Book meme

Snagged this one from Iced Mocha, who is enjoying a break from blogging….

What’s your preference?

1.  Novel or novella?

Novellas are good when I can’t decide on what I feel like reading, because they’re short.  By the time I’m finished reading one, I’m ready to choose whatever strikes my fancy.   But I prefer novels.

2.  Hardback or paperback?

Hardback, no contest:  the feel of the paper, how substantive the book  feels in your hands, the print, the ease of reading the print.  I like softcovers, for example Paulo Coelho’s books published by HarperPerennial are considered paperbacks, but I see them more like softcovers, bigger than paperbacks, smaller than hardcovers.  I don’t like reading paperbacks.  

3.  Male authors or female authors?

I have no preference, I like them both.  I don’t usually NOT read a book because the author is male or female. 

4.  Fiction or non-fiction?

That’s a tough one.  I flip-flop between both pretty evenly, mixing up genres and topics. 

5.  Bestseller or obscure title?

I don’t generally read what’s currently on bestseller lists….I tend to read them months or years after they’ve come out.  But when authors that I like come out with new books, I’ll scoop them up as fast as I can, whether they’re on the bestseller list or not. 

6.  Local bookstore or chain franchise?

Any local bookstores that I know of in my area are used bookstores and they’re the best.  They come in second to the library, though, because the libraries are my favourite places to browse books.  If I need to absolutely own a book, then I head to Chapters. 

7.  Read the book first, or see the movie first? 

Read the book first, then see the movie, then read the book again.   Sometimes though, you don’t know that a book has been made into a movie until you see it in the credits.   That can be a nice discovery, though, leading to new authors and  styles.   The book always seems better than the movie, but it’s difficult to compare the two as they are such different expressions.   One book that blew me away, A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali http://mostlyfiction.com/excerpts/sundaykigali.htm (Un dimanche à la piscine à Kigali  http://www.radio-canada.ca/television/notre_cinema/nos_films/synopsis.asp?film=73 )  was made into a film http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Un_dimanche_%C3%A0_la_piscine_%C3%A0_Kigali,  that I had the opportunity to see at our local film festival (one showing only).   It’s one of the rare times that the book and the film were both outstanding and powerful each in their own right. 

8.  How many books do you read in a week?  In a year? 

In a week, one or two, depending.  I often read one or more books simultaneously, usually one fiction, one non-fiction, and some poetry thrown in when the mood strikes. 

Quest for knowledge

Conversation between eight-year-old P & his 10-year-old sister, G (in the car, one night after work):

G:  There’s this boy in my day camp who said he has this neat science set for building molecules….you can build a chlorine molecule, an alcohol molecule, all sorts of molecules….so the next time we go to the store, I want to pick something like that, something educational and fun at the same time. 

P:  What’s chlorine?

G:  Stuff they put in pools.

P:  What’s a molecule?

G:  I don’t know, but it’s fun and educational.

P:  What does it look like?

G:  Little balls that you stick together to make stuff.  But you can’t see them.

P (after pausing for six seconds to consider this):  So you can’t see them, but they’re fun.  How do you know they’re fun if you can’t see them?

G:  I just do (eyes rolling)…..it’s like a kit, you imagine what a molecule looks like and you build it with these little balls and sticks……you can SEE what you’re building when you’re building it, but the REAL molecules, well you can’t see them just with your eyes…..you’re too young for molecules anyway.   When you’re older, you’ll understand.

Me: 

Canadian Tired

I was at the beach all day today.   Which means alot of thinking time.  

I originally drove to the beach at the university, which is smaller and quieter than the one at the lake.   I spread out my blanket, in a quiet corner of the beach, put my headphones on and settled in for a nice day of being outside in the sunshine.   Ten minutes later, 3 guys and some girls arrived, and the guys started playing frisbee…..over where I was sitting.   So the frisbee is going back and forth across me, sometimes landing close by & kicking up sand onto my blanket.  And these guys are laughing & talking loudly, being obnoxious, saying stupid macho things to each other, acting like I was invisible.   I could’ve said “Do you mind?”  or something a little ruder, cause they weren’t very polite to begin with.  But I just don’t have that in me.   And because they were rude and seemed clueless, I figured it would be in my best interest to just get up and leave. I didn’t want a confrontation with idiot boys in front of their girlfriends and everyone else who was on the beach.   So I packed up my stuff and left, pissed off at them for ruining my plans, and pissed off at me for  letting this bother me as much as it did.   I walked back to my car with angry tears….it was the culmination of a bad emotional week coming to the surface.  I drove away, nose & mascara running,  and headed to the beach at the lake. 

There, I found a nice quiet spot on the grass near a tree, and I settled down with books and music and my thoughts.   Aaahhh…..much better.  I flopped down on my blanket and let out an audible sigh.   I’m tired. 

Tired of apologizing (to myself and to others) for being who I am, for handling things my way, just because my way is not direct or confrontational.          

Tired of being made to feel on the one hand that I’m the cat’s meow, and in the same breathe that I’m deficient or unworthy because I don’t stand up for myself.      

Tired of being judged.

Tired of waking up with a sad heart…..       

Tired of carrying more than I feel I can…..

Tired of the oppressive feeling of being abandonned….a good friend told me not too long ago that I wasn’t over my ex-spouse, and he was partly right;  I’m not over feeling like I was left in the dust in my marriage, then when I  finally left,  I have that guilt of leaving on top of that dusty sense of loss to deal with.    Because I left, I’m not allowed (or allowing myself) to feel that I was wronged, too.  I don’t know, I don’t think you get over that, you just move through it as best you can.        

Tired of hearing how you have to love yourself first, how you have to know yourself first before you can have Love come into your life…..isn’t learning about yourself a life-long journey?  So if you’re busy learning about yourself, if Love comes to town what are you supposed to do, just keep walking?   Sorry, Love, I’m not through learning about myself yet, come back another day…… And can’t you learn to love & know who you are WHILE you carry on a relationship with someone?     And while were at it, how about this one:  Tired of loving myself and I just want somebody ELSE to do it for a little while!  (I know, I’m really tired…..bear with me, I’m almost done.) 

Tired of people’s indecisiveness in their own lives affecting my life.      

Tired of raging inside, being mad as hell,  and when I do let it out, I’m met with incomprehension and puzzlement (surely it’s not that bad, is it?……yes, for me it is…..can’t you just get over it? …….no I can’t).     

Tired of being misunderstood and having my intelligence brought into question, just because I tend to lead with my heart (always) in what I do.   As if I make unwise, unintelligent choices because I do what my heart tells me.   

From “The Pilgrimmage”, by Paulo Coelho:

“In order to fight the good fight, we need help.  We need friends, and when the friends aren’t nearby, we have to turn solitude into our main weapon.” 

I’m guessing there was a good reason for me to leave the first beach today, in the manner that I did, and to make my way to the second beach.   At the second beach, solitude was all around me there, giving me time to think and to hold the secrets in my heart one by one, turning them over in the sunshine, the greeness of the trees, the blueness of the sky.   I stayed there as long as possible, I had no idea what time it was which was great, I read, I listened to music, I wrote, I thought, I people-watched, I admired couples who were in their tender cocoons of togetherness in public (the fact that I was admiring them instead of being cynical was a good sign).  I watched sailboats meandering and jet-skiers zipping by.  

Then a frisbee landed on my beach bag……..but this time, I smiled as the  guy apologized (polite AND he smelled good).  So if I left shortly after, it wasn’t because I was upset.  I left because I had been saturated in an afternoon of solitude, now it was time to go and find the strength and courage that solitude had given me to fight the good fight.  I packed up my stuff, glad at giving these nicer frisbee guys some space to play, and I walked away happy to be me. 

Love, Chantal xoxoxo 

        

     

A Little Bit of Sunshine….

So M calls me at work yesterday morning, telling me he received the final bill for the after-school care program that the kids attended, and because we share the costs for that, he wanted to let me know the amount I owed. 

I asked how G was doing after she had called me the previous night, crying and missing me…..he said she was ok, and then he brought up the topic of living arrangements for the kids.  He mentioned that maybe we could look at changing things a little. (!!!!)  So we talked about different arrangements that would be best for the kids, including maybe the children living with me during the week and visiting him & L on the weekends. (!!!!)

This is far from coming to fruition, but holy smokes I was just floored that HE brought up the topic, and that HE could see that maybe it’s in the kids’ best interests for them to be living with me most of the time.   (And wasn’t I just thinking about this yesterday?)

I’ve known the man for 20 years now, and I know that if I want to get anywhere with him,  if I want to have any kind of leverage if you will, I need to be patient and let him realize things on his own.    Really, it’s his pride that has been driving the various arrangements that we have had for the children, combined with what we thought would be best at the time.  When I told him I was leaving, back in February 2004,  the next morning he was fueled with anger at my decision to leave, and said that he was keeping the house and the kids.   He was really flipping out and for the next 3 or 4 months, he really let me know how I had ruined his life.  So at that time, I didn’t want to rock the boat any further than I had, I was in a bad way emotionally and deathly afraid of possibly losing my kids to him in a custody battle (which would never happen, but you know when you’re freaked out, crazy thoughts take over), and I wanted the kids to be as stable as possible. 

So we worked out that he would stay in the house with the kids, but that we still shared custody of them…..I’d pick them up after work every day, keep them with me til about 7pm & bring them back to him at night.  Then I’d have them on the weekends.  That was hard on everyone, but I wanted to make sure that the kids saw me every day.  We did this for about a year until I brought it up that maybe it might be better for the kids if they lived one week with me, then one week with him.   I did this gradually, because my greatest fear was that he would call a lawyer and take the kids away from me out of spite.  I know that’s not a rational thought, and I know M, it’s not something he would actually do.  He may have threatened to do it, but those were things said in anger to hurt me.   Regardless, my motivations at the time were to always have as much contact with my kids as possible, and I felt it was important that they live with both of us. 

I look back now and would have liked it if M had had the courage to see that the disintegration of our marriage was as much his responsibility as it was mine, that his actions early on and his inactions LATER on contributed to our drifting apart.   And if he would have been able to realize that, then maybe HE would have been the one to leave, and I might still be living in my sunny house today, with my two little rays of sunshine.    I know I could have fought back at the time of separating, dug in my heels, and told him that there was no way I was leaving the kids and the house.  But I didn’t, it’s not how I deal with things, and I feel it would’ve been much worse for everyone for me to fan the flames of his anger by standing my ground.   I know him to be a good father who adores his children, so it wasn’t that I was fearing for my children’s safety if they stayed with their father….had that been the case, then there was no way on earth that I would have just walked away like I did, accepting all that he was proposing.   Inside I knew it was his pride talking, and that one day hopefully things would change. 

I think maybe that day is dawning soon…..

Love,  Chantal xoxoxoxoxo

Adieu, Coquine

G’s hamster, Coquine, died today.

G is at her father’s this week, and she doesn’t know yet.    For the past few weeks when she’s not with me, she’s been calling me a few nights a week, crying that she misses me, that she didn’t give me enough hugs before we left each other Monday morning, that when she’s older, she’ll never leave me because she misses me too much right now.    This is hard for a parent to hear.  It tears my heart out, because I want her and her brother with me now all the time, now when they need me.  But that’s not possible for the moment.   She leaves me at least  2 tearful messages on my answering machine when I get home from work at night, with the time of the call, the number to call her back, who she is and the purpose of her call…..just like a professional little business person, but all said through tears and gulps and wails of  “Je m’ennuie de toi, Maman!!!”.    When I call her back, she’ll answer on the first ring, and she’ll try really hard to have a conversation with me without crying, but she’ll break down after my first few questions.   I know she’s having a marvelous time at the day camp this week…..just today, she went kayaking, windsurfing, and rock-climbing, three things that she’s never done before.   I asked her if they sang in the bus on the way back into town, and she said no, everybody sleeps because they’re so tired from a full day of activities! 

But she’s going through a difficult time, missing me and wanting nothing more than just to be with her mother.  Tonight, she told me that her father didn’t want her calling me every night.  So after our conversation, I asked to speak to M, and I said hey how’s it going blablabla, small chit chat about something related to the kids.  I was treading lightly because I knew that if I came out with something like “G said you don’t want her calling me…..what’s up with that?”,  he would’ve went on the defensive. 

He said that he didn’t know what was going on lately with G, and I said Well she just misses me.  It’s okay if she calls me every night, you know. 

Then he said, Yeah I know, it’s not that, it’s because we’re limited to a certain amount of minutes a month on the cell and if we go over that then we have to pay extra.  I explained all this to G earlier (says he in an increasingly irritated tone that’s taking offence at him being painted as a big meanie).  She knows that she can call you but she has to keep it short, she can’t be talking for 40 minutes every night.  (She and I usually talk for about 10, 15 minutes tops).

I reply “I see…well, if you need anything, give me a call.”  And we both hung up.

This is me in my head, saying what I wish I would’ve said:  You’ve got to be kidding me!  …..your daughter needs reassurance and you’re worried about paying extra for phone minutes??…..this does not surprise me.    If you hadn’t gotten rid of your land line, this wouldn’t be such a concern for you. 

This is M’s reply to me, again in my head:  Well, if the kids are going through rough times, you have yourself to blame.  They wouldn’t be going through this if you hadn’t left!!!!

Sometimes I think the biggest reason things continue to go as well as they do in this whole divorce thing is because I accomodate, I facilitate, I’m the one who smoothes things over, just like I did when we were married.   When there are issues with the kids, the underlying message of his comments is  “This wouldn’t be happening to the kids if you hadn’t left.”  So it’s the blame game with guilt thrown in, and I refuse to play it.  Maybe some people think that’s being a wuss and a doormat, that I’m not standing up for myself.   I’m just too nice for my own good.   And sometimes I AM that way.   But  I’d rather scream on the inside, rant to my friends, or pour my angry feelings out in words, and deal with potentially conflicting situations with M as peacefully as possible.   I call it Damage Control.   Now if I could just channel that angry energy into exercising…..

 And there’s no point in arguing with him because I just end up talking in circles and feeling that I don’t make sense anymore and lose all of my bargaining power.   Which makes me feel inadequate and reminds me of how unhappy I was when we were married. 

Really, his comments about the phone minutes weren’t that big of a deal, and I can understand his point.  It’s not that.  It’s because I can’t comfort my little girl when she’s sad, and I feel her pain at missing me because I miss her, too.   I try to make my words as warm and reassuring as possible, and I pray that I say the right things that will bring her some solace.  It irks me when he reacts to the kids’ expressions of grief and sadness with something trivial like the cost of extra phone minutes.    

So now I’m trying to think up of the best way to break the news to G that her little Coquine died…..

 

Love, Chantal xoxoox

Unplugged

 It’s Sunday morning, 6am, and I woke up with hot tears stinging my eyes and the Foo Fighters’ song “Are You There?” in my head (it’s not a happy good-morning kind of song).   The kids are still asleep, tomorrow they go back to their father’s for their week with him.  I was on holidays with the children this past week, and I wish I could say it was the best of our lives, but it wasn’t.   There were lots of good moments, don’t get me wrong.  We laughed alot, we went to the show, the beach, we had relatives in from out of town visiting & the kids got to play with their little cousins, we discovered a new local place to go for gelato, we went to our favourite restaurant for supper last night, we’re going to a BBQ with friends tonight…..great occasions for lots of great moments with my kids.   But it was also a roller-coaster with seats marked Tension and Anger, Misunderstandings and Anxieties, Tears and Forgiveness (thank God); we all had our turns sitting in those seats.   I felt like I was in a bad Charlie & the Chocolate Factory movie.  

This morning, I’m wrapped up in a sad feeling of not knowing how to make things better, or if they ever will be. 

Because I don’t want to betray my children’s confidences, I’m keeping this more or less to how I feel, and hope that it makes sense.   Anxiety in children is something I should be familiar with, being as I grew up and had to deal with it myself.   I guess I’m having a hard time finding the ways to soothe and alleviate my children’s anxieties and I want them to be ok right away, I want to be able to kiss the pain & make it go away immediately.  I know that’s not how it works….

The big thing this week was the kids fighting amongst each other, which is natural, and we find ways to cope.  That in and of itself is enough to drive anyone crazy, even the most calm & put-together parent on the planet.  The bigger thing this week, though, was G’s changing moods, her thoughts and feelings on things, which would come out like one-on-top-of-the-other contractions.  I swear, it’s like when I was giving birth and near the end, my contractions were so close together I was barely breathing.   In my brain, I know that she’s pre-pubescent and her body is going through many changes, that her emotional/mental development is sometimes way ahead of her actual age of 10, and yet she’s still just a 10-year-old kid.   So I’m getting alot of backtalk and anger directed at me for no reason, and sometimes for good reason but in those cases it’s because she’s angry at a decision I’ve made in everyone’s best interest and she just doesn’t like it.    And she lets me know it.  I suppose I should be glad that she’s expressive and doesn’t keep it all in. 

To give  sense and meaning to how it is lately in our happy little household, we’re dealing with anxieties about growing up, fitting in with others (“Why can’t we accept each other for who we are?”….my daughter’s tearful words last night),  fears of scary things that go on in the world, wanting to stay with me rather than live one week with me and one week with their father, losing Faith which is something I’m really not sure how to move through because I would expect it from a rebellious teen or young adult, not a 10-year-old child.   Then there are fears and anxieties that are created and make no sense to me, but which are obviously causing stress, so you can’t just ignore them and sweep them under the rug….even though you want to.   Add to these the undue attention to details that I feel are excessive and come up over and over, and that I find exhausting to continually address.  It’s like a need to be reassured constantly that things are going to be ok. 

Wow.  I had to write it out I guess before the light bulb went off.   One more thing on my inadequacy-as-a-mother list:   not being able to see what your children need when it’s plain as day to everyone else.   And what they need at the moment is to be reassured over and over that their world will be ok.   I think all children go through this, and children of divorced parents probably feel this as a fallout from the trauma, even if the divorce was amicable & continues to be that way (as in our case).   The aftershocks of the quake that rocked my children’s world three years ago continue to be felt, and I’m the one who needs to provide cover.  

I was under a dark cloud all week, and feel that I need to decompress, like I’ve been in outer space.  I don’t feel like everything has magically been set right, and that from now on things will be ok.  I know that there will be many more struggles ahead, and struggles that will cause much more heartbreak than what went on this week.   But just by being able to clear my head this morning and realizing that what I need to give to my children is reassurance, that gives me greater confidence in myself as a parent.   Last night, I just couldn’t see it, and sat on the couch with a glass of wine, feeling like a stunned bunny.  This morning, I woke up too sad and wrote this post; I’m not bouncing around and smiling (ok, maybe I’m smiling), but I do feel peaceful and stronger after getting these oppressive thoughts out.

I’m not an uber-mom, I make so many mistakes as a parent, I do them every day, sometimes every hour!   I get angry with my kids, I lose my patience and yell sometimes, I try to make things right and give up after seeing that I’m only making things worse, I’m not always consistent in doling out discipline, I let things slide sometimes because I’m too emotionally and/or physically tired to deal with it.   I feel like I’m dancing the wrong steps to the wrong music sometimes.  I say this because I know how isolating parenting can be, especially for single mothers and fathers or for parents who DO have partners but who feel they are parenting alone.  It’s important for parents to find their strengths in any way they can, and there’s no one right way to do it.       Talk to others (even if it’s in prayer).      Sleep on it (it’s like a break, and you always have a different perspective in the morning).     Write a blog about it.      Do what you can to create connections and support.     I’m not always the best follower of my own advice, but this morning, I was. 

And love.   Remember to love, and let yourself be loved.

Let the day begin…..

Love, Chantal xooxoxoxo

On My Way Home

Why these small things keep bothering me, I don’t know. 

M called yesterday morning to give me the details of the articles that G will need for her week at day camp with the YMCA:  lifejacket, swimsuit, sport sandals or running shoes or both, towel, sunscreen, etc etc etc.   Then he tells me that he & L will be going camping for the weekend, and these are their coordinates etc etc, and to call L’s parents in case there’s an emergency for the kids, because he wasn’t sure he could be reached by cell phone where they were going. 

M & I have a pretty good relationship, despite being divorced.   We’re open in our communication, especially concerning the children, because we feel it’s important, and so far it works out really well.  I actually like him much better now than when I was married to him.  Well, ok, maybe not much better, it’s just different.   Anyways, that’s why he was calling yesterday morning, to tell me all these things. 

And here is one of those small things that makes me sad, makes me feel sorry for myself:  they’re going camping together, alone, like the happily married couple in love that they are.  I know I need to stay in the present and focus on my own blissfulness and stuff like that, but sometimes, I get sick of listening to my own bullshit.  All I have is all I need, all I need is all I have…..yada yada yada.   Well, sometimes I want what I don’t have. 

I want.  I desire.  I want and desire to wake up every day to someone who I love and who loves me back.  Someone other than me.  I want to go canoeing alone with that someone, listening to loons and pitching a tent, building a campfire and having coffee at sunrise snuggled in a sleeping bag, scratching mosquito bites, doing some serious portage (that I’ve never done but would love to do with that someone who loves me who I love back).  I desire to build something beautiful and share my dreams with that someone, and have that someone share his dreams with me.   

Everytime M tells me that he & L are doing something or going off together somewhere, golfing or 2 weeks in France or camping blablablabla, I feel like screaming at him:  WHERE WAS MY TIME ALONE WITH YOU WHEN WE WERE MARRIED?  How come he didn’t make that kind of effort with me?  But I don’t scream at him.  I take it all in stride, as if  he was telling me the weather forecast.   But it’s really a barometer of my inner self that’s being measured. 

I’m the one who left the marriage, in the end, because it wasn’t working anymore, I was tired of trying to keep it together, and I no longer loved him.  It happens.  Anyone who’s been in a relationship for a significant amount of time knows that it’s not just one thing that brings the end, it’s many things over the course of time, and sometimes if you add circumstances that neither of you could control……well, that just makes a bigger mess.  And now in retrospect, I see how we were just not as compatible to be a couple as we thought we were when we set out.  We’re good parents, but we weren’t good life partners for each other.  

My point is, I’m the one who left, yet 3 years later, I’m the one who feels abandonned.   When I initially left, I didn’t feel that way, I didn’t feel abandonned.   As time has gone on and seeing him moving on with L (who is a wonderful person, and has my gratitude for being great with my children), I’ve increasingly come to feel that I’ve been left behind, and the grief and sadness kind of sticks, you know?  I want it to let me go, to unstick itself from me.     

He met L a year after I left, and yet I feel he’s the one who left me for someone else.   I feel betrayed.  There.  I said it.  I feel stupid saying it, but I said it.  Very bizarre, very disconcerting, and it throws me off balance.  I hate feeling this way, especially because that’s not what happened at all.   It’s very strange and I wonder if other men or women who have left their spouses feel this way after a while, like they’ve been left and abandonned.     He shouted and screamed and was very angry when I left, yet he’s done incredibly well for himself since then…..and in some weird way, I look back and think that although my leaving was initially for me, it seems to have been good for him, too. 

When I left him, I knew it would be difficult, for all of us, that I would have to recreate a life for myself.  That everything would be a struggle.  It has been, and it continues to be.   I think I resent him for moving  on so well, in such a big way, with someone so great, while I continue to try and find my way home.   Resentment is an awful thing to feel for your ex-spouse, and it’s even worse to realize that you felt it for too many years while you were married.  It poisons and festers.  I could say that one of the best things for couples is to talk about whatever’s inside of you, not to let negative feelings gain momentum until you can’t control them anymore. 

But really, if you truly love someone, resentment doesn’t build until it becomes a wall that neither of you can see over.  When you love someone (I sound like Bryan Adams……when you love someone, you’ll do anything…..) there’s nothing that will stand in your way of being present to that person, you know what I mean?  Even if you don’t know how to address something that’s not working in your relationship with your soulmate, you try and do it, by any means you know how, and it will usually come out ok……because you love each other .  So even if you screw up trying to make it right, it still will come out right…..because you love each other.   But if you don’t love that person, even if you try to make it right, and have all of the tools to do it at your disposition, it’ll be ok for a little while, but eventually the writing will be on the wall, sweetie.  And then you have to face the heartbreaking truth that no matter what you do, it’s not going to make it better…..because you don’t love that person. 

So even if I would’ve talked about those resentments that I felt during the marriage sooner rather than later, it might not have made a difference in the outcome of our marriage.    I take responsibility for alot of things that went wrong, and maybe I just want to cut myself some slack here. 

 

I’m so not home yet.  Here’s to enjoying getting there……

Love, Chantal xoxoox

SoulSex or Sex With Soul or What We All Want, Ultimately

 

Have you ever wondered what life would be like if passion was your essence?  Sexual passion, passion for Life, intellectual passion?  Can you imagine living more from your soul, feeling yourself radiate from the inside out, rather than reacting to circumstances and letting them poison you from the outside in?  Welcome to the masterpiece that is Paulo Coelho’s Eleven Minutes.  

I’ve started building my Paulo Coelho library (www.paulocoelho.com).   Eleven Minutes is the first of his books that I’ve read, and I was completely blown away by the story and the sacredness with which he treated the subject matter (sex).   This is a story that, as you read it,  your mind wanders to your own life experiences with sex, to your own misconceptions, to your own hopes and dreams for living life with passion. 

You find yourself reflecting on how you’ve come to the place you’re at in your own sexuality.   And when you’re done absorbing it, you have this new awareness to move forward in your life in a way that you never thought possible.   The writing itself is beautiful and simple.  He makes you feel that  you are more than just a reader of a story, you are a discoverer in the wisdom of the truths that are slowly revealed to you.   However, these truths aren’t revealed by the author, they come from inside of you as you reflect and turn things over in your mind and in your heart.     Paulo Coelho puts into words what you feel, those very confusing, energizing and sacred feelings of sex that are the essence of each person.    As I would read, I’d pause and think:  This was written by a man……he’s articulated very simply and succinctly what I, as a woman, feel and think.   It truly is a masterpiece.     

This book, Eleven Minutes, has given an honest voice to how sexuality is perceived in society, and to how truly life-giving sex can be when love and trust are  part of sexual expression.    Thomas Moore has written The Soul of Sex – Cultivating Life as an Act of Love (www.careofthesoul.net) ; although not a work of fiction, this book echoes many of the themes on sexuality that Paulo Coelho has so eloquently described in Eleven Minutes.     

I read the last forty pages with my heart beating (really!) and when I closed the book, I was left with this hopeful feeling for my own journey through whatever Life has in store for me. 

Apparently, this book is very different from his others.    I’m eager to read the rest, and have acquired The Pilgrimmage and The Valkyries.  I’m searching for The Alchemist at my library, and from the looks of it I might have to reserve it, as it seems to be checked out often.  I’m not surprised. 

I went to Chapters on the weekend, and they have MANY of his books there…..but the only copy of The Alchemist that they carry is this beautiful hardcover book that comes in its own sleeve, with illustrations and everything.  With a $40 price tag, it wasn’t in the budget right now, but maybe at Christmas……  Actually, that would make a nice gift from the kids to me.  Hmmm….

From Eleven Minutes:

“I need to write about love.  I need to think and think and write and write about love – otherwise, my soul won’t survive.”

“The person who gives him or herself wholly, the pereson who feels freest, is the person who loves most wholeheartedly.  Adn the person who loves wholeheartedly feels free…….That is the true experience of freedom:  having the most important thing in the world without owning it.”

“Love is not to be found in someone else, but in ourselves; we simply awaken it.  But in order to do that, we need the other person.  The universe only makes sense when we have someone to share our feelings with.”

“…..she knew this love was impossible, and yet, expecting nothing, she could nevertheless have everything she still hoped for from that particular stage in her life.”

“…I realize that I didn’t go into that café by chance; really important meetings are planned by the souls long before the bodies see each other.  Generally speaking, these meetings occur when we reach a limit, when we need to die and be reborn emotionally.  These meetings are waiting for us, but more often than not, we avoid them happening.  If we are desperate, though, if we have nothing to lose, or if we are full of enthusiasm for life, then the unknown reveals itself, and our universe changes direction.”

“Anyone who is observant, who discovers the person they have always dreamed of, knows that sexual energy comes into play before sex even takes place.  The greatest pleasure isn’t sex, but the passion with which it is practiced.  When the passion is intense, then sex joins in to complete the dance, but it is never the principal aim.”

“Each day I choose the truth by which I try to live.  I try to be practical, efficient, professional.  But I would like to be able always to choose desire as my companion.  Not out of obligation, not to lessen my loneliness, but because it is good.  Yes, very good.”

Ok, I’ll stop there.   Get your hands on a copy, and set your soul sailing.

Love, Chantal xoxooxox 

This and That

I’ve added a new page on the right….check it out.   I’m trying to add photos, but it’s really sssssslllllllooooooowwwww to download pictures.   I’ll add more, once I figure out how to do it a little quicker.

I went to the show tonight (or to the cinema), to see Sarah Polley’s Away From Her.   An outstanding movie, with wonderful quiet scenes that communicate a boatload of emotion.   Go see it, or rent it when it comes out on DVD.     It’s about a man (Gordon Pinsent) who’s wife has Alzheimer’s.  You can feel his heart breaking.   He’s a great actor.   So in the state that my heart currently is (sad & broken), I choose to go sit in a theater with about 20 other people to watch a movie about  losing someone you love, of letting go of your soulmate in the face of something you can’t control.   Might as well walk around with needles in my eyes.  Good grief.

But here’s what may have made the whole thing a little less sad.  I’m sitting there, in a theater that sits perhaps 80-100 people.  It’s Wednesday night, not a popular movie night.  I was early, about 20 minutes before showtime, so I picked the last row, center seat.  I had brought my bag of goodies to munch on in lieu of having supper.    People trickled in, couples mostly (of course, couples…… I was the only broken-hearted, single, lonely 40-year-old woman in the theater……frick…..and are broken hearts visible to others?  Really, I want to know.). 

So the lights dim down, the doors close, the movie starts.   Two women come in FIVE FULL MINUTES after the movie started, and come and sit RIGHT BESIDE ME.   There are at least 75 other seats to choose from in the theater, and they sit RIGHT BESIDE ME.  Now that annoys me.  It took most of the joy out of this movie-going experience.   I sat and stewed for about 10 minutes.  I was uncomfortable because I had to shift so as not to touch the woman’s arm with mine, because she plopped in her seat & silently claimed the armrest between us as hers.   I was uncomfortable because I was really hungry and was looking forward to eating my goodies, and now I didn’t even want to take the bag out of my purse.  (Ok, so I smuggled in some munchies that were not bought at the canteen…….).   I was uncomfortable, because I knew this was an emotionally-charged movie and I’m currently emotionally-charged and I had even found my Kleenex in my purse and had it all ready because I REALLY WANTED TO SIT QUIETLY AND CRY WHILE WATCHING THIS MOVIE!   Now I couldn’t do that because these 2 women felt they absolutely could not sit ANYWHERE ELSE in the entire movie theater except RIGHT BESIDE ME!  

I had to make an effort to concentrate on the movie.  My grumbling stomache overcame me, and I snuck a handful of Veggie Flutes…..at first I let them melt in my mouth because it was quiet & I didn’t want to disturb anyone by crunching, especially not these two women who just HAD to sit RIGHT BESIDE ME.   Then I thought, screw that, I’m crunching my Veggie Flutes, and if they don’t like it, I will politely say:  You see all those seats there?  Go find one.  Be my guest.

They didn’t complain, and truthfully, I didn’t crunch as loudly as I could have.    Once I had decided on that course of action, I was ok and I was able to lose myself for a little while in this wonderful movie, based on Alice Munro’s story, The Bear Came Over the Mountain. 

But, COME ON!  I could never see myself walk into a movie theater after the movie has started and sit RIGHT BESIDE someone when there are so many other places available….I might sit in the same ROW, quietly sneak in and take my seat, but not RIGHT BESIDE someone.  Unless of course the place is packed.  That’s different.  Maybe it’s just me. 

I finished Paulo Coelho’s book, Eleven Minutes.  I am mesmerized by this author.  I borrowed the book from the library, and it’s due back in about two weeks, so that gives me time to post something a little more worthy in the next few days.  One citation that stood out was something along the lines of “Life is too short to be unhappy.  Life is too long to be unhappy.”  That’s been skipping around in my mind the past few days. 

Today was payday, that’s always nice.   Tomorrow on my lunch break, I’m heading to the library, they’re having a book sale from noon to 4, weather permitting.  I’ve been looking forward to it all week.  After work, my Best Friend, my Prodigal Friend,  Little Soul Sister and I are heading to the local fish & chip stand for some good artery-clogging fries, then probably out for beers and laughter, and some serious catching up on what’s going on in everyone’s life…..Even though we all work together, and see each other on a daily basis, I feel a little out of the loop since I’ve been working in this resourcing job.  I have time to say Hey how’s it going, and that’s about it.   So it’s very important for me to keep up these outings together, that we stay connected.    

(Thank you for the beautiful card, Little Soul Sister…..I didn’t open it til I was alone in my car, because I knew it would be something really special…….and it was……and I cried because your timing is so bang on).   

And on a soulful note……if you haven’t checked this out already, have a listen to Jacksoul’s Resurrected.      Well, all of his albums are really good, but this one is my favourite. 

Love, Chantal  x00x0

First Kiss

A few weeks ago, my Best Friend, my Prodigal Friend, and I were out for supper at the Laughing Buddha.   I need to clarify something first:  my Prodigal Friend isn’t really prodigal.  In fact, if anyone is anybody’s Prodigal Friend, I would be his.  What I was thinking when I gave him that nickname is that he’s always been there for me no matter what.  He is the most loyal and forgiving person I know, and he’s like the father in the Prodigal Son parable.   No matter what crazy thing I do, or what crooked paths I wander, he’s there to welcome me with open arms, no questions asked, let’s go out for beers and think happy thoughts.  I could call him Dogboy, but that would require explanations and I don’t think he’d appreciate it.  So he’ll remain my Prodigal Friend for now until I can think up a better nom de plume. 

Ok, so the three of us are sitting there, on the patio at the Laughing Buddha, enjoying  awesome homemade pizzas, beer, and being in each other’s company.  The laughter, the great conversation,  being in each other’s company, it was just the best.  The topic of all these firsts came up, first job, stuff like that.  I asked if anyone remembered their first kiss.   How about you?  Do you remember your first kiss?

Mine was in grade 1, with a sweet boy in my class named George.   George was not a rough-and-tumble little boy, he was more delicate, with longish jet black hair cut in a mop-top style (this was about 1973), big and round dark blue eyes, skin as white as snow, and perfect little red lips.   If Snow White was a boy, that’s what he would’ve looked like.   Ok, a cross between a male Snow White and George Harrison in his early Beatle phase.  He had a sister who was a year younger than him, her name was Solange, a beautiful, fragile little girl of five, and she looked just like her brother, except she had long strawberry blond hair with thick bangs.  They had this ephemeral quality about them, like quiet magical little elves. 

George was a serious little guy, shy and quiet, and being as I was shy and quiet, too, I guess we found some common ground.  For whatever reason, we found ourselves alone in the classroom one day, sitting beside each other, not saying very much, and we just kissed.   Just one kiss, right on the lips.  Mwaah.  Just like that.  We stayed there, side-by-side, not saying anything really.  I mean, really,  what do six-year-olds have to converse about?  Anyhow, I don’t remember feeling awkward or giggly after we kissed, we both just took it in stride, like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

What I remember is how he closed his beautiful, long-lashed eyes when he kissed me (cause I kept mine open), and how his kiss tasted salty.  I guess that surprised me because looking at him and his perfect little lips made me think of sweet strawberry jam or something like that.   

We never kissed again after that, I don’t even recall playing with him in the schoolyard or having much interaction with him in class.  I moved away the following year.   Wonder what he’s doing now?   Wherever you are, George, thank you for this sweet memory……..hope life is treating you well.   

Love, Chantal xoox