Posted on December 19, 2009 with 7 Comments
Inspired by Hope Dies Last.
In 2000, I left my teenage years behind and entered my 20’s. I entered the decade asleep; I contracted a case of mononucleosis over the holidays that knocked me on my ass. Upon returning to university in January against doctor’s orders – afraid of falling behind in my schoolwork – I slept through all my classes and had to repeat the semester. I fell in love with the boy who became the boyfriend who became the yardstick against which I’ve measured all subsequent relationships. I took a job in London and moved there for what was meant to be a year, returning home after only 5 months. My time in Europe was wasted pining away for that boy in what is, to this day, one of my biggest regrets.
In 2001, I was a selfish girl who thought she knew how the world worked. Until I wasn’t; until two planes crashed into the World Trade Center and I spent a week sobbing in front of the TV news. I developed empathy.
In 2002, I took a summer job halfway up to Whistler in a place not serviced by public transit and without my own transportation. I bought a car out of necessity. Three weeks later in a fit of complete abandon, I quit my job and drove to a resort town, got another job, quit that job after another few weeks, and drove across the country to my boyfriend. I broke up with him for the first of many times 9 days after arriving.
In 2003, I finally learned that in order to get over someone you love, you cannot remain friends at first. I broke up with my boyfriend for the last time and cut off all contact with him. I graduated from university, completely terrified and exhilarated at the unknown future that lay before me, and moved back to Vancouver. I thought nobody would ever hire me for a “real” job. I went on my first date with a man who would eventually ask me to marry him out of a sense of obligation.
In 2004, someone did hire me for a real job and I started to believe I had value in the grown-up world of work. I fell in love and moved in with my future fiance, compromising everything I’d ever wanted for my own life in order to fit in with his, but I couldn’t quell the voice that told me I couldn’t trust him; I just ignored the feeling.
In 2005, while I excelled in my job, things became stagnant at home. The domestic bliss of playing house with my sweetie gave way to real life struggles: fights about the “in-laws”, disagreements about finances, exhaustion, and squabbles over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher. The spark began to wane and was replaced with a vague sense of comfort and security. It wasn’t a good trade.
In 2006, I had learned everything I could from my job and became increasingly bored bored at work. Another company wooed me away with a brighter, shinier paycheck. That thrill lasted about five minutes into my first day. I became totally disillusioned with corporate life, and the magic disappeared entirely from my relationship, but I was in too deep a rut to notice. We got a puppy and I got the diamond ring I’d wanted so desperately, thinking it would solve all my problems.
In 2007, my new engagement incited the quiet but persistent voice inside my head to begin yelling in a panic that I was making a huge mistake. I tried to silence it by planning a beautiful wedding that nobody ever attended. I hated my job, my relationship, and my life but felt stuck. I have never felt so hopeless.
In 2008, I was unceremoniously dumped by my fiance who came to his senses and left me for another woman. I moved back in with my parents, lost my much-detested job, and was forced to climb out of the rut my life was in. I went travelling, started dating, made great friends, learned to trust my gut, and discovered that I am strong enough to hold it together no matter how overwhelmed I might be.
In 2009, I found a job in a terrible economy. I became grateful for a steady income and learned to do what is necessary for survival when it counts – and not to rely on a job for self-fulfillment. I made a difficult, life-changing decision in an awkward situation that I do not regret. I got my own apartment and I fell in love again. I lost my job again, but found another one that is so exciting, it rid me of my procrastination habit. While everyone else was complaining about how awful 2009 was, my challenges this year brought me back to life.
The next decade will bring my 30’s and for all the grumbling I do about the lines on my face, the grey hairs sprouting on my head and the spare tire settling around my midsection, I am actually welcoming it with open arms. Despite all the experiences I’ve been through this decade that have jaded me, I feel like a bright-eyed 20 year old again, ambitious and eager to see what the future holds. I can’t wait to find out.
Posted on December 17, 2009 with 8 Comments
Yesterday was a terrible, awful, no good, very bad day in my world. I got ready for work, headed down to my car, and found… a flat tire. It cost me an hour and $22 to get fixed. I showed up to work late, sat down at my desk… and heard a rip. My favourite jeans had split open at the crotch. AT THE OFFICE. Thank the Powers That Be that I had worn a long cardigan that day that covered the, err, offending area. As the day progressed, I discovered that I work for the same organization as my ex-boyfriend’s wife, and that the uniform that I will be wearing exclusively 6 days a week for 10 weeks straight during the Wee Little Sporting Event My City Is Hosting includes exactly one (1) pair of pants and two (2) long-sleeved shirts, and zero (0) substitutions are allowed and therefore I will be wearing the shirts three (3) times in a row and the pants six (6!!!!!) times in a row before they will have a chance to be laundered. Say it with me now: Ewwwwww.
The general sense of Today Sucks was contagious and by noon, everyone in my pod needed some comic relief. Enter my coworker, who is possibly the awesomest and most hilarious human being on the planet. She decided to let us in on a little secret of hers.
“So when I was getting divorced, it was this long drawn out process and I had to keep going back over to the house I owned jointly with the ex-hubby. And I needed something to look forward to about it, because it was hard. So you know what I did? Every time I went over there, I stole a pair of his socks. Or just one sock, whatever. I’d take the other one the next time I went back.
“So he would rant that the Stupid Mother Effing Washing Machine was eating his socks for snacks. Every time I went over he would complain! And every time I went over I would steal a new pair of socks and giggle to myself. And so he kept having to buy a new pair of socks, which thrilled me to my core. I must admit I took extra pleasure in stealing a pair of his NEW socks. It drove him extra nuts, so it was extra funny. This went on for MONTHS.
“When the divorce proceedings were too stressful, I would go for a walk to clear my head. And I would wear a pair of his socks for each walk. Best guilty pleasure ever.”
This honestly cracked me right up. Can you imagine if this actually happened to you? You’d think you were losing your mind!! I am not much of a prankster but I can’t help but find this one hilarious. What’s the best prank you’ve ever pulled?
Posted on December 17, 2009 with 6 Comments
Read Part 1 and Part 2 first.
Presh passed away two weeks ago in what was without a doubt the single hardest moment of my life. When she was admitted to the hospital, we’d thought it was just going to be for a few minor things, but quickly it took a turn for the worse. I’d been making an effort lately – trying to bring the fun to her. I was determined to get over the fact I was mad at her body, frustrated she couldn’t keep up the spirit she’d once had. I’d brought her puppies and was bringing her a dinner party when she ended up in the hospital.
I don’t know why, but as I drove to the hospital on Saturday night, I knew that this was it. And that night I never left her side. She couldn’t speak but I think she could hear me as I whispered what she’d shared with me, as I cried into her hand and as I did the last thing I could for her in telling her to go when she was ready. Her eyes would find me in that room, and thodugh I could see the fear, I could also see the love. Through that night, we revisited our life together, and I held her hand tightly. She would wake up about every couple of hours as the pain medication wore off and I would ring the nurse, certain that we had to make her feel better, that I had to make her feel better – certain that it was my turn to show her I could take care of her.
Monday, she was still hanging on and I was breaking down. Suddenly, in a rare turn of events, I was left alone. I knew she would never wake up again and I knew that I was going forward without her. I felt desperately alone and wanted so badly for this not to be it – not to be the moment I’d dreaded for years. I sat back in the chair and softly sang to her the Northwest Passage song, and somehow in that moment, I knew that she hadn’t left me alone. This was her last lesson to me: I could make it on my own, but I would always have a part of her in my sister and mom. She’d shared with me what she knew, taught me what she could and loved me in a way that could never be duplicated. As I finished singing, I told her it was ok, that while I wouldn’t be with her, I’d have my mom and my sister, and we would watch out for each other. I told her it was ok, that I would be ok, to wait just one more hour for my cousin Jaime and then to go – and for the first time ever, she listened to me without one of us being sarcastic.
Keitha White (June 17 1925-Nov 30 2009)
Posted on December 15, 2009 with No Comments
Read Part 1 first.
We began travelling together; at first not far, just to Toronto for Thanksgiving. We’d sit over green beans, discuss what was happening at my university, and talk about the boys I was dating. We’d gossip about the other grandchildren and she’d enlighten me to the lessons of life.
“How do you know if he’s the ONE?” “You can never be sure, but you’re willing to take that chance.”
“Breaking up isn’t the end of the world, did you know your long-married aunt and uncle took a break once?”
“Oh yes, you should travel, see as much as possible.”
Then we decided to go further. She wanted one more trip, so we were Alaska bound. Cruising isn’t really her style, nor mine, so we would sit in the cabin before bed and at breakfast further discussing the things that were crossing my mind. And though I am sure that she knew, she never confronted me about my slow realization that my boyfriend wasn’t right for me. She let me ask questions – about her own marriage, her thoughts on my parents, aunts and uncles, about what she had seen around the world – and she answered them honestly. And while I was starting to feel my relationship was doomed, she gave me hope.
I started to see how old she was on that trip. We couldn’t go anywhere without the walker; showering was a full morning activity; glaciers were less important than naps; 8:30pm was an acceptable bedtime because the shows were just too loud. Things were changing. She’d always been the one to show me the way, but now she needed me to guide her to the dining room. However, when we sat in the cabin she showed me how to find the way to satisfaction with life, she guided me in choosing a partner, she told me that it was ok to be wrong, ok to be weak and ok to be alone sometimes.
Upon our return home, she immediately started planning her next trip – this time to the Arctic. After discovering there was no way I could come up with the ten thousand dollar price tag, she invited my aunt and uncle along. She knew the she would need help and they seemed like a good option, but I admit I watched them jealously. I was thinking of everything she and I had done together, I hated the thought of missing this adventure with her. Together we worked at going up and down stairs, walking short distances without the walker and generally strengthening her limbs for this tougher travel choice. We talked about the trip, about what she would need to be able to do, and how she was both excited and nervous. I can’t say for sure, but I think that there was a part of her that wanted me there, to be part of the planning, to get excited with her. But she never pressured me financially, it would be impossible.
And then, only months away from departure, they invited me to go along. The three of them would cover my costs in exchange for my rooming with her. Eagerly, I agreed. This opportunity was too good to pass up!
This boat was much rockier than the cruise ship, and often the walker wasn’t enough. It was suddenly almost impossible for her to take her pills each morning and night. And where I thought I would be learning from her, suddenly I was teaching her what I had learned from the people around me. Everyone on the trip thought she was an inspiration, and she was, but my heart was sad knowing how difficult this trip was for her. Because she was older, slower, tired she missed great parts of the trip, but I took on the role she’d had as my educator and told her about each little thing I had seen.
My relationship with her is hopefully far from over, but already I mourn for the relationship we once had. I am missing that person who understands me, who will argue with me and who will be able to keep up with me. I know there is nothing she can do to prevent getting old, and yet I resent her body for letting her down the way it has. I resent myself for sometimes avoiding her because I hate to see her aging. And I worry that I won’t have that person who can get away with being sarcastic with me and who I can be mouthy with – the one who understands that I do it with love. She understands that I’m not just going to sit back and let her act her age by complaining about everything under the sun.
Lovers can be replaced. Best friends are lost and found. But as she gets older, I know that this isn’t a relationship I can have again. I can’t find another grandmother who shares my blood and understands my mind. So every day, I work on reinventing this relationship, becoming her caregiver and sharing her with those around me. I know that this relationship won’t be the only important one in my life, but it is the one that I can never replace.
Posted on December 14, 2009 with No Comments
Ed. Note: The story below was written several months ago by one of my best friends, Ashley. She contributed this beautiful piece about her grandmother (who goes by the nickname “Presh”) as part of The Relationship Chronicles, and it’s been sitting in my inbox ever since, waiting for my attention. Life got in the way, as you can tell from my sparse posting of late, and I haven’t gotten around to posting it.
Ashley’s grandmother passed away a week ago today, and as a tribute to this amazing woman who I have met myself on several occasions, I wanted to finally post her story.
**********
“Wow! I can’t believe you are so happy and fun today, I do hope I can hang around a while,” I said sarcastically to my grandmother who had just begun to seem old. My own mother looked at me and asked how I could get away with being so rude to my grandmother. After all, aren’t you supposed to respect your elders?
My first memory of my grandmother is at the age of six. It’s actually a memory of my grandfather, but she was there too. We were watching blue jays out the window and eating peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Everyone felt safe, and I remember her looking at me with nothing but love in her eyes. Sadly, this is one of my last memories of my grandfather, but his passing enabled my close relationship with my grandmother, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
During my childhood, she was the typical grandmother – or at least that’s the way that I remember it. I remember hoping that she’d bring me crayons. I remember her cooking, making sandwiches, and taking off around the world. She was so independent and wasn’t going to let the fact that Grandad couldn’t share the adventure stop her from realizing their dream of seeing the world. She’d take off to China, Iran, Turkey, Croatia or some other faraway place, coming back with horrible pictures (it never was her forte), jewelry, t-shirts, recipes, memories and ideas. Ideas about what went on outside our sheltered lives, and she’d share them with enthusiasm. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was shaping me to think outside the box, dream big and enjoy life. Most importantly, she moved to live near me during my childhood and this shaped our relationship forever.
The teen years are never easy years. Mine were plagued by parental divorce, the stigma of being a band geek, interest in a sport that was beyond our means, and the overwhelming feeling that I just didn’t fit in, either at school or at home. My places of refuge were the barn, the band room and grandma’s apartment. When I had to give up the barn and the band room was off limits, her apartment became my solace. We developed a routine of weekly dinners and she’d talk to me about what was going on with her, with me and in the rest of the world. We’d eat sandwiches, and I never felt judged. It became so safe that even when she was off gallivanting around the world, I’d go to her apartment, sit in her red chair and watching TV until I had to leave. She was strong, still independent, and when she wasn’t with me, she was volunteering, painting, learning and sharing.
My adult relationship with her has been the strongest, has taken the biggest beating and has truly opened my eyes to the world. It’s also the one that has seen our roles reversed and the one that sometimes just breaks my heart. It’s one that I cherish and resent, but would never give up.
To be continued…
Posted on December 8, 2009 with 5 Comments
Here’s the deal, kiddos: I started a new job exactly one week ago, and I’ve never worked so hard in my life. Well, maybe in college, during the pre-Jaded Laura years. But now? I am a procrastinator in the extreme. I was a little concerned about how this bad habit would impact my new job. Turns out I am cured: there is no time for procrastination and I’m rarely even tempted to try! Hallelujah! I am also working very long hours and existing mainly on caffeine, sugar, and lipids. I am not complaining about this. My waistline might, though.
I’ve also decided that, at the end of my contract helping out on the wee little sporting event my city is hosting in the new year, I might like to see if I can help out on the wee little sporting event a certain British metropolis is hosting in 2012. Yes, I think I’d like that a lot. I don’t know if it will happen yet, and I might change my mind anyway, but I’m just putting it out there. Dreams that you write down on paper (errr, on blog?) are more likely to turn into goals that actually get accomplished.
Apologies in advance for the inevitable long absences that will be forthcoming over the next few weeks. Starting the week of January 18th, I will be on-site 6 days a week, probably working 12 to 14 hour days until the end of March. I imagine that my one day off per week will be spent doing laundry and groceries in a comatose state. I hope you’ll stick with me for the ride.
Posted on November 28, 2009 with No Comments
I keep meaning to write a post saying my mum arrived back home from England on Wednesday evening. But I put it off because I really don’t know what to say about it except that my mum arrived back home from England on Wednesday evening. And I’m glad to have her back 
Posted on November 27, 2009 with 7 Comments
I start a new job – a four month contract – on Monday. After resigning myself to a holiday season of unemployment, it turns out I don’t even get any time off! I don’t like to talk about work or name my employer on my blog, but let’s just say that I will be helping to organize one aspect of a wee little international sporting event coming to my hometown in February. You may have heard of it? *Squeals with excitement*
I can’t believe how lucky I’ve been this time. My experience following this lay-off has been the polar opposite of what I experienced last year, which involved banging down doors shamelessly, hitting up all my friends for lead after lead, sending out my resume into cyberspace, and almost never hearing anything back. For months.
This time, however? I have sent out my resume to a grand total of four people, and have received three interviews in return for my efforts. I had a good friend call me up a couple of days after my layoff to say, “Hey, I heard you got some shitty news on Friday. Send me your resume immediately.” And three days after that phone call, I had a job offer from his employer in my hot little hands. And on the day that I had to sign and return that offer if I wished to accept it, I had another friend call me saying she’d just quit her job and was pushing her bosses to interview me. I told her I needed a decision that day, and so I was in their office for an interview that afternoon!
It turns out the first job offer was the best option for me, so I took it. I’ll be looking again in April, but this time I have 4 months’ notice before my unemployment starts, instead of just two weeks, so I can plan for it.
I’ll be having my friend and his wife over for a fancy home-cooked meal in short order. I owe him big for this one. And you, my readers, I owe the story of the the other interview I had last week. It was kind of hilarious.
Posted on November 23, 2009 with 7 Comments
I woke up to a post by Moose this morning that contained the following excerpt (make sure you’ve swallowed that sip of coffee before you proceed, or you risk snorting coffee out your nose through laughter):
I know exactly what I need to do to make myself feel better – I need to exercise more frequently, I need to ruthlessly slash the sugar, etc etc. The more desperately you need to do it, the harder it is. But that’s just life. On the wagon, off the wagon, chase the wagon through three counties, decide the goddamn wagon can roll into the Pacific Ocean for all you care and sit down to eat triple chocolate chip cookies.
I stopped chasing the wagon about two months ago and have been happily putting my feet up and chowing down on chocolate chip cookies (and pumpkin brownies) for oh… about two months now. I’ve always been prone to phases when it comes to my health. It generally goes something like this:
Phase 1: Eat cookies. Relax on couch. Gym? What gym?
Phase 2, a few weeks later: Get a sugar headache, notice expanding ass. Hop on the cardio machine at the gym, make stirfry for dinner. Assume this act of goodwill towards my health should tide me over for at least two to three weeks. Continue eating cookies and relaxing on couch. Avoid the scale like a mo-fo under the pretense that it ain’t happening if I don’t measure it.
Phase 3, two or three weeks later: Pants are now creating a muffin top where none previously existed, and I can be heard lamenting my layer of winter insulation every time I strip down to get in the shower. Finally relent and step on the scale first thing in the morning after emptying bladder and avoiding beverages or food of any sort for several hours and removing every last ounce of clothing and jewelry from my person. Faint at the sight of the number on the scale which I cannot even blame on clothing or jewelry or water retention. Go on a rampage through the kitchen, tossing out anything with butter or cheese or, you know, real calories. Renew commitment to exercise; daydream of running a marathon while doing crunches in time to Timbaland.
Phase 4, a few weeks later: Squee! Down 5 pounds! Must reward self with a cookie. Or seven.
…And it’s a never-ending cycle. Right now I’m at the beginning of Phase 3 after seeing a number on the scale last week that I hoped to never see again. I know exactly how I got here; I was doing boot camp and eating very healthy in the summer and I was happy with my body, but then apartment hunting and moving usurped all my time starting at the end of August. During the move, I went a couple of weeks with all my cooking tools in boxes so I was eating out all the time, and that was that. Two or three weeks off the wagon for me and I’m back in the habit of eating what I want and thinking the gym is too much of a chore to bother. But it got out of control fast; I haven’t really been over-eating in terms of portion size, but I have eaten whatever foods I wanted (which have included a lot of pizza and mac & cheese) and I’ve packed on the weight faster than I used to.
(Ugh, is that because I’m getting older and the big 3-0 is looming? I still haven’t made peace with my inability to eat whatever I want and remain stick thin like I could in high school, and now I’m plucking gray hairs, finding fine lines and bemoaning a slowing metabolism. By the time I make peace with those, I’ll be having hot flashes.)
Right now, I’m feeling excited about eating healthy and exercising more. I’ve been planning to try out a bunch of healthy new recipes (the opportunity to try a new recipe, I’ve found, is always the way to get me excited about a dietary change) and have been to the gym a lot in the last week. On Saturday I was on a cardio machine and a very clearly anorexic girl got on an elliptical a few machines over. Her thighs were probably the same circumference as my upper arm, and she was visibly struggling to get the machine to move, but she was already working out when I arrived and was still there when I left. It was hard not to stare and I kept thinking to myself, you poor girl. Give yourself a break and eat something.
But I found her presence there oddly motivational, because it made me thank my body for being healthy. I know she is starving and overworking her body and she probably has such a distorted body image that she thinks she’s fat. It’s sad, but it made me grateful that I can look at my body which has admittedly gotten a little chubby lately, but I can still appreciate its beauty and strength and abilities; I don’t feel the desperation that girl must feel. It made me want to treat my body with respect and gratitude for all that it does for me.
So, I tracked down the wagon, I pulled it out of the Pacific Ocean, I’m back on board. But here’s the challenge: how do you manage a healthy lifestyle during the holidays without sacrificing all the traditions you hold dear? Because I want to be healthy and look good, but I’m having my dad’s Eggs Benedict on Christmas morning no matter what, and I’d like to bake Christmas cookies with my sister and attend holiday parties with my friends. How do you guys maintain your health without becoming a social outcast?
Posted on November 20, 2009 with 10 Comments
Today is the day my life would have changed forever. Instead it’s just another Friday. It’s amazing how the choices we make impact our lives.
Sorry for being so cryptic, but this post is just for me. I will never forget.
