Set Adrift on Memory Bliss Part II

"It really is amazing how a song can take you to a place, a time from the past and make you feel the way you did back then...no matter how you feel at the present time...maybe that only happens to me...but I doubt it." ~ Martin Streek

"But I had to put her right back with the rest.

That's the way it goes, I guess." ~ P.M. Dawn

I've written about P.M. Dawn's song Set Adrift on Memory Bliss before. It's one of those early 90's rap gems that gets perilously close to cheesy, yet ultimately has remained a morsel of pure pop sampling goodness.  In the early days of Hip Hop's ascendancy, it was one of the first rap rehashes to get it right.

When I wrote about this song previously, I was talking about it in the context of music and memory and how visceral an experience that can be. Set Adrift...reminds me of a happy time in my life, the summer I stayed with my Grandmother in Glasgow, of having more time ahead of me then behind me, and of feeling hopeful.

This past Saturday, my family and I convened in our former home town of Brampton to say goodbye to an old friend, our family dog Gussie. My parents had kept her ashes since her passing in 1995. 

But with their move to a new town and the inevitable reflection that downsizing can bring, my parents decided it would make more sense for her ashes to be scattered in a place she loved. With summer vacation schedules converging, a task my parents were going to complete on their own became something our whole family would participate in.

We agreed to meet in a small plaza by our old house. Our old subdivision borders on two man made lakes that were added to the established forests already in the area at the time. Gussie loved walking along these lakes and in fact made many solo expeditions over the years from which we would frantically retrieve her. She had no road sense at all, and we were always worried she'd get hit by a car whenever she took off. 

The plaza was the best place to meet as it was close to one of the lakes and small forests through which we took Gussie on many walks. When I pulled into the parking lot, my family were already there. My Dad and I coordinated where we would be parking and I then followed him out. As the car started to move, the song to come on via my Itouch's shuffle was...you guessed it.

Coincidental? Perhaps.

Sentimental? Absolutely.

I felt as if it was a little visit from Gussie, a trip back to the time we had together. 

We parked in front of the path into the forest and headed in. None of us really felt like saying anything. We sprinkled some of her ashes amongst the trees and then down by the lake. The forest still had the same quiet rustling sound from summers past. The lake was slightly misty and more overgrown, with its requisite contingent of ducks and geese. It just felt right to bring Gussie back there and I said as much to my parents.

Afterwards we had dinner and then headed to our respective homes. It felt strange not going back to my parents' old house. And yet it felt right too. Brampton isn't the same city any more, and we're not the same people. And as much as I tend to live in the past these days, would I really want to go back there? Not really. I like who I am now more than I liked myself when I was younger. But I can't say I like my life as much.

I suppose I just feel my possibilities were better then. That sentiment and a general lack of progress in my life is something I've clearly been contending with for a long time now. It's hard not to go inward, to not feel afraid. There are many times where it feels like there is no point. Why invest in a new career path? Some bean counter can just take it away. Why try and have a relationship when your instincts and sense of self are so out of whack in that area that it will inevitably implode. Why try and build a home when paying your mortgage and repairing your home take all the financial resources you have? Why have artistic dreams and ambitions when it's all you can do to keep the sink clean and empty of dishes most weeks?

You might say that the above events are just part of the ebb and flow of life. You would be right. But I would like to win once in a while. I would like to stop being good at just surviving, and actually get some place I want to go. I didn't always win when I was younger, far from it. But I won sometimes. And that's what's been missing the last few years, a sense of progression beyond just edging ever so slightly more away from the precipice.  I'd like to feel I'm heading in a new direction entirely, that there is momentum, that I am leaving the wreckage of the last few years behind.

To be completely honest, I don't feel life is bad. I just don't find it currently or in the last while, to be particularly good. I just don't feel it's going to get much better than it is now, and that is frightening. I can say with certainty that as I get older, life will be filled with more loss. I'm not so sure it will be filled with any more gains.

And I suppose that's why when Set Adrift... came on my car radio, I gasped. I have been trying so hard lately not to focus on the negative, not to be glum and stuck mentally in what was and who I have been, but stay right in the present to try and make it better. One opening riff, and I got pulled right back. 

I'm tired of being adrift in my memories. I'd like to live in more bliss here and now.  

Do Not Do This

Do not get up slightly late and forget to put on deodorant in your groggy rush to get out the door.

Which you will realize has occurred whilst sitting at your desk wondering why your underarms feel so sweaty.

You will think to yourself, no need for the drugstore. I'll stop by the car at lunch and grab the deodorant I already have from my gym bag.

Which has been sitting outside in a minus 16 windchill.

No bother you decide. I shall leave the deodorant at room temperature for a bit before applying it.

You wait. You go to the bathroom to apply said deodorant and it feels like WEDGING A GINORMOUS ICY GOLF BALL IN YOUR ARMPIT.

Do not do this.

Regroup

I've wanted to write here on a regular basis for quite some time. I've only recently felt that I can start doing that again.

The last three years have felt like an endless endurance test. Between 3 job losses in 3 years, losing a ten year relationship and the multiple deaths of people and pets, it's felt like no sooner have I been getting up from the blow of one event, but the next one has come has come barrelling along, brass knuckled and ill timed.

Things are what they are now. My life is much better in many respects, and worse in others.

*  *  *

I remember starting this blog as a means to build a disciplined writing practice, to get back into writing in some way. I thought that having a sense of a readership, people waiting for the next entry would help me do that. To a degree it did, and so I thank all six of you from the bottom of my heart :). 

Some people write blogs as an exercise in catharsis, putting it all out there, warts and all for readers to consume. I respect that choice, but it's never one with which I've been comfortable. I tend to leave my wailing and gnashing for my journal, if for no other reason than that my journalling can lean towards negativity and is not necessarily a reasonable summations of things. There, I try to process my depression, make sense of things and of my life, take a tally of the small victories where I can.

Whereas my blog is written to be read. The revelations of my life are selective and better thought out. 

For whatever reason, I've been coming back to this blog quite a bit in the last month to read old entries. I thought the selectivity that I apply to what I write about here would make the blog entries less interesting to me than those in my journal. I've found the exact opposite to be true. The fact that I have written from a different perspective here has given me just that, another view on my life that I may not have appreciated if I had just written about the same time periods in my journal.  

There are things documented here that I had completely forgotten about, things that at the time seemed to take on a life and death meaning. There are passing notations on things that ended up becoming quite significant.

And in the end, it's just a different kind of documentation of my life. Because if I am truly honest, I am always seeking to find some sort of meaning in things. The record I've created here is another way to help me connect the dots. I suppose in the same vein, the lack of documentation here during the past few years is a record of a different, but equal kind.

*  *  *

Tears come at the silliest of times.  This morning I got back home with my coffee and as I pulled into the driveway, thoughts parsed through my mind in nano second increments, unbidden and unwanted. But if I was to slow down the progression, I would say it went something like this:

I am tired. As warm and friendly as I try to be, I'm an introvert and a creative at heart and I've just spent all week running around dealing with people having to solve problems that were not of my own making. I can't drive any agenda. This exhausts me. If I was meant to be a creative person and have a creative job, surely it would have worked out for me somewhere along the line by now. I feel trapped and I don't know how to get out. I feel so lonely.  I feel middle aged, fat, used up and past it.

Cue waterworks.

I don't know what to do these days other than to KBO. I'm just at a point for the first time in a decade where I'm not worrying week to week how I'll pay the bills. That's nice. That's something.

I'd like to keep and stay in my house but it needs a lot of work. I don't want to spend the rest of my days paying off a mortgage. I'd like to enjoy some relief from that before retiring if possible.

I'd like to carve out a space in my home for writing. I'd like to get more organized and have a normal living arrangement where things are easy and straightforward to keep clean. Still trying to get there.

And Jesus H. Roosevelt, can this winter please END already.

I think I've cried more in the past three years than I have in my entire life combined. I'm not exaggerating here. There's sometimes no other way to move past things than to cry them out.  Then you can move on. Any room in my house, the bathroom at work, driving in the car - all these places have been my sadness safe houses the last few years. Tears aren't noted for their convenient timing.

I've realized that I won't fall apart if I cry. That has been a great blessing. 

*  *  *

There have been a great many other blessings that have come to me since I was last regularly writing here.

Perspective.

Losing one job is tough. The second time is unimaginable. But by the time it happens to you for the third time, in as many years no less, it's kind of a non-event. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't happy about it, and it was a tough situation even though I was incredibly unhappy in the job I had. But less than three weeks later, I was back at work on a month's contract with no financial ground lost.  I knew what to do to turn that situation around, had learned from my past mistakes and was willing to take things as they came. As it turned out, the same place has kept renewing my contract. It's a great fit for me and it may go permanent. I can do that job while I look for something for which I'm more suited.

And if it doesn't work out, I'll find something else. 

Maturity.

The scales have definitely fallen from my eyes on several fronts when it comes to people, work and life in general. I still struggle with walking the line between when to take things personally and when not to. I tend towards the latter when frankly, that's just not appropriate. As Maya Angelou once remarked, don't go through life with a catcher's mitt on each hand. Know when to throw the ball back once in a while. 

I'm still trying to get better at knowing when to throw the ball back.

I certainly don't have the same rose-coloured perspective on things I once did. I don't believe in the potential of everyone to do and be better anymore. A lot, if not most people, don't want to do or be better. A lot of people just want to stay stuck in their stuff and their own agendas. It's cosy there.

Don't be a jelly fish, when the waters are shark invested.

Happiness.

I've learned that it's truly simple things that are the basic constructs of a good and happy life. Showing up. Keeping your promises. Paying the bills on time. Cleanliness and order in your home. Regular and restful sleep. Routine. Being able to save money for a rainy day. Taking care of and maintaining your physical and mental health. Setting goals, however minor, and achieving them. 

If you can get the above right, I don't think a lack of friends and family will buckle you. You can be immensely lonely and still feel a basic level of happiness. I believe you can have the best friends and family in the world and will not have happiness if your life is a never ending shit storm of reactivity, crisis, disorganization and ill health - physical or mental.  I know, because I've lived that way most of my adult life. 

*  *  *

So I have some plans. But more on those later.

The Duchess

Let's see.....

Movie featuring Kiera Knightley? Check.

English Aristocratic period piece? Check.

Phone call from Ragdoll to say she's got free preview passes? Checkin' checkee check!

Day Trippin'

There is nothing quite so wonderful as a summer day trip in Ontario's countryside:

Our first stop was the lovely little town of Elora.






It ain't exactly Martha's Vineyard, but it comes pretty damn close. It was a perfect summer's day; no humidity, low 20's and unrelenting sunshine.

OH. MAH. GUH! A CHEMTRAIL!!!

Is it a coincidence that this was picture number 13 in my camera??

The flowers were beautiful too.



I thought this last one was rather touching, even though they are not real flowers. As a former Girl Guide, I was pleased see to we had left a wreath at the local legion.


It was Canada Day so Elora was bustling. At one point we ran into an elderly couple who were looking for a hot dog bbq. They were done up in their red and white finery. The other great thing about summer holidays is that the vintage cars come out.




We stopped in a lovely antique shop where I was obsessed with a white marble paper weight shaped like a mushroom. Don't ask me why. It also had some lovely door accessories. This is probably the only time in my life that I'll be able to say without a trace of irony "Great knockers."



We also scored at the thrift shop. The Marine got a small carved Chinese oyster.



I didn't take the best pictures of this but you get the idea. The Marine got it for 25 cents. He then found a similar one online being sold for $110.00!!!!

I got this lovely plant pot for $3.00. I'm going to use it in my office as I don't have plants at home due to the cats.



We then went and checked out the Elora Mill and the gorge.



After picking up some birthday presents for my niece, who is seven this August [going on 40], we hit the road again for the bustling metropolis of Elmira.

Here's the sign:







DOH!

Quite a lovely little place actually.





Then it was off to St. Joseph's for some grub.


I was hoping to get a hot dog. I was not disappointed.













This is a rather heartening contradiction I think. Far too often in life, the buns are too big and the wieners are too small. It's nice to know this is not always the case.

St. Joseph's is a lovely town.


We then headed to the 401 via Waterloo/Kitchener. How does a street get to be called "Erb" exactly?


I liked this church:


Coming back into the city was spectacular. There were sailboats on Lake Ontario everywhere you looked. I tried to get a snap shot of them but I don't think it turned out too well.


And that was our Canada Day road trip.

Chirp

A few weeks ago I saw a cardinal for the first time.

I mean this kind:



Not this kind:

I'd always imagined that I'd see a cardinal the way I first saw a blue jay.


The Marine and I were camping at Bon Echo in the fall. I was reading when all of a sudden a blue jay swooped down to take advantage of some peanuts and cheerios we'd scattered for the chipmunks. It took my breath away seeing this beautiful animal, its bright colours seeming so out of place in our Canadian wilderness. That seems a strange thing to say about such a quintessentially Canadian bird, but our birds are typically so practical, and moderate. In other words, utterly Canadian.

I had thought my encounter with a cardinal would be similar, but instead I saw one about two weeks ago, perched on a neighbours antennae as the Marine and I sat in the yard and talked. It was quiet and I only saw the Cardinal because I glanced up.

Then he started chirping and I realized that this little bird has been the source of the glorious bird song I fell in love with two years ago when I first started hearing it. It's been a beacon of spring for me ever since, confirmation that winter is well and truly on the outs.

But as silly as it may sound, I think of this bird as a little signal from God. When I get all wrapped up in my own petty anxieties, usually dreading the day and the obstacle course I've assigned to it, that's usually when I'll hear the cardinal chirping. Sometimes I just lie in bed and listen for a while. I consider its song a direct message from the heavens. Zesty, there is a bigger world, a bigger creation out there. Regardless of its stumbling compassion and mercenary horror, this bird will chirp!

This little bird reminds me to remember the big picture, to be grateful for what I do have, remember my blessings and the victories I have obtained, however little status I may personally assign to them.

It's so funny that in this world of climate-change-this and global-warming-that, high oil prices and recessionary hand wringing, my little neighbourhood is undergoing its own renaissance, increasing its own diversity There was a time, I sense, when something as radical and joyful as my chirping cardinal wouldn't have survived.

Sometimes, it's nice that times do change.

My Life Currently, In Books

Zestosaurus

This past weekend was a mixed bag.

Saturday I dragged myself out of bed and to my naturopath who determined that trying some acupuncture would be a good idea. I'd been wanting to try it and given my ass [or as I like to call "The Great Shadow"] had been following me for weeks, she decided to give it a shot.

It was a somewhat strange sensation. Some spots where the needles were inserted were warm. Others felt like a small weight. I do have to admit though that placebo or not, I did feel substantially more relaxed afterwards. It was a good thing too because I was quite wound up when I got there. The Marine and I had had an argument over - wait for it! - sunglasses.

Oh the stupidity that reigns when people are tired. Sigh.

At any rate, after the naturopath I went to see Ragdoll. She gave me a lovely present from NYC, a small striped bag from The Strand, just perfect for carting around in my purse in case I need a spare carrier.

I also helped Ragdoll hem her pants, because you know, really, I'm Canada's answer to Karl Lagarfeld. Ragdoll seemed pleased enough though and once done, it was off to Walk With Dinosaurs!! YAH!

Poppa Barney was originally supposed to go, but as his leg was bothering him, he offered me the ticket. It was a good chance for me to spend some time with my niece so some logistical mishaps aside, I eventually met up with Rosy, her mother Myrtle and Mama Effie at the Air Canada Centre.

We got our seats and waited. I had thought it would be some kind of statue affair. You know, like walking around looking at life size dinosaur replicas. Instead, it was a full on show featuring animatronic live action dinosaurs.

LIVE ACTION Y'ALL!! PEW! PEW! PEW! PEW!

Initially Rosy was a bit hesitant. She was scared. Maybe the dinosaurs would come and get us. I assured her that I was poised and ready for action, but it was to no avail. Finally I said "Look. If I wanted to do a show that kids liked, would I make it scary?"

"Well....no."

"Because the kids wouldn't want to come see it would they?"

"No."

"Because it's scary."

"Yes."

"So if a show is popular with kids, it must not be scary."

"But how do you know?" Rosy asks.

"It's common sense dude." For the record, I love calling my six year old niece "dude."

Then there was an announcement that the role of the paleontologist would be played by so and so. This got Rosy's attention.

"Oh!" says Rosy. "Is that an archeologist?"

"Yes" I replied. "But a special kind. Do you know what a paleontologist studies?"

"No."

"Bones." [I knew that Anthropology 101 course at UofT would come in handy one day!]

"And if he's out there, then the dinosaurs can't be scary can they?" Ah the cold logic of a child.

"No. I don't think so." I replied.

And then the show began. Now I can't really do it justice, so I'll do what any blogger attempting to capture a given moment would do. Go to YouTube.



Now, despite the fact that these are obviously animated models on wheels, you really do suspend your disbelief at this show. It was really well done and not dumbed down at all.

When I was Rosy's age, the big event was Ice Capades fer chrissakes, and the only special effect of note was the collective swinging of the mini flashlights everyone had bought.

Childhood entertainment has certainly come a long way.

And I Thought Last Week Was Long A**

It already feels like it should be Friday, probably because instead of relaxing and running lines the last two evenings, I've been at the office. Yesterday I was packing up and tonight the Marine is coming with the car so I can take everything home. Thank God for The Marine. That's all I'll say.

Why all this now? Because I have rehearsal tomorrow night and I sure don't plan on being here Friday any later than necessary.

Anyway, I've found the winter weather getting to me a bit. As I was cleaning up drives today, I came across a back up file of Martha's Vineyard pics. Think of June, flowers and the sea. Have to admit that I felt better after looking at them. Hope you do too.