I normally work from home and rarely work outside of the home. I recently took a temporary assignment at the government found myself waking up for work on a very rainy day. I was not prepared! You see it has been a great summer of hot weather, the sunshine and light apparel. Summer shoes, heels and sandals. My boots were, somewhere hiding in wait for the winter weather. So I decided to brave the rain in my cloth runners. I know how to avoid puddles I thought bravely.
Next big decision is, avoid getting my dress wet, so I choose a coat that I call my ‘little red riding hood’ jacket. Yes, I name my clothes, not all of them just my favourites. This jacket is bright red, looks like a tent on me and but has a big red hoodie, great for covering my frizzy hair from the rain. It is a heavy jacket and would be warm to wear, but since I didn’t own an umbrella, it was my only choice. So, off I went. Running late, as usual, I braved the downtown Toronto weather, to get to work. Read the rest of this entry
A dear friend of mine lost her father just recently. I tried to comfort my dear friend, it was hard to watch someone go through what I only experienced just a year ago. The pain of the loss of losing one of the most important people in your life. As I listened to her worries about how she treated her father and the things she might regret and as the tears swelled in her eyes. I tried to comfort her with words that somehow got me through my own big loss. Things like, ‘ I am sure your father loved you. ‘, and ‘He knows how much your relationship meant to him.’, ‘There is no wrong way to grieve.’ and a few others. I really meant them from the bottom of my heart. It sort of hurt me to see my friend this way. I just wanted to wrap her up in my arms and let her cry. I have been there, and that is all I wanted when my dear mother passed away. I just wanted that freak-en huge hole in my heart to go away. A hug was all I wanted and needed at that time. Read the rest of this entry
I sometimes need to be alone, and by myself to feel what my own body feels. It is an odd sensation to be apart from yourself. Alone in a room full of people seems just as lonely as being alone. I feel like I know a secret that cannot be shared. That there is something special about me that allows me to forgive people and understand others pain. But can’t comfort them. I think it because i know that everyone’s pain is a lesson learned or a problem to solve. All I think I can do is listen and share my pain with you, so that you know you are not alone. I sent out these feelings to others, to comfort and soothe them. but I wonder… I am I doing it for them or myself.
I suffer a lot when I am alone in my head, I tend to find a way to think about the hurts I am inflicted on others when they didn’t deserve it or even understand it. I spend my life trying to be good, a good caring person, and try to take care of others. I suck at it.. really because I feel so disconnected from others. All the time. Like they are there and I am here. I understand others people pain, cause I feel it all the time in my own body, and being. I think, I have always felt ripped away from others because of something missing from my heart. Like I was taken from something that was almost heaven like, and told I could never return to. So I feel cut off and left out. Like I know something that is not there for others to know, that I know exists and I can’t share it. Read the rest of this entry
I was sitting in a good friends backyard drinking wine, and sharing laughs and little stories of my life. Things that I experienced and found funny that once happened to me. I always enjoyed telling a good story or a joke over the years, and even got an “A”, on a presentation in college because of it. I use laughter and body gestures, and tone, and inflection in my voice. A few days later while doing dishes, it dawned on me where I got this love for storytelling, it was from a story my mother told at a family get together with friends and family close by. I am hoping that I can tell the story correctly, it isn’t my story but hers and dad’s but I think my father can help me with the things I might have left out.
My mother took a long drag on her cigarette, and put her coffee down on the table and started to laugh, as if she was remembering this story, like it just happened a few days ago. She smiled and began, I sat with my hands under my chin, while I watched my mother become animated, as she began her tale.
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They are sitting on the table, while she is in the bathroom resting on her computer keyboard. They were pink, and small just like my mom’s small frame that dominated the living-room with her voice and laughter. I stared at them as I reflected on the meaning of these glasses with a smile, and I stood up to make the 40th cup of tea that we going to share, on this visit this early summer.
Dad bought these pretty glasses, because she needed them. She loved to watch TV when she wasn’t playing “her silly farm game.” Dad was tired of telling her what was on TV, cause her eyesight was so bad. She no longer could read the tv guide on her 42 inch flat screen TV. She bugged my father for months to get the new next box from Rogers so that she could read the guide and continue to program her favourite shows days or weeks in advance, so she wouldn’t miss a thing. Dad finally took the drive to Newmarket and picked up the “stupid box”, we hooked it up to only see that the font they used for the new guide was hard to read and way too small. I tried not to laugh at my dad, when I saw the defeated look on his face, but he smiled and shook his head and left the room. I know he was biting his lip but his love for my mom wouldn’t let him. I smiled at the love my dad has for my mom. Read the rest of this entry