Saturday, January 05, 2008
Planet Shampson
For the last year or so I've been reading the Globe and Mail articles of Sarah Hampson (which are mostly about divorce and / or being a middle aged woman) by virtue of the fact that they are completely opposite of my experience. Every time I come across her writing it confirms this and I think, yup - I'm in oppositeland. It's weird to think that we live in the same city and are divorced women... and that's where the similarity ends. Is it just between her and me, or am I the antithesis of every woman in a similar situation?
People keep saying to me "Did you read Sarah Hampson this week?", and I'm like, "Yeah, it's like we're living on different planets." It's not the fact that she's older, has kids or is moneyed (the last point is not a proven fact, she just comes off that way to me). It's more her ideas about men, her bitterness, and her creepy accounts of cougarish women... And not one mention of anyone flipping to gay.
For the last year or so I've been reading the Globe and Mail articles of Sarah Hampson (which are mostly about divorce and / or being a middle aged woman) by virtue of the fact that they are completely opposite of my experience. Every time I come across her writing it confirms this and I think, yup - I'm in oppositeland. It's weird to think that we live in the same city and are divorced women... and that's where the similarity ends. Is it just between her and me, or am I the antithesis of every woman in a similar situation?
People keep saying to me "Did you read Sarah Hampson this week?", and I'm like, "Yeah, it's like we're living on different planets." It's not the fact that she's older, has kids or is moneyed (the last point is not a proven fact, she just comes off that way to me). It's more her ideas about men, her bitterness, and her creepy accounts of cougarish women... And not one mention of anyone flipping to gay.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Religion, or, Jesus was an OK Guy, But Magic is Better All Around
At this point I think I believe more in horoscopes and magic than religion. I have nothing much to say about horoscopes but that they are fucking insightful - not so much the day-to-day crap in the papers, but the characteristics and traits attributed to those born under the various signs. And as for magic... you're a fool if you don't believe in magic.
I think organized religion is for the birds. And yet, having read The Imitation of Christ, studied the new testament in school and in life*, I think that Jesus was a pretty good guy. It's the people who followed right after him and set up the various Christian religions, churches and wrote letters and spread the word... I think they kind of fucked it up? And yet, God is all around. I think there is something / someone to pray to and think about and thank. Sure. And the afterlife... Well the Mormons have that one sewed up: I think the idea that everyone you ever loved on earth meets up with you in the afterlife is the fuckin business. And that other eastern religion that says how you behave in this life dictates how things will be for you in the next life... yes, there's some of that flavaflav too in my little mishmash of ideas.
* Have I talked about this before? My parents lives, and thus our lives, were dictated by religion and church. 100% of the books in our house were religious, EVEN THE ENCYCLOPEDIA. We were in church every day. Not only did we attend mass every day, but it was like we had jobs at the church: cleaning the brass, the altar, helping with rummage sales, bake sales, anything sales, snacks for the various groups that would meet there, the CWL, choirs, pageants, hours and hours, whole weekends. I memorized the mass and have read the whole bible cover-to-cover. I took religious classes until the end of high school. I have received all the sacraments (um, except holy orders; I did actually have anointing of the sick). To say my parents were zealous is not an exaggeration. My dad in particular was a proselytizer. We would pray as a family everyday. On our knees. Oh the prayers we used to say! On long car trips we would always start with the rosary, even before leaving Chatsworth Drive. Saying decade after decade of the rosary on the 401, my mom's droney reading voice murmuring out the mysteries from her little blue rosary book, until the city was long gone and we were rolling through the countryside. My dad would give out prayer cards and cheap rosaries to hitchhikers (that conversation would always start, "Have you ever heard of the rosary? No? Would you like to learn how to say the rosary?"), in addition to buying them coffee, a meal, or giving them the money from his pocket. He sometimes brought these poor hitchhikers HOME for dinner. I remember them vaguely: usually hippy ski bums, not exactly tramps, but raggedy, and with hair long enough to make my mother uncomfortable. My parents were also very big on patron saints, the power of Marian prayer and the Canadian Martyrs. We had sacred heart artwork around our house. This would be like a fairly large technicolour print of a mild-looking Jesus except with the stigmata flowing alarmingly out his hands, and his chest cavity wide open to reveal the familiar heart bearing a crown of thorns (looking like barbed wire), with flames shooting out the top. And as if that weren't an eye-catching enough sight, one of his blessed bleeding hands would be POINTING to his OPEN CHEST (See sinners? MY HEART IS ON FIRE FOR YOU!), just to drive the point home. Our most treasured art was a large needlepoint work of Flight Into Egypt, hanging over the fireplace in our living room, done by one of my father's great-great aunts from France (there were two of these maiden aunts who specialized in the decorative arts. I still have their hand painted vases). Over every doorway in our house was a large cross (it was a big house with LOTS of doorways). That was to bless whoever entered, exited, went to the bathroom, basically, you couldn't hide from the blessings. And open any drawer and you could find old prayer cards (we collected them, sort of like baseball cards), rusty saint's medals, broken rosaries, vials of holy water, relics said to be a bone chip of one saint or another. These were the typical contents of our junk drawers, along of course with the usual bits of string, rubber bands, Canadian Tire money... Clearly it was sinful to throw these things away: I guess because they were religious they had import. Anyway, that, in a nutshell, was my crazy religious upbringing.
At this point I think I believe more in horoscopes and magic than religion. I have nothing much to say about horoscopes but that they are fucking insightful - not so much the day-to-day crap in the papers, but the characteristics and traits attributed to those born under the various signs. And as for magic... you're a fool if you don't believe in magic.
I think organized religion is for the birds. And yet, having read The Imitation of Christ, studied the new testament in school and in life*, I think that Jesus was a pretty good guy. It's the people who followed right after him and set up the various Christian religions, churches and wrote letters and spread the word... I think they kind of fucked it up? And yet, God is all around. I think there is something / someone to pray to and think about and thank. Sure. And the afterlife... Well the Mormons have that one sewed up: I think the idea that everyone you ever loved on earth meets up with you in the afterlife is the fuckin business. And that other eastern religion that says how you behave in this life dictates how things will be for you in the next life... yes, there's some of that flavaflav too in my little mishmash of ideas.
* Have I talked about this before? My parents lives, and thus our lives, were dictated by religion and church. 100% of the books in our house were religious, EVEN THE ENCYCLOPEDIA. We were in church every day. Not only did we attend mass every day, but it was like we had jobs at the church: cleaning the brass, the altar, helping with rummage sales, bake sales, anything sales, snacks for the various groups that would meet there, the CWL, choirs, pageants, hours and hours, whole weekends. I memorized the mass and have read the whole bible cover-to-cover. I took religious classes until the end of high school. I have received all the sacraments (um, except holy orders; I did actually have anointing of the sick). To say my parents were zealous is not an exaggeration. My dad in particular was a proselytizer. We would pray as a family everyday. On our knees. Oh the prayers we used to say! On long car trips we would always start with the rosary, even before leaving Chatsworth Drive. Saying decade after decade of the rosary on the 401, my mom's droney reading voice murmuring out the mysteries from her little blue rosary book, until the city was long gone and we were rolling through the countryside. My dad would give out prayer cards and cheap rosaries to hitchhikers (that conversation would always start, "Have you ever heard of the rosary? No? Would you like to learn how to say the rosary?"), in addition to buying them coffee, a meal, or giving them the money from his pocket. He sometimes brought these poor hitchhikers HOME for dinner. I remember them vaguely: usually hippy ski bums, not exactly tramps, but raggedy, and with hair long enough to make my mother uncomfortable. My parents were also very big on patron saints, the power of Marian prayer and the Canadian Martyrs. We had sacred heart artwork around our house. This would be like a fairly large technicolour print of a mild-looking Jesus except with the stigmata flowing alarmingly out his hands, and his chest cavity wide open to reveal the familiar heart bearing a crown of thorns (looking like barbed wire), with flames shooting out the top. And as if that weren't an eye-catching enough sight, one of his blessed bleeding hands would be POINTING to his OPEN CHEST (See sinners? MY HEART IS ON FIRE FOR YOU!), just to drive the point home. Our most treasured art was a large needlepoint work of Flight Into Egypt, hanging over the fireplace in our living room, done by one of my father's great-great aunts from France (there were two of these maiden aunts who specialized in the decorative arts. I still have their hand painted vases). Over every doorway in our house was a large cross (it was a big house with LOTS of doorways). That was to bless whoever entered, exited, went to the bathroom, basically, you couldn't hide from the blessings. And open any drawer and you could find old prayer cards (we collected them, sort of like baseball cards), rusty saint's medals, broken rosaries, vials of holy water, relics said to be a bone chip of one saint or another. These were the typical contents of our junk drawers, along of course with the usual bits of string, rubber bands, Canadian Tire money... Clearly it was sinful to throw these things away: I guess because they were religious they had import. Anyway, that, in a nutshell, was my crazy religious upbringing.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Found Things
- Sarah gave me a new pair of green leather gloves for Christmas
- I took all my dying leather gloves and boots to the cobbler to get stitched so it will be like having all new things
- I will buy myself a new Nano one of these days
- A while ago I bought Sarah an engraved Tiffany necklace; I love this on her and don't think I want to replace mine
- The resort mailed me my white hoodie (COLLECT! $15 to retrieve it from the postal station! Bastards!)
- garden statuary comes and goes
- I bought all new extension cords
- There will be new garden tools in the spring
- Sarah gave me a new pair of green leather gloves for Christmas
- I took all my dying leather gloves and boots to the cobbler to get stitched so it will be like having all new things
- I will buy myself a new Nano one of these days
- A while ago I bought Sarah an engraved Tiffany necklace; I love this on her and don't think I want to replace mine
- The resort mailed me my white hoodie (COLLECT! $15 to retrieve it from the postal station! Bastards!)
- garden statuary comes and goes
- I bought all new extension cords
- There will be new garden tools in the spring
Where HAVE I Been?
Ya, mate! I know what you mean. I'm still around and around. Nothing bad has happened, only good. :-)
Some things worth mentioning...
1) I am almost divorced. I actually expect it to be finalized within a few weeks. Perhaps before I leave for Cuba.
2) BUT I am dead surprised that I actually think I want to be married again. How, in the course of a year, can I go from embracing the singleness and being ok with perhaps being the eccentric neighbourhood dog lady in the falling-down house who says inappropriate things... to being all wrapped up and in love and even contemplating marriage? Am I just BUILT that way?
3) I have put on about 10 lbs, which sucks ass. However, it is happy fat. I do need to get on top of it and visit the gym and stop eating cookies as meals. Which I did not even one hour ago.
4) I set someone up with my very first b-f from 10 million years ago whom I found on facebook. We met up for coffee. facebook is good for that. He's nice, perhaps a bit of a yawn, has had an interesting life, is easy on the eyes, truly a good fellow... and I thought: why not introduce this guy to her? Long story short, they have fallen for each other!! I do love setting up unsuspecting friends. I hope this thing lasts.
5) I went for my first mammogram and was all nervous. Sarah came with me (the only partner in the clinic I might add). The mammogram was very easy, like 10 minutes and didn't hurt or anything. Such a breeze. And then a few weeks later the breast clinic called BACK and wanted to have another look at something. That filled me with fear and dread. THAT appointment wasn't great. The "spot compressions" hurt. I could actually see the spot they want to investigate. They (the technicians) say it's definitely something but likely nothing. If you know what I mean... it's like they must investigate, if only to rule it out. I've been back a few times and have now met with a surgeon. He was very good and supportive and explained everything. There's a mass on one side that isn't symmetrical on the other side. Everything looks and feels good and healthy though. I cannot FEEL anything inside. It is quite deep and close to the centre of the chest. So, I have more tests to look forward to and an upcoming MRI, and then perhaps a biopsy. I have given this lots of thought... I have had moments where I cry on the subway or in the car and am just filled with WHY WHY WHY and OH MY GOD. But most of the time (like, 99% of the time) I'm just ok and I don't think about it until I'm actually at the clinic having to deal with it. My friend Bunny just went through double mastectomy / breast reconstruction and is facing her 3rd round of chemo soon. She has 3 little kids at home... When I think about this I worry. But it's different because she actually found a lump. I just wandered into the breast clinic for my first regularly scheduled mammogram and now they want to investigate the differences in the tissues of my breasts. It's not the same thing. Well, that is what I tell myself.
6) My sister has had GREAT fun outing me to all our cousins with whom she is in touch. Strictly speaking she should not being doing this for a number of reasons. Like all the usual reasons: the individual chooses who to tell, "comes out" when they choose to, etc. But I think back to various pregnancies when I would be, like, 4 weeks pregnant and she would tell all her friends and all the other teachers at her school. And then when I would miscarry she would have to "un-tell" them. THAT really pissed me off. So I stopped telling her anything really. I barely communicated at all. I withdrew but didn't exactly let her know that I thought it was shite that she did that. Now she's at it again. She means well and feels that it's such nice news she has to pass it on, and also it gives her something of interest to talk about. But she should respect my privacy (which clearly she doesn't). But I so don't care enough to be mad. I just feel that... so many of these relatives didn't even know I was separated let alone getting divorced, and then to hear all this news delivered at the same time... is a lot. And also these events are somewhat unrelated... but again, does it really matter? She can be exasperating. But it's like I don't care enough to have it out with her.
7) Christmas and the holidays still suck somewhat. It was fun and yet stressful. It was nice and yet I was thrilled to see the back of my sister and her kids when they left a day early on Boxing Day (her choice, due to weather). I made my best turkey ever, very nice meals, good visits, plenty of fun... but the whole thing just makes me tired and slightly uneasy. I had a New Year's Eve party which was really good fun... and yet I crashed on January 1st. I didn't even get out of my pyjamas (even when I walked the dog)! Things are good and fine but I feel blessed peace now that it's all over. I'm tired of the office being so quiet. I'm tired of eating so much. I'm not tired of drinking though. It will probably feel this way about for the rest of my life - mixed and happy when it's over.
Ya, mate! I know what you mean. I'm still around and around. Nothing bad has happened, only good. :-)
Some things worth mentioning...
1) I am almost divorced. I actually expect it to be finalized within a few weeks. Perhaps before I leave for Cuba.
2) BUT I am dead surprised that I actually think I want to be married again. How, in the course of a year, can I go from embracing the singleness and being ok with perhaps being the eccentric neighbourhood dog lady in the falling-down house who says inappropriate things... to being all wrapped up and in love and even contemplating marriage? Am I just BUILT that way?
3) I have put on about 10 lbs, which sucks ass. However, it is happy fat. I do need to get on top of it and visit the gym and stop eating cookies as meals. Which I did not even one hour ago.
4) I set someone up with my very first b-f from 10 million years ago whom I found on facebook. We met up for coffee. facebook is good for that. He's nice, perhaps a bit of a yawn, has had an interesting life, is easy on the eyes, truly a good fellow... and I thought: why not introduce this guy to her? Long story short, they have fallen for each other!! I do love setting up unsuspecting friends. I hope this thing lasts.
5) I went for my first mammogram and was all nervous. Sarah came with me (the only partner in the clinic I might add). The mammogram was very easy, like 10 minutes and didn't hurt or anything. Such a breeze. And then a few weeks later the breast clinic called BACK and wanted to have another look at something. That filled me with fear and dread. THAT appointment wasn't great. The "spot compressions" hurt. I could actually see the spot they want to investigate. They (the technicians) say it's definitely something but likely nothing. If you know what I mean... it's like they must investigate, if only to rule it out. I've been back a few times and have now met with a surgeon. He was very good and supportive and explained everything. There's a mass on one side that isn't symmetrical on the other side. Everything looks and feels good and healthy though. I cannot FEEL anything inside. It is quite deep and close to the centre of the chest. So, I have more tests to look forward to and an upcoming MRI, and then perhaps a biopsy. I have given this lots of thought... I have had moments where I cry on the subway or in the car and am just filled with WHY WHY WHY and OH MY GOD. But most of the time (like, 99% of the time) I'm just ok and I don't think about it until I'm actually at the clinic having to deal with it. My friend Bunny just went through double mastectomy / breast reconstruction and is facing her 3rd round of chemo soon. She has 3 little kids at home... When I think about this I worry. But it's different because she actually found a lump. I just wandered into the breast clinic for my first regularly scheduled mammogram and now they want to investigate the differences in the tissues of my breasts. It's not the same thing. Well, that is what I tell myself.
6) My sister has had GREAT fun outing me to all our cousins with whom she is in touch. Strictly speaking she should not being doing this for a number of reasons. Like all the usual reasons: the individual chooses who to tell, "comes out" when they choose to, etc. But I think back to various pregnancies when I would be, like, 4 weeks pregnant and she would tell all her friends and all the other teachers at her school. And then when I would miscarry she would have to "un-tell" them. THAT really pissed me off. So I stopped telling her anything really. I barely communicated at all. I withdrew but didn't exactly let her know that I thought it was shite that she did that. Now she's at it again. She means well and feels that it's such nice news she has to pass it on, and also it gives her something of interest to talk about. But she should respect my privacy (which clearly she doesn't). But I so don't care enough to be mad. I just feel that... so many of these relatives didn't even know I was separated let alone getting divorced, and then to hear all this news delivered at the same time... is a lot. And also these events are somewhat unrelated... but again, does it really matter? She can be exasperating. But it's like I don't care enough to have it out with her.
7) Christmas and the holidays still suck somewhat. It was fun and yet stressful. It was nice and yet I was thrilled to see the back of my sister and her kids when they left a day early on Boxing Day (her choice, due to weather). I made my best turkey ever, very nice meals, good visits, plenty of fun... but the whole thing just makes me tired and slightly uneasy. I had a New Year's Eve party which was really good fun... and yet I crashed on January 1st. I didn't even get out of my pyjamas (even when I walked the dog)! Things are good and fine but I feel blessed peace now that it's all over. I'm tired of the office being so quiet. I'm tired of eating so much. I'm not tired of drinking though. It will probably feel this way about for the rest of my life - mixed and happy when it's over.
