I’m Sorry, Tommy MoneyMaker

This is to the person with the URL that begins with “moneymaker….something something”…..You left a very nice message on my recent post, and it was sitting in the spam thingie.  I read it and wanted to approve it, however, in my infinite technical wisdom, I sent you off somewhere in the frozen wasteland of the net-spam death zone! 

I am truly sorry, Mr. Tommy MoneyMaker, and if you return to visit my site and get caught again in the spam web of confusion, I will do my best to write down your URL FIRST and then attempt to include your comment on the post.  That way, if I screw it up AGAIN, at least I can visit YOUR site to tell you what a complete nerd I am!

So all this to tell you that I appreciate you stopping by and thank you for the wonderful comment! 

See you soon (I hope)

Chantal 

Number Five With a Bullet

I’ve been tagged!  My insightful poetic friend, Polar from In the Court of the White Bear, has tagged me with the following:

Five Gifts I Would Buy For Myself This Christmas If I Had Unlimited Funds:

1.  A five-bedroom villa,   just like this one: 

Yes, in Italy.

2.  A state-of-the-art sound system, the likes of which I’ve never had.   The whole house wired for sound.  No dinky little portable CD players, no tinny-sounding music coming from the laptop.    Music shall be felt, not played. 

3.   All my family’s and friends’ debts paid off, myself included.   A clean slate for everyone, so that we can worry about the important things in life like family and friends.

4.  My very own used bookstore/café, where I can putter and write and touch books daily,  to feel their magic, where I can  talk with the locals, offer them a place to show off their artistic talents, bring a sense of community to people who might not otherwise have the chance to exhibit their creative gifts, where everybody knows your na-a-ame, doo doo doo doo and they’re always glad you ca-a-ame….where I can make bad coffee & serve it with a smile, and call it earning a living.

5.  An open plane ticket good for unlimited flights for me and my children and anyone else we choose to bring along, to travel to the places we read about in our bedtime stories.  

I now tag the witty and delightful Jazmine over at GardenSpot to give us her wishful list.

See, Polar, two posts in one night!  I DID find time!  Thanks for thinking of me,  my friend……

Peace, Chantal  xoxoxox 

  

As my old Pappy used to say….

My father passed away in September, 2003.    A year or so ago, I had a dream about my dad.  This was a good dream, and it was the first dream of him that I remember having after he died.   In the dream, my sisters, their children, and myself are gathered in a house I’ve never been in.  We are all in the living room.   I see someone in the kitchen and walk from the living room to the kitchen, which is this old-fashioned looking kind of kitchen, with  tall cupboards painted ugly dark green colours, and this ceiling light that gives off a sickish yellow tinge.  The someone in the kitchen is a man, dressed like James Gardner in Maverick, with a white shirt & black tie thingie….

This is exactly what he looked like, except he had his hat on, and no gun.  And no badge.   And the best part was that it was my Dad, not James Garner.   First he was sitting at the kitchen table, and he was smiling.  My dad had a great smile.  Some people, when they smile, their faces hardly move or change.  Not my dad.  When he smiled his brown eyes lit up, and he had these great smile-wrinkles around his eyes, deep ones so that you could tell that he was smiling.  So anyways, my dad dressed as James Garner in Maverick is sitting at the table smiling at me.  I turn towards the living room, to see what the others are doing, but they’re busy talking about my dad.   I want to tell them that Dad is here, but I’m too happy and don’t want to break the magic.     I realize no one can see my dad, except for me, because some family members look at me and I know they can see the kitchen table, and that if they could see my dad, they would be coming into the kitchen, too.   

I don’t remember my father speaking in this dream, just smiling.   He gets up from his chair, stands up and walks out, tall & proud in his Maverick look.  And he’s not limping.  My father had a very pronounced limp, as he had broken his leg in too many places during a construction accident when he was about 45 years old.  But in my dream, he walked without his tell-tale limp.  He walked out the back kitchen door, and I watched him go.  In my dream I returned to my family in the living room, but as I’m talking to them, it’s as if they can’t hear me.  They see me, they’re smiling at me as they carry on their conversations, but they can’t hear what I’m saying.  I don’t remember what I’m telling them, just this feeling that I wanted to share this most incredible sighting of my father. 

I don’t remember what was going on in my life at the time that I had that dream.  But I do know that the dream made me feel peaceful, and reminded me of watching the Rockford Files with my dad when I was a kid.   

But last night, I had another Dad dream.   I woke up around 1:3oam and tossed and turned til about 5am, trying not to worry about the things I was worrying about, but not doing too good a job of it.   Anyhow, I finally slept a little in the early morning hours and had THIS dream:

I’m sitting at my desk at work, and I’ve got my telephone receiver held to my ear, except I’m not talking.  Then I can hear my father’s voice on the phone, but he’s not talking to me, he’s talking to someone in English, telling them that he can’t handle this anymore, that he’s too lonely, and that he needs to get out of the nursing home that he’s in.   He doesn’t say so, but I come to know that he’s too lonely because he misses my mother (in reality, my father passed away six months before my mother did).  My heart breaks as I hear my father plead with a total stranger to rescue him from his despair.  As I’m listening, I’m berating myself for not visiting my father more often, and when was the last time that I had called him?  I couldn’t remember and berated myself for THAT as I frantically leafed through my address book to find my father’s phone number so that I could call him and reassure him that it would be ok, I would come by & visit.   As I’m going through my address book, I see that I don’t have a phone number for him and I berate myself for THAT, I mean come on!  Your father has been in a nursing home for several months and you don’t even have his phone number?!?  (In reality, my father did not live in a nursing home).  As I dumbly stare at the little blank space where my father’s phone number should be, a voice tells me, You can’t call your father, he’s dead.  At this point, my dream propels me into a kitchen where my ex-husband is sitting there with me & the kids, and I’m telling him this strange occurrence of hearing my father on the phone & when I tell him that I couldn’t call my father anyways because he’s dead, my ex-husband gets up from the table a little green around the gills.  

Today, in the real world, I had a semi-confrontation with my ex-husband, which was resolved and everyone’s happy again.   But this latest dream of my father left me feeling bereft and missing him very much.    I’m not sure if I’m dealing with feelings of guilt about my dad, about not having done enough to help him, especially in the last years of his life.  I know that my sisters and I all did our best to be the daughters our parents needed us to be, I have no doubt about that.    I don’t know if it has anything to do with the last month of his life, when he was in severe pain, and one night, when I was visiting him in hospital, he told me to bring my truck up the front & take him out of there…..he was obviously delusional, but it was hard seeing him that way.   I could probably be analyzing this forwards and backwards &  come up with many explanations.   I don’t know if the fact that my ex was in there indicates that I still have guilty feelings to work through because of the divorce, as I separated a few months after my dad died.   

Then again, maybe this dream wasn’t about me, maybe it was about my Dad’s painful experiences that are stuck somewhere and need to be acknowledged.  I don’t know.  I’m not a dream interpreter, but I do think that we receive important information through our dreams.   And I think that our grief is expressed in our dream life as much as in our waking life.   I’m just not sure if this is supposed to be a sign of some sort.  I’m paying attention, so I’m guessing that it will reveal itself in time……

Peace,  Chantal   xoxox

  

Riding in Cars With Brothers-in-law of Brothers-in-law

My brother-in-law, the one married to my middle sister, came from a family of 6 boys and 2 girls, and one of his sisters had married a guy who owned a convertible.   At that time, way back in the early ’70s, when I would’ve been about 5 or 6 years old,  my brother-in-law & his brothers were car-crazy (from what I remember), them being in their late teens & early twenties and all.   They would gather in driveways, popping the hood, checking out engines, taking pictures of their beloved wheels, going for spins around town while listening to the AM radio, making memories.   

One day, during one of these driveway scenes, my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law invited my sister & I to go for a ride in his convertible (my sister being married to my brother-in-law, making my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law HER brother-in-law as well).    It’s possible that I begged & begged to be taken for a ride, but I don’t remember that…..I do remember being so excited, having never riden in a convertible before.   If memory serves me correctly, the car itself was a golden green colour, with a cream interior.   But I might be confusing it with a car that belonged to a brother of my brother-in-law’s, or maybe it belonged to my brother-in-law himself….wait, I think my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law’s convertible might have been navy blue with a cream interior, and the golden green car maybe wasn’t a convertible after all…..Ok, I’m pretty sure about the cream interior. 

Anyhow, during this coveted ride, I got to sit in the backseat, and seatbelts not being de rigueur at the time, I was able to scoot from one side to the other, enjoying the views.    But one thing dampened my enjoyment of that whole experience:  it was late summer,  and the sun was sinking when we set out for our little ride around town (which probably took all of 7 minutes),  so the temperature was a little cooler (this being Northern Ontario).   My sister decided she would pull the maternal card, turned to me in the back, and forced me to wear my hood throughout the whole ride, so that I wouldn’t catch a draft.     And because I was a pretty easy-going kid, I didn’t even think to refuse to put my hood on.   But I do remember feeling sulky about it. 

So as my brother-in-law’s brother-in-law drove us through the streets of our little town, I sat in the backseat of a  cool  convertible, with my hood tied under my chin, silently protesting the injustice of it all.   Even I knew, at the tender age of 5, that when you’re in a convertible, you have to be able to feel the wind in your hair…..I mean, that’s the whole idea….might as well wear a raincoat to go swimming.

But despite my hair being restricted, I did enjoy that ride.   Funny the stuff we remember.

I haven’t been in a convertible since, that was my one-and-only topless adventure.  BUT if I ever have the opportunity to ride in one again,  I am NOT putting my hoodie on…….

 

Love, Chantal x0x0

Good Grief

I’m tucking the kids in the other night, might’ve been Friday.   P has this forlorn little look on his face, and I know what’s coming. 

- Bonne nuit, P…..

- I miss you, Maman. 

- I miss you, too, chum, but I’m right here.

- I miss you when I’m at school, and sometimes I want to cry.  I miss you when I’m at Dad’s. 

- I know you miss me, and I know it’s hard….it will get better.  You’ll feel sad, then you’ll feel happy about something that’s going on, and you’ll probably feel sad again a little later, maybe the next day, about missing me, but now you know that it comes and goes.  And when you feel sad again, be sad, because you know that it won’t last very long.  So each time you feel sad and miss Mommy, think about how that sad feeling will go away soon, like a cloud being blown away by the wind…..

As I offer this feeble attempt at reassurance to my son, I look into his blue eyes and feel him looking at me, like he’s scrutinizing my face, my eyes, my mouth for that one magic word that will make him feel okay, that will take away all the pain he feels at the divorce, that one word that will restore his sense of security back to what it was.   That sense of security that I feel I can never replace.  We go through these bouts of anxiety every so often, and sometimes I just run out of words to say, so now I try to impart to them that eventually they won’t feel so sad anymore.    Coping with the grief of divorce has been like coping with the grief of death, for all three of us.    Grief is grief, no matter what kind of loss you suffer.

So P is lying there with his blanket tucked up under his chin,  all I see is his little blond mop & his angel-face, looking at me with the intent to extract some measure of comfort from my words.  I lean in, kiss his forehead, and wait for him to speak.  I’ve said enough, I see him absorb all of my well-intentioned words, I anticipate his response to be something along the lines of acceptance and understanding of the concept of “things do get better”.    I feel like Wise-Mommy…..And finally, he speaks:

 Maman, do hamsters have lips?

Once again, the resilience of children leaves me speechless as I hug my boy and chuckle that I’ll have to check and get back to him on that one…..  

Love,

Chantal xoxoxo

ABCs of Me

 

My friend over at Hawk’s Place tagged me with this, and I’m sorry it took me so long to post it.    Initially, I thought writing out the ABCs of Me would be a piece of cake.  However, it proved to be much more difficult than I thought, hence the very long delay in posting my answers.  It might have to do with the fact that I’m uninspired lately, and so trying to think of things that describe me was a real challenge.   The alphabet anagram pictured above sort of gives a visual of how my brain must have looked like as I tried to complete this exercise in self-description over the past few weeks. 

Thank you, Hawkman, for setting me up with this wonderful little delving exercise (I think). 

A – Asparagus.  One of my favourites veggies. 

B – Books.  I surround myself with them, I love everything about them, their textures, their print, their generosity, their comfort.

C -  Chocolate.  I am suspicious of anyone who tells me they don’t like chocolate.  (How is that possible, really?)

D – Dancing.  I love doing it in my living room, alone, with my kids, or out on a dance floor with my friends.  And slow-dancing (with someone, not with my broom)…..nothing beats that.  Ok, maybe bellydancing, because that’s awesome doing it alone or for someone. 

E – Émerveillement….French for wonderment, of  which I’m happy to say I have a huge reserve.

F – Friends.  I wish I had started cultivating them sooner.

G – my daughter.  By having to be her role model, she teaches me much about being a woman.

H – Hockey.   THE Coolest Game On Earth. 

I – Italy, where I would love to go one day on a month-long journey of discovery.

J – Journals.  I’ve kept them most of my life, some I’ve tossed, others I’ve kept.  Writing in journals brings alot of clarity to muddled thinking.  But sometimes it can also make everything clear as mud.  Either way, journaling gets to the heart of it.

K – Knowledge.  I forever seek it and hope my curiosity only grows as I get older.

L – Love.  As a verb.

M – Music.  Mood-maker, mood-gauger.  Expressor of my soul.  When the words don’t cut it, music steps in & shows the way.  

N -  Nail biting.  I’ve done it since I was maybe 5 years old, and still do.  In private. 

O – Outdoors.  I’m not a traditional outdoorsy-kind of woman, I just like being outside in nature.  Being an apartment-dweller makes one long even more for the gift of stepping out into your own backyard in your bare feet at dawn to watch the sunrise.  Or to feel the moon shine down as you stargaze on the deck with a good cuppa.   

P – my son, who continues to draw me into his perfect little 8-year-old world of hockey & drawing & knights, and lets me know that for him, I’m it. 

Q -  Quest.  I just like the word & what it evokes.  Searching, being on a journey, defying obstacles to attain a goal, and finding out that the quest IS the goal. 

R -  Reading.  Ok, I know it’s related to the B word, but I love reading, and I do it all the time: at work;  on break;  while eating my lunch;  before bed;  while waiting for the coffee to finish percolating, then while enjoying a cup of the fresh brew; at the beach.  I remember walking to school & reading at the same time.  I actually miss taking city buses because it gave me some reading time (but I’m glad to have my own wheels).  And I love reading alone, reading aloud to my kids, or reading to a special someone far away…..  

S – Shy.  Some think it’s a barrier to alot of things, but I’ve come to see my shyness as self-preservation, restraint in heated moments, and an approach to life that makes me think a little more than I might if I was a little bolder.   Sometimes I AM bold, I just take a little longer to get there.  (See, now that I’ve had some time to think, I really wanted to say Sex for my S letter…..)

T - Thanksgiving.   My favourite holiday.   

U – Underline.  I hit some key & now I don’t know how to get rid of the underline feature……AACCKKKK!!!   Really, though, my U word would be University, which I wished I had the opportunity to attend.

V – Victor.  My dad.  He was a winner right down to his name.

W – Wine.  I can definitely live without it (and most of the time, lack of funds dictate that I DO live without it!), but when I can, I feel very grown up browsing the liquor store, picking out a few interesting bottles (that I really know nothing about), then heading home & pouring myself a glass to enjoy throughout the evening. 

X -  Xenophile.   Ok, I had to look in the dictionary for this one, but this is a good word for me because it means a person who is attracted to foreign people, manners, and cultures. 

Y – Yaweh. 

Z -  I still pronounce this as “zed”, not “zee”, despite my formative years watching Sesame Street.  

So there you go, those are the ABCs of me.  I’m supposed to tag five people with this, but I’m not sure how to do that.  So I’m going to leave it up to you, if you feel like writing out your own ABCs, you can do that.  If you feel like leaving it as a comment, please go ahead, I would really like to read more about you.  If you have a blog & want to post your ABCs on your own space, you can do that too & link back to this post.  

Love,

Chantal xoxoxo

What’s In A Word?

This is my new word for the day:  Gynecocracy, which means the political supremacy of women.  I had never heard of it before, and I didn’t even know such a concept existed. 

pronunciation:  jin-eh-KOK-reh-see

Interesting how a word used to define female supremacy has the vulgar slang of the male organ of copulation as the accented syllable.   It’s like this inherent fear of women exercising any kind of power has to be tempered.   Anyhow, my point here is not to advocate female supremacy, male supremacy or any other kind of supremacy.   It was an interesting word that got me thinking of inequality & equality and the quality of life when one is inequal, female or male.  And it makes for a nice segue into this article that I read in Z Net this morning:

http://www.zmag.org/sustainers/content/2007-11/07jensen.cfm

No matter your political views or affiliations, no matter your religious beliefs, regardless of how you feel about your country’s active or passive role in wars past, present and future, however you identify your beliefs with whatever -ism is out there, I know you want a better world for yourself and for those who will come after you.  

Bridging gaps.  Creating links.  Treating the other in a way that the other wants to be treated, instead of treating the other as I would want to be treated (cause there IS a difference, it’s not all about me).   I realize that these are my simple, rose-coloured opinions, my Lennonesque “War Is Over (if you want it)” kind of thing, where if we could all just get along, wouldn’t life be grand?    The solutions however, might be as easy as reflecting on my current mindset and seeing how I contribute to justice, equality, and the inherent dignity of all people.  

It isn’t about men dominating women, it’s not about women ruling over men within a political system, it’s not one segment of the population squashing another as if it were an insect.   It’s not about replacing one kind of domination (racial, gender, economic) with another, because all that amounts to is……domination.  

You decide for yourself what it’s about…..

 

Maybe a new word should be invented, one that enfolds common female and male goals for a better world.  Oh, someone already thought of it.  It’s called peace.   

May we all shine on…

Love, Chantal xoxo

   

The F Word

There’s a very thick fog this morning.  It’s as if a giant white sheet has been unfurled from the top of the building and encloses it, like it was a bird cage.  All I see is…..nothing.  I walk out on my balcony, and I see……nothing.   Okay, I exagerrate, I can make out some details of the house below, but that’s about it.  It’s pretty remarkable, nature is, with its capacity to mirror my moods, or maybe it’s the other way around.  Maybe it’s my moods that mirror nature.   Today, nature & I are on the same page.  We’re both foggy & thick.  We feel impenetrable.  Suspended in space.  Stuck.   Covering up. 

Fog is a funny phenomena.  It appears and disappears almost imperceptibly.  And when the fog clears, obviously you see things more clearly.  But what is its purpose?  While it’s there, what does it serve to do? 

When it’s foggy, you drive slower, you turn your high-beams on.  You take your time, you’re more careful.  You look out, trying to peer through it, you see images appear.   It fools you, fog does:  You think there’s nothing there, then whoops!  You nearly walk into someone’s recycling box.  You see things differently, distorted.    What you thought looked familiar turns out to be something unfamiliar.  Fog forces you to adjust your perceptions, to re-examine what you think you know and feel.   Other senses become awakened, as a measure of self-protection.   Because you can’t see your hand in front of your face, you need to rely on your Inner Compass to guide you.  And so you learn again to trust that which has always been inside of you, but which you’ve allowed to sit on the sidelines, thinking that it comes from without, instead of within.   

A wise & perceptive woman passed on this truth to me: despair is the worst sin.  So listen up, sinners:  Your sister-in-sin is going for a walk  in the fog.  It’s Saturday, I have alot to do in preparation for when I pick up my children tomorrow, and it’s already 9am and I feel like I’ve already wasted my morning.   But I’m going for a walk in the fog right this minute.  While it’s still thick, so I can feel it like a blanket on me, so that I can walk slowly to Tim Horton’s, grab a coffee, and take the long way back home…..

Love, Chantal x0x0