Things That Don’t Suck — My First Celebratory Post

Yesterday I suggested we begin the practice here of “Things That Don’t Suck Thursdays” in which we celebrate those things in life which bring us delight.  (You may prefer the less crude “Delightful Thursdays” or similar handle, but the intent could be the same).  So without further ado, I present to you my first entry…. one of my favourite joys…

…Office Supplies.

Ahhh (happy sigh)….

Office stores to me are like casinos to a gambling addict.  Does inspiration conjure any better feeling than the perfect pen that fits the hand just so, and has an ink which just glides across the page (if the ink is colourful all the better)?  And the very first page of a new writing book that just calls to you, “Come rant, or laugh, or scribble, or create as you will.”  Or the smell of a fresh box of crayons that beckons one to stretch one’s inner artist.

Is there a tool of some kind that is so perfect that it calls you to work?  What will you celebrate today?

(Almost*) Wordless Wednesday: Is PEI The Only Place On Earth Where It’s Not So Uncommon For Wheelchairs Drive With the Cars?

*Let’s ignore the fact that I actually took this while I was driving and concentrate on what’s really dangerous here, ‘kay?

Delight

My grandmother knew what a painful life had taught her:  success or failure, the truth of a life really has little to do with its quality.  The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight.  The capacity for delight is the gift of paying attention.
–  Julia Cameron, The Artist’s Way –

I have been picking away a bit at my ragged copy of The Artist’s Way, though admittedly somewhat half-heartedly.  Some days I do morning pages, and have found them quite useful.  And I think about the exercises, though never commit them to paper.  And while an “artist date” is a lovely concept, I must say, “me time” is in rare supply most days, so my solitary “creative date” time has never actually happened yet.

I ventured into this journey to recover my creativity really more as a journey to find direction.  I want so much more than survival.  I want a joyful life (for truly there is much in this life to rejoice about even in trying times).  It is my continuing attempt to open my mind to where exactly I want that direction to be.  But when I came to the above quote, I immediately grabbed a pen and underlined the statement “The quality of life is in proportion, always, to the capacity for delight.” … and I rarely actually write in my books.  Because I think what she says here is very very true.

So I want to take notice of what delights me.  I want to be feel gratitude for all of the wonderful things in the world around me.  I want to take notice of the teacup that feels perfect in the hand… of how raindrops on the flowers reflect the re-emerging sunlight… of how the heart sings when one’s children laugh together… of what actually makes me stop and let my soul sigh with peace.

My new plan (and to be honest, I think I’m stealing this plan from something I saw a long time agon on What Would Jane Austen Do but in a quick search could not find it) is to present “Things That Don’t Suck” once a week for the next little while.  Maybe make a “Things That Don’t Suck Thursday” (like Wordless Wednesday but maybe with words) to share a particular delight noticed that week.

Because I want to pay attention.  And in taking notice of these things I want to celebrate the good things in life.  I hope you will join me and share your delights as well.

Canada Day 2009

While not my favourite part of Canada Day, one of the things I inevitably do since having kids is take them to the waterfront for a little bit of “fair” festivities.  Typically there are rides and games and plenty of over priced junk food to waste away a day and budget.  It doesn’t always go well, but is a typical part of our Canada Day here in the “cradle of Confederation.”  For the first few years of their lives, my kids thought the waterfront was what people were referring to by the word Canada.

So this year, despite leaving it to much later in the day, Rainbow and I (Dolittle was with friends) headed down for our annual visit.  And I have to say, this year, in terms of “fair,” the birthplace of Canada kind of sucked.  There were about three rides, a couple of bouncy things, and a few games (though they were free).  (But is it sick that I actually liked the fact I didn’t have to spend much time at that venue?)

But there also were a few traditional things that you could still take in…. Overprice snacks were still available.  You could get a variety of free water applied tattoos (available this year in the poppy, the maple leaf, and all three Olympic mascots), Canada flag pins (and new this year was a lovely pin celebrating vetrans).  And there were free concerts and a petting zoo.

I was surprised at how enjoyable I actually found the Olympic mascots as I watched them dance and interact with children.  (The one in the middle was my favourite).

And you could still find proud Canadians, willing to wear their patriotic hearts right there on their sleeves (and everywhere else)…

And then pose happily for tourists (I love that!)…

And, of course, the biggest Canada Day celebration in our house is not the fireworks, or the fair, or the free tatoos.  No… Our biggest July 1st celebration is that it is also the dog’s birthday… who sported his very own Canada flag tattoo for the occasion.

Happy Birthday Canada!  And Happy Birthday Silver!
I love you both.

Spaces

If I were to choose a movie to watch it would either be a kid’s film, or a romantic comedy.  So last night I surfed the channels for something to watch and picked a sappy chick flick that had obvious plot holes, was not all that interesting, but had attractive actors that I nonetheless hoped would find love in the end (they did, of course).

And as I watched the movie, it occurred to me that when I tried to relate to the movie, I found myself longing to be there, but not for the reasons you might think.  I do not long to be in search of love.  I do not long for a romantic happily ever after any different than my current life.  What I longed for, dear people, was the heroine’s kick a** house.  There was space.  There were glorious windows.  And a porch.  And the gardens were weeded.  And there was no clutter.  I am not even sure what the hero’s house looked like because whenever he was shown in his home he was in a chair with a beer, but I have no doubt it would be a spacious, immaculate, well lit abode as well.

The houses of movies are always dream homes. Heck, even Shrek lived in a house that was clutter free.  That just isn’t my life.  But oh, how I want it to be.  Space, and storage, and light… I long for that.  Almost as I long to be in the position to make that a reality.

People in movies never have rented homes with creepy clay basements.  Any bathroom lineups shown have the purpose of building tension or delivering a punch line.  They never do laundry (though I have no doubt they would have laundry facilities to die for) or clean beyond clearing a dinner table or drying a dish.  And the homes are almost always bigger than a single person living alone needs.

I feel I must clarify that this is not a rant.  I am not at all complaining, for I have a place to live that accommodates the people and critters that are my family.  We have a roof, a working furnace, and a fridge covered in art work.  And those are very big blessings.  But it is not my dream home.  This is about the dream.

My dream house is not a mansion.  It is roomy though, but not so large that I couldn’t clean it easily myself.  It has a modest garden, or window boxes… just enough to make it pretty, but wouldn’t make me feel like I needed a team of gardeners to keep up with or like a failure when I don’t.  It has a washer and dryer that is not in the basement.  It has storage and big closets.  There are at least three bedrooms (though a spare would be a bonus) and there is room to do more than just walk around the furniture.  It has shelves and cupboards and drawers that work, and all our stuff is in those things.  There is room to bake.  And a welcoming place to take off your boots. And lots of windows.  Maybe there is a deck, or a porch, or even just bench outside to read and think and stretch one’s imagination.  It feels like home.  Maybe something like this.

Is your living space your dream house?  If so, what makes it feel that way?  If not, what does your dream space look like?  I’d love to hear from you.

Life Planning

Rainbow was drawing in her sketch book on the couch while I folded laundry.

Rainbow: Did you ever meet anyone royal?

Me: Yes.  I have seen Princess Diana and Prince Charles, and Prince Edward and Sophie, but I have only met Sophie.  I shook her hand.  She was very nice.

Rainbow: Is she a princess?

Me: A Countess, I think.

Rainbow: Do all the queens in the world have short curly white hair?

Me: Well… Queen Elizabeth certainly does, but there are probably queens of other countries that look different.  Maybe.

Rainbow: So how do you get to be a princess?

Me: You either have to be born one or marry one.

[Long silent pause]

Rainbow: So, if someone else in your family marries a prince can you still live in a castle?

No pressure there Dolittle.  No pressure at all. 

Apparently I’m a Good Liar

1. There is a squirrel in my attic.  And my kids want to keep it.

This is a lie. While I have no doubt that my kids would want to keep pretty much any critter that wanted to occupy our household, I don’t even know if I have an attic.

2. Pot holes on my side-street were fixed within days of asking the city to fix them.

True. And it’s a good thing they got fixed because I could have lost a kid in those things.

3. I recently got an email from the chief of police.

True. Our city’s finest responded via email regarding certain local parking issue I have.  They haven’t yet done what they said they would do, but baby steps people. Baby steps.

4. I was the last person to leave a bar last weekend, and the evening ended with my mother getting a black eye.

True. I waited for my father to lock up his business (a bar).  Later my mother fell and got a black eye.

5. I went out for a special coffee today and one of my companions wore no shoes to the café.  She was not served.

True. And the adorable stockinged feet belonged to beautiful Bon’s baby.

6. I practiced writing my name with my toes today.  Just because.

True. What can I say… seemed like a good idea at the time.

Five & a Lie

Spot the lie:

1. There is a squirrel in my attic.  And my kids want to keep it.
2. Pot holes on my side-street were fixed within days of asking the city to fix them.
3. I recently got an email from the chief of police.
4. I was the last person to leave a bar last weekend, and the evening ended with my mother getting a black eye.
5. I went out for a special coffee today and one of my companions wore no shoes to the café.  She was not served.
6. I practiced writing my name with my toes today.  Just because.

Wordless Wednesday: Charlottetown Turns 154

On potential (or lack thereof)

Bonnie, over at Crib Chronicles, asked recently about reaching one’s potential.  I am not only a late bloomer, but of late have questioned if I’ll ever bloom at all.

Fact is, my life has followed an almost accidental path.  One thing lead to the next and the next with no real end goal but to be a provider.  It has lead me to some interesting positions and some not so interesting ones. It has given me a breadth of skills and experience and educational opportunities.  And now it seems to lead no where.

I am approaching almost the 6 month mark on unemployment and to date I have found one short-term temp position. One by one, job hopes have crashed and burned.  And as rejections build, I feel more broken and bruised inside. I know the economy is bad right now.  I know Canada’s unemployment rate is at an 11-year high.  But each ‘no’ cuts deeper and deeper into an ever eroding self-confidence.

For me, it is not about what I want to be when I grow up.  It’s about survival.

But shall we play “what if”?  Like, what if survival wasn’t crucial, and I could do (or train to do) almost anything… I have no clue.  You see, the imaginary fictional me in my brain is like a cartoon character.  She has a cape and really cool boots.  She can dance, and figure skate, and probably has an academy award in her closet.  She can even program her own VCR.  (None of which I have or can do). But her job?  I have no clue.  What does she contribute to society?  Again, I have no clue.  But she’s fun and she makes me laugh.

While it is hard to separate self-perceived potential from one’s employment or position in life, I suppose that potential is, in fact, more than that. What exactly could someone say about me?  I fear I may be the most unremarkable person I know.  (Should that add pressure to achieve or take the pressure off??)

Here is what I do know: for all of the crap of the last decade or so… the loss of a business, a house, a son, a job… tomorrow still comes.  We navigate the crap and try to make it to the next moment, we cry and grieve when our soul screams in agony, we forgive ourselves our failings, and we seek out whatever joy and laughter we can, where ever we can, when ever we can.  (And by “we” I probably mean me and my imaginary caped crusader cartoon self, because when I wrote the sentence with “I” it seemed kind of pompous).

What can I say… My life is a work in progress.  Maybe one day I’ll find my path.  Maybe one day I’ll even know what my potential is.  And one day I hope that the world can say:  Sockie survived. And sometimes Sockie even laughed.