What They Got

I went to my godmother’s for thanksgiving. It was like the holidays of my childhood, except there were no boiled brussel sprouts and I didn’t have to sit at the kids table (but my cousin did, and I told him that this year if he started the food fight again, there was no blaming it on me). If you asked, I would say that I went home for thanksgiving. It’s the closest thing I can think of to home, at any rate.

I got back to my house about 9:30 on Sunday night.

My house had been robbed. The police asked, insurance asked, kind colleagues and friends asked – what did they get?

I could tell you – they got Gabe’s bracelet, the one I wore to convocation, every single important meeting, to my mum’s funeral. They got the pearls I loved, my wedding band, my engagement ring, 20 years worth of earrings.

Gabe’s bracelet will be replaced. I’ve sent the woman who made it 11 years ago an email, asking if she can remake it. When I get the insurance money, I’ll replace the pearls. The earrings? They’ll take time but I’m sure 20 years from now I’ll have done it.

The more astute have asked if I feel violated. I suppose, a bit. There’s nothing quite like having a conversation with a lovely young constable while you are standing in a bedroom with underwear strewn over and a few unopened condom packages laying festively on top. I’m not so unflappable as I thought.

But the burglary? It was never about me. It was about people looking quick things to trade for drugs. It was about the misery of addiction and hopelessness. They didn’t see the bracelet or my dad’s lighter or my mum’s earrings. They just saw quick cash so they took it.

They didn’t get the memories. They can’t take the memories. My joy when Owen gave me the pearls. The comfort I felt when I touched Gabe’s bracelet as I crossed the stage.

They got stuff. Oh, important stuff, but stuff.

The police came. My friends offered me a place to stay if I felt unsafe. Insurance will cover the loss. A few weeks of sleeping with the hall lights on. I’ll get a security system and a safe to put the replacement pearls in.

Which makes me wonder about my robbers.

I see my Brownies – 7 and 8 years old, happy and giggling. They want to grow up to be unicorns and astronauts and mums. (I’m not kidding about the Unicorn). They don’t want to be addicts. They aren’t hopeless.

So the people who broken into my house – what made them hopeless? How did they come to be addicted?

It seems that long before my robbers stole from me, someone must have stolen from them. Their hope. Their dreams. Their sense of right and wrong.

And I wonder – who did that to my robbers?

Did anyone come when it was stolen? And perhaps more importantly, did those people know what they got?

Posted in รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลาLearning Life | 2 Comments

On the Night of my 40th Birthday

On the day of my 40th birthday, I got up and drank my coffee, opened my birthday cards. I wore a new dress and red lipstick and a beautiful pair of black heels. (I also forgot to pack a pair of flats, which means my feet and I are not currently on speaking terms.)

I got my birthday pumpkin spice latte. With soy. Large. No whip cream.

I got through my rather frustrating meeting, met with Kuri for a coffee and a chat and a very good almond croissant.

I sold the last two boxes of cookies today, which means I have sold 10 cases of Girl Guide cookies. That’s a lot of cookies and mostly equals the overnight trip to the zoo my Brownies and Sparks are looking forward too.

Iron Man and a cute little girl sang me happy birthday in a video and it was the best thing in the entire universe.

I went to dinner with a friend and her children. I teased them about getting enough sleep – telling that their brains and bodies grew while asleep. I laughed when the younger boy asserted that without sleep you’d be short and dumb.

I came home, did a bit of work on a project I’m enjoying, watched the Flash (I’ve become addicted), drank some very good scotch. Replied to a bunch of texts and facebook messages wishing me happy birthday.

It’s the night of my 40th birthday. I’ll crawl into a bath and then into a warm bed with a pink duvet cover and pink sheets. The cats will cuddle. I might bring a mug of Horlicks with me.

On the night of my 40th birthday, I can tell you there was no big magic, just moments of small goodness and joy. That’s magic all the same.

Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Tell me when it gets fun?

This week I figured out how to change the batteries in the number pad on my door. It was far easier than I expected and I was pleased.

I went to visit some family.

I took the car to the dealership and got the oil changed and the turn signal changed and they charged me $50 for a clamp. I thought about arguing, but frankly, I couldn’t work up the vim.

I made hot lunches for the week in the crockpot. One of my projects has to do with determinates of health, so I put in things like beans and extra vegetables because apparently eating beans and fiber can add 13.7 years to my life. I even made brown rice.

I did some more work on a data science course I’m taking.

I went to the gym and arranged stuff for brownies and did the laundry and housework.

I’m a week from turning 40. I think that’s an adult.

Everyone told me that adulthood was fun.

Is that a thing I should expect the day after my birthday?

Posted in รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลาFeats of Wonder | รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลา2 Comments

Return to Sender

I thought it was the window cat bed.

Which I ordered. Because it was $17 on Amazon and maybe it would keep the cat off the chair. Nash likes sitting there because he can watch the birds.

I came home and saw the notice and figured the cat bed required a signature, which seems stupid for $17, but there you have it.

It wasn’t the cat bed.

My nephew and his husband opened it and returned it. Must have been the next day, given how quickly it came back to me.

It’s been 3 weeks. I’ve been mostly silent. There is so much I no longer understand about the world.

Posted in รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลาThe language of families, the nieces and nephews | 5 Comments

A Cup of Kindness, yet.

I polished the silver salt and pepper shakers until they shone. Carefully washed the kindness cup.?Pulled out the good notepaper and a wrote a note. I explained that the salt and pepper shakers belonged to my grandmother, they had seen many happy family celebrations and holidays;?I hoped they would see many more at a new table. The kindness cup was given to my mother for her wedding, from a favourite aunt. I hoped for kindness for both of them.

I tucked the letter in the box, I wrapped it myself, tied it with ribbon. Signed a card. I’ve already arranged for delivery.

I’m not going to the wedding. I wasn’t invited. My eldest nephew and his now-husband have refused to talk to me for 2 years. I don’t know why. I’ve asked. They simply won’t talk to me.

I struggled, you know. I didn’t want the present to be passive aggressive. I didn’t want to upset them, to mar their day. It will be delivered after the wedding. The note asks no questions, just explains the history and wishes them joy and happiness.

I wanted to go to this wedding. I have wanted it for as long as I have known this together. There’s an asterisk when I tell anyone that I have 12 nieces and nephews – the part I don’t say. The part where I did something so unaccountably terrible that someone cut me out of their life without a word and I do not understand why. I have 12 nieces and nephews, but one of them doesn’t want me.

The role fo the self-chosen aunt can be dicey. I’m not family. I get that. I don’t get cards for aunts day. They are never here for Christmas. I’m not especially special.? I get that.


A smile on my face when I saw a wedding photo on Instagram.

Wishes for joy and happiness.

A cup of kindness, yet. For old time’s sake.

It seems like the least I can do.

Posted in รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลาthe nieces and nephews | 4 Comments

Ordinary Time

This week is the 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time.

Ordinary time is all the time in the Church Calendar which is not Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, or Pentecost. Put another way, Ordinary Time makes up about sixty percent of the Church Calendar year.

This morning I got up, had coffee and something to eat, bought cat food, ran a few more errands, ran into a former classmate and chatted for a bit, and then picked up my dry cleaning.

It was . . . ordinary.

I say this because when I decided to defer my acceptance for the next Master’s Degree, I didn’t have good words for why. Oh, the people who know me understood what I was thinking – but I couldn’t really succinctly explain it.

I needed to figure out how to live.

My son died in December of 2007. I spent 2008 trying to figure out how to breathe without him. In 2010 I went to Calgary to train a few people in ARIS. I came back from that project, having worked 60, then 80 then 100 hour weeks. When the project went live, I said I learned to dance.? 6 months after go live, I went to work for my first management consulting firm. 3 years. 3 Promotions. An average of 46 weeks on the road. I woke up and couldn’t see out of my eye. 2014 was the year I was diagnosed with MS, my mother died, my marriage fell apart.?I switched jobs in 2015. Figured out how to live with MS. I started an MBA in 2016, I got divorced in 2017, finished the MBA in 2018.

I do not know how to live in Ordinary Time.

Oh, I have relearned how to live. With the death of my child. When I decided there would be no children. On the first big project. As a road warrior. With MS. While getting an MBA. As a divorced woman. None of that was ordinary.

I’ve regretted deferring my acceptance. There’s nothing to look forward to. It’s not easy. I’m bad at living in Ordinary Time.

Which is why I’m doing it.


Posted in Learning Life | 2 Comments

Possibly Not Solved by Numbers

I’m not doing well at the internet dating thing.

By not doing well, I mean I’m on week 2, I’ve been on 2 dates and I haven’t found the love of my life. Actually, I haven’t found someone I want to see again.?I’m also not doing well at getting guys to message me. Or respond to the messages I send.

If you know me in real life, you know that I have a particular approach to challenges.

Find the problem. Make sure that’s the problem. Fix the problem. Move on.

Ok. I don’t know what the problem is. Something strange in my bio? I got a few male friends to look at my bio. They thought it was fine (and they’ve done online dating, and I’d be happy to find someone like either of them). So, that’s not it.

I don’t have kids. Well, I can see that might be a thing. I’ve put a note in my bio that says I don’t have kids, but I do have 12 nieces and nephews, so I’m fine if they do.

I’m short. Ummm. Well, that’s not really something I can fix.

Wrong Photo? Ok, fine, let’s try another one.

It also occurs to me, this may not be a problem that numbers can solve.


Posted in รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลาAdult Dating | 1 Comment

In Humble Defence of Middle Age

A week ago Friday I posted a status update on Facebook.

I was poking fun at being a walking cliche.

Instead, I caught hell for daring to call myself middle-aged. I’m serious. Five different people felt the need to tell me that I wasn’t allowed to call myself middle-aged.

I’m sorry – allowed?

You know what??I am *exactly* middle-aged.? The average life expectancy for a woman with MS in Canada is 77.2 years of age. I’ll say it again – I am *exactly* middle-aged.

You know what else?

I’m happy being middle-aged.

I’m not kidding. I have ZERO problems turning 40. I’m excited about 40.

I thought I knew everything in my twenties. I knew almost nothing. My thirties were hard. They were a decade learning to bear?far more than my fair share of sorrow and grief and tragedy with grace.

You know what forty is? It’s when I’m old enough to know who I am and what I want. I’m old enough to ask for what I want.? I’ve learned who my friends are and how to pick them. I’ve learned to say yes and to say no and when to do both.

There were times I wasn’t sure I would get to this age. I’ve earned those wrinkles and the sore knees and the fact I can’t stay up all night and go to work the next day.?I’ve worked hard to get to this age.? I got to this age by living and sometimes – a lot of times – that was hard.

I’m sick – to death – of our endless fascination with youth. I’m bewildered that anyone would have the unbearable audacity to tell me I wasn’t middle-aged, that I had to stay young. I’m happy to move past being young – it was sometimes great when it lasted (see note knees and staying up all night). Now it’s time to let that go and move on to the next phase. There will be some crappy parts and I can see that there are going to be some fantastic things.

I’m not afraid of age. Age is not death. Age is not defeat. I’ll say it again. Age is not defeat. Age is a hallelujah victory. Age means you made it – not just to another year, but to another phase.

You stay obsessed with being young. That’s fine. You do you.

But don’t you dare tell me what to do. I’m middle-aged. I don’t put up with that crap anymore.

Posted in Feats of Wonder | 3 Comments

About as Happy

I had this notion, in the last 2 months of trudging, that I would be happy again. It probably wouldn’t come all at once, it might take time, but it would happen. Some of it was based on experience – I’ve been miserable before. Happy comes back.

Mostly because of this – I hate feeling miserable. I sometimes wish I could be the sort of person who could mope for long periods of time – but I’m not. I like being happy and I tend to get exasperated with myself when I’m unhappy. Eventually, I decide to be happy again. *

Last week was truly awful. There was a?21 hour trip, including 11 hours in taxi’s, on planes, in airports didn’t help. I am working on three projects right now and every last one of them is going badly.? A door slammed in my face (turns out the farm boy is dating someone already. No, that didn’t take long. Yes, she was probably around before he dumped me. No, I’m actually not going to spend a lot of time thinking about this because it’s not going to help.)

About Sunday I decided I’d had enough. Time to take charge.

I’ve deleted social media, other than Instagram, off my phone. I’ve been slow and terse to return texts to people who were draining me. I emailed the local girl guide group to see about volunteering in September. I made a list of things I want to do this summer and who I might be able to do them with (Also, if you were looking for a buddy to do something with and you are local, send me a note. Chances are I’m happy to come along). I shelled out some money and joined an internet dating site. I started going to the gym and tracking what I ate (which tends to mean I make better food choices because?I feel stupid saying I had half a chocolate bar and some gummy bears for dinner).? I formally deferred my acceptance of my Master’s degree for a year. I’ll keep on with the meditation I’m already doing.

Is it going to fix everything overnight? No. It didn’t break in a day either. It was a long, slow break. So slow that I didn’t really notice things were breaking until they were really broken.

So, it’s better. Not because it’s fixed but because I can see the light on the horizon. I’m not paralyzed any more and I can figure out where to start. There’s still some trudging, but it’s not all uphill. That’s a good start.

*I’m cautious about saying this because it can lead to the implication that people who are unhappy chose to be so. Sometimes things like depression, grief and strife cause deep, profound and lasting unhappiness. No amount of deciding to be happy will fix this, anyone who says you can choose not to be clinically depressed or grief-stricken?is an asshole.

Posted in รับรางวัลเกมยิงปลาLearning Life | 3 Comments

The Sea of Disconnect

I would like to be the person who starts this post with my favourite quote by Eleanor Roosevelt – that most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.

Except I threw out 5 mostly uneaten cakes this morning. This offends my sense of waste, but I really didn’t have it in me to haul them into the office.

Yesterday was the thank you I threw for my MBA. It wasn’t so much a “yay me” event as wanting to say thank you to the many people who helped me get my MBA. Those who encouraged me, those who reminded me to get away from my computer, those who edited my thesis or my papers, those who listened to me rant. I wanted to hug them and tell them they mattered, that this was a bit their degree too. I baked and decorated 5 different types of cake. Decorated the back yard.

I invited 36 people.

7 came.

Which meant the 5 homemade cakes and rather a lot of fruit, the lemonade and the beer my best friend brewed went uneaten and remains not drank.

I took the garbage out and sat on my kitchen floor and cried.

There were a variety of reasons – soccer games, music festivals, working, moving, other commitments. Simple fatigue.?The rational part of me, the part that wants to embrace the quote, understands life happens. Life is busy and we can’t do all the things that we want to do.*

But oh, the other voice. The voice that says I am tiresome to spend time with, that I am alone, disconnected, unimportant. That’s the voice that is screaming today.

The trick is not to force myself to be happy. That will come. I know it will. The trick, on days like today, is to remind myself the other voice – the one that tells me no one likes me, that no one cares about me, that I am annoying to be around and that I will die alone and unloved-

It’s lying.

So for today, I won’t force myself to be happy. I’ll just force myself to be reasonable.

*I invited Mr. Spit, since he has truly helped in the process. He said he would come and then didn’t show up because he had a date. I rather think that his absence was intended to be a bit of a slight.


Posted in Feats of Wonder | 5 Comments