Twigs and Branches, not Trees

Staring over is a theme.  We walk away from where we were and take another path that leads us to a new beginning.  I walked away from writing for a long time.  I miss it.  I miss sorting out my crazy. 

I picked up a paint brush again for the first time since high school in 2009.  I managed a few canvases before I put the brush away again.  Since I moved East, I set up the easel in the spare room and although I started a painting right away, it sat untouched for nearly a year after that.  I’ve moved the easel to the dining room, in full view to inspire me to pick up the brush again.  It still sits untouched but now is a constant reminder that I have failed to do so.  I miss painting.  I miss turning on the music and getting lost in the notes and the colour.

I have a list that is never ending.  I write it with the expectation that I can accomplish it realistically in a day.  I wrote a list today by example with that thought in mind, and then I labelled it “this week.” Here it is 1:30pm and the list sits on my desk.  Nothing has been marked off.

I need to get back in the groove.  I miss writing.  I miss painting.  I miss spending time with me.  It all starts with a step.  Tackle the branches not the trees or as my beautiful cousin Susan says, sometimes you need to start with the twigs.

So here is is.  A twig!  A place to begin again.

Super Powers

I realize this is a subject that I have covered before, that being, “If you could have any super power, what would it be?”.  At the time I wished that I had the power to allow people to see the world as it was rather  than as they perceived.  Today I need a new super power.  Today I need D to be able to see inside my mind.

Ok maybe not everything.  But I do wish he could see some of my ideas.  We have a light that we purchased a year ago that needs to be hung in the kitchen.  Originally we had the idea (encouraged by the lady at the lighting store) that track lighting over our island would be a solution.  A year later, it isn’t the solution.

Those who know me, know I need a bit of whimsy in every room.  However, whimsy can not take over the room.  In this case, the lights are the whimsy.  The track lighting, in a 176year old house is just WRONG!

So here we are a year later.  The lights are still wrapped in their box, in the dining room.  I have imagined them suspended from driftwood, a weathered branch, a rake (yah that was just silly), a weathered post, a lobster trap (although really cool, the look on D’s face just now suggests that isn’t going to happen) and an apple orchard ladder.

When I suggest these ideas, he says, “Draw me a picture.”

I look back at him and say, “Seriously?  I can’t show you what’s going on in my head that can make any kind of sense to you.” But today he claims I have super powers.  They start in my eyes, go to my brain, run down my cheek to my neck and arm and poof in some kind of magic at my fingertips with the assistance of a magic pen make all things clear between my idea and his buying into it.

Like the rake….that’s just plain silly.  So the lights remain in the box, at least until I convince him the lobster trap is doable.

Why Can’t I find my Coffee Cup?

I will admit, I can be distracted by shiny things.  When I open my eyes, I have a preconceived notion that TODAY, I will accomplish everything I intended to accomplish.  I start with a list of all the things I would like to get done, then I review and revise to half of what I thought I would get done, then I revise again to the things that I like and the things I will likely put off.

I always start with good intentions.  The best way I figure to do that is begin with one thing I don’t want to do and one thing that I know I will love doing.  They become the beginning (what I don’t want to do) and the reward (the thing I want to do) to at least accomplish something on my list.

Today, I began with working on my new business logo (one of two to be announced soon).  I have been mulling this in my mind for days and thinking of all the reasons that it won’t be perfect enough and making dinner.  Add in there blocking a knitted project, laundry, prepping forms for business #2, dishes, walking Harlee, shower, making the bed, setting goals for the week, formatting a new pattern and getting photos ready for the pattern and well…. you have my list for the day.  Did I mention writing a blog and setting up Blog 2 for business #1?

It is nearly 2pm.  The dishwasher is open and half emptied.  The laundry is finished the wash cycle and needs to be put in the dryer.  The bed is made, my shower is done.  I set up the new blog and have written posts for today and tomorrow for Blog #1 but only set up draft titles for Blog #2.  I have looked up a recipe for dinner and for the life of me can’t remember where I left my coffee cup….AGAIN!

If you see it, would you mind filling it please?  I am on my way to empty the dishwasher, for real this time.

 

6 Years and 30,000 + Views; Goals for 2017

6 years seem like a 100 ago.  So much change in my life since I began this blog.  What never ceases to amaze me is how many individuals take time in their day, to share a part of mine. Over 30,000 views!  Thank you for taking the time in your day to follow me and my journey.

It is the beginning of another year.  D and I had a lovely evening out to celebrate the entry of 2017.  We noted how others seem to be exuberantly kicking 2016 out the back door.  We on the other hand found 2016 to be a year to remember all that is good in our lives.  2016 was another beginning for the two of us that included changes that we wouldn’t have any other way.  We have no 2016 regrets.

One of my favourite mantras is that “I am exactly where I should be.”  If that is true then all that has occurred has brought me to where I am.  Why would I want to change that?

So here is my focus for 2017.  Once again, I am exactly where I should be.  I will plan to BE every day.

There is however, one improvement that I would like to work on. If I could change one thing, it would be to like myself more.  How can I expect others to like me, if I don’t.  That begins with acceptance. Don’t confuse that with tolerance.  I define the difference as: Tolerance – not liking something but putting up with it because that is what is right to do, versus: Acceptance – embracing without judgement. My definition may not fit yours, but I accept that ;).

I accept that I am exactly where I should be.  I accept that it is who I am that brought me here.  Now that smell in the back laundry room….not sure I am ready to accept that.  These things come in small steps.

Accepted written by hand in sand on the beach

 

It’s always easier to drive from the passenger seat.

It is always a slippery slope, whether it is because we saw something on the news, heard something said at the table beside us or read something in the media, we are quick to judge.  It is that natural response…”well if it was up to me…” or “if that were my kid…” Fact is, it isn’t up to us or our kid.

I practice (and I say practice because it is exactly what I need to do as it doesn’t come naturally) not judging.  It is the hardest thing that I do.  There are days, when I don’t keep my ego in check and I judge with the best of them.  Yes, I sometimes believe there is an easier path, a stronger discipline or a better colour.  I may even, under my breath, find a snarky response to a perceived foolish statement or act.  I am not so naive as to think others have not done the same in their review of me.

Recently, I attended the last class of my negotiation/mediation designation.  We role played for 5 long days.  Never has it been more clear to me that it is easier to drive from the passenger seat.  My classmates struggled (as did I) with our leadership as mediator.  Two more students played the characters of the scenario at intensities that may or may not reflect real life.  The rest of us watched and critiqued.  Guess who has the easiest task?

Here is the funny thing;  as I sit in a room with friends and family, with comments of judgement being made around me by passengers who all know a better path,  I CAN (I hope) in a kind and gentle way, state that there is always another side to the story.  We need to accept and trust that the drivers (with rare exception) are doing their best and have no intent on killing passengers.  Maybe if we judged less, there would be less hurt and a whole pile more kindness in the world.

So that’s my plan.  I will be a thankful passenger in this life journey.  One that continues to PRACTICE at the very least, less judging.  One that helps others, when it is appropriate, by my example, to do the same.

A House is not a Home

A house is not a home until your heart resides there.  It can be a shelter, a place to hang your clothes and rest a while, but it takes more to be a home.

The Peppercorn Cottage as D and I have come to call it, is feeling alive inside.  I had visited it three times before.  D was here.  His things were here.  But I was not.  My head was not here and my heart was not here. I truly thought that it was as I hated leaving but with each visit I opened and closed a suitcase.

I have been here nearly a month now.  In some ways it feels like forever and in others I am still a stranger here.  I have not wandered far from home.  After setting up house, I settled in to finish up some of my courses and to putting my hands to work in pies, breads, muffins and cookies.  I am learning to love to cook again.  I am filling this house with beautiful smells.  The kitchen is still new to me.  I am gaining a sense of what it is to bake a sea level.

Once again, I have a dog at my feet.  We brought Harlequin or Harlee as we call her (nearly 3 months old now) home 3 weeks ago and as you can see my shoes are not suitable for office life anymore.  This too has been a learning curve with puppy training and walks in the woods and on the beach.

I have applied for jobs, only to be rejected.  I must admit, I am feeling a little hurt by that but at the same time, we planned for me to have some time off so that I could take time to grow some roots here.  Friends and family keep assuring me that something will come along when it is time.

Much like my journey through my divorce, I keep thinking that I am good.  That I am not homesick.  This is exactly where I want to be.  I can’t imagine being anywhere else.  BUT, there it is, welling up when I least expect it. Waves of loss and grief for the people that I left behind.  You see, I am just a small part of each of their lives and although I do not doubt that I am missed, they can move on with little disruption.  For me however, all of them are missing.

The people here are lovely.  I met a few more yesterday at a tea hosted by one of the neighbours across the road.  I suspect in time, they will be part of my people too.  But, on days like today, when I listen to this house, in spite of the beautiful smells of peanut butter cookies, loaves of bread, puppy noises under my feet and Sophia nestled somewhere upstairs on our bed, I need just a little more time to have this house feel like home.

 

Bloom where you are Planted!

There are no more sleeps.  I have been here now for 11 days and D and I are working through building our new life together.  There is a part of this, that is simply getting to know each other in a way that is forever rather than from a suitcase.  The part that comes with sticky pieces.

There is combining of quirks and combining of things or “just stuff” as I tend to call it.  There is combining of love, space, kitchen gadgets, memories and hurts.  There is a combining that both of us so desperately want, making our house a home.  Making us a couple, and making the two a family.

This home takes my breath away each time we return.  The age (175 years), the history (as a church rectory), the scenery that must be experienced in person to truly have impact and the potential for a new future.  I get a do over.  I get to be whomever I wish to be.  I get to do that in the presence of a man, who has taken a chance with his heart again and given it to me.

My dear friend Karen tells me to “bloom where I am planted”.  It is my mantra these days.  When I am afraid by what I have given up to be here, relationships, my home, my job.  When I think about how I will fit in here whether that be with new friends or a new job (yet to be found).  The transitions have not been easy.  There have been tears, moments of “what have I done?”  None of these times however are about where I am or who I am with, but rather what is unknown.

Had I thought 5 years ago, when I laid on the floor, exhausted of every emotion I could possibly feel, that this is where I would be, perhaps I would have worried less, cried less, embraced each day more.  I can’t imagine now, as I couldn’t then, where I will be in this new life path a year from now, let alone 5.  But what I know is if I trust, and I bloom where I am planted, solidly in this home with this amazing man, I will be better.  I will trust that this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

Not exactly as shown PART 2

6 months later….

D1 (D’s older brother) is my Man of Honour.  He didn’t get to come to pick THE dress so as a follow up, I figured it was only right that he got to come with me to pick up THE dress.  It was important to me that he see me first and add his two-bits.  A male perspective if you will and most certainly, a male perspective that I hoped would reflect his brother’s.

D1 and I walked into the shop together.  They were expecting me and already had THE dress hanging in a change room (still under cover of a garment bag – but ready to go).  “Isn’t it bad luck to have him here?”  The clerk asked.  Both of us were quick to correct her…

“Not the groom!”  We laughed.  It wasn’t the first time.  D1 and I scoped out the reception venues with the same assumptions being made by the sales staff.

It was time.  6 months had passed and I was just a little excited to try on THE dress.  Having it be mine made things that much more real.  It had already been nearly a month since I had put D on the plane to go back East.  I was missing him.

The garment bag was opened and the back of the dress exposed.  Hmmm I thought, THE dress I thought was a bit more tea dyed.  Eh, what do I remember it has been 6 months. The clerk undid the zipper. Ummm did’t THE dress have a row of pearls on the zipper line? I stepped into the change room.  Alone with THE dress.  I fumbled for a moment, not sure what to do.  I looked at the dress.  What could I do?  I pulled out the receipt.  Same number on the tags, same name on the tag, same measurements on the tag.  Obviously I didn’t remember THE dress.  Over the 6 months, my memory had created a completely different dress.  Put the dress on Sam!

Stripped down to underwear and socks, I stepped into the dress.  The form fitted dress.  THE dress was A-line.  This dress was fitted. I fumbled around for a moment trying to do up the zipper.  I looked down and behind me.  This dress had a train. THE dress did NOT have a train.  I was getting married at a country church on the prairie.  THE dress did not have a train! THE dress was country and simple.  It was fun and like me, ready to dance the night away.  THE dress was SAM!

The clerk was now behind me doing up the zipper.  The zipper that fit over the curve of my backside, the small of my back, glided smoothly over my spine and rested exactly where it was designed to rest.  I let out my breath.  It took 6 months for this dress to show up.  This was not THE dress.  It was however a dress.  I didn’t love THE dress, I liked it.  Did it really matter?

The curtain was thrown open. I was expected to walk out, stand on the pedestal, and with damp teary eyes, show D1 the dress.  That is what every bride-to-be does right? Instead, I stood there stunned.  But that’s when the magic happened. I looked at D1 and he looked at me.  His jaw had dropped and he said “Your beautiful.”

It was time to give this dress a chance.  I walked out, stepped up onto the raised circle and looked at the mirror.  This wasn’t THE dress but this was MY dress.

MY dress has sparkle and flatters my curves, MY dress is silver tones and has lace that is…. well…. a little less country and a little more rock and roll SAM. The other Sam.  The Sam that D fell in love with.  The Sam that tried on far too many shoes but found the perfect ones in the end.  The Sam who will wear her Cinderella pale blue Fluevogs that will carry her down the aisle to her Prince and Dragon Slayer.  The man who patiently waited for her a for lifetime.  The one who taught her, it was safe to love again.  This was MY dress.

D1 and I headed for dinner, having My dress neatly packaged and in the back of my jeep.  “I must tell you Sam, that isn’t the dress I imagined you in.”

“Me neither,” I laughed and then over a glass of wine, explained “not exactly as shown.”

Never underestimate the power of …

Never underestimate the power of…

superheros

sun filled days

a puppy’s growl

a child’s laughter

the words of a song

the touch of a lover

the love of a mother

the written word

the unspoken word

faith

belief

magic

time

the lack of time.

Never underestimate the power of imagination, truth, lies, fairy dust, unicorn sparkles and hope.

Never underestimate the power of…

 

 

 

Raisins are the reason I have trust issues.

I stood in front of the display cabinet looking at the muffins, hoping to find something that appealed to me for breakfast.  It had been an exhaustive 2 days at my course (conflict resolution) at JIBC in Vancouver.  There I stood, completely overwhelmed with the decision of Morning Glory vs Apple Oatmeal.

Karen appeared beside me and with me stared at the display of fresh baked goods.  “What’s the problem?” she asked.  Karen is blunt and to the point.  It is one of the things that I truly adore about her.  There is never any concern for what she means or if there is any underlying unsaid motive behind her comments.  She is who she is and what she says is just that.  I think I have heard it referred to calling a spade a spade.

“The label says Morning Glory muffins and on the other side of the same plate it says Apple Oatmeal muffins.”  Neither Karen nor I had moved a muscle.  The two of us where still standing side by side staring ahead at what was creating great anxiety in my life.

“I still don’t get it.” Karen was clearly in her own simple “what you see is what you get” world.

“I want an Apple Oatmeal muffin.” I was not understanding why she couldn’t see as plain as day as I was, the problem.

“So grab one!!”

“But they all look the same on the plate, I don’t know which one is apple and which one is Morning Glory.”

“Oh for God’s sake, pick a F@$%^ muffin.”  Karen was exasperated with my indecision.

” I can’t!” I stated firmly, “I simply can’t deal with a raisin this morning.”

Karen for the first time in that exchange looked at me.  “You don’t like raisins?” she asked.

“Nope,” I replied.  “Raisins are the reason I have trust issues. I can’t risk raisins today.”

It’s good that she hadn’t sipped on her coffee yet.  I think the muffins may have been showered in coffee at that moment if she had.  “Try the lemon poppy seed.” she suggested as she walked away.

I sighed and reached to the next plate over.  It wasn’t going to be a raisin day for me.