Dec
29
I am one of those people who believes in the power of a good cry. I cry for stress release and when I am very tired. And tonight, I had a good long cry over Opus.
She’s back in hospital again tonight. She won’t eat. Something is wrong and we have no idea what it is, but she won’t eat. She eats and then she throws up. The drugs that are supposed to work aren’t working. My poor little girl is getting weaker and sicker and there’s no explanation for it.
Our vet, Dr. Maggs, is phenomenal. She has been going above and beyond to help us get Bubby well again. We trust her implicitly. So today, we took Opus in, and she asked if we could leave her there to see if she could get her to eat. Dr. Maggs is the most remarkable vet I have ever met. She’s pulled a rabbit out of a hat several times over to keep Bubby healthy in the past, so if anyone can do it, she can. But also, if she comes to the conclusion that it’s Opus’s time to leave us, we know she has done absolutely everything in her power to help her, and it truly is time.
Thing is, I am not ready quite yet to let my girl go. Dr. Maggs says the next few days will tell the tale, but she doesn’t think at this point that Bubby is ready to go either.
I started to cry in the appointment today. I can make the tough decision if I have to; I will do whatever I have to, as long as it’s in Opus’s best interests. But this helplessness is so hard. It’s so stressful. It hangs over our days, as we watch and hope and try to cajole her to eat. It hurts so much to see my best friend, my little girlie, so sick and yet purring whenever she sees me; so weak, and yet chirping at me as I walk by. It hurts to know that I can’t make her better with love and wishing. It hurts to know that our wonderful vet staff are doing what they can to help given our limited resources and it’s just not working, and knowing how hard it must be for them. If only we had all the money in the world to give them to treat her. If only Opus would eat and gain some strength. If only.
If it is her time, then I will have to let her go. I cannot imagine life without her. But that time is not quite yet. We trust in our wonderful doctor and her staff. We wait, and we hope.
And in the meantime, I have a good cry.
Dec
28
There’s a lot to be said for doing what you love. I have been happier in recent months than I have been in many, many years.
When I was in high school, wondering what I would do with my life, I knew one thing for sure: I would die inside if I had to spend my time in a corporate environment, in a cubicle. I dared say this out loud to my family, and rather than support me and my search for a job that would make me happy, that was outside the office environment, instead they got all huffy and took it personally (like it had anything to do with them). They said I insulted them and what they do and what they want to do. They said I should consider that the corporate world was where I’d make the most money. I didn’t discuss it with them again.
For awhile, I worked as a teacher. But eventually, I ended up in the world of cubicles and bizarre corporate politics. I hated it. I hated every single minute of it. But it made me lots of money, so I stuck with it. And I got more miserable as the years went on.
So, when I found myself without a job, I sat down and thought about what it was I wanted to do with my life. My husband has always wanted me to do what makes me happy. The only thing that has ever made me happy is to write. I was discouraged from writing as a career in the beginning because of so many reasons — writing won’t make me any money, I have no experience, what if I am not any good at it — but as I spent my time with no job, thinking of what to do, slowly my thoughts turned back to writing. BDH encouraged me to really consider it. And so, I faced the possibilities that scared me in the beginning. “I won’t make much money,” I said. “So what,” said BDH. “We’ll get by.” “I have no experience,” I countered. “So get some”, said BDH. “Just start writing, and see what happens.” “What if I am not any good?” I asked. This was a pretty big one. BDH said, “I enjoy what you write. People enjoy what you write. You’re good enough for them. You’re good enough.”
So I started to think it was possible. And now, I am a writer. I have blogs of my own. I blog for volleyball. I submit stories to online publishers. I am a writer.
I will be lucky if I make in a year even a fraction of the money I used to make in the corporate world. But on the other hand, I am luckier than I ever thought possible. I am doing what I love. I am happier than I have been in many, many years. I am enjoying what I do every single day. I am a writer.
Dec
27
If you’ve seen pictures of Lucy, you know: she has a bit of an elfin quality about her. Maybe it’s the big pointy ears. Maybe it’s the quizzical tilt of her head. But definitely, she is elflike.
A naughty elf.
If you’ve been reading my blogs for any length of time, you remember the events of last Christmas. Well, this year we went away for the holidays and left Lucy and Cinnamon in the care of cat sitters, who came in to visit each day and feed them. Lucy was, of course, eager for company and lots of petting. People always love to visit with Lucy because she’s so cute and sociable. So there were no reports of trouble when we got home.
Of course, you have to really KNOW Lucy to know where to look for her particular brand of trouble.
Lucy has a blanket that she sleeps in, that is folded in half and draped over a chair. Every night, she gets frustrated with Mr. Blankie, maybe because she cannot get into the covers, or maybe because Mr. Blankie says something saucy to her. I don’t know. But every night, she grabs Mr. Blankie in her teeth and drags him off the chair. She leaves him in a pile on the floor. Maybe she sleeps in the piled-up blanket, I don’t know.
So, we got home last night, and went into the attic (our TV room) to find several ornaments had been knocked off the Christmas tree, Mr. Sheep Ornament was missing in action, and Mr. Blankie was wrapped around the base of the tree and TANGLED INTO THE CHRISTMAS LIGHTS. God knows how anyone was able to do that, but they did. I unwound the blanket from around the base of the tree and disentangled it from the tree lights, and put it back on the chair. I put the tree skirt back in place under the tree. I found Mr. Sheep buried and looking very aggressively “loved” among the folds of the tree skirt, so I hung him up again. And I replaced all the ornaments that had been shaken from the tree. And we settled in to watch some videos, and then went off to bed.
This morning, I woke up and said hello to the girls, and came upstairs to my computer. And there was Mr. Blankie, wrapped around the base of the Christmas tree again, and once again entangled in the tree lights. Exactly as it was when we got home last night. And Lucy, rubbing up against my legs, purring and eager for petting and looking quite pleased.
That Lucy is a naughty little elf.
Dec
25
One thing I really like about Christmas is the love notes people send one another. Yes, there are all sorts of presents and good food and lovely songs — I enjoy all those. But the love notes are really the magical part of the season.
People write little notes of love on each present they wrap. They send cards with heartfelt sentiments enclosed, things they rarely say to each other face to face. They will send out missives that encapsulate the year for their family, including family photos, news, and seasonal greetings. This year, my dear sister-in-law even wrote me a personal, very sweet letter, just to express her love and support for me, which I will treasure more than any of the gifts I got this year.
And so, consider this my love note to you all. Thank you for all your love, support and good wishes this year. Thank you for your enduring good humour, your affection, and your inspiration to me. Thank you for caring enough to read my words. Know that when I am writing my blog each day, it comes from my heart and mind to yours. I share these things with you, and I am glad to include you in my circle of friends and loved ones.
So Merry Christmas and best wishes for whatever holiday you are celebrating during this festive season, and throughout the coming year.
Peace on Earth.
Dec
24
I couldn’t get to sleep last night.
I hate that — when you’re so tired you’re yawning constantly, yet you cannot get to sleep. Rolling around in bed, and you can’t get comfortable. Finishing an entire book in an attempt to make yourself sleepy.
I think about so many things when I cannot sleep. That makes it even worse. Instead of relaxing into a nice restful sleep, your mind first starts churning over the fact that you cannot sleep and then moves on to other topics to keep you awake. Odd topics. Random topics.
I thought about a house I really like, and how one day I would like to have a house that has certain things. Stackable, front-loading washer and dryer. Heated floors. A big wood fireplace. A lovely big shower. A clawfoot tub I can lie down in. A wraparound porch. Lots of big windows. A view of the water. Looks like I had better make a LOT of money to afford such things. And how I had better get writing in earnest in the new year.
I thought about the book I had just read, The Glass Castle. I debated whether the parents of the author were just “free spirits” as they were described, or if they were actually mentally ill. I tried not to dislike them, which was really hard. I decided I didn’t like them one bit, and that they were both nuts.
I thought of a boy I used to see from Manitoba. I was 18 or 19 when I met him; I think he was 23. He lived in Winnipeg and I lived in Ontario so it wasn’t a serious thing. But he played volleyball and was handsome and could jump higher than anyone I’d ever seen. I thought he was a hottie. But as I got older he seemed to me to be more of a dork, and I wasn’t as interested as I once was.
I thought about Cinnamon and Lucy and how they are doing at home. I worry that they are lonely. I know the cat sitters are probably giving them lots of food and love and the girls are probably doing just fine. But I miss them. I will miss them on Christmas morning when they usually tunnel and play in the wrapping paper. And I will miss Opus too because she loves the wrapping paper. But we get daily updates on her so I know she’s doing okay.
I thought about how hard it has been to see babies this Christmas. How this is this first Christmas I really have to admit defeat and realize that Christmas for us will likely never involve Santa and excited kids opening presents and all the magic of the season. How painful it is to see babies and know I’ll never have one. How hard it is to keep from crying my eyes out this holiday season.
I thought about how incredibly stuffed I have been. I have been indulging in the treats and goodies of the holidays a little too much. I have been drinking way more wine than I ever do normally. It’s been nice, but oh, I am paying for it. Pepto Bismol is my friend. And after the holidays, I’m going to have to watch my diet and get back to exercising each day. Ugh.
I thought about the blogs I have to write, and how I probably should just get up and write them, since I was thinking about them anyway. And that’s what finally put me to sleep.
Dec
22
… I got today.
We are at home in Nova Scotia, and BDH’s parents’ house for the holidays. Yesterday morning, before we left, we went to visit Opus in the hospital. She was still looking rough, and had not eaten significantly since Monday. We gave her lots of cuddles and love, and asked her please, please, please eat. We told her we wanted to bring her home after Christmas. We told the magical Dr. Maggs that all we wanted for Christmas was for Opus to get better so we could bring her home.
Today, the Good Doctor called and said that Opus looked much, much better, and had eaten 3 breakfasts this morning. So it looks like she has turned the corner.
Yesterday night, they did an ultrasound (did you know kitty ultrasounds cost $575? It looks like our lean Christmas will be lasting well into the new year) and it showed definitively that our cat has pancreatitis. It’s readily curable, and the only question is how long it will take. Last night they gave her a shot of anti-inflammatories, and she rebounded so well this morning that they are very hopeful. But they’ll be watching over the next 24-36 hours to see if the one shot will be enough, and recovery will be quick, or whether it will take a bit of ongoing treatment. Either way, right now it looks likely that we’ll be bringing Opus home after Christmas. We’ll be ridiculously poorer, but to have our girl restored back to health is priceless.
But we are blessed. We have fantastic vets, Dr. Maggs and Dr. Germain, who have been relentlessly working to help The Bubby get healthy again. We have wonderful veterinary staff who have given Opus the love and attention and TLC she has needed. We have good friends who have been concerned for us and offered us good wishes and love and support. We have two healthy cats, Cinnamon and Lucy, at home and well cared for by cat sitters. We are home with our loved ones, and everyone is healthy and happy.
We are blessed indeed. Merry Christmas to us. Merry Christmas to all.
Dec
20
So. Today I’ve had two fairly surreal things happen.
1. I glanced the back window, to see our wonderful neighbour, a woman of about my age, hanging in an evergreen tree in the conservation area behind the house. (Upon investigation, I learned she was hanging Christmas lights. But still.)
2. I got an email from Death. It was in my spam folder, but there it is. From: Death. I haven’t been so surprised since the Pope emailed me and advised me to enhance my penis size.
Some days, I am considering taking up drinking in the morning.
Dec
20
We can’t wait. The wedding’s in half an hour. We must strike in the hustle and the bustle beforehand.
~ Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride
Impending events bring out the worst in me. I rush around like a chicken with my head cut off (although spurting slightly less blood everywhere, obviously) in fifteen different directions at once, getting nothing done. So you should see me in a holiday SEASON, like now. I’m the poster child for stressed and manic.
I try to get everyone’s presents ready well in advance to avoid just such a scene. And yet, there’s always something that intervenes, so the night before we are to deliver packages I am rushing to get a card written, a package prepared, cookies baked… I DO try to be organized and efficient.
The other day, we were scrambling to get the house clean in time for the cat sitters to come, so that we would a) have a clean house when strangers came in, and 2) not have to clean before we left for holidays. So I am running around in bad floral pyjamas, huffing and puffing like an asthmatic freight train, stressed like some crazed elf pulling an all nighter on Dec 23rd. I’m sweeping and vacuuming and cleaning the sink. I washed the coffeemaker, for the love of doG. All to impress the cat sitter. Meanwhile, BDH is gently tidying up in the attic, where we plan to meet these people. I hear him shredding individual sheets of paper. He’s not stressed.
The fact that we’re heading out to visit the folks for a week starting tomorrow means added hustle and bustle, because now we have to not only clean and prepare, but pack as well. And we can’t just go happily away without complication… oh no. We’ve got a cat in hospital so we have decisions about her care to make. We’ve got packages of Xmas cookies to deliver. We’ve got to visit our cat a couple of times before we get picked up tomorrow. We have calls to make and emails full of best wishes to send. And the whole time, what am I doing? Fretting, for the most part. Worrying about Opus and our finances and my nervousness about flying tomorrow. So then, running around AND fretting. THAT’s productive.
I know, when push comes to shove, that ultimately I reach a point and just give up. The fretting and the running around are done and I refuse to do any more and the holiday has begun. But this year, it doesn’t seem like that day will come for us. Not until about mid-January.
Dec
18
This morning we took Opus back in to the hospital.
Yesterday she was just not herself. Since she was pissy with the cat sitters, I kept an eye on her all day. We cut her pill dosage way down. She had no appetite, eating just 1/4 can since Saturday. She was lethargic and didn’t want to be touched. But the thing that convinced me she was sick, really sick, was the fact that she didn’t want me to pick her up and cuddle her.
You have to know Opus. We’ve always operated on the principle that “there’s no problem in the world that can’t be solved with a good cuddle”. She LOVES to be cuddled and rocked a little and sang to. So much so that we often joke we should get one of those snugglies for Opus so I can carry her around with me all day. And last night, I picked her up and tried to cuddle her and she wanted none of it. So that is when I knew something was not right. Our girl was not well.
I was up most of the night with worry. She barely moved all night, barely made a sound, and yet I could have leapt out of bed at the slightest sound. She wanted to lie next to me for warmth, but other than that, she wanted to be left alone, so I put her on her blanket in her cage. She looked so tiny and vulnerable and sick, I checked on her several times.
She’s behaving very much like she did when she went into kidney failure two years ago. So we are concerned.
So we took her in and they are keeping her overnight for observation. They’re going to do blood and urine tests. She has lost half a pound in one week — on a barely 7-pound cat, that’s something like 8% of her body weight. She’s dehydrated. She’s not well. But at least now, she’s being watched and given fluids and meds and being taken care of. We’re going to see how she responds and maybe bring her home tomorrow, but she will be boarded at the hospital over the Xmas holidays. We couldn’t bear it if we were gone and something happened to our girl, and this way, although she won’t be happy about it, she’ll be well looked after and they’ll be keeping an eye on her for any signs of illness. I’d rather have her away and crabby and getting better than home and comfortable and getting sicker.
And now we have to try not to worry and let the vets do their jobs. Easier said than done. But we trust them completely. We’re doing the best we can for the one we love. It’s all anyone can do, really.
Dec
17
Parenthood is tough. For days now, we’ve been dealing with barf on the carpet, toys all over the floor, picky eaters… I tell you, parenthood is not easy. I just wish they spoke ENGLISH, for the love of doG.
Opus has been alternately fighting taking her pills and barfing all over the carpets. Lucy has been dragging her blankie off the chair repeatedly… it’s a game: I put the blankie on the chair, she drags it off, I put it back, she drags it off. We find her blanket or the Christmas tree skirt somewhere in the middle of the room several times a day. And Cinnamon, who has been agressively affectionate towards a certain once-sheep-shaped Xmas tree ornament for years now, grooming and batting it with great love and joy, has turned the fuzzy little sheep into something that somewhat resembles a cartoon CSI crime scene.
So with Christmas and our trip home rapidly approaching, today we had some professional cat sitters in for their initial consultation. Amid apologizing for the barf stains everywhere, we had to ensure that they were comfortable pilling an old, ornery, and altogether too-smart-by-half kitty. (I fear The Bubby is going to win those battles, but whatever.) And Opus growled and whined at the cat sitter who picked her up and tried loving her up. We were not off to an auspicious start. Then Cinnamon went and hid under the basement stairs for the entire time, so all they saw of her was a flash of orange as she scampered away down the stairs. And then, when Opus was finally warming up to them, in runs Lucy, who is a bull in a china shop socially, to meet everyone. She intruded on Opus’s “getting to know you” time, which then made Opus jealous and hissy and foul. BAH — sibling rivalry.
I’m sure they will be fine — we’re only going to be gone 6 days — but as I lay on the carpet under the dining room table trying to comfort a very peevish Bubby with an upset tummy, I confess I am already worrying. I am worried about leaving my sick girlie, because like most parents, I feel that only WE know BEST how to take care of her. (Well, aside from the brilliant Dr. Maggs, her vet.) And leaving the other two alone for 6 days with a fully decorated Xmas tree… what were we thinking??
It’s true what they say. People should have to get a license to have kids. And there should be a further IQ test for pet ownership.
Dec
13
The night before last, our cat Opus took sick.
My husband BDH called me upstairs to his desk to have a look at something. There, on the floor, we found some spots of rust-coloured fluid, which we suspected was urine with blood in it. But we could not be sure. Opus was sitting on the sofa, but had been by BDH’s desk a few moments before. She turned to wash her bum, and we noticed she was sitting in a big wet urine spot. She had had an accident on the sofa.
Opus was very upset, and we were concerned. She’d never done anything like this before. We took her down to the basement where the litter boxes are, and we watched as she went into the litter box and tried to pee, and couldn’t. She tried again and again, and only a drop would come out. She tried every 3 minutes for the next hour, as BDH made notes on his blackberry for the vet the next day. Opus was distressed. So, I petted her and praised her and tried to soothe her so she’d know everything was alright. We decided it likely wasn’t an emergency, but that I would take her in to the vet in the morning. BDH went upstairs.
A few moments later, he came downstairs again, carrying an armload of blankets, a pillow, and an alarm clock. I asked him what he was doing. He told me that he couldn’t bear the thought that something could happen to Opus overnight and she would be alone in the basement, so he decided to come down and sleep with her.
Now, you have to understand, we have an unfinished basement. Concrete floors, insulation on the walls, and currently the cats’ domain. The floor is scattered with bits of cat litter that they’ve tracked everywhere. It’s dusty and smells not just a little bit like cat pee. And he was going to sleep down there rather than let Opus spend the night alone, because he loves her and was worried.
I got all emotional.
He loves his little girlie enough to sleep on a dirty concrete floor, just so she would know her daddy was there with her. It was 1 am, and he had to get up and work the next day. But he could not bear anything possibly happening to Opus and her being all alone. That’s something. That’s my Big Damn Hero, though — he loves his girls (me included) more than anything in this world. And he would do anything for us. He has a heart as big as anything.
I persuaded him instead to set up a big cage in the front bedroom, where we could put Opus with a litter box and some blankets, and I would sleep in the room with her and watch out for her. And so he set it up, and by 2 am, we were all ready for bed.
And a day later, she’s back from the vet, sick but ok. She has a urinary tract infection, and likely a bladder infection as well. And because she’s old, we worry. BDH insisted on going to get her from the vet. And a day later, we’re $500 poorer, including lab and vet emergency fees. And we have a brand new climbing tower in the middle of our foyer, a Christmas present to the girls from their Big Damn Hero. Opus had an accident on the way home, and peed all over the car seat. And BDH never complained, not one bit. He was just so happy to have her home again.
That’s twoo wuv, right there.
Dec
11
Have you ever seen the movie Elf with Will Farrell? One of its key premises is that there is a lack of holiday spirit these days, and this is a problem for Santa because his sleigh is powered on Christmas spirit — without it, the sleigh can’t fly.
Well, Santa, I’m part of your problem. I am having a hard time finding any holiday spirit. And I have had for a few years now. Sorry, Big Guy.
I don’t know why it is. I find Christmas is very stressful, what with the getting gifts and going to the mall and worrying about money and dealing with family. Going shopping is something I dread like a root canal. Baking loses its appeal after the first dozen dozen cookies. I don’t feel like decorating. I watch Christmas movies and listen to Christmas music, but neither makes me feel very festive.
I DO try. In fact, I find myself consciously TRYING to feel holly jolly and festive. And I suck at it. And them I feel more bummed.
Maybe it’s got something to do with family. I am not close to my family. We are close to BDH’s family, but they are so far away. I keep thinking that since we’re going home for Christmas this year, maybe I’ll suddenly come all over with good cheer when we touch down in Halifax. But that seems a little implausible. Maybe it’s easier to be festive if you have kids. But then, I know people with kids, and they are just as stressed as I am.
So what is it? What gives people the holiday spirit? Where do I find it?
If you have an ideas, I’d love to hear them. And I am sure Santa would be grateful as well.
Dec
9
I know this is the time for “peace on Earth” and “love thy neighbor” and “fa la laa” and all that. But did you ever know someone, just by virtue of their very existence, annoys the crap out of you? The human equivalent to nails on a blackboard?
(And for those of you who are thinking of ME right now, you can just STOP. RIGHT. THERE. You KNOW I am a good person, despite my appallng fashion sense. And I am a delightful dancer, and make good pie. So stop it.)
NO. I meant The Mayor.
You remember The Mayor. He’s not really the mayor, obviously. He’s the annoying neighbour who has to pry into everyone’s business, like a young, balding Mrs. Kravitz. He’s the one who shouts appallingly none-of-his-business questions and comments at you, in the name of “humour”, like “Why aren’t you working anymore?” when you’ve been laid off. The one who comments on the state of your home, your yard, your garden, and if he doesn’t like it, will do things like sneak over and dig your weeds when you’re away. The one who makes passive aggressive digs at you as a way of being “neighbourly”.
We despise The Mayor.
So today, a lazy cold Saturday, BDH and I decided to eat a lunch of junk food (we had pigs in a blanket — for the uninitiated, it’s weiners wrapped in those prepackaged crescent rolls, that you bake in the oven) and sit down and enjoy a few episodes of The Vicar of Dibley. Just have a lazy Saturday. After our glut of bad food and good comedy, we both felt a little nappish. BDH has been sick for weeks with a chest cold, so he went off to snooze in the back bedroom. I decided to take a shower, and then I went into the front bedroom and pulled up the duvet for a long winter’s nap.
I had been there for maybe half an hour and I heard it. SCRAPE. SCRAPE. SCRAAAAAAAAAAPE. SCRAAAAAAAAAAAAPE.
I rolled over and hoped it would go away. It did not.
I got up and went to the window. Out there, 3 days after the snowfall, was The Mayor, scraping the snow off his driveway. It’s not like we had gotten tons of snow anyway. And he’d driven in and out about a billion times since it snowed, so he’d packed all the snow down already. The weather tomorrow and for the next four days calls for warm temperatures and rain, which will melt all the snow anyway. And yet, like some sort of annoying insect that troubles you only when you’re sleeping, or (more likely) a man with some sort of “bug the neighbours” telepathy, there he was. SCRAPE. SCRAAAAPE.
I hated him.
I stared imaginary daggers at him for a few moments, and then shut my curtains with an angry flounce. He looked up. And then he got on with his stupid shovelling.
I could not get back to sleep with the annoying noise, so I got up and went downstairs for a big glass of water. As I went back upstairs, I looked outside. The Mayor was no longer out there. His driveway was abandoned, half cleared.
Did he think, “AHA! She cannot nap! Mission accomplished!” and head inside? Did he feel the heat of my stare and feel slightly remorseful and go inside? Did the thought that told him he needed to shovel his drive suddenly just die of loneliness, and he wandered off? It’s hard to say.
One thing is for sure, he roused me from a decent nap, and left me feeling peevish and definitely not in the Christmas spirit. Definitely Grinchy. I am going to have to sit down this evening and watch Holiday Inn to set the balance right again. And possibly The Bells of St. Mary’s or Going My Way. I don’t mind pulling out the heavy holiday artillery. I don’t think there’s any call for White Christmas yet, but if there is, I’ll be ready.
Dec
8
It’s the holiday season, when festive feelings, love and joy reign supreme. But it’s also a time of great hardship and pain for some people.
My heart hurts for people to whom this season brings pain and sorrow. I can see how, in the face of all the cheerful greetings, the family get togethers, the gift giving, it can be a hard time for some people. People struggle with money, with loneliness, with mental illness, with feelings not entirely joyous, and what they see around them magnifies it.
I read yesterday about the woman who jumped, clutching her 2-year-old son, from a highway overpass onto the 401. As it turns out, the woman was struggling with depression and had been for some time. She hid it from her family, because she was embarassed. She didn’t take her meds because she was breastfeeding. And then, early in December, as the holiday season began to get into full swing, it all got to be too much for her to bear.
I used to work with a fellow who, while he was a jerk most of the time, would come to life each Christmas season and spearhead a toy drive for the local Christmas charities. He was relentless in campaigning, reminding, cajoling people into contributing to the toy drive, even if it was just a little bit. Although he never confirmed it to us, it became apparent that he was, throughout his messed up childhood, probably a recipient of these toy drives. He remembers lean, sad Christmases. So it was very important thing to him to do the toy drive each year.
For us, now that I have no job, this Christmas will be lean. But that is okay, because we are going home to visit family. It will be the first Christmas in a few years that we feel truly festive. But it will be tinged with sadness. We have no children to share the holidays with. I read my friend’s blog post about her child’s Christmas concert, and I realize all the things we will miss out on, joys we will never know. My heart mourns the children we won’t have. It’s not the same watching other people’s kids at Christmas, and it never will be.
It’s a hard season for many. I need to remember that when I am tempted to walk by the charity stands in the mall, or when I am tempted to spend beyond my means, or when I feel like being snappish when people annoy me in the grocery store. I need to remember that when I fuss over my hair or clothes for our upscale company Christmas dinner. I need to remember that when I put on a warm coat and a hat and gloves against the cold.
It’s not all festive for everyone, everywhere.
Dec
7
It’s no secret that I have struggled with my weight in recent years. Since my time on the volleyball court ended, I’ve been living a little — *ahem* — LARGER than I would like. There’s perhaps a bit more junk in my trunk than I’d normally like to carry. Come to think of it, there’s more junk under the hood as well.
Anyway…
Yesterday I was out shovelling snow. It was a wet snow; not much of it, but enough to provide a good workout. Also, it was warmish, so I put on my boots and just a fleece jacket over my usual t-shirt and yoga pants ensemble, and went out to work. I’d been out about 20 minutes or so, and was getting a bit rosy cheeked but having a lovely time. It was quiet; the kids hadn’t gotten out of school yet. The solitude was nice. I was enjoying the first real snowfall of winter.
A car came up the street. It was my neighbour pulling in. I just kept at my shovelling. All of a sudden, I heard my name. So I turned around. My neighbour and her 17-year-old son were getting out of their car, just coming home from school.
“My GOODNESS!” she said. “You look FANTASTIC!”
I grinned. “Well, thank you!”
“We were driving along and my son said, ‘Who is THAT? She looks like a MODEL!’ And then we saw that it was YOU!”
The son blushed and yelled, “MOM!” and rushed into the house, mortified. (He’d die of embarassment even more if his friends knew he thought his 40-year-old neighbour was HAWT.)
I thanked them both, the son as he rushed frantically into the house, and then my neighbour. She came over, and she complimented me again on how I look. She knows I’ve been struggling too — so has she, so we commiserate about it sometimes. Then we chatted a few minutes about the weather, work, that sort of thing. Neighbourhood small talk.
But I don’t remember much of what was said. I just remember how fantastic I felt, knowing that someone thought I looked good. I know it’s shallow, but when you struggle with your weight, a compliment like that is worth so much to your self-esteem. You get so used to being embarassed about how you look, that compliments like that bowl you over.
I finished shovelling, and enjoyed feeling good from the workout. And really savored the new feeling: feeling good about myself.
Dec
6
My cat Opus is 17 years old. She’s been my best friend for all these years. I can’t imagine my life without her.
She’s starting to act like an old kitty. Her eyes are starting to get cloudy. She sleeps on pillows and things to ease her sore old bones. She can’t jump much, although she never was very good at it. She’s slower and more cautious than her daredevil days of youth, when she climbed to the highest spots she could find, or roared around the house with me on grand games of chase. She yells all the damn time. And she needs to be with me, wherever I go, like a little shadow.
Sometimes I get so frustrated with her. Her yelling is constant, and I don’t know why she yells. Maybe it’s that she is unsure of where we are and calls to us. Maybe her eyesight or hearing are not as sharp and she gets confused. Maybe she’s just trying to talk to me. Maybe she just likes to yell. We don’t know why she does it, but it drives us to distraction.
She also follows me everywhere. And often, she just wants some attention or some playtime or some cuddling. But I am often in the middle of cooking or cleaning or whatever, and I shoo her away.
Today, it’s cold in here, and she wants to sit on my lap for warmth and comfort. It makes it inconvenient to type, I can tell you, reaching over the little purring bundle of fuzz in my lap, and it’s quite a production as she walks back and forth, back and forth, until she can get settled in just so. But then, I look at her, and I realize that there may be precious few times left when I get to enjoy her company like this.
I realized this morning that I need to be more patient with my girl. She follows me everywhere because she loves me and wants to be with me. She yells at me because she wants attention from the one person she loves most in this world and with all of her heart. She is my best friend, always here when I need her, and I have been neglecting her when she has needed me.
It’s times when I am impatient or frustrated with her that I need to remind myself that two years ago, we very nearly lost her to kidney failure. I need to remind myself how much I love her, and how devastated I will be when the time comes that we need to say goodbye to our beloved girl. We have shared so much together, she and I, and she has been a loyal companion and has given me unswerving, unconditional love every single day of her life. I need to remember that.
She was my first girl, and she will always have a special place in my heart. She’s my Opus. She’s my best friend.
So rest as long as you want here on my lap, my darling girl. The typing and the housework can wait awhile. And I hope, somewhere in your little kitty consciousness, you know how much I love you.
Dec
5
This is a bad, dangerous, evil time of year for me and those around me. A time when no one is safe. A time when people must be cautious and responsible.
For this is is the season when I am allowed to BAKE WITH IMPUNITY! MUAH-HA-HA-HA-HAAAAAA! *evil laugh*
Let me just put it out there, right now, for everyone to see, that I am a pretty good baker. Nay, in fact, I would say… a darn FINE baker. Yeah, I said it. I bake well… I bake very, VERY well. (Extra cookies for those of you who spotted the Mystery Men reference.) So I absolutely love the holiday season, when I can go crazy in the kitchen, and bake cookies and fruitcakes and breads and other lovely things. And then I give them away to friends and acquaintances.
So I am a health hazard. People are ingesting lots of buttery, sugary goodness at this time of year, because of me. People are overeating the sweets, because of me. People are forced to let out their waistbands and exercise more, because of me.
But I am the friendliest, best-smelling, most welcome health hazard you’d ever want to meet.
I have one dear friend for whom I make an entire fruitcake each year. And he sits down with a giant glass of milk and his own personal fruitcake and is as happy as Larry for a while. We have another group of friends to whom we deliver plates of cookies and other goodies to enjoy over the season — if they can keep the kids from inhaling all the shortbread. Our hairdresser and our favourite hostess at our favourite restaurant, also both good friends, get cookies and treats. This year, our neighbours will get some cookies, just for being good neighbours. And family always get plates of yummy stuff as our gift for Christmas.
It’s fun to plan what to bake. It’s lovely to have the house scented with spicy, sweet smells. It’s nice to see the smiles on friends’ faces at the sight of home baking. It’s cheap to give, which is good, since we have little money to spare. It’s nice to know that some our family and friends are relieved at not having to bake as much themselves for when they entertain. But mostly, I enjoy knowing that we’ve given the people we love something they will enjoy.
So before you see me coming, laden down with shortbread and chocolatey goodness and smelling like vanilla and cinnamon, run. Run very, very far.
And then run back again, to where I am waiting with a few gingerbread and maybe a mocha ball or two. That should be enough of a work out to let you really, truly enjoy yourself.
Dec
3
I’ve gone into hibernation. I know I can’t hibernate forever, but for the past few days, I’ve been hiding out in my attic. Anything to stay away from THEM.
THE CHRISTMAS SHOPPERS. (*cue dramatic music*)
Yes, the silly season of holiday shopping has begun. I try to stay out of stores and malls if I can help it, unless it’s 9:30 am on a Tuesday or something when people are still working or in school. Because as much as I love humanity, it’s people I can’t stand. And this is just magnified during the holidays.
I like some places. I enjoy going to the bulk foods store, for example. It’s busy, but festive. Nobody’s pushing or elbowing or fighting for parking spaces. Nobody is impatient. The golf store is often quiet. Office supply stores are good, too. But I studiously avoid liquor stores, toy stores, home gift stores, and the mall.
OY. THE MALL. Full of overheated, overtired, overspending shoppers laden with bags, corraling unruly kids. The centre of the mall aisle is always full of displays, usually temporary, often full of crap. Insane Xmas muzak is playing in every store — either that or “Feliz Navidad”. I would not mind so much, if people would just be pleasant and bide their time in lineups. But NO. They’re bitching at sales staff, pushing in aisles, driving like maniacs, and not paying attention to anything or anyone around them.
I plan an invasion force of one when I shop. I carefully list everything I need to buy. I map out where to park, and the route to take through the mall. I pick an early weekday morning when the mall will be quieter. I plan to be in and out with everything bought in under two hours. If I can’t get it in that time, it’s left behind. And then, I park, take a deep breath, paste on a cheerful and sympathetic (to sales staff) demeanor, and in I go. In. Out. Done.
I know I am going to have to face them this week. I know it. I don’t want to do it, but the closer you get to Christmas, the more people there will be. So I am going to have to suck it up and get it done.
Hm. I wonder if my family would go for bulk candied fruit and a bulk bag of flour for Christmas.
Dec
2
My fortieth birthday has come and gone. It was a hard day for me.
I used to look forward to turning 40, because I knew that most women say that they start to come into their own and enjoy life more in their forties. I had always thought of it as a decade to begin to enjoy myself and who I had become. But then, I started trying to have kids, and my thoughts about 40 changed.
40 suddenly became a terrible deadline. It meant that I was officially too old by medical standards to have kids. It started a stopwatch ticking in my head like the one at the start of 60 Minutes. We were rushing headlong toward 40, trying desperately to have children. It became a race to a finish line I did not want to hit.
And then it came. “You’ll never have kids” flashed in my head like a neon sign. “You will never know what it is like to be a parent.” “Look at everything you have missed out on.” “You’re going to get old alone, you’re going to die alone.” It wouldn’t stop. I cried a lot on my birthday. I mourned the loss of children we wanted so deperately and would never have. People continued to be pregnant, and have babies, and tell me about their children. It was a terrible day. One of the worst birthdays I can remember for a long time.
Before the day came, I told my husband I did not want to celebrate my birthday. He was crushed. He loves to spoil me on my birthday, because normally I love to celebrate my birthday. I look forward to it like a little kid. He was confused. I couldn’t put into words the fact that I was unable to face people that day, because talk would inevitably turn to my fertility or their kids or something, and I knew I would not be able to stop crying. I did not want to cry in front of people on my birthday. I didn’t want to feel like more of a broken person than I already did.
And now, it has passed. The tears are subsiding. The pain isn’t going away so much, but it is less immediate. And on the other side of 40, the future still stretches out bleak and lonely without children. But now, I have the rest of my life to get used to it. The deadline has passed.
And I see articles in the paper titled “Poll Says Childless Couples are Happiest” and I think maybe I will be ok. I doubt it. I think I will be unhappy without kids for the rest of my life. But at least now, I can entertain the possibility that somehow I will find some happiness in life after 40. It will always be a bit bittersweet, but maybe I will be able to enjoy it as I had imagined, after all. Just with a bit of a different spin.
