />
<br />
For each symptom, there seemed to be a rational correlation; there's been stress at work with a lot of change going on and I've been pretty unhappy with how most of that change has been managed. Still at work there's been a couple of new, very high profile projects that I was given an unexpected and high profile role on causing me to work longer days and highlight some long standing frustrations that anyone deals with working for a huge organization like I do. The longer days meant a creeping into my nightly home routine, causing that to suffer some negative impacts and necessary disengagement; I'd been pretty unhappy with how things were going for the last while and it was really starting to show.<br />
<br />
There was another element at play here though. As some of you may recall, I wrote about a health issue I had in 2009 and some of the symptoms of that pink bowl condition had resurfaced; or so I thought. My surgeon had told me that the banding procedure that I had gone through would likely need to be repeated down the road, so I was assuming that the same condition had returned, and I failed to act right away. I was bleeding again with each and every visit to the washroom and it wasn't going away and this time it was going on for months. I thought, "I'll just give my body some time and let's see how it responds; maybe it'll fix itself somewhat?"<br />
<br />
Yah. Not so much.<br />
<br />
I did finally start to move and took the right steps. I went back to my family doctor and got a referral back to the surgeon/specialist that treated my original condition. Two weeks later, I saw her and we scheduled a new scope and that was the go forward plan. My body, on the other hand, had its own plan.<br />
<br />
On the weekend of the 29th of January, my husband and I went out on the Saturday night to celebrate my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=10150370006205262&saved">brother-in-law's 50th birthday</a>. It's always a great time when the family gets together and since my mother-in-law makes a great drink called a "Busey Special" consisting of a lot of vodka, I decided to indulge and had her make me a triple...and then another. I was by no means wasted when my husband drove us home that night, but I certainly wasn't sober either.<br />
<br />
The next day, we took our twin boys to visit extended family in London and while we had planned to spend the day on the slopes of <a href="http://www.bolermountain.com/index.php">Boler Mountain</a>, I was decidedly not up for the task and we all agreed to just make it a more low key visit rather than push ourselves. I wasn't feeling particularly hung over, but I <i>was</i> feeling decidedly unwell. A glass of wine was no hair of the dog and it wasn't sitting well with me at all. I felt lethargic and just... unwell.<br />
<br />
That night, my body started to yell at me. My frequent trips to the toilet tripled over night. Monday, counting the day in a 24 hour stint, it was 24 trips. Tuesday, 18 times. We called the specialist's office and let them know what was happening. My condition was becoming particularly painful and untenable. Wednesday, 15 times. The doctor's office called back and told me to head to the Emergency department on Friday morning at 10 am. Thursday, 19 times.<br />
<br />
I was fully bed bound right from the get-go. Not only could I not be far away from the washroom, but each episode was utterly physically and emotionally exhausting. The process was painful, the relief seemingly brief and then I would crawl my way back to bed in a slumping heap. <br />
<br />
I had to call sick into work right from Monday. I realized that I couldn't focus in on anything long enough to do anything productive, not even read a book, so work, even from bed wasn't doable. My attention span was good enough for the odd video, Facebook and a lot of retweeting on Twitter and that was about it. I can't remember the last time I took a sick day from work. Even when I'm unwell, I can usually sit in bed and still manage to work remotely through phone calls and meetings, but not this last week. My body was shutting me down.<br />
<br />
By the time Friday morning rolled around, I didn't trust myself to drive myself to the <a href="http://www.hpha.ca/">hospital</a>, so I asked my daughter to accompany me. We arrived, went through triage and waited about 1/2 hour to be called.<br />
<br />
The decision was made to take me straight up to the day surgery floor for my scope, a week early, which was just fine by me. We headed upstairs, I kissed her good-bye and told her to be close to her phone for when she would have to pick me up again. Although there were at least ten people ahead of me, I was escorted straight through to the pre-op bays. Vitals were taken, enemas were administered and I was wheeled right into the operating room. <br />
<br />
My surgeon's not known especially for her bedside manner. She's hardly gruff, but she is an absolute no nonsense straight shooter that doesn't mince words or sentiment, and anyone that knows me knows that I have absolutely no problem with that approach at all. I had mentioned to my nurse that although I was originally scheduled for a <a href="http://digestive.niddk.nih.gov/ddiseases/pubs/sigmoidoscopy/">flexi-sigmoidoscopy</a>, I had called the surgeon's office requesting a full colonoscopy and was hoping for that procedure that day, but my surgeon let me know in no uncertain terms that that wasn't possible without proper prep, and that we'd be moving ahead that day with the flexi-scope. <br />
<br />
As we were about to start I was a little taken aback when she sweetly looked at me and said, "Don't worry honey, we're going to get you all fixed up." It was a small show of tenderness that immediately endeared me to her.<br />
<br />
The scope began and within moments, I heard "<a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001296">urgent ulcerative colitis</a>" and my heart began to sink. The night before, my husband and I were trolling the 'net looking for some information on my <a href="http://symptoms.webmd.com/default.htm">symptoms</a> and we were directed to intestinal diseases such as Crohns, Ileitis and Colitis. I was smart enough this time around to not jump ahead and begin self diagnosis, but I was preparing for not great news. Steroids, ostomies, surgeries. I joked with my husband, "ohmygawd, if I'm on steroids, am I going to get fat?!" He laughed at me and noted that it could have benefits in the working out department. Eerily enough, I have said to my husband on numerous occasions that I didn't know how people with Ileitis or Colitis managed to conduct themselves day to day, because any touch of bowel discomfort and I was just like a little mewling kitten. Now I was going to get a close up look at what these diseases were really going to be all about.<br />
<br />
Biopsies were taken and I rested on my side and told my surgeon what I needed. I told her that I can deal with just about anything, as long as I know what I'm facing. So, I asked her, "worse case scenario is an ostomy, correct?" "Correct and London can build you a whole new rectum if need be, but we are wholly remiss even discussing this right now." Okay, I thought, so here we go...nonetheless, I was feeling a little overwhelmed and a touch weepy.<br />
<br />
I texted my husband and my daughter to let him know what was happening and they started to work on getting back to see me at the hospital. No one was expecting me to not be going home that night. I was being admitted immediately to hospital. Back to my pre-op bay and I was given an IV line for fluids (I had been considerably dehydrated for weeks) and a CAT scan was ordered. Within less than an hour, I was wheeled to Imagery and the scan performed. I started my procedure at 11:30 am. By this time, it was 1:30pm and my scan was flagged as priority. Usually it takes up to a week to get a reading of one's CAT scan completed, so I was surprised to hear from the technician that my results would be ready by 4:00pm for my surgeon's review.<br />
<br />
While I was really happy that things were happening <b><i>bang, bang, bang</i></b>, that I was getting the immediate attention I obviously needed, I was equally disconcerted that things were happening <b><i>bang, bang, bang</i></b>...because that meant that I was sick; really sick. <br />
<br />
For all the complaining that Canadians do about wait times, and I am not belittling the validity of those complaints, seeing how the staff and the supporting resources and processes flew into action to manage my newly diagnosed disease, I was in awe at the responsiveness of the system.<br />
<br />
By 3:00pm I was in my ward room, my daughter had brought me my ever important MacBook and plugs and BlackBerry charger. The rest could wait until my husband could gather my essentials. All I needed was to feel connected to my family, my friends and sources of knowledge. Can't tell you how many times I blessed the WiFi gods. No <a href="http://www.scribd.com/doc/36097160/Wireless-Danger-at-Stratford-General-Hospital">smashing CPE</a> for me.<br />
<br />
For the next three days, I barely left my bed. I was hooked up to an IV for fluids, antibiotics and nightly steroids. I laid in bed watching first-run movies on a streaming website hour after hour. My only activity was getting gingerly out of bed to head to the washroom and when I was really adventurous, taking a prescribed stroll around the floor three times a day.<br />
<br />
Pulling around an IV pump, there is just no way to be quiet or gracious. It's a clunky contraption that reminds you with every step just how sick you are. And then there's the "white hat". White hats are measurement cups with large wings that lay across a toilet bowl and capture your output. There is nothing more humanizing than sharing a washroom in a ward room and seeing your outputs being measured along with everyone else's and there's nothing that makes you respect and appreciate nurses more than when you have to put on the rubber gloves yourself and move the hats around to ensure that you're capturing your outputs in your own hat. What our nurses do for us is immeasurable in many, many ways.<br />
<br />
My energy levels had been down for months already and now, I had not eaten anything since Thursday night and the last I had to drink was a clear tea on Friday morning. I slept horribly for little more than four hours each night and for the first two days, I was not allowed any water or any food whatsoever, so my cranky level was pretty high when my husband brought the kids to visit. I was only good for a short visit as the ice chips weren't really cutting it for me. By the time they allowed the reintroduction of <a href="http://ensure.com/">Ensure</a> for my first "meal", I was as sated as if I had just had a full steak dinner. Next, it was soup; cream of "something", some juice, some tea, some pudding. Morning was oatmeal and more Ensure and tea and my body was responding well.<br />
<br />
Today, on my fourth day I was discharged from the hospital. As my surgeon noted, I'm ambulatory, my food intake has begun to increase, I can hydrate myself and it's safer for me to be out of the hospital where the opportunity to catch <a href="http://c.diff/">C.Diff</a> or <a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0004520">MSRA</a> increases daily. I'll be monitored closely in the short-term and if my symptoms start to increase again, then I'm to return to the hospital immediately. My at home medications for the next three months are costing in excess of $1000. Thank gawd for benefits and employee group insurance plans.<br />
<br />
So, while I'm far from being even close to well again, I am certainly better than I have been for the last few months. The one thing that feels most surreal to me now is knowing that I have an active <i style="font-weight: bold;">disease</i>. I'm only just wrapping my head around the fact that this is something that will now never leave me and I will have to actively manage for the rest of my life, whether it's through medicine (which will hopefully be short term), but through also managing stress levels and my diet and exercise.<br />
<br />
There is no known cause for ulcerative colitis and therefore, there is no known cure. It is merely something that is to be managed from here on in.<br />
<br />
So, as before, the reason I'm doing such an accounting of where I've been health wise for the last few months is to do my part in breaking down the cones of silence that most people live in when they're managing a health issue. I know that I feel this sense of "delicately" dancing around the issue, using medical vernacular and the least offensive terms possible. There seems to be this sense of shame or fear of sharing because we're talking about the most banal parts of being a human being; our ability to process our nutrients and produce waste. I do know and have been clearly reminded again that unequivocally, without one's health, we have <b><i>nothing</i></b>. Therefore, I'm willing to share and support the dialogue.<br />
<br />
I have been immensely touched by the openness of friends, new and old, in sharing with me their struggles with similar diseases since I've posted that I was in hospital on Facebook. I'm amazed at how prevalent these diseases are and just how many people are affected by them. I've always believed that knowledge is power and the more I learn about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autoimmune">autoimmune</a> diseases and the more I share, the more I can hopefully help someone else who's facing some uncertainty with their own health.<br />
<br />
So, while I'm a lot stubborn and a bit thick at times, I am learning that being ill requires patience and listening to those who know. I cannot immediately return to my old pace, so I won't. I <i>must</i> rest. I <i>must</i> manage my stresses. I <i>must</i> start to pay more attention to my diet and how my body feels. I <i>must</i> ask for help.<br />
<br />
So, to all my friends, IRL and online, who wrote me words of encouragement, dropped by to visit, loaned the family their driveway and shared their own health stories with me, I am once again profoundly touched by your love and support.<br />
<br />
To the incredible nurses at Stratford General Hospital, thank you kindly for your help and support and for having the wisdom to unplug me long enough to have a revitalizing shower when I needed it most. To my <a href="http://www.ratemds.com/doctor-ratings/76867/Dr-Marci-McCune-Stratford-ON.html">surgeon</a>, gawd love you woman...<br />
<br />
And of course, to my family, for coming to visit me with kisses and cuddles, sharing movies in the lounge and showing me just how much they <a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150374515525262&set=a.313513925261.340202.854800261&theater">love me</a>.</div></td></tr>
</tbody></table>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-86547086416748622282009-08-29T13:33:00.076-04:002009-08-29T15:43:04.999-04:00Chosen Kin<span style="font-family: arial;">"If it comes between choosing your family or your husband, you choose your husband."</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">~as told to me by my mother, Sara</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I didn't really understand this statement when my mother said it to me when I was a teenager. I mean, I understood it in the sense that she had survived a horribly abusive childhood and that marrying my father was certainly a means for her to remove herself from the pain and dependence of her family, but as a 17 year old with my immediate family being the only thing I knew at that age, it took me until I was well into my twenties before I really understood just how important this statement is, and as I continue to age, that message becomes reinforced for me time and time again.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">My whole life, I've struggled with my relationship with my family, both immediate and extended. I've </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">never </span><span style="font-family: arial;">felt accepted, understood or much liked for that matter or really that anyone in my family really wanted to take the time to really know who I was. They still </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">think</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> they know me, however in reality, they haven't a clue...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">In my twenties, I was terribly affected by those strained relationships and I tried to "fix" them through writing letters to my parents and later to my extended family in the hopes of rebuilding that sense of kinship and loyalty. I always wanted that huge family that would gather at holidays and actually enjoy each other's company and while it may have been a projection from my Norman Rockwell inspired diary when I was a girl, it still spoke to something deep within me that I had craved and which had never been satisfied.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Of course my letters never made any difference . If anything, they mostly became fodder for derisive interactions that usually plagued our family get-togethers. Each time I was with my family, I felt alone, mocked, disappointed and ultimately, very sad. Finally, in my mid-twenties, I learned that there was nothing that I was going to be able to do to independently change my family's dynamic, so for my own sake, I started down a different path and made different choices. I tweaked my mother's advice to read from then on...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">If you have to choose between your family and yourself, you choose yourself...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I started university with my toddler daughter in tow and I began on a journey of creating that thing to which I wanted to be a part of. I began to live another quote which my mother had shared with me when I was just twelve. I began to live being ultimately true to myself. I became more introspective, more genuine, more vulnerable and decided then that I would only surround myself with people that were of the same mindset. Not to say that throughout the rest of my twenties I didn't get sidelined, make bad decisions, trust the wrong people and continue to lie to myself periodically, but for the most part, I worked to stay that course. I loved well the people that were in my life and brought a sense of positive progress to it as well, and those that drained me of my life blood, I worked to eliminate from my every day and that included my family for a long, long time.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I remember my best Christmas dinner ever. I was surrounded with my daughter and ten other people in my dining room, not one of them I was related to, but each one of them I referred to as my chosen kin. They were friends that loved me, supported me, engaged me and equally chose me to be a part of their lives. It was joy. They brought me joy. They brought me love and acceptance and I strove to do the same for them. Not all those people are still in my life, but </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">most </span><span style="font-family: arial;">of them are and I still consider them dear, dear friends.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">At different times throughout my twenties I met three people that were to completely define that notion of chosen kin for me. I know them each from entirely disparate circumstances. They are my three closest friends and in each one of them, I find tremendous love, absolute acceptance and unwavering support (even when I'm wrong, they're still on my side, just like family's supposed to be). We've had our ups and downs, as does any relationship, but these three souls know that without fail, I love them and will do anything that I can to support them as they would equally do for me. I am unbelievably grateful for them and they are part of my family.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It was the foundation of these three relationships that enabled me to once again choose wisely and choose to marry my best friend, my husband. My choice. My chosen kin. With him, we have created a life, surrounded with and based on a tremendous love. A love that we chose and a life that we continue to choose in spite of the valleys, because we seek those peaks together. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">And through him, I have also found that huge family that gathers, loves and enjoys one another's company. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">He and our children are my <span style="font-style: italic;">chosen kin.</span> Along with my closest friends, they are the ones that I choose to live with, the ones that I choose to turn to </span><span style="font-family: arial;">and the ones that I find my greatest joy from. <br /><br />So now, at almost forty years old, I still find myself having to make choices about my happiness. I believe that </span><span style="font-family: arial;">It is through making choices that people find their greatest happiness and the lives that fulfil. Those disappointing and strained relationships still sadden me greatly, however, that pain is mitigated by the buoyancy I feel from those that I have chosen and who have chosen me. So, </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I will continue to choose the people and the paths that bring that happiness to me and forgo those that simply don't.</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />And now </span><span style="font-family: arial;">as one of these closest friends and his spouse are in the midst of adopting a six year old boy, <span style="font-style: italic;">choosing </span>their kin and expanding their family, my joy abounds. There aren't two more deserving people than they, and I am ecstatic for them and selfishly for the fact that my chosen kin, my family is growing and that I am going to be an Auntie again.<br /><br /><br /></span>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-38942253740627068522009-07-08T10:45:00.009-04:002009-07-08T22:59:13.726-04:00Dating 2.0<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 10"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CKaren%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-CA;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 89.85pt 1.0in 89.85pt; mso-header-margin:35.45pt; mso-footer-margin:35.45pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA">I’m so mad.<span style=""> </span>I swear, he’s cheated.<span style=""> </span>Doesn’t he know that being hungover is NOT the right time to make decisions?<span style=""> </span>He was all sweet and totally “in love” and then 20 hours later he’s already single again on Facebook?!<span style=""> </span>Oh, and then he’s all like “say when, say when” about talking…finally!!<span style=""> </span>Whatever!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>I was told! My neighbour Jane told me, "don't fall in love with the boyfriend; you'll only get hurt!"....gawd, she's so right...<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>It’s happened.<span style=""> </span>I’ve been taken to the dark side.<span style=""> </span>Today, I fully experienced Dating 2.0.<span style=""> </span>Oh, it’s not me by the way.<span style=""> </span>By virtue of Facebook, I am completely vicariously living through my 17 year old daughter’s boyfriend drama first hand and now I know that I'm not ready for her to be dating or rather, I’m just not ready for minding her relationship in real-time, or Dating 2.0 that is.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA">At one point, I encouraged her dating and by that I mean old school dating; going out a few times or hanging out casually until you figured out if you liked someone enough to actually be “going out”; not “hooking up” first and <i style="">then</i> determining if they’re worthy enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>I fully supported her in being open and receptive to different types of guys; guys who had reputations for being "players" or "bad news" and giving them a chance to reveal who they really are (without getting too close mind you!). Quiet guys; encouraging her to encourage them to open up. Guys who are seemingly the super nice guys; being hopeful that they really are the super nice guys.<span style=""> </span>That of course was all when I would pop into her room and ask her who she was IMing and talking to her openly and freely and loving the fact that she trusted me enough to talk openly to me about her fears and hopes regarding guys and the whole dating scene and being able to walk away.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>It took a while for her to find the "right" guy. By being patient and mindful, by believing that she was treasured and a treasure to behold, she waited until she was wooed and she let herself be wooed; I was excited with her and for her, but now I realize that I'm really not ready for this.<span style=""> </span>Here’s why…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA">
<br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA">This is clearly the age of Facebook.<span style=""> </span>Not only have I been online since 1994, but I am <i style="">that</i> kind of parent that still has my daughter’s hotmail and Facebook passwords.<span style=""> </span>In our house, it’s part of the deal man; if you want to be online, I get access.<span style=""> </span>A blessing from my perspective (and a pisser from my daughter’s perspective) has been when her friends have sought me out and friended me on Facebook.<span style=""> </span>It’s never been a calculated move, but I am ever grateful that I can see enough of what’s going on in the life of her and her friends to keep a healthy watch on things. But my blessing is turning into a curse since her boyfriend also friended me on Facebook and now, I’m privy to the breakup drama unfolding in my News Feed.<span style=""> </span>Without even asking for it, I’m getting a play by play account.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>Even worse yet, I find myself getting totally sucked in, reality TV style.<span style=""> </span>Curse you The Hills!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>I’ve found myself checking his Facebook status, reading his updates since he’s been on vacation, looking for evidence, telltale signs, anything that will help <i style="">me</i> help <i style="">her</i> understand what’s happened.<span style=""> </span>Anything that will help <i style="">me</i> help <i style="">her</i> through this experience.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>What I’ve quickly realized though is that there is a time when a parent can be too close or too aware and right now is that time for me for a couple of very good reasons.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>It has nothing to do with <i>her </i>dating...it's me. I'm not ready. I'm not ready for her disappointments and her tears. My instinct is to suss out his lying or cheating because I want to protect her.<span style=""> </span>I want to respond angrily to his innocuous postings or thoughtful responses to my posted items; I want to post nasty messages to him for hurting her and then I realize that I'm actually (almost) engaging in a teenage relationship and then I further realize that I am also reliving some of my own bad experiences as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>Yah, well, good for me that I’ve quickly realized that it’s not all about me.<span style=""> </span>And truthfully, they weren’t all bad experiences either, even the really rotten, hurtful ones because they are the experiences that forged who I am ultimately.<span style=""> </span>From high school to adulthood, they are the means by which I was to learn the lessons that I did (or took too long to learn) and which led me to where I am today.<span style=""> </span>Happy (mostly) and in a loving, supportive, engaging marriage…finally.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p></o:p>I have to say that I am exceptionally proud of how well my girl is handling this experience in her life; with such mature aplomb and grace.<span style=""> </span>She really is a better woman at 17 than most grown ups I’ve known and certainly kicks my 17 year old arse to the curb.<span style=""> </span>Now, if Mum could just find that same maturity and remove the boyfriend from her Facebook…well, maybe tomorrow…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;" lang="EN-CA"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-24807476094041042152009-05-06T09:28:00.005-04:002009-05-06T09:46:09.029-04:00In Honour of Mother's DayI read a great article today in the <a href="http://tinyurl.com/dgxjjs">Globe & Mail</a> and it made me think of my mum. Not that I don't think of her every single day actually, but it seemed especially poignant today. Soon we'll be celebrating Mother's Day and a month after that, my family will be honouring my mum on the 6th anniversary of her death. Mother's Day is always bittersweet for me now, so in honour of my mum, and Mother's Day, I am posting the eulogy I wrote for her because it shares so much of how much I love her and what an incredible force she still is in my life...and it is the one piece of writing that I am most proud of.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">~</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">June 2003<br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">“To Thine Ownself Be True”. It’s a Shakespearean quote that <span style=""></span>my mum inscribed in a diary she gave me for my birthday one year when I <span style=""></span>was a young girl, probably close to Rae’s age. It is but one of thousands of <span style=""></span>great lessons that my mum taught me while growing up that has stuck with <span style=""></span>me right up until today.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>My mother, first and foremost, was always true to herself. The <span style=""></span>hardest part of that was that it was very difficult for the rest of us to live <span style=""></span>with her truths and her honesty all the time.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>My mum was a very private person and she didn’t like anybody <span style=""></span>knowing her business. Because of that, I’ve struggled with exactly what I <span style=""></span>want to share with you all about my mum. So, I’m going to go with what she told <span style=""></span>me, which is To Thine Ownself Be True. Here’s my truth Mum…<br /><br /><span style=""></span>There is no possible way that I can sum up my mum in a few words, <span style=""></span>especially in just the few days since she has passed. In 33 years, I was not <span style=""></span>able to figure out my mother entirely, and I don’t think anybody ever <span style=""></span>did, not even my dad whom loved her and lived with her for almost 40 years. <span style=""></span>Although I can certainly say that he knew her best.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>Simply put, she was an exceptionally complicated person in every <span style=""></span>facet of her life.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>One truth about my mum is that she was a very sad woman. She <span style=""></span>survived a terrible childhood, a word that’s hard to attribute to her early <span style=""></span>years, because it certainly left its scars on her. It was a pain and a <span style=""></span>sadness that she was never entirely able to leave behind and it did cloud her<span style=""> </span>ability to see and recognize the love and happiness that she had <span style=""></span>herself created and which surrounded her.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>Another truth about my mother is that she was never a victim and <span style=""></span>abhorred people that made excuses for their lives or their actions. She <span style=""></span>would never allow the misery that she lived through to define herself in the <span style=""></span>least.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>Although many women work to define themselves through their selves as<span style=""> </span>opposed to their relationships to others, not surprisingly, my <span style=""></span>mother was different. She was proudly a mother, a grandmother and a wife. <span style=""></span>From the age of 12, she worked so hard, yet, no matter the work or the job <span style=""></span>that she had, it was not the work that defined her. It was merely a means <span style=""></span>to an end, a way to take care of her family. Her whole reason for living was her<span style=""> </span>family. We were all that really, ever mattered to her.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>When I was 21 years old and I called my mother from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">Vancouver</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"> to tell her I was pregnant, one of the first things out of her mouth was, <span style=""></span>“you’re not getting married are you?”…she was so terrified of me marrying <span style=""></span>he wrong man, but being an unwed mother didn’t phase her one bit. It was one of <span style=""></span>the proudest days of her life that day when she realized she was going<span style=""> </span>to be a grandmother and I’ll never forget the look on hers and my <span style=""></span>father’s face, both with their hands on my belly watching their grandchild move <span style=""></span>about, eager to be born. Once my sister and I were grown, it was what she <span style=""></span>was living for. It was no coincidence that both my sister and I <span style=""></span>brought our daughters home so that we could be around our mother in the early <span style=""></span>uncertain days of raising a newborn. She gave me so much confidence in <span style=""></span>handling and raising my little girl and she was there to allay my fears, support <span style=""></span>me and encourage me with raising Rae every step of the way. I am so <span style=""></span>grateful for her influence at that point in my life.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>My mother had such a huge capacity of loving. I often said that <span style=""></span>she would have been happy had she had a dozen children. Yet, it was loving <span style=""></span>that much that terrified her. My mother spent so much of her life waiting <span style=""></span>for the worse to happen, that in her final years, she was in a constant <span style=""></span>state of preparing herself for disappointment and anguish. Well, prophets <span style=""></span>are held by their prophecies and yes, often the demise of her happiness was <span style=""></span>often brought about by her own doing. This is perhaps the saddest part <span style=""></span>of my mother’s story.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>Still, there is so much more to my mother than her sadness and her <span style=""></span>pain.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>She was an amazingly loyal person. Fiercely loyal to those she <span style=""></span>loved and equally loyal to her convictions. The saying, “you don’t want <span style=""></span>to mess with the Schulman women” was truly instigated and perpetuated by my <span style=""></span>mother. I always said that it was the women that married into the Schulman <span style=""></span>family that defined the name. I am so proud to carry this name, the name that <span style=""></span>she gave me.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>My mother was also one of the most courageous women I’ve ever <span style=""></span>known. She was courageous enough to leave behind a life in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">England</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"> and </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">Wales</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">, <span style=""></span>which was all she knew, to start a new life with a man on an entirely different<span style=""> </span>continent, whom she had met when she was only 16. She was <span style=""></span>courageous enough to keep trying to have a second baby, me, when all the doctors told <span style=""></span>her that either she would die or the baby would die if she tried carrying it <span style=""></span>to term. She knew better. She often did. These are just a tiny sampling of <span style=""></span>the ways in which my mother was a courageous woman.<br /> <span style=""></span></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"><span style=""></span>My mother was very wise too…I remember when I was a young girl and <span style=""></span>getting bullied at school. To take care of the situation, my mum told me <span style=""></span>to go to the biggest blabbermouth in school and tell her that I was taking <span style=""></span>karate lessons, but ssshhh…it was a big secret! </span><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"><span style=""></span></span><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">Without a doubt, it <span style=""></span>worked…the bullies backed off and my school life improved. It was one in a <span style=""></span>multitude of ways that demonstrates how creative and crafty she really was. <span style=""></span>She was always looking at ways to protect my sister and me from pain. When <span style=""></span>she couldn’t, she felt as if she had failed us in some way, although <span style=""></span>of course, she hadn’t.</span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family: arial;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA"><span style=""></span>My mother was also one to be direct and straightforward. An <span style=""></span>example of this was a time when my new best friend in grade 7 was visiting me at my <span style=""></span>home and was wearing makeup. My mother looked right at her and said, <span style=""></span>“</span><st1:city><st1:place><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">Tracy</span></st1:place></st1:city><span style="font-size: 10pt;" lang="EN-CA">, you look like a tart!” and proceeded to march her into the bathroom <span style=""></span>and scrub her face. I was of course mortified, but it was many years later <span style=""></span>that Tracy shared with me that she loved and respected my mother for doing <span style=""></span>that for her and that she would always be grateful for my mother’s caring and <span style=""></span>directness with her.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>I can liken my mother’s capacity for greatness and kindness and <span style=""></span>love to that of what a woman goes through when she’s pregnant. When I was <span style=""></span>pregnant, carrying Rae took a terrible toll on my teeth. All the extra <span style=""></span>calcium in my body was given to Rae so that my body didn’t have enough left to <span style=""></span>do for itself. This analogy is much the same way that I look at my <span style=""></span>mother. The very best in my mother, all her love was given to my sister and me, <span style=""></span>and then to our daughters, and I feel that near the end, she didn’t have <span style=""></span>enough love left to do for herself when she needed it most.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>There is so much I wanted for my mum. I wanted to have the magic <span style=""></span>hug that would make everything better. I wanted to have her at my home and <span style=""></span>be a diva, sitting on the back porch, enjoying our garden that she <span style=""></span>won’t see again. I wanted her to know that it was okay to be frail and need <span style=""></span>help. I wanted her to know how much her family loved and needed her for <span style=""></span>more years than she was able to give us. I wanted her to know that we were <span style=""></span>willing to help her with her pain. I wanted her to know that although she was<span style=""> </span>difficult to like, we all loved her deeply nonetheless. I wanted <span style=""></span>her to<span style=""> </span>know that we were never laughing at her, but with her.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>My closest friend said to me that for all of my mother’s foibles, <span style=""></span>the best in her is reflected in my sister Debra, my niece Madeleine, my <span style=""></span>daughter Rae and myself. I need to thank Tanya for that reminder. For here we <span style=""></span>are, both of her daughters with two beautiful girls of our own. We are happy,<span style=""> </span>healthy, productive, spiritual women and are both enjoying a good <span style=""></span>life. All that I am, all that we are we owe to our mum. She taught us to have<span style=""> </span>strength in our convictions and to believe in ourselves. That is <span style=""></span>all that I know about this life and I owe it all to her.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>It was painful and frustrating for me to watch my mother steadily <span style=""></span>decline over the last number of years. I remember saying in frustration to my<span style=""> </span>husband Victor, “I wish my mother would pass on and stop the pain <span style=""></span>and be at peace.” It was my husband that reminded me that in fact, my <span style=""></span>greatest wish for my mother was for her to heal herself. And of course, that <span style=""></span>really was my greatest wish. Not this. Not yet. Not now.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda are some familiar phrases running through <span style=""></span>my head these last days. Those and of course, regrets, regrets, regrets. <span style=""></span>So many of my own. Yet, I’m sure that for every one of my own regrets, my <span style=""></span>mother had 10 of her own.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>I am grateful to have known my mother in this lifetime. I’ve <span style=""></span>learned so much from her, both in what not to do as well as in how to live my <span style=""></span>life to its most honest degree.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>My wish for my mother has changed now. My mother loved to dance. <span style=""></span>Mostly she loved to dance with my father, which brings me to a passage <span style=""></span>from Kahlil Gibran’s writings on Death.<br /><span style=""><blockquote></blockquote></span><blockquote>“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt <span style=""></span>into the sun? And what is it to cease breathing but to free the breath from <span style=""></span>its restless tides, that it may rise and expand and seek God unencumbered?<br /><br /><span style=""> </span>Only when you drink from the river of silence shall you indeed <span style=""></span>sing. And when you have reached the mountain top, then you shall begin to <span style=""></span>climb. And when the earth shall claim your limbs, then shall you truly dance.”</blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span style=""> </span>I cry now for never being able to see my mum healthy again. I cry <span style=""></span>for her not being able to find her serenity here. I cry selfishly because <span style=""></span>I wish she were still here. I cry for the loss that we have now and will <span style=""></span>carry with us for always. I also cry for the relief that she must now <span style=""></span>have as a release from her pain.<br /><br /><span style=""></span>I love you Mummy. I miss you. I know that you are proud of your <span style=""></span>family and I promise you that I will always work to continue to make you <span style=""></span>proud. I hope that you have finally found your peace and Rae and I say that if we <span style=""></span>ever get a chance to talk to you again through John Edwards, please give <span style=""></span>someone else a chance to talk too, it’s only a one hour show.</span><o:p></o:p></p>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-3525765954461922302009-03-11T13:52:00.013-04:002009-03-12T17:32:55.563-04:00Yessir, that's me speedin'...<span style="font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">Dare to be true: <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">nothing can need a lie: A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">~George Herbert</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was 11 o'clock at night and I was driving home last week after a long day in Toronto. Passing through a quiet Kitchener-Waterloo I was a happy, coasting 119 speeder on a 90 km/h highway about 1/2 hour from home when I saw the lights behind me. Crap.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I pulled over, immediately pulled out my licence and registration and ownership and had it ready for when the officer came to m</span></span><span style="font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;">y window.<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"> "Good evening" </span></span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" >he started, "how are you tonight?" "Speeding apparently!" I said with a smile and handed him my documentation. The rest of the </span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" >conversation went exactly like this...<br /><br />Officer: "Yes you were. You were going at a pretty happy clip while I was behind you. Any particular reason for the speeding tonight?"<br /><br />Me: "No, just a long day in Toronto and heading home to Stratford."<br /><br />Officer: "Okay, do you know the speed limit on this highway?"<br /><br />Me: "Yes. 90."<br /><br />Officer: "Yes it is. And you were doing about a buck 20!"<br /><br />Me: "119!"</span><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" > with a smile.</span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" ><br />Officer, handing back my documents: "Okay, well fines would be about $220 and 3 points, so be careful on the way home now, okay?"<br /><br />Me: "...and a lot slower too, apparently! Thank you very much!"<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:georgia,bookman old style,palatino linotype,book antiqua,palatino,trebuchet ms,helvetica,garamond,sans-serif,arial,verdana,avante garde,century gothic,comic sans ms,times,times new roman,serif;" >...and away I went. I literally drove home the rest of the way at 109 km/h with a smile on my face and tweeted about it immediately.<br /><br />I learned a long, long time ago to never lie to authorities. It just doesn't work. Being truthful and owning up to one's actions is the best approach. It was watching my Dad one day in court that taught me that.<br /><br />My sister was about 12 years old </span><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0C42oN_bzYM0HR1qFO_iiAu8INanECxFLFMLvS2mqvCBP8h3ECdWb2IAMUWxnTvh12kCO00o0GkESr7I0zfFjKLG70Mb8YDud3RBDmVGyqqZf3aJOQ_RIVRRHkJg04PEzVJD/s1600-h/DS.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW0C42oN_bzYM0HR1qFO_iiAu8INanECxFLFMLvS2mqvCBP8h3ECdWb2IAMUWxnTvh12kCO00o0GkESr7I0zfFjKLG70Mb8YDud3RBDmVGyqqZf3aJOQ_RIVRRHkJg04PEzVJD/s200/DS.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312311057990419378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >and had gone to our local store at the strip mall with her friend. She was taking longer than usual and then our phone rang and you could tell that she was really upset. She told my parents that she was holed up in the phone booth at the corner of the store's parking lot because there were a couple of teenage boys there harassing her and her friend. They were taunting the girls and had apparently told my sister and her friend to "suck my dick". That was all my Dad needed to hear. He rushed over to the store which was about a five minute walk in probably two minutes. By the time he had arrived, there was a police cruiser there with a couple of officers, as my sister's friend's father happened to be a police officer. My father briskly walked up to the crowd, asked my sister quickly which boy had harassed her and promptly walked through the officers, straight up to this one boy and smacked him, hard, right across the face. The police basically shrugged their shoulders and allowed my Dad to walk my sister and her friend home.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Of course, the story doesn't end there. This boy continued to harass my sister whenever he saw her in the neighbourhood and then he and his father proceeded to take my father to court for assault.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >So there we are, my whole family in court. My sister, young and scared on the witness stand and the judge asks her what the boy had said to her. She made her statement, but was so shy that she was asked to repeat it "so the court could hear". "SUCK MY DICK" she was immediately burning red with embarrassment.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjk6WrsQRqW0I49AhYu_UNN4b65Mbjql3cSKerdDEg9BiojFpQKKI_9L4zBTXEEuUtadhXIFZtvuStr3ym_3G_qDpak2xZKSGllaC3j4XuLHaGCHFjZpsDALO0EwLoXPdG1yt/s1600-h/Sgt+Rock+of+Easy+Co.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjk6WrsQRqW0I49AhYu_UNN4b65Mbjql3cSKerdDEg9BiojFpQKKI_9L4zBTXEEuUtadhXIFZtvuStr3ym_3G_qDpak2xZKSGllaC3j4XuLHaGCHFjZpsDALO0EwLoXPdG1yt/s200/Sgt+Rock+of+Easy+Co.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312313582103356498" border="0" /></a><a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoknAoZ2ASlKNlMMrMDnGzE3x0rLbHsEe0A6Zmh3xbiJXXweBECZfp3pYCoDM_vNGihyfcYJ34m_7d6MCVMHmOws6_sZiVu-1yjwr7fIHstggynTqwjd4RA_JdJCbmfKGOMIK7/s1600-h/serpico.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoknAoZ2ASlKNlMMrMDnGzE3x0rLbHsEe0A6Zmh3xbiJXXweBECZfp3pYCoDM_vNGihyfcYJ34m_7d6MCVMHmOws6_sZiVu-1yjwr7fIHstggynTqwjd4RA_JdJCbmfKGOMIK7/s200/serpico.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312314437590191810" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Then it was my Dad's turn. A former army grunt he stood in front of the judge in military stance with his legs firmly spread and with his arms clasped behind him, excepting I'll never forget that he also had hair down to shoulders, sunglasses on top of his head with a blue Adidas t-shirt, flare jeans and sandals on. It was many years later that I realized that he was Serpico incarnate and how that must've looked to the judge.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >The judge says, "So, can you tell me Mr. S____ why it was this particular boy that you hit?" and my father responded with "To tell you the truth your honour, he was the only one I could get to."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-family:trebuchet ms;" >Moments later, the judge dismissed the case.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lesson learned. Thanks Dad...</span>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-38210144837740762492008-11-19T17:34:00.061-05:002008-11-20T12:37:37.214-05:00If you don't have your health...<div><span style="font-family:arial;"> The <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> in illness is <span style="font-style: italic;">isolation</span>, and the crucial letters in wellness are <span style="font-style: italic;">we</span>. </span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">~<span style="font-size:85%;">Author unknown, as quoted in Mimi Guarneri, The Heart Speaks: A Cardiologist Reveals the Secret Language of Healing </span><span style="font-size:85%;">**squeamish alert (not really, but it's not always pretty...)**</span></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Seems like this quote is just the right one for me...remember, sharing to survive?...well, dare I say I'm living proof as of late...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I've been quiet for the last few weeks and have intentionally not been blogging namely because there was really only one subject on my mind and well, I thought it irresponsible to start putting stuff out there until I had a clearer picture of what I was dealing with. </span><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">For the last coup</span><span style="font-family:arial;">le of months, I've been actively managing a "health scare". I find it ridiculous how we use these soft phrases when we're trying to be all genteel, attempting to not be alarmist or upsetting to ourselves or our others.<br /></span></div><br /><div> </div><span style="font-family:arial;">I remember reading something fairly recently that talked about how to talk to children about death. We often hide the significance of death and dying from children by saying things like "passed away", "left us", "gone on" or some other trite phrase. When we hide the reality of things in soft language, we take away its significance or its impact and well, that's just not my style. I have always preferred to use the right words to describe things, like vagina and penis instead of "minnie" and "john thomas", so when it comes to naming things out, let me say this instead...</span><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">For the last two months I was scared shitless that something was really, really wrong with me (pun intended...you'll get it in a minute)...</span></div><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">To be genteel, it was my colon. To be blunt, I was bleeding each and every time I went to the washroom...lots...and it was bright red. Why am I blogging about it? I was shocked at how many other women have had managed this kind of trauma and I do believe that we have a responsibility to not hide this kind of dialogue.<br /><br />Have you ever noticed when an animal or a person is hurt, their initial reaction is to run and hide? That kind of reaction has killed plenty of living souls, two and four legged alike. I'm choosing a different way to react.<br /></span><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocJ7A4qdfgcen8KUgYrvb9m7du_Nc-U2fwhb6os-OGPhlBBq2oJEdArE3zDfZdbQisv4t65q45JWgyRpBZCVvll_gikisCDECmktA3lts-qpHhXxO_Zmpr-h2-vkJniaS_r7o/s1600-h/5198YBH8R8L.jpg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270516024723867170" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left; width: 141px; height: 200px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgocJ7A4qdfgcen8KUgYrvb9m7du_Nc-U2fwhb6os-OGPhlBBq2oJEdArE3zDfZdbQisv4t65q45JWgyRpBZCVvll_gikisCDECmktA3lts-qpHhXxO_Zmpr-h2-vkJniaS_r7o/s200/5198YBH8R8L.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></p> <span style="font-family:arial;">...so, </span><span style="font-family:arial;">I can't tell you how much I've thought of </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0086425/"><span style="font-family:arial;">Terms of Endearment </span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">over the last few weeks when Debra Winger's character Emma says to her best friend Patsy, "</span><span style="font-family:arial;">it's okay, you can talk about the CANCER"...<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:arial;">...for the record, I don't have cancer, but up until this Monday, I was really scared that I did.</span><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">At first I didn't make a big deal about it (hiding) and thought it could be related to hemorrhoids. It was my darling husband who said to me so eloquently one night, "Welcome to your 40s babe!". Okay, that I could deal with. I've given birth in my early 20s and in my mid-30s and I know that the body totally changes and just doesn't bounce back so readily anymore. Still, I lamented. Was this what I had to look forward to? Creaky, crappy knees and a pink bowl at every sitting?? Crikey!!<br /><br /></span></div> <span style="font-family:arial;">When </span><span style="font-family:arial;">it was still going on about three weeks later and I finally thought aloud "Ya, this isn't going away or getting any better; in fact it's getting worse" I did what only the wife of an oncology certified nurse can do and I called my husband over to look. When you hear noted oncology nurse say, "Ya, that's not good" the gateway to letting in the panic opens.</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">He took the totally appropriate nurse stance and echoed my oft favourite mantra of late being "you can't do nuthin' about nuthin' 'till it's sumthin'"...but it wasn't working for me...no matter <span style="font-style: italic;">what </span>he was saying, I was already well ahead in my mind and it wasn't looking good as far as I was concerned.</span></p><span style="font-family:arial;">I ventured online to some reputable health sites (</span><a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;">www.mayoclinic.com</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> and </span><a href="http://www.webmd.com/"><span style="font-family:arial;">www.webmd.com</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> ) and the more I read (polyps, diverticulitis etc.) the more I also read about </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">cancer, over and over and over again. The panic was positively palpable at this point. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"> [Mistake: do not self diagnose. Educate yourself, but nothing is for sure until the testing begins.] </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">So, first I went into practical mode, controlling the only thing I knew I could which was my contingency plan. It comes from my single mom days. Whenever a temp assignment or a contract ended earlier than I had expected I went into full on work mode...food in our bellies, roof over our heads, clothes on our backs...what did I need to do to ensure that we were taken care of...</span></p><span style="font-family:arial;">My contingency plan started simply with this..life insurance (check), first joint to die insurance (check) critical care insurance (check), STD and LTD (short and long term disability; check, check)...that made me feel better, for about a day...</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Then it was to the doctor's. Funny how quickly you get an appointment when you tell them you're bleeding </span><span style="font-family:arial;">from your ass (note to reader: put pride aside when you need action on your health...don't be a dumbass and don't hide things from the receptionist)!! Quick referral to the surgeon and about a week later and off to the scope we go...</span></p><span style="font-family:arial;">So, in between doctors' appointments and my scope I did what I do best...I talked. I reached out and I talked about what was happening to me. With some people I was purposely ambiguous providing a head's up without any detail (i.e. with work...too much information and all that). With </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">others I tried to be ambiguous, but they wouldn't let me and I love my women for that. Then there were others that were my first line of support and I reached out to and told them "I'm scared" and they listened to me cry and be scared. For having a support system like that I am ever so ever grateful...</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;">From someone who has had one broken bone in my whole life and who has never had an type of health issue, I can'</span><span style="font-family:arial;">t tell you how unbelievably exhausting it is to spend hours each day thinking constantly of the "what if"s. No matter what I was busy with or busying myself with, in the back of my head the <em>only</em> word that I could hear screaming at me was <span style="font-style: italic;">cancer, canCER, CANCER</span>!!!! Little issues were still little issues, but they were coloured with CANCER. It coloured everything I did. It coloured every conversation I had and every decision I was making or choosing to not make. I wallowed. Not for long, but I wallowed in the fear and in the fear of the unknown.</span></p> <span style="font-family:Arial;">Since I had already taken care of the list of contingencies, I then started looking at what other elements I could control. First, there was my fear and my thoughts. I started making a more concerted effort to meditate, workout and be more attuned to my body. How it felt, how it reacted to certain foods, how it smelt; you get pretty banal when you're dealing with one of the most funda</span><span style="font-family:Arial;">mental human experiences lemme tell ya. </span><br /><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Then I worked on my frame of mind. I do absolutely believe in the power of positive thinking and while I wasn't being very successful at being positive most of the time, I was finding my innate dark humour and that helped.<br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Yup, it was just my luck that I wouldn't get the sexy cancer, not the booby cancer. <span style="font-style: italic;"> No</span>.!!...no pink bras and cute T's for me. No, I was getting cancer of the <span style="font-style: italic;">ass</span>!! Fuckers!! I was gonna show them though!! I had a pink thong campaign all worked up in my head already. I'd take those titties on!!</span></p><span style="font-family:Arial;">Next, I went back to the basics as I often do when I'm challenged with something and I started looking into more cause and effect. Diet is one of the leading causes of colon and colorectal cancers and North </span><span style="font-family:Arial;">Americans have one of the worst diets which totally supports just these types of cancers; barbeque, meats, high fats...ugh! My family eats pretty healthy, but there's always more you can do.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbZ0hiR70ujRVHW8D0xnbv-q-XCcJsOGmk0LDtDneulaFmabOfNRpk6CMlYQG9-yYtsmWgMrzVylBSpBMpm-JbQ2_00zjxBrkIEjPVjyUKE2OqT9_XnWAnAUxDPbBrgFBqpr6/s1600-h/515WSFE5CyL._SS500_.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 99px; height: 99px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAbZ0hiR70ujRVHW8D0xnbv-q-XCcJsOGmk0LDtDneulaFmabOfNRpk6CMlYQG9-yYtsmWgMrzVylBSpBMpm-JbQ2_00zjxBrkIEjPVjyUKE2OqT9_XnWAnAUxDPbBrgFBqpr6/s200/515WSFE5CyL._SS500_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270787694714781682" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:Arial;">Then I started reading more about vegetarianism and eating vegan. My best friend is also a vegan chef and a while ago she gave me the book <a href="http://www.skinnybitch.net/">Skinny Bitch</a> to read</span>. <span style="font-family:arial;">My gawd that book </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">makes me laugh out loud, but it also makes me cringe. It's really nothing new for me to read, it's just timely.<br /><br />For the last while I've also been more interested in the slow food movement and eating locally. I'm lucky enough to live in Perth County in Ontario, one of the richest agricultural areas in the province and I'm happy to support local farms and providers. My challenge is also that I'm a Celt </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">girl and that means that a meal's not a meal u</span><span style="font-family:arial;">nless there's meat on the table, but I am getting closer and closer to changing that part of my lifestyle. </span><br /><p> </p><span style="font-family:Arial;">So, the good news is that in the last week my symptoms had started to subside. Then I had my scope on Monday and I was able to watch the live video feed and both my surgeon and I concur that my colon is pink and healthy. What's wrong, we're not entirely sure but as my surgeon said, "nothing sinister just goes away" so I'm taking it all as a great sign.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Lessons learned...in a very short time, I have grown to have even <span style="font-style: italic;">more </span>regard for the work that my husband does. I've always known that his work is taxing and emotionally exhausting. Now, I have a a more empathetic understanding as to what his patients go through emotionally when they're dealing with the unknown or the known.<br /></span> <span style="font-family:Arial;"><br />You are what you eat. 'Nuff said. I'm converting slowly but surely...<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:Arial;">..and most importantly, the best reminder is that the time to act earnestly is now. Life is too short to be petty and insincere and to surround yourself with <span style="font-style: italic;">any </span>kind of misery. Positive change is essential to living well, and living well is the best revenge.</span>..KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-2628781553803663932008-10-21T23:59:00.000-04:002008-10-23T11:09:25.499-04:00As I was saying...<span style="font-family:arial;">There cannot be greater rudeness than to interrupt another in the current of his [sic] discourse.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">~ John Locke</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Okay, when I started writing this this morning, I was pissed. Off. Now, I'm a bit pissed. Up. Somehow, my perspective is a bit better rounded, I think anyway...</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, as of this morning, </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscEj7cKo0ofrv_1eXElC-pxg3PlxIHOYWGLMADirwkr8T8iQe9TcRB2YejpVnKVX_yW6pjYxWMa7UdLA9TyNs2SUeXZ8-wvdexqIWktoRKYcsfRZDKURntbPNFSFWANGlNpZO/s1600-h/Dialogue%20art.gif"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259570411204795058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 224px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 179px" height="96" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiscEj7cKo0ofrv_1eXElC-pxg3PlxIHOYWGLMADirwkr8T8iQe9TcRB2YejpVnKVX_yW6pjYxWMa7UdLA9TyNs2SUeXZ8-wvdexqIWktoRKYcsfRZDKURntbPNFSFWANGlNpZO/s320/Dialogue%2520art.gif" width="144" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I had a problem (stop laughing, I know I have many, but let's just focus in on one in particular for today <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">thankuverymuch</span>...)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On the home front, I am in the midst of a good '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ol</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">rarin</span>' to go scrap with my dear husband and from my point of view it's based on one pretty simple notion of respect and regard which is...he constantly interrupts me...and I do mean <em>constantly</em>...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Now, I know I'm putting a </span><a href="http://01fb320.netsolstores.com/kidsareworthit.aspx"><span style="font-family:arial;">killer statement</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> out there by using the word <u>always</u> in this argument, yet it's true...I cannot remember a time where I was able to complete a full sentence or rather a full thought that was not interrupted by him either interjecting directly with his own commentary, interrupting to "seek clarification" or interrupting the flow of my discourse by opening his mouth when I take a breath or insert a natural comma into my commentary. It's as though he's just waiting for his moment to pounce at my pause...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I've no doubt that those who know me, even socially may be saying "...but <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">KSD</span>, you speak so quickly that the only way to get a word in edgewise is to jump at those pauses"...or perhaps the argument in your mind is that dialogue and conversation is based on two parties sharing, interrupting, interjecting and fighting for their voices to be heard. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I agree, but disagree and if you'd be so gracious to read along while I finish my thoughts dear reader, you'll understand why I think the way I do...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Firstly, let's define dialogue...<br /><br />One definition is "</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dialogue"><span style="font-family:arial;">a dialogue is a reciprocal conversation between two or more entities</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">." ...and another definition is ..."</span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.inspection.gc.ca/english/corpaffr/publications/riscomm/riscomm_appe.shtml"><span style="font-family:arial;">an exchange of ideas and opinions</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">On the most banal level when someone is readying to speak whilst another is still in the midst of sharing a thought, it's a clear indicator that the other party is not listening to what the first party has to say; they are merely waiting for a chance for they themselves to be heard. Have I been periodically guilty of this type of behaviour myself? You bet. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, why is it when my husband does this with me does it affect me so negatively and why do I get so angry? My reaction to these situations can generally go from bad to worse, depending on the time of month or how much I've felt disregarded and how compounded it's been up to that point in the day or week. Yesterday was worse. I slept in the attic.</span><br /><span style="font-size:0;"><br /><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">As someone who fancies herself a writer, someone who absolutely needs to express herself as much as needing oxygen to survive, this is a full and complete assault on my sensibilities; a stifling of my soul, a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">stiffling</span> of my voice and such a palpable slap in the face that he may as well haul off and knock me out with a punch to face; I feel that deflated and assaulted and I've shared this with him many times in the years of our marriage.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I recognize that my husband's behaviour triggers something within me that's so innate that he's often the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">uncomely</span> recipient of the backlash that erupts in me for the years of being seemingly ignored (as I've written about previously). This goes back to the exact same reason why I feel like I need to constantly speak at 100 km/h because it's been my experience that I'm not going to listened to or given the opportunity, even in my own haven, my own home to actually finish my thought and fully speak my mind.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, is it my ego? Am I self-aggrandizing, believing that I deserve to be heard more than my husband does? It does deteriorate and then become a battle of wills, a battle of tongues and whomever has the loudest voice wins...I'm pretty loud...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Then I also start to look at why do I write? What is it that has always drawn me so clearly to this medium and I've figured it out dear reader...it's because this is the only true medium where I actually feel "heard"...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">...and my original post goes down a totally different tangent below, but i need to also contextualize my hypocrisy by sharing my experience tonight, a mere 12 hours later...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Tonight, I was with a collective of women, a grouping of souls that I have been waiting my whole life for...and barely throughout my whole night tonight did one of us get to finish a complete thought or a complete story without having to divert to one particular soul that would focus and hear the conclusion of that story...my wish for all of us at the end of us tonight was that in our next meeting of our four souls each one of us would be able to complete a telling uninterrupted, which erupted us all into bellows of reckoning and laughter...</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So, how is it I can spend an evening with my women, interrupting, speaking over, doubling the audio with and at the same time completely and utterly resent the same from my husband?...fair enough question, I gather...<span style="font-size:+0;">yet, I don't have a fair enough answer that benefits him...</span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:+0;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:+0;">This all </span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">reminds me of another great quote..."A too active mind is not mind at all." ~ Theodore <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Roethke</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">When one is not able to share, communicate and be heard, the our minds are simply in a constant state of being a thought interrupted, girl interrupted or <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">constantly</span> transmitting the </span><a href="http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/birdbybird/section3.rhtml"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">KFKD</span> (K-F&C*#D) radio broadcast</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">...</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">What I rail against with my husband is that I have the insights into my reactions, I have the answers that he's seeking, however he doesn't stop interrupting me enough so that I can actually share what those insights are. Then I'm hurt and I shut down and I'm dejected and I run away and lick my wounds. Last night, I slept in the attic. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;">I think what differentiates that experience from the one I have with my women is that I'm not around them as often as I am with my husband and I expect him to want to hear me more...it's not "equal" and it's not "fair" or "balanced" when viewed comparatively, but in my humble opinion, the dynamic and the relationship between my soul sistahs and my partner are very different in themselves and can't be measured on the same plane...</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></p>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-64535292544236899642008-10-15T22:30:00.013-04:002008-10-15T23:39:22.587-04:00So foul and fair a day I have not seen...~ MacBeth, Act I, Scene III<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I went to sleep last night with anxiety and I awoke in my nightmare...albeit, at least it's a minority nightmare...</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I'm just pissed today. Pissed at all the apathetic, blameless, sanctimonious, smug, superiority complex ridden twats out there that split the vote or just didn't bother last night (oh, don't take it so personally, I'm just venting!!)...it is truly beyond me how 39% of 59% of voters enable a right-wing, ideologically driven, sanctimonious, smug, superiority complex ridden twat to run this country...foisting censorship upon us, ridding us of rights that have been hard fought for and won, endorsing the emptiest of rhetoric and giving us more empty rhetoric in return..."a strengthened mandate"...indeed...<br /><br />...and then to top it all off, my hubby's off for ten days to <a href="http://www.torana.dhamma.org/">Vipassana</a>. I can't begrudge him in the least because it's his turn to sit in Noble Silence and envelop himself in the quiet and solitude amidst a roiling and fervent stream of consciousness...besides, I signed him up for it...<br /><br />It's only been hours and I miss him already. Part of my mantra when I was gone to <a href="http://www.torana.dhamma.org/">Vipassana </a>myself was to recite first thing every morning, "six more sleeps, six more sleeps...five more sleeps, five more sleeps..." counting down until I was home again. So far, my new mantra is "that's one night" whilst I busily distract myself with laundry, lunches, clean up, <a href="http://www.corrie.net/kabin/mercury.html">Corrie </a>and writing.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm sure that I'm much like anyone else out there and that whenever change is afoot, my initial reaction is somewhat reticent. As much as my anxiety was primarily due to my husband's imminent departure (and definitely intensified by the crappy election results of yesterday) the funny thing is p</span><span style="font-family:arial;">art of me is relishing the time alone. </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-0vtnncwhQPBYWjPpd7kjcnGriBeIc9BFwY5ySHnD9FyIP97uq3Y95NlVADzk36sa9HfYrIJcz8xCuFR936z_KkxjTVDkagiIAdSl2n0GOWulUryzIrrAqJtRs5lmFIKg5aF/s1600-h/1987hopeandglory01.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 233px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-0vtnncwhQPBYWjPpd7kjcnGriBeIc9BFwY5ySHnD9FyIP97uq3Y95NlVADzk36sa9HfYrIJcz8xCuFR936z_KkxjTVDkagiIAdSl2n0GOWulUryzIrrAqJtRs5lmFIKg5aF/s320/1987hopeandglory01.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257583696023858658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> remem</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ber</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> a scene from <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093209/">Hope an</a></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0093209/">d Glory</a>, a film about </span><span style="font-family:arial;">growing up in post WWII En</span><span style="font-family:arial;">gland and </span><span style="font-family:arial;">one of my absolute favourite</span><span style="font-family:arial;">s. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Part of the draw is that it was nostal</span><span style="font-family:arial;">gic and a touch romantic for me as my mum oft</span><span style="font-family:arial;">en described playing around in bombed out, burn</span><span style="font-family:arial;">t out shells of buildings as h</span><span style="font-family:arial;">er playground growing</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> up which was a big part of the setting of this</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> film, so it brought to life for me a part of my mum's history; but one line I clearly remember from that film is when the main character's mother is chatting with h</span><span style="font-family:arial;">er male friend (the undercurrent of the interaction being based on a somewhat unrealized love affair between the two) on a train ride home from the beach one day and she speaks about how she never quite grew accustomed to </span><span style="font-family:arial;">sharing a bed with her husband (who was at that time off at war).<br /><br />I know how she fe</span><span style="font-family:arial;">els...it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I don't love and lust after my Mav, because in many ways I live for the feeling of rolling over in bed and resting beside him and having him reach out to me and hold me...however...after 10 years as a single mother and only sharing my bed when I really wanted to and then even after being married, giving over to his not being home due to multiple night shifts in a row, I've realized that I usually sleep really well when all alone. I roll over to his side of the bed, stretch out and barely move for the entire evening...truly, barely an inch...<br /><br />So, although I did advise myself that I should not in my foul and fair day mood write anything for publishing today, I'd say this is rather tame...so, I'm bemoaning my quiet somewhat (along with this crappy same old $300 million dollar repeat minority government), but I'm going to make the most of this time flying solo with the kiddies and having the late hours to myself alone...<br /></span>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-3545112880307282412008-10-13T08:36:00.000-04:002008-10-14T08:43:25.770-04:00On being thankful...<span style="font-family: arial;">Being Thanksgiving, I am thankful for...<br /><br />...this incredibly beautiful weather, sitting outside on the porch, a glass of sangria, the sound of my daughter playing basketball in the drive and laughing with her best friend, the birds singing, for my beautiful boys sleeping in their beds, for my incredible husband and his love and graciousness, for the cooking and the dinner prep that's pretty much already done, for the memory of my mum and the tears I've shed for her throughout the day, for the incredible colours of the leaves in the trees in my neighbourhood, for my dad and the love and fun and companionship that he has has found with Terry, for my lovely little niece Miss Madeleine and her big, huge, happy hugs, for my sister's new job and all the security and freedom it's given her to have fun and enjoy her life more fully, for the wonderful smells in my kitchen, for my amazingly imperfect home, for my neighbours and the celebration of Jane's 50th, for a job that challenges me and let's me work from home, for my life all told, warts and all, for anapanna and vipassana, for my husband's 10 days away, for my love of writing, for my first non-friend response on my blog!!, for the great music on 103.9FM today that has fully taken me down memory lane, for the chance to sit, for a Thanksgiving in shorts and no sleeves, for the impending excitement of my family coming, for the phone call from my best friend to start my day, for the love I feel, for the blessings I have, for the friends I know and have yet to meet, I am ever so thankful...<br /></span>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-56884253252135662022008-10-08T11:02:00.024-04:002008-10-08T13:25:26.025-04:00A sign of maturity...<div><span style="font-family:arial;">A sign of maturity is when someone speaks about their major surgery, and you don't speak about yours. ~ Anonymous</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't entirely know why, but this is something that I grapple with and I realize that this is something that I've done throughout most of my adult life. I'm not proud of it and my awareness about this habit comes in waves; sometimes I'm super aware and other times, I'm totally oblivious.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOW6eZR_qHiOjoo4UGcL31xsb7ZHlWryDT0vyNz1gjEWB2141PXi1YTsxCEx3cHb9Gd-RP-ddUv-FbhCgJhNvhjefMd9cY1tTllIQlp8IggsO5GN65I3YcOkwR2Aj5ZraTJb0x/s1600-h/mecc.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254833764719050850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="158" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOW6eZR_qHiOjoo4UGcL31xsb7ZHlWryDT0vyNz1gjEWB2141PXi1YTsxCEx3cHb9Gd-RP-ddUv-FbhCgJhNvhjefMd9cY1tTllIQlp8IggsO5GN65I3YcOkwR2Aj5ZraTJb0x/s320/mecc.jpg" width="243" border="0" /></a>Why is it I inject myself into almost every single conversation I have? When I'm delivering any training to the sales team that I support at work I often share with them that the best way to get people to talk to you is to get them to talk about themselves; if you listen to the next five people that you interact with, I guarantee you will hear, "me...our...we..."...why?...because <a href="http://images.google.ca/images?sourceid=navclient&ie=UTF-8&rls=GGLJ,GGLJ:2008-34,GGLJ:en&q=it%27s+all+about+me">it's all about me</a>, man...it's no wonder that that's become one of the most common phrases to see printed on t-shirts and just about anything else commercial, especially for kids. What are we teaching our next generation about humility and modesty?</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">What drives this behaviour, this notion? Is it insecurity? Narcissism? A way for me to relate to a situation? A method for building rapport and showing understanding or empathy to my co-conversant? Does every conversation <em>have</em> to have me add a "<strong>me too</strong>!" into the mix?</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">I think it's a mixture of all of the above, really...and truly, I hate it. Even when I'm in the midst of a conversation and I'm telling myself in my head to shut up, I just can't seem to help myself...</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">I've realized after five years of cognitive therapy (aka psychotherapy, where you are basically aided by a therapist to answer your own questions because ultimately, you know what the answers are) that I have spent a ton of energy in my life raising my hand, jumping up and down doing the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Welcome_Back_Kotter#Arnold_Horshack">Horshack</a>, desperately seeking acknowledgement for who I am or what I've done..."look at me, LOOK AT ME!!...can you see what I can do?...did you see what I did?"</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">It doesn't seem to matter if it really is a shared experience (I have a tattoo too...see how cool I am too??...see??...see?!?!) or if my husband's working through a weekend and then comes home and I show him all the projects I did throughout the day (cleaned this, organized that, replaced this, created this, took care of that), I find some way to highlight myself. A desperate means of seeking validation which really does embarrass me.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">I recognize now that I spent a lot of my childhood feeling invisible. My parents are and were great people in many regards and I love them dearly. As far as being involved in my life though, they don't earn any stars for that part of their job. They spent little energy engaging myself or my sister or just being involved in our lives. I of course have taken things to the other extreme when it comes to my own teenaged daughter (much to her chagrin at times I'm sure). I felt dismissed a lot; one of the best examples I can share of that experience was when the song <a href="http://noolmusic.com/youtube_videos/club_nouveau_-_lean_on_me_-_music_video.php">Lean on Me </a>came out in the 80s. I remember turning to my parents and saying to them, "it's like an anti-suicide song" only to have my mother look at me derisively and then have my father say to me, "What the fuck are you talking about?". Hhrrmm. Is it a wonder that I pretty consistently still seek validation in my every day being almost 40 years old now...</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">This is still part of my journey; part of the me loving myself and accepting myself work that I'm still about. It's recognizing that I'm an amazing person in my own right and that I don't need to make it all about me all the time. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">So, to those that I've offended, my humblest apologies...to those that I've annoyed, please abide me with some compassion...and if I keep it up, feel free to do what my family does whenever I start to repeat my stories that they've already heard over and over...just raise your hand, show me five fingers and remind me that you've already heard it all before..."five times Karen, five times..."</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-3011713601813351912008-09-25T07:12:00.019-04:002008-09-27T09:29:12.570-04:00Oh, the elephant is ON the table...<span style="font-family:verdana;">“Irreverence is the champion of liberty and its only sure defense.” ~ Mark Twain </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Oh, I had one of those moments this week...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It was a pretty typical workplace scenario. I had a meeting room booked. When I arrived, there were others in my room and I politely told them that I had the room booked and that they were in the wrong room.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, first they argue. I show them the clear evidence that they're wrong, that I have the confirmation for the right room. Their response? "Well, we're setup already."</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I see. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I <em>wasn't</em> asked politely to find another room because they were already set up. They didn't apologize for their mistake. I was essentially dismissed from the room and the onus is left to ME to find a replacement room. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Why? Was it because the person in the room is a Sales Director and I'm a Business Analyst? Is it the typical sales arrogance versus operational support gig; they're revenue, we're expenses? Is it an underlying misogynistic, hierarchical prevalent business attitude? </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I dare to say yes on all counts, but nonetheless, none of it goes over very well with me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Clearly, their behaviour is unacceptable. And (shockingly, I know) I let them clearly know my displeasure...(mind you, being out too late the night before and imbibing perhaps a bit too much of the pinot noir may have contributed to my curt and direct response) however ultimately though, it's me who looks bad perhaps for showing these people up and pointing out their obvious lack of grace and good character. It may not be right, it may not be just, but it is the way it is.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, I mull it over off and on for a few hours and throughout am asking myself, what was I responding to? What was it that pissed me off so very much at that moment? I called my husband for a dose of loving courage and had already decided to take a deep breath, suck it up buttercup and go and make my apologies for my part in the interaction that day. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">And what do I get?...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nothing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nada.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"No hard feelings." ...from one of them at least...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">No reciprocating apology, no acknowledgement that they were wrong in the first place and that their behaviour was dismissive, rude and condescending or that they should have in the least aided me in finding another meeting room for my meeting.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Nothing.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">*sigh*</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, I realize that what I was responding to was the fact that justice issues have <em>always</em> been a BIG trigger for me. "What do you <em>MEAN</em> you're not going to apologize? What do you <em>MEAN</em> you're not going to do the <em>RIGHT THING</em>?"...when it's not "out there" for all to see and acknowledge that someone did someone wrong etc., well, that's been something for me that I've never been really good at letting go of...but I am getting better...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I left these people knowing that I've done the right thing. I'm managing my own karma and that's all I can really do. That's all I have control over...my own. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I realized later on too that there's also the question of my irreverence. Apparently, from the response of one of these people, although not explicit, I could easily infer that I did not show enough reverence to the offender. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Well, I have <em>never</em> been a person impressed with titles et al, nor have I ever been one to disguise my true feelings or mince words. I've gotten better at perhaps relaying my messaging in a more genteel manner at times, but that too totally depends on who I'm speaking with.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">When I was 19 years old, I worked for the Insurance Bureau of Canada in their PR/Media Relations department. This is before the days of the Internet and part of my job was to collect local and national media coverage in the newspapers regarding insurance issues, copy them and then distribute them to senior members of the IBC Management team. I did this on a daily basis and therefore, I was usually in the office before most other employees so that the media was on their desks first thing. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The President of the IBC at the time was also usually in the office first thing, and each morning as he did his walk about he would pass my desk and say, "Good morning Karen!" and I would respond with "Good morning Jack, how are things?" Jack was old school. A lovely and kind English gentleman with the bow tie to boot and whose secretary was very much his "secretary", even though the new titles of Executive Assistant were just starting to make inroads into Canadian corporate culture.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, one morning I'm dropping off my media package at Jack's office and I say to his secretary, "Good morning, this is for Jack." She turns to me and says, "That's Mr. Lyndon!" My response was "Well, when Mr. Lyndon feels compelled to call me Ms S_______ then I'll do the same" and I walked away. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">It's not that I'm <em>trying</em> to be rude. If Jack was bothered with me calling him by his first name, then he would have or should have told me. To me, he's just a "Joe", just like we all are. For me, reverence is meant for icons like Mother Theresa and her ilk (who I had met and was blessed by, but that's another entry), not the privileged, white, all-male establishment that rarely does much to earn their seats. </span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, besides my irreverence, I'm also the kind of person that doesn't just point the elephant out in the room. My special talent comes from putting the elephant on the table. I recognize that that's not going to make me a popular person a lot of the time as most people are not very good with such direct honesty. I don't know how to live any other way. Actually, that sounded a little grandiose and passive. I <em>choose</em> not to live any other way and have long ago accepted that I'll never be the CEO of a company because I don't spend my energies pandering to others' egos.</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, when I apologized and left these people this week, what I did was irreverently show them their elephant on the table. I have a clear picture about the kind of people they are and I do recognize that in one sense, I am standing in smug judgment of them now. May not be the <em>best</em> characteristic of my good karmic move, but it's only one part and I'm still working on it all...</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">So, my suggestion is if they want to start working on their own karma, perhaps they need to start eating that elephant.</span>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-54081445428684646232008-09-15T13:21:00.000-04:002008-09-15T13:22:14.194-04:00No, it's not okay<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >There is a special place in hell for women who do not help other women.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >~Madeleine K. Albright</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >A week ago Sunday my daughter and I were discussing the first school dance of the year. She's always excited for school dances and totally unlike my 80s school dance experiences (which were more about Benetton, Polo, putting the nuns' or brothers' noses out of joint, screwdrivers in mini milk containers and who was zoomin' who), she and her friends will often get dressed up together in a theme...the first dance of this season, she started to share with me, she and her girlfriends were going as "Bro's and 'ho's"...you know, she was going to be the Bro and her friends, the 'ho's....</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />uh...</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br />No.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />As an unapologetic, ardent, active and vocal feminist, a former single mother AND a woman that went to Uni for a double major in Economics and Women's Studies (so I could be a feminist bitch with an attitude about money...TOO...) I was disappointed and a bit more than surprised that my daughter would think that this would fly with me. It's just wrong and on so many levels and so, I reacted to this proposed plan rather...pissily...and absolutely forbade it too...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />A couple of years ago, CTV was planning on airing "Pimp My Ride" during the summer months...I was appalled at the title of the show when I first saw it via MuchMusic and MTV and was really disappointed that my station that I watched probably 50% of my TV time, would choose to air a show with such a tasteless title. So I wrote to them (yes, I'm the happy typist that equally writes the "I think you're wonderful" feedback emails, like I did with H&M when they publicly apologized for a Vancouver store's shuffling of a breastfeeding mother to a back room like a criminal as much as I write the "here, take back your membership card, I'll never fly/travel/eat/sleep/acknowledge your company again" feeback emails, which are too many to recount here, but we can start with Radisson Hotels)... </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br />What I got back from CTV was distressing; a phone call where the man on the other end of the phone couldn't even pronounced "SUBJUGATION" let alone read my email properly. "It's not a show about SUB-Ga-Ju-subnation...it's about someone's old car getting an overhaul."...he left his phone number and I left him a message in return much along the lines of "perhaps you should read the email more clearly and look up words in the dictionary that you don't understand before you return calls to your public; I know what the show is about! I'm appalled that CTV would support a show whose title CLEARLY celebrates women's continued SUB-JU-GA-TION, which means keepin' 'em down...brutha."</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Sigh...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Later that Sunday, thanks to my good friend Kayla and her husband Bill, Rae and I went to go see The Trojan Women at the Tom Patterson Theatre in Stratford (beautifully led by Martha Henry). The story was written by Euripedes about 2500 years ago and is about the survivors of war, namely the women of Troy.<br /><br /></span><blockquote><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >"From the ancient roots of drama comes this powerfully moving testament to the</span> <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >endurance of the human spirit in the face of adversity. After 10 years’ siege, </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Troy has fallen to the Greeks. Now King Priam’s widow, Hecuba, and other women of the ruined city are to be the slaves [and concubines] of their conquerors. But even as they lament their present calamity, they hear predictions of tragedy still to come. "</span></blockquote><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br />You see, the story of women hasn't changed much in 2500 years. Although it's still mostly men that fight the wars, it's the women that must survive when they're gone. It is the women that must carry the sorrow and the grief of an entire community. It is they that must recall and pass down the stories and the histories of their dead. It is they that through their survival are further punished by subjugation, tyranny and torture; horrificly, contemporarily it's systemic rape (see <a href="www.peacewomen.org/news/BosniaHerzegovina/newsarchive/massrape.html">Bosnia </a>and <a href="www.amnesty.org/en/library/info/AFR54/076/2004">Darfur</a>). It is the women that are traded and defined by their physical value, as much as in the time of Troy as it is now. What a bunch of 'ho's and bitches, eh?...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >In 2006, there was a documentary/debate show on <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/">CBC </a>hosted by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avi_Lewis">Avi Lewis </a>titled <a href="http://list.web.net/archives/greenspirationto-l/2006-August/001047.html">The Big Picture </a>and I was lucky enough to get tickets and take my father to its inaugural airing. I was more than impressed with the format and content of the show (and was extremely disappointed when it was cancelled prematurely). The theme of the show that we attended was based on a film <a href="http://the-human-behavior-experiments.blogspot.com/2007/10/human-behaviour-experiments.html">The Human Behaviour Experiments</a> and the panel that was in the room discussing the issues that day were beyond impressive. The debate and dialogue was focused mainly on the notion of how evil flourishes when good people do nothing, particularly how the atrocities in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abu_Ghraib_torture_and_prisoner_abuse">Abu Graib</a> prison in Afghanistan were enabled, supported and permitted to happen and how that situation was possible in the first place. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />There were many themes and tangential elements of debate that night and although they were all exceptional and notable speakers, the simplest and most impacting dialogue for me came from <a href="http://www.kidsareworthit.com/">Barbara Coloroso</a>, a renowned speaker and educator on parenting, teaching, school discipline and non-violent conflict resolution. She spoke of the bullying that's allowed to happen in the schools and how that may ultimately result in people growing up with a lack of a moral compass when adults and authority figures fail to admonish such bad behaviour. When it came time for questions or reactions from the audience, I know I'll shock many a gentle reader when I share that I put my hand up to say something...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />What I shared that day was that it starts with US, the parents in the homes; the responsibility lies squarely on our shoulders. I shared that when I've heard my (then 14 year old) daughter blabbing with a couple of girlfriends in her room and they're negatively commenting on a girl at school who's a bit overweight, a bit gawky and different, that it's MY job to walk in the room and tell them that it's NOT okay to pick on someone because they're "not as cool as you all think you are". I did go on a bit from there, but you get the picture..<span style="font-size:78%;">.[my ego doesn't permit me to not share that my commentary got the biggest round of applause from the studio audience and Avi Lewis told me as we were leaving the studio that my comment was "The" crystalizing comment of the show.]</span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />...when my daughter is complaining about how a girl at school with big boobs acts all "slutty" it's MY job to remind her that that girl is just trying on a persona that she thinks is right, rather than what really is and that it's our job to be kinder, gentler and less judgmental...it's my job to call her and her girlfriends out when they use younger kids as fodder for their entertainment...it's my job to remind them that guys that boast about how many blowjobs they've had are probably NOT the guy to be wasting precious teenage romantic energy on...<br /><br />It's also my job that when my daughter and her girlfriends are planning a "Bro's and 'ho's" themed dress up for the school dance to clearly remind them that right now, around the world and right in our own backyards, there are women sucking and fucking and carving away at their souls because they have to to survive, or they've been told that their only value is physical and that their own worth is their pussy.<br /><br />I know that women all go through a phase in our lives, usually when we're about 18 years old where we define ourselves through our pussies...some grow out of this and some don't. Sadly, many aren't given the choice.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >In 1996, I used to work with a man who at age 23 converted to Orthodox Judaism from Catholicism for his wife (including the snip!), and we used to have great conversations. One day I challenged him and said,<span><span> "yeah, Mike...I have an issue that you wake up every day and say a prayer thanking God that you're not a woman." </span></span> He stopped and said, "...let me get back to you on that one." The next day he said to me,<a href="http://www.gregnettle.com/2007/05/thank-god-im-not-woman.html"> "Okay, it's not that we just say a prayer thanking God we're not women, we also say a prayer thanking God we're not in bondage or slavery..."</a> and I interrupted him and said, "...so rather than changing women's lot in life, you just thank God you're not one of them?" The purpose of me being so direct was the fact that Mike had two daughters. It did make him stop and think. So when our conversation continued and I shared with him that there was not ONE woman that I have ever known that has not been assaulted in some way, be it physically, verbally or emotionally, he took pause and asked me what we should do for our daughters...I told him..."Teach them to fight."<br /><br />I continue to fight the good fight; with my daughter and her friends, at work, at family gatherings, whenever I see injustices and people choosing the lazy way, because "it's just a joke!"...because to me and to every other woman that has been made to feel small and insignificant or vulnerable and weak...it ain't no joke...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Let me end by saying this.. in 1993, there was a TV movie called <a href="www.imdb.com/title/tt0108591/">A Woman's Guide To Adultery </a>and while I don't remember much about the movie, one thing has stuck with me 15 years later which was when Theresa Russell's character (I think!) spoke about the first commandment of being a woman... which was simply...<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Though Shalt Not Hurt Another Woman. </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Using the phrases "pimping" and " 'hos" in any kind of familiar and joking context is certainly against that commandment and I won't abide it.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Amen, sistahs!<br /><br />Post-script...<br /><br />..and just as I was about to post this, I received this news alert in my inbox...<br /><br /></span><br /><blockquote style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;" ><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">All charges dropped against soldier blamed in Somalia death</span><br /><br /></div>All charges against former Master Cpl. Clayton Matchee have been dropped, the Canadian military announced Monday. Matchee was charged under the National Defence Act with torture and murder as a result of the 1993 death of Somali teenager Shidane Abukar Arone, at a time when Canadian troops were deployed in Somalia. Matchee suffered brain damage in an apparent suicide attempt while being held in a military cell for the crime.</blockquote><br /><div style="font-family: arial; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">So, the abdication of responsibility is still rampant in our government...and in our homes it seems...<br /><br /><br /></div>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-14776247558761345892008-08-27T22:14:00.002-04:002008-08-27T22:14:26.119-04:00...welcome...<div><span style="font-family:arial;">Years ago...many years ago, I used to send out a Quote of the Day to a pretty big list of friends and acquaintances and along with it I'd typically add some commentary which would range from musings on the big life questions or just timely observations based on incidental occurences in my every day... </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />I've been thinking about those days a lot lately and I've been really missing the time I used to spend in constructing those thoughts, sometimes motivated by a quote, sometimes motivated by an event which would enable me to connect with my like minded souls out "there"...<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />So, I've decided to start again via a slightly different medium this time and while I may not be able to commit to writing each and every day, I'll try to be as frequent as I can...with a full-time career, a loving and supportive husband, a mini-me 16 year old daughter and almost four year old twin boys, that may be more difficult than I'm anticipating, but I'm willing to try...<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I was one of those keener geeky kids right from the get go...yes, I used to program Commodore 64s in the Gifted Program in elementary school, I was using email in 1994 and for being in IT and Telecom for the last 10 years it does somewhat surprise me that I've never really availed myself to the realm of blogging, especially since I always fancied myself a writer (can you really fancy yourself a writer though when you've rarely written anything in the last number of years besides the odd short story or commentary or Notes on FB??)... nonetheless, whenever I go back and read some of my musings from (WOW!!) ten years ago I realize that I still enjoy reading what I had written then and more times than not the people that were included in my list responded positively to what I was sharing as well, so it couldn't have been that bad...<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />WARNING TO THE READER: I am honest to a fault at times. I most certainly share too much information at times too. I was reading a book a couple of years ago on ADHD in women and while that characteristic of one's personality can sometimes lead to one being diagnosed, for me it's really more about sharing to survive...that's the way it's always been for me...<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />So, in an attempt to keep my ego in check, I'm actively accepting the fact that you may not care one way or another about what I have to say or what I have to share...in that sense, this blog is more for me than for anyone else. This is me being self-full and sharing because I've always needed to and now I've found the the strength to be really open...if you find some affinity or some commonality, or if I bring a smile to your face or a tear to your eye, then great...and if I piss you off, ...also great!!!...I've never been one to shirk away from a bit o' controversy and intellectual dialogue...what I will avoid all together though is flaming, name calling, finger pointing et al...it's just not my gig...<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;">So, why Siddhartha's Daughter?...<br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />About 25 years ago or so, I clearly remember my father and I driving eastbound together along Sheppard Avenue in Toronto. I think it may have been around the time that my parents were separated briefly so I may have been around 12 or so...which also means that we were probably having a pretty open and direct conversation about his and my mother's relationship...<br /><br /></span></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family:arial;">My father was more or less my friend growing up; not so much an authority figure, but someone that I could hang out with and spend time with or watch sports with (I was the son my father never had in some ways) and once in a while he would drop these prophetic, hugely impacting little zingers in my lap, usually to be realized well after the fact...</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">In his typically non-chalant fashion, my father turned to me and said, "you know Karen, there's this book called Siddhartha and I think you'd really like it"...</span></div><br /><div> </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-N_x7iT1-Oqr3ZZsyz0Jxcbi5VUOwu7J6bkNjWr8I8gDbkZ7v6ihM4me36eCZC4KkiTF-c_vZrj8laFYnAacXgBTfy4UE8BXgu2wNUvCOLFoXOgOURPChyZ9aqhRBtulwrQ4/s1600-h/150px-Siddhartha_Novel.jpeg"><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238791691273659506" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0-N_x7iT1-Oqr3ZZsyz0Jxcbi5VUOwu7J6bkNjWr8I8gDbkZ7v6ihM4me36eCZC4KkiTF-c_vZrj8laFYnAacXgBTfy4UE8BXgu2wNUvCOLFoXOgOURPChyZ9aqhRBtulwrQ4/s320/150px-Siddhartha_Novel.jpeg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;">It was many, many years later that I was hanging out at Book City in the Annex and I saw this little blue covered book and I recalled my father mentioning its title to me, so I picked it up...and quite simply, it changed my life...</span></div><br /><div> </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Siddhartha is one of the most beautifully written stories I've ever read. Hermann Hesse, in my humble opinion, was one of the most lyrical, astute and insightful writers of the last century. His simple story of one man's journey towards the discovery of himself left me speechless and touched me on many levels. I had no idea then how influential or resonant the book would really be in my life.<br /><br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">It was years after I had first read Siddhartha when I started to really investigate and explore Buddhism. At the time I was in a relationship with someone who was the perfect Buddhist muse; he was shallow, self-serving, narcissistic, manipulative and emotionally immature (did I mention that he was also an actor...?!). I don't say these things to be cruel, for I truly hope for his sake that he's changed since. Throughout my relationship him, I challenged myself to be as altruistic as I could be. How much of myself could I give for the development of someone else's soul? How much of my ego could I put aside for the betterment of someone else's life and personal growth? </span></div><br /><div> </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">The answer, at the time, seemed to be ...quite a lot actually...</span></div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Unfortunately, or fortunately (however you may look at it and I've looked at it from both perspectives over time) I'm not a Buddhist nun and the reality is that I had my own growing and discovery to go through and was certainly not in any position to be "all that" for someone else without totally losing myself in the process. Another reality is that there are people that will use you and abuse the gifts that you give them; the abuse of my gifts was something that I was not emotionally able to handle well and it has literally taken me over a decade for me to forgive myself for allowing myself to be so poorly treated and to heal the emotional wounds left behind...but I'm working on it...actively...hence, Siddhartha's Daughter...<br /><br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I relate it to being much like when there's a rock 'n roll, fashion, writing or film icon, and then their offspring participate in the same mediums as them...the parental influence is obviously there, but there's not usually a ton of pressure on the children to be <span style="font-style: italic;">as </span>iconic as their parents...which is great, b</span><span style="font-family:arial;">ecause as you'll clearly see if you care to come along and join me in some discovery and observations that I ain't got nuthin' on Buddha...<br /></span></div><br /></div>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7235785.post-50724653741823685822008-08-05T23:03:00.000-04:002008-10-05T23:05:18.277-04:00On the right path...<span style="font-family: arial;">Originally posted on FB via Notes in August 2008...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve had a lot of inquiries as to where I went in the beginning of July 2008 and a number of people have been asking me specifically about my experience at the Ontario Vipassana Centre, so I’ve decided to write this note to share with everyone via FB. I am simply going to share MY experience here and I do not intend to debate any of the issues (if any) that I bring up or share…I am simply…sharing…so, that’s my caveat… </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Also, if you've been tagged in this note on FB, it's because you've either asked me directly about the course, have shared time at the course and (while I believe that truly every single soul would benefit from this course) there are friends of mine via FB that I believe would appreciate the course as well...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> A number of months ago, my best friend Johanna told me about this place where she was going to meditate for ten days. Her brother Tor had already been through the experience and because of his feedback she was going to go as well. All I knew was that it was up north (relatively speaking) and that it was “free”..well, much like everyone else, that made me skeptical enough, but as I am with all of my friends (or in the least I try my best to be) I was open to being open and waited to hear about her experience before passing too much judgment…</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> When Joh returned, she shared with me that the course was undoubtedly one of the most difficult things both she and Tor had ever done, but that it was also an incredibly beautiful experience. For being as verbose and chatty as I am (there IS a reason she’s my best friend), she surprised me by not sharing a ton of detail about her practical experience or how her day by day actually went. I didn’t press her on this and I was to realize later that there was a reason for her ambiguity. I will be honouring that herein…</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> After visiting their website, (www.torana.dhamma.org) and reviewing the tenets of the practice and their Code of Conduct, I discussed the opportunity with my husband as he was going to be the one that had to carry the entire load of our every day at home. I am exceptionally blessed to have such a loving and supportive partner in my life and therefore I signed up on their website. The opportunity to remove myself from my every day stressors reminded me of a TV show that ran for two years and was cancelled last year titled “Starting Over”; the premise of which was a residence in LA that housed up to 6 women at a time who were given access to life coaches and therapists and were given an opportunity to work on their lives and “fix” their major issues through individual therapy, group sessions and specifically designed exercises. When I was experiencing some pretty tangible post-partum depression after my twin boys were born, I spoke to my husband about going to a place like that and since “that place” didn’t exist anymore (as far as I knew) the Vipassana Centre sounded like the next best thing…</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I’ve been remiss in the days since I originally signed up, referring to the ten days as a “retreat”…because it’s no such animal…it’s a course…it’s a lot of work as I was to eventually find out.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> As the day to leave neared, I was experiencing a ton of anxiety. When you read through the Code of Conduct you need to accept that there is no contact with the outside world for ten days…no books or reading materials, no radios or music, no journals or notebooks for writing… and no speaking or communicating for ten days…</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Most would think that my anxiety was due to the not communicating, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. Most people who heard that I wasn't going to be speaking for ten days responded with “YOU'RE not going to speak for ten days??...good luck!! hahahaa!!”…I understood that response, however internally, I resented it… (learning to let go of that)...I work from home mostly and spend many days in total silence and when you live in Stratford and commute to Toronto either by train or by car, there are umpteen further hours of solitude that add up in a month. Silence in one’s day is something that I relish more times than not…but of course, most wouldn’t guess that from the speed at which I generally speak on any given day (and that’s a different insight)…</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> My anxiety was predominantly driven by the idea of being away from my children, especially the boys because they’re so young. I feared being forgotten or shunned by them when I returned…it’s amazing what insecurities the mind can stir up. Regarding Rae, in being totally honest I thought that being away from each other for a little while would actually be really good for us...she's 16, we cycle at the same time...do I need to elaborate??...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> So, while I was tangibly anxious when I thought about actually following through and attending the course, I also looked at this as an opportunity in my life to do something that was outside of my norm and my comfort zone and really challenge myself. I may be frightened by something, but I’ve rarely actually backed away from that something. So, I took the final step and then booked my vacation time from work.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> As the day approached, my anxiety was more and more palpable and I wasn’t handling it very well at home. There were other “issues” arising both at work and at home (when are there not?) and more than a few times, I started quietly leaning towards the option to just cancel and bail. As I mentioned before though, I’m not one to back away from a challenge or a fight too often. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Tangent Alert: (‘cuz you should all know I’m pretty good with tangents)…So, as the day drew closer my husband kept encouraging (read: nagging) me to make an appointment for laser acupuncture to quit smoking. I was resisting (passively mostly) even though my father had done the treatment six weeks prior and had stated that “it was like smoking was never a part of my life”. After 26 years of smoking I was again skeptical (to say the least) that laser acupuncture could lessen the cravings and the desire I had in me to smoke…AND I WAS SOOOO WRONG!!! I owe my cousin Kathy a huge thank you for putting this side of the Schulman clan wise to the procedure and to my husband a HUGE debt of gratitude and another HUGE apology for resenting and resisting his attempts to lessen my burden while at the Vipassana Centre course. His rationale to me was “Karen, give yourself a fighting chance and don’t spend ten days there battling cravings”…and he was SO right! Victor, I’m so sorry that I resented your intentions and I thank you for your diligence (just like you promised on our wedding day). As I’ve shared before via FB, I am a standing testament to the fact that laser acupuncture completely worked for my cousin, my father and for me with regards to smoking cessation. I haven’t smoked or have had any physical cravings since my session on June 29th, 2008. It may sound like it’s early days yet, and it is, however I have no desire to smoke…not through an evening of pints, not through a 2 ½ hour drive on the 401 in the midst of commuter traffic and collision slowdowns, not first thing in the morning…the monster cravings are just not there. In fact, the smell of smoking really puts me off now. No fear of me turning into a non-smoking nazi, but if I mention it to you or encourage you to investigate, I'm just coming from a place of liberation and freedom and hoping to share that with others (there's a theme here...hold on)...last note on this is that I also had the weight management points included in the laser acupuncture session and after six weeks of not smoking, I've not gained any weight...some say it's mind over matter...I don't think it's that simple. There's a reason acupuncture has been around for 5000 years....</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Back to the course...so I quit smoking on the Sunday and over the next three days, due to my anxieties et al I have a couple of small meltdowns ("small" of course would be relative, depending on if you were me or my family members) before I was packed, prepped and ready to leave early Wednesday afternoon. Honestly, I wasn't sure if my family was sad or happy that I was going for ten days (probably the latter if I'm being honest, or relieved to say that least to have some reprieve from my heightened sense of everything). I had my Google map ready to roll and I was off for an almost 2 ½ hour drive to Egbert, Ontario. I've done the same drive a few times over the last couple of years heading up to Collingwood for work and mini-vacations with my husband, so I was somewhat familiar with my route and my surroundings. I do love driving through the countryside and if ever given the option will always choose to avoid major highway systems. I had a giggle out loud driving by Super Burger (pronounced "Soooper Berger" by the SD clan) which was a familiar landmark for my family whenever we drove from T.O. to Wiarton and pretty much settled into a state of palpable melancholy as I neared my destination. The unknown can be a very unsettling place.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> My Google map was bang on and when I arrived at the Ontario Vipassana Centre I stopped at the front gate, met Josephine, gave her my name and then drove my car around to the women's residence so I could take my luggage into my assigned room. As we were to find out during the welcome meeting, the genders are totally segregated throughout the course, saving of course for the introduction and welcome to the Centre on the first evening and the last day. There are separate residences, separate walking areas and separate dining rooms; the only space that is shared is the Meditation Hall and the genders are still segregated there. So, I took my things to my room, returned my car to the parking lot where it was not to be seen or visited for the next ten days, returned to my room, unpacked and then headed to the dining hall to register, have a cuppa and hand over any valuables that I wanted secured. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> That's where I first met Natalie, the female manager for the course; easily the hardest working woman that I encountered at the Centre. She's a lovely, soft spoken woman that was to become my only source of communication at the Centre for the next ten days, except for the five to ten minutes you could book with the teacher (between noon and one o'clock each day) to discuss either your practice or the philosophical aspects of the Vipassana practice. One thing that is pretty spectacular about the whole experience at the Centre is that everyone that works at the Centre is there on a total volunteer basis. In fact, the entire Centre is run on the premise of service and donation, known as Dāna (generosity, donation). One of the reasons that the Centre runs on the premise of donation and service is that if you're paying for your time there, then you come to the Centre with expectations and demands, which is wholly against the tenet of the practice of Vipassana. I was to find out later that Natalie is working at the Centre from May to October this year. That's an incredible amount of work and I am humbled by her commitment as well as the other servers that made our stay comfortable and so rewarding.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> The women's residence is a really lovely building. My bedroom was small and clean with a comfortable bed, warm and clean bedding, a small shelving unit to hold my personal items, a chair and a small bedside shelf with a lamp. My bedroom was private and I shared a bathroom with another student. (I can get a little OCD when I'm outside of my comfort zone and I kept repeating the name of the manufacturer of the half-flush/full-flush toilet in my head, day after day...caroma, caroma, caroma...) I can easily relate that sharing my living space with the woman that I did was unequivocally at the time my greatest misfortune, however in hindsight she was also my greatest blessing. When I've shared this with people they often retort with, "you weren't speaking for ten days, how could you have issues with someone?"...well, I may get lambasted for saying this out loud, but there are a ton of subtle passively aggressive actions that women can execute and that other women can pick up on. She executed them. I picked up on them...and I wasn't the only one...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I've got nuthin' on Buddha, that's for sure. Although essentially throughout the course you're living nun-like (or monk-like) for ten days, I have since readily accepted the fact that I'm indeed no nun, and it's not likely that I will ever be. One of the many things that I learned though this course was to accept my foibles and my flaws and learn to love myself with all of these things as a part of me. I am doing that, or rather I am working on that. That was really the impetus to me attending this course. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Many people who have observed me would say that I am or have been angry, but the reality is I've been hurting for a long time. I went to the course because I really just wanted to give myself a chance to love myself again and appreciate my life more actively; be more present and be more aware. I went because I want to be a better mother, a better wife, a better sister and daughter and friend and colleague. A happy, lighter me. Actually, the truer me. The real me; effusive and soft and wanting the world to be a better, kindler, gentler place without being scared of being vulnerable and possibly hurt or taken advantage of anymore. That's the real truth. That's my truth. I live feeling a lot of grace and the time has come for me to show that more actively.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> So, to continue with my experience with my challenging roommate (who one of my fellow students referred to as SexiYogi which will forever be my moniker for her now), not only did I share my living quarters with her, but I sat right beside her in the Meditation Hall as well. I felt I had no reprieve from this woman. My reaction to her was that she was incredibly ungracious to "live" beside. I recognized right away that that was me judging her. I accept that that was how I was feeling at that moment in time and those feelings and reactions existed in me for a reason, or rather many reasons. She was an affront to me on many levels. Because there is no communicating between students, she had Natalie speak to me about being more mindful of closing doors on the second day. I thought I was being mindful, so initially I was a bit affronted but then I quickly thought "okay, perhaps I'm not as mindful as I thought..." so I made a point of being more aware (which of course is the whole point of the course). Then, later that same day SexiYogi literally slammed the door to her room twice (my gut reaction??...shockingly it was "alrighty bitch, bring it on you hypocrite!", a total affront to my sense of "justice"). </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Then things started to compound for me; SexiYogi would leave the fan running and the bathroom door wide open during meditation hours and in that utter silence it sounded more like a not too distant airplane's engine by day three. We were asked to specifically not bring any perfumed items to the Centre, yet she had her little collection of Rosemary and Mint scrubs and lotions from Aveda (I kept thinking, "how come SHE gets HER lovely smelling items when I'm using the least smelling Dove items I could find?!"). Living up to her monker, it seemed as though she would pose at every opportunity; small, very purposeful strides when she walked, doing the Yoga prayer hands entering the Meditation Hall and doing the deep Yoga cleansing breathing at the beginning of each group session (we are explictly guided to not mix practices or rituals of any type). And she was pretty much ALWAYS the last person in the Hall so that we all had to wait for her to sit before the Discourse (more on that later) or the guidance from the teacher would begin. She would wait outside and then stretch on the picnic table in direct eyeline of the men before entering the hall at every break (we sat as a group three times a day at least). I felt that she was just that...a poser. She also reminded me of someone from my past in the worst of ways, so that wasn't helping me in being gracious in response to her at all! On the rare occasion that she entered the Meditation Hall on time with everyone else, she would hold onto the handle of the entrance to the Meditation room from the foyer while taking her shoes off, ensuring that no one could move until she was done and ready to move herself. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I also witnessed other women responding to her much the same way I was silently lamenting her. Again, because each student is supposed to be practicing as if we're in isolation, it is accepted that there is no direct eye contact and that when you pass another student, you reverently look away or at the ground so as to not challenge anyone directly. Difficult when you're sharing an eating and sleeping space with almost 30 women, but not impossible. A number of times I witnessed her walking by someone and staring at their faces the entire time it took her to pass them. Once as I was walking behind another woman on the path leading to the Meditation Hall I watched as SexiYogi continually stared at the woman and then I almost laughed out loud when that same woman that she had just passed spoke silently to herself with her hands, raising them up a couple of times as if silently asking, "WTF?"...It was reassuring to know that I wasn't the only one...strength in numbers, and no one likes to feel like they're the only one...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> The last straw for me was SexiYogi's absolute disregard for anyone else's space, particularly my own. Not only is there no speaking during the course's ten days, but there is NO physical contact whatsoever. So, when you're moving in and out of rooms or buildings, working your way around the meals tables, you have to be very aware of where people are around you without looking them in the face directly and manage what you need while respecting the space of others. Many times in the Meditation Hall she would whap me with her blanket when I was already in meditation or when I had my legs stretched out in front of me (because of my knees and my one real lament the whole course) she would stretch out and rest her feet on mine and then not move them...at all... </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Oh yes, she hit every trigger, every front I have. Internally, for days I was SCREAMING!! AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!!!...No reprieve, no reprieve...so much so that one day I actually went to the teacher, distraught, in tears, struggling with my anxiety and missing my family and feeling so scared and isolated and I asked to me moved...of course, I wasn't. I knew she was my challenge and I voiced that to my Assistant Teacher, Marsha. She agreed with me and so my struggle continued. Dammit!! :)</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> So, I felt abused and attacked at almost every turn. I felt that I had no safety net and some days I was able to manage her as my distraction and some days I just wallowed in it/her. I was really happy to share this frustration with my dear new friend at the Centre on the last day and I was relieved to know that I wasn't the only student that had a hard time showing Mettā (compassion, love) towards this woman. There is a relief in knowing it's not "just me", juvenille I know, but right or wrong, that's how I felt....and still do (in being truthful). I will say that once I had the opportunity to interact with this woman (as we do on the last day of the course), unfortunately my notions of her while silent were validated and it did actually show me that she was someone that I have no desire to know and keep in touch with in this lifetime. Happily, I was very wrong about many, many other things.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I know that these incidents regarding SexiYogi in isolation all sound petty and trite...and they were...but my experience "with" her taught me so very much in such a short time. </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> "They" say that of course, whatever you're reacting to in someone else is reflective of what you hate about yourself the most. Truth. I can readily see now that I felt her actions were on some level bullying, manipulative and attention seeking. Ouch. There I am. There I have been. I'm working on not so much of that anymore...no matter what the rationale. No one is anything 100% of the time and I'm working on just being the better edition of me most of the time...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Further, as I noted earlier, this part of my experience was one of the great blessings of my time away. SexiYogi and all the anger, frustration, torment, injustices, pettiness and tears that she brought out in me was a big, huge, honkin' mirror for me...look at how much energy I wasted on her!! It was of course during the last day that I had one of my true moments of absolute clarity...look at how much energy I waste on other such pettiness in my every day...look, look!! Awareness....</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> The frustrations of living with my "fastidious" husband or my challenging daughter (who is one of my biggest mirrors), the petty politics at work, the bitchy woman on the train or the arsehole on the 401...while it's about me, it has nothing to do with me either. It's about how much I personalize other people's actions and how absolutely narcissistic I am thinking that I am the cause or focus or the point for so many other people. The reality is for them it's not about me...yet for me, it's about how I choose to respond...how I choose to react. In that sense, it's ALL about me.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> ...glaring, shining, blessed mirror and blessed light...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Expectations: I was in part looking to the Centre to be a haven for me. A place where I could go and be safe and be vulnerable and examine the depths of me uninterrupted (a huge commitment from me and my family to be away from them and have my husband totally on duty for those ten days). That supportive environment that I was seeking is called Sangha, a spiritual community. The universe had another way of showing me the way though, obviously! Again, I had gone to the Centre with expectations and my interactions with SexiYogi were interfering with those expectations being met (or so I thought at the time). </span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Awareness: I was being narcissistic and feeling at one point or another that they owed it to me to protect me, do for me, manage my angst for me...gawd, I can really laugh at myself now and in all fairness I did pick up on the ridiculousness of that thought pattern pretty quickly when I was there too. The Centre is not "Starting Over". The people there are no one's personal support staff. They are voluntarily trying to manage the needs of almost 60 fragile and tender souls and my ego was driving the better part of my anger, frustration and distraction for many days. Not so much different from what I have been experiencing in the outside world for some time now.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> Before I go on here, I will share that are a couple of particular days that are very hard during this course. While I would meet with my Assistant Teacher and share with her my experiences and question her about my practice, her response for the first few days was "okay, okay, you're a little ahead...good, good, be present and listen to the Discourse tonight [which happened every evening at 7pm, or whenever SexiYogi decided to show up] for direction from S N Goenka [the teacher that we listened to each night at Discourse via DVD and audio recordings]" which of course satisfied the keener in me regarding performance and acknowledgement. There also were days where Goenka had the answers for the questions and skepticism that was running rampant through my head before I could even really articulate them. Some days, the days that I really struggled, the days that I cried and felt utter despair and spent hours just holding my five year old self in my mind's eye, those days I was pretty much on track with the rest of the world that has practiced or experienced this over the last 2500 years. I'm not going to share which days those are with you here, let's just say I was pretty typical those days. I don't want to set any expectations beyond what I have already.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I don't want to share too much about the actual practice of meditating for 11 hours a day (really, 11 hours a day!!) namely because it's such a personal, individual experience. What I will share is this; Vipassana is about being aware...aware of your breath, aware of the mind-body connection, aware of the poison in your mind, aware of how much time we all spend reliving the past, anticipating a non-existent future versus being 100% present in our every day.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I also now understand why it's necessary to surrender to the process and completely immerse yourself in silence for 10 days. Every culture, every time period has writers that have captured the idea of being aware and being present; those that have written and shared regarding the experience of accepting change as the norm...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> It has been my experience (and it's one of the fundamental messages of Vipassana) that there is an absolute difference between intellectually understanding the tenets of the practice versus actually immersing oneself in the practice...going quiet and hearing and experiencing on the experiential level. There is no comparison and no alternate as far as I see it. For years I have the read the books, gotten the quotes to my inbox every day, agreed with the ideas and the ideals, but I haven't had the toolset needed to actually implement the change that I've been seeking for so long.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I believe that I now have that toolset.</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned so many, many things from my time at the Centre and from my interactions with the other students. Where do I start??</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I can indeed sit entirely still (except for the coughing...I did just quit smoking) for an hour or more...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I can train my body to pee every hour on the hour...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I can quiet my mind...briefly...but I can...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I am a non-smoker finally after 26 years...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I love being healthy and physically active (as I walked five to six kilometers every day after breakfast)...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that there's nothing wrong with going to bed at 9:30 (especially when you've been up since 4 a.m.)...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that there's a ton of information that can be communicated without uttering a sound...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I walk around with a TON of preconceived notions that are usually wrong...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I waste an exorbinant amount of energy anticipating things, bad things, horrible things, sad things that actually never come to fruition...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I have wasted an exorbinant amount of energy on people or incidents that are insignificant and have no real bearing on my happiness...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I have spent a lot of my time, too much of my time, not wallowing but reliving the distant and near past over and over and over and over and over again...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I am so incredibly, to the depths of my soul in love with my husband and that I really did make the right choice almost seven years ago now...(regardless of the peaks and valleys that we often find ourselves in)...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned to accept that I am sensitive and fragile...and terrified of being vulnerable...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I really am brave....</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I judge people entirely too much...myself most especially...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I am really loved...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I am natually compassionate...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I have spent my life driven by one very powerful four letter word that begins with F and it's not Fuck...(...Fear folks, Fear...)</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I'm no longer a reluctant athiest...while I'll never accept the Judeo-Christian definition of "God", I do believe that we are all absolutely connected...call it karma or kizmet, there is something greater than the self...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that the feeling I get from imbibing on intoxicants is in pursuit of a freedom and a liberation to be effusive, loving, sweet and accepting...now I can be those things without having to be high or loaded as my excuse; I just have to continue to be brave enough to be vulnerable enough...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that Metta day is one of the most important elements of the whole experience and that without it, the impact would not have been as enlightening as it has been since my days there...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> I learned that I and just about every single human being on this earth reacts to the world that surrounds us through a veil of fear...fear of rejection, fear of not being liked/loved...fear, fear...</span><br /> <br /><span style="font-family: arial;"> So, did I learn all of these things or did I accept them finally because I've always known them?...unequivocally...bo</span><div style="font-family: arial;"><wbr><span class="word_break"></span>th...<br /><br />We all know our own truths. We all have our own answers...that's what I believe anyway.<br /><br />So, where am I now?<br /><br />I am FAR more aware than I have ever been. I have realized that the Vipassana practice really compliments the cognitive therapy that I went through years ago...the difference is that rather than "trying" to remember to breathe, I actually find myself breathing a lot easier and much sooner than ever before...<br /><br />I do have periodic internal struggles with those around me not being as "aware" as I am...not from a judgment point of view, but from a practical point of view. It's hard to impart the learnings and the lessons I have realized without the practical understanding being there as well...<br /><br />I am less afraid.<br /><br /><span> I am more accepting of aniccā...impermanence...ch</span><wbr><span class="word_break"></span>ange...<br /><br />I am less angry. <br /><br />I am quicker to compassion.<br /><br />I am a bit more patient (a bit...step by step)...<br /><br />...and I am falling back in love with myself...little by little...<br /><br /><a href="www.torana.dhamma.org">www.torana.dhamma.org </a><br /> </div>KarenSDhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13291037932442937893noreply@blogger.com0