New list of potential places for us to consider:
Santa Fe, New Mexico (pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease)(three yarn shops)(amazing food)
somewhere in Maine (would totally love that too) (they have maple syrup)
Pennsylvania (I'd have to learn how to spell that unassisted)
Phuket, Thailand (O heavens, of all the places in Thailand, does it have to be Phuket?)(Thailand's sex trade capital)
or here. Here is good. I went to Kennedy Lake with new friends yesterday and today. Swimming. in. a. lake. Who knew it was so much fun? I don't even feel self-conscious in my bikini. I'm shapely.
So much going on, so much to consider.
O! An update on my dad. He's still in the Ukraine or Russia. We aren't sure, exactly, he hasn't been great at keeping us posted. Apparently he hurt his back though, (he had three of his vertabrae fused together in a surgery in the 1990s, has never really recovered from it and takes a daily dose of morphine to combat the pain) and was unable to travel. So he'll return to Canada any time now. The lady, my current new step-mother, has a name: Tamara. Apparently she'll be following my dad to Canada in three months, after her paperwork has been processed. Well, at least he hasn't been kidnapped.
In other news, we helped Ellie move her yarn shop Knits by the Sea to its new location on Sunday. Now with moving a yarn shop you'd think yarn isn't that heavy. And it isn't. But the shelves - I hope we never have to move those suckers again. Eight feet tall particle board shelves with lots of cubbies - they were heavy. I'll spare you the pictures of the bruises on my arms and legs from moving them. I won't whine at all about the pulled muscle in my back or my sore shoulder. They took us out for sushi afterwords! (Alas, Tough City Sushi does not live up to its reputation). It was fun though, and the new space is much more suitable. I'm looking foward to having knit nights out on the back deck.
Also, Dan is on an ice cream and sorbet-making kick right now. Golden kiwi sorbet. Vanilla custard ice cream. Pink grapefruit sorbet. Apricot sorbet. Root beer sorbet. White peach ice cream. Mandarin sorbet. He couldn't have picked a better week: we're expecting temperatures in the high twenties later this week!
One other random thing: we were having a conversation with our neighbours last night about unions. A long time ago, in a past life, I was on the executive of a very weak union and held the position as president for about eight months, until I realized that that I was completely unsupported by the executive and membership (I was 27; most of the membership was at least 20 years my senior). I thumbed my nose at these people and left the country to teach English in Korea. After my union experience, my politics have changed drastically (actually, I try to stay out of political discussions as much as possible now). After thinking about last night's conversation, Dan had an idea: that perhaps unions are unnecessary in first world countries because we are already so protected by labour laws. It's an interesting suggestion. If you agree or disagree, I'd love to hear what you think.
Mr. Noodle
Mr. Noodle
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
walking away from Paganism
I have been meaning to write about this for months. I kind of forgot about it, really, and I think it's good. I started composing an essay on this topic several months ago now, but set it aside because it seemed too angry, and that wasn't what I wanted to convey. I'm addressing this now for a few reasons:
1) I have just today listed all my Pagan books for sale on Amazon.
2) A Google search of my name turns up some Pagan stuff.
3) because of these things, I want to set the record straight about where I'm at.
I will begin with a brief history.
(N.B. Below I use some jargon that may be unfamiliar to those who don't know much about this topic. Hopefully that won't detract from the content of my narrative).
I identified as Pagan/Wiccan for about ten years. Not solidly, but within the space of ten years, I developed into quite an adept. I studied with an excellent teacher, led and co-led several public group rituals, had a few rites of passage, wrote an article for Witchvox, and was really active in the Pagan community. I led a group at the University of Victoria for three years. I even started the process of enrolling at Cherry Hill Seminary to do a Master of Divinity, on the path towards being Pagan clergy.
But after I returned from living in Asia, when I came back to find my teacher/priestess had an actual class/coven, I started having my doubts about the whole thing. There were a few things I was uncomfortable with - nothing to do with my teacher - I have the utmost respect for her - but nothing I could really put my finger on.
I did a lot of internal storming about my discontent, trying to pin down exactly what I was discontent with. Which of my needs were not being met? Why did some of these experiences leave me so irritated? Why couldn't I turn off my inner critic and just have the great religious experience I was supposed to?
Soon after I started the club at UVic, I left the coven I was practicing with. I enjoyed my time with the club, but eventually I knew that after I finished my schooling, without leadership, the club would probably fade. And it did. I finished my degree, went on my honeymoon (which was in fact a full moon cycle), and came back to no real commitment to any group or path of study.
A few months later, I realized that I didn't miss it. At all. Previously I had felt guilty if I didn't celebrate a sabbat or a full moon, but even after learning all I could about these holidays, I had a hard time getting in the mood short of simply wanting to decorate a la Martha Stewart.
My last act as a Pagan was to go to a Yuletide ritual held by my former group last winter. I was even asked to lend a hand, since they were short and I was an experienced handmaiden.
But that, as every other Pagan ritual I have ever attended, left me feeling kind of empty. I never got that satisfaction from having gone into trance or had a deeply moving experience in ritual. According to the literature, this is supposed to happen at some point. With nearly a hundred rituals under my belt, I really should have had this experience at least once.
But I never did. I got the routine down pat, I could set up a circle like nobody's business. Putting on a public group ritual us much akin to putting on a play: script, costumes, choreography, music, props, etc. I was good at it and I enjoyed that part. But that is just theatrics, and not so much about the faith.
I stopped identifying as Pagan around Christmastime. It was around then that I came to a few conclusions.
Religion serves a number of purposes for people. I know I won't include all, we all have our own reasons for seeking or not seeking, but here is what I came up with.
1) People who seek religion want communication or connection with deity.
Right. Fair enough. I don't believe in God, or a set of gods or goddesses. I am a scientist. I cannot believe that there is some sentient being out there who is orchestrating all this.
For a while there I was listening to CBC's Tapestry, the weekly program about religion and spirituality by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Always interesting, the guests that the host Mary Heines was interviewing last fall and winter were (by accident?) often people who were devout athiests or people who went so deep into their faith that they walked through it - came out as non-believers. I thought this was an interesting thing - partly because of the content itself but also because of the timing, as I was having these own feelings myself.
In another post today I talked about the death of my friend Jeremy 20 years ago, and that a number of people I knew or who were in my life in the few years following also died. Death makes you question God - or whether there is one. I'll likely cover this topic in another post, another day.
2) People often seek religion for community.
And here is where I get a bit controversial. In times of old, the church was the community. Nowadays, with so many faith options, choosing a faith is also a choosing of community. I don't know what it is like in the monotheistic faiths, but with Paganism, it seems to be either very exclusive or overly inclusive. What I mean by this: by 'very exclusive' I mean closed covens who have enough members and don't want you in their group. Okay, understanding the nature of ritual as I do, fair enough. But then there is the 'overly inclusive'. This is the kind of situation where because someone identifies as 'Pagan', then no matter what their flavour is, everyone comes, from the people who believe in fairies and angels to people who claim to have been ceremonial magicians to people of the different sects within Pagansim (Wicca, Druids, Astruar, etc.) to people who call themselves Pagan but really just want another outlet for their SCA fantasies.
I don't mean to be insulting, really I don't. But in my experience, maybe one in twenty of these people I have met are true to their faith and are not what serious Pagans refer to as 'fluffy bunnies' and I call flakes. And the sad truth is that flakes turn up to public ritual and you have to pretend to circle with them 'in love and trust'. For lots of these people, because they are already on the outskirts of the status quo, the only place they feel like they have community is among other Pagans.
It took me a long time to realize that I don't actually want to spend time with most of these people. The serious Pagans are nice people outside of the faith - which means faith has nothing to do with it. And I already have a strong and solid social community, so I don't need that from my faith.
3) People often use faith as a means of personal development.
I'm not saying this is true for everyone. Sure, I experienced a lot of personal development through working with my priestess. But I am an introspective person by nature; I have done lots of work on myself with my counselor at uni and with the help of a number of self help books and journaling. I started to feel like I hit a wall in my spiritual development.
**************************
Now before I walked away from religion entirely, I did give some thought to the other faiths out there. Not believing in a God, all the theistic faiths were out of the question. That left Buddhism.
Before I happened upon Wicca/Paganism, I would have referred to Buddhism as my 'spiritual mother tongue'. Not like I ever got far enough to Take Refuge or anything, not like I ever had any sort of regular meditation practice, but I did a fair bit of reading on the subject. So, before shutting religion out entirely, I had a last glance at Buddhism.
Amazingly, I found it didn't really suit me anymore. The person I am now is quite different from the person I was a decade ago.
*****************************
So it's been six months now since I stopped calling myself Pagan. I have spoken about this to a few friends and family and most people are surprised: they knew how serious I was about my pursuit of knowledge about faith. But when it comes down to it, I don't miss it at all. I can still appreciate it and have huge respect for the work that is being done, as I respect everyone's right to have a faith. I only submit that, at least for right now, it is not for me.
And if you ask me what my religion is, I will say knitting is my religion.
1) I have just today listed all my Pagan books for sale on Amazon.
2) A Google search of my name turns up some Pagan stuff.
3) because of these things, I want to set the record straight about where I'm at.
I will begin with a brief history.
(N.B. Below I use some jargon that may be unfamiliar to those who don't know much about this topic. Hopefully that won't detract from the content of my narrative).
I identified as Pagan/Wiccan for about ten years. Not solidly, but within the space of ten years, I developed into quite an adept. I studied with an excellent teacher, led and co-led several public group rituals, had a few rites of passage, wrote an article for Witchvox, and was really active in the Pagan community. I led a group at the University of Victoria for three years. I even started the process of enrolling at Cherry Hill Seminary to do a Master of Divinity, on the path towards being Pagan clergy.
But after I returned from living in Asia, when I came back to find my teacher/priestess had an actual class/coven, I started having my doubts about the whole thing. There were a few things I was uncomfortable with - nothing to do with my teacher - I have the utmost respect for her - but nothing I could really put my finger on.
I did a lot of internal storming about my discontent, trying to pin down exactly what I was discontent with. Which of my needs were not being met? Why did some of these experiences leave me so irritated? Why couldn't I turn off my inner critic and just have the great religious experience I was supposed to?
Soon after I started the club at UVic, I left the coven I was practicing with. I enjoyed my time with the club, but eventually I knew that after I finished my schooling, without leadership, the club would probably fade. And it did. I finished my degree, went on my honeymoon (which was in fact a full moon cycle), and came back to no real commitment to any group or path of study.
A few months later, I realized that I didn't miss it. At all. Previously I had felt guilty if I didn't celebrate a sabbat or a full moon, but even after learning all I could about these holidays, I had a hard time getting in the mood short of simply wanting to decorate a la Martha Stewart.
My last act as a Pagan was to go to a Yuletide ritual held by my former group last winter. I was even asked to lend a hand, since they were short and I was an experienced handmaiden.
But that, as every other Pagan ritual I have ever attended, left me feeling kind of empty. I never got that satisfaction from having gone into trance or had a deeply moving experience in ritual. According to the literature, this is supposed to happen at some point. With nearly a hundred rituals under my belt, I really should have had this experience at least once.
But I never did. I got the routine down pat, I could set up a circle like nobody's business. Putting on a public group ritual us much akin to putting on a play: script, costumes, choreography, music, props, etc. I was good at it and I enjoyed that part. But that is just theatrics, and not so much about the faith.
I stopped identifying as Pagan around Christmastime. It was around then that I came to a few conclusions.
Religion serves a number of purposes for people. I know I won't include all, we all have our own reasons for seeking or not seeking, but here is what I came up with.
1) People who seek religion want communication or connection with deity.
Right. Fair enough. I don't believe in God, or a set of gods or goddesses. I am a scientist. I cannot believe that there is some sentient being out there who is orchestrating all this.
For a while there I was listening to CBC's Tapestry, the weekly program about religion and spirituality by the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. Always interesting, the guests that the host Mary Heines was interviewing last fall and winter were (by accident?) often people who were devout athiests or people who went so deep into their faith that they walked through it - came out as non-believers. I thought this was an interesting thing - partly because of the content itself but also because of the timing, as I was having these own feelings myself.
In another post today I talked about the death of my friend Jeremy 20 years ago, and that a number of people I knew or who were in my life in the few years following also died. Death makes you question God - or whether there is one. I'll likely cover this topic in another post, another day.
2) People often seek religion for community.
And here is where I get a bit controversial. In times of old, the church was the community. Nowadays, with so many faith options, choosing a faith is also a choosing of community. I don't know what it is like in the monotheistic faiths, but with Paganism, it seems to be either very exclusive or overly inclusive. What I mean by this: by 'very exclusive' I mean closed covens who have enough members and don't want you in their group. Okay, understanding the nature of ritual as I do, fair enough. But then there is the 'overly inclusive'. This is the kind of situation where because someone identifies as 'Pagan', then no matter what their flavour is, everyone comes, from the people who believe in fairies and angels to people who claim to have been ceremonial magicians to people of the different sects within Pagansim (Wicca, Druids, Astruar, etc.) to people who call themselves Pagan but really just want another outlet for their SCA fantasies.
I don't mean to be insulting, really I don't. But in my experience, maybe one in twenty of these people I have met are true to their faith and are not what serious Pagans refer to as 'fluffy bunnies' and I call flakes. And the sad truth is that flakes turn up to public ritual and you have to pretend to circle with them 'in love and trust'. For lots of these people, because they are already on the outskirts of the status quo, the only place they feel like they have community is among other Pagans.
It took me a long time to realize that I don't actually want to spend time with most of these people. The serious Pagans are nice people outside of the faith - which means faith has nothing to do with it. And I already have a strong and solid social community, so I don't need that from my faith.
3) People often use faith as a means of personal development.
I'm not saying this is true for everyone. Sure, I experienced a lot of personal development through working with my priestess. But I am an introspective person by nature; I have done lots of work on myself with my counselor at uni and with the help of a number of self help books and journaling. I started to feel like I hit a wall in my spiritual development.
**************************
Now before I walked away from religion entirely, I did give some thought to the other faiths out there. Not believing in a God, all the theistic faiths were out of the question. That left Buddhism.
Before I happened upon Wicca/Paganism, I would have referred to Buddhism as my 'spiritual mother tongue'. Not like I ever got far enough to Take Refuge or anything, not like I ever had any sort of regular meditation practice, but I did a fair bit of reading on the subject. So, before shutting religion out entirely, I had a last glance at Buddhism.
Amazingly, I found it didn't really suit me anymore. The person I am now is quite different from the person I was a decade ago.
*****************************
So it's been six months now since I stopped calling myself Pagan. I have spoken about this to a few friends and family and most people are surprised: they knew how serious I was about my pursuit of knowledge about faith. But when it comes down to it, I don't miss it at all. I can still appreciate it and have huge respect for the work that is being done, as I respect everyone's right to have a faith. I only submit that, at least for right now, it is not for me.
And if you ask me what my religion is, I will say knitting is my religion.
settling, unsettling
I like it here. I really do. Ucluelet is a nice little down and we have some great friends here.
I haven't spent a winter here yet, but I hear it's sleepy (no tourists) and rainy.
Well, now that we are no longer waiting for the brewery to get moving, we are considering a number of options:
Yuba City, California
Marquette, Michigan
Lakewood, New York
Sauk City, Wisconsin
and others as they arise. By 'considering' I mean that Dan has applied for jobs/opportunities in these places and may or may not get an interview.
It's an interesting thing, and we went through this last fall too when we were looking for work. A job would come up in X place, we'd research the area, look on Google Earth, perhaps send away for the brochures.
We do have some criteria. The place has to be near water. The last three on the above list are on lakes. But it is for this reason we would not consider Boulder, Colorado. Not to mention the altitude. When we were on our honeymoon last fall, we decided that anything above 5,000 feet was unbearable.
We have now decided that if we moved to a place where there was a proper winter, that that would be okay. In those eastern states, they have maple syrup! And it would sure be a good excuse to knit non-stop. One more thing - hardneck garlics grow better in climates where the ground freezes in the winter.
I grew up in Alberta, remember walking to school in temperatures below 30 degees Celsius (that's lower than 20 degrees Fahrenheit). I learned how to drive in the snow. I can do winter no problem.
I mentioned garlic above. One of our dreams is to have a garlic farm.
And the price of real estate! The 60x80 foot lot across the street from us is $199,000.00. You can buy 32 acres with a house, barn, mill, and all kinds of timber for $105,000.00 in upper New York state.
If you remember the week before last I had a depressive episode, and that spurred a conversation about us being settled here. I told Dan that until he had a contract, I wouldn't feel settled here. Now that I know he won't get a contract, I feel strangely settled in being unsettled. I don't know if I can explain that. Like we are once again taking control of our fate and not waiting for other people to make up their mind.
I'm really on the fence. If we stay, great; I have lots of ideas for things we could do and we have a business plan in the works. If we move, that's fine too. I mean, we hate actually moving (it's never fun), but knowing that we could, if we have to, drop everything (except the kitty) and move somewhere else, then that would be okay.
So that's what's happening with us. I've been holding a lot of this in over the last three months, the anger (more like fury!) about not getting the contract, not getting paid. We don't have a lot of money right now but I know that this situation is temporary and within a year, we will be on our feet. At the end of the day, we still have each other (mush, mush). And that's the most important thing, right?
I haven't spent a winter here yet, but I hear it's sleepy (no tourists) and rainy.
Well, now that we are no longer waiting for the brewery to get moving, we are considering a number of options:
Yuba City, California
Marquette, Michigan
Lakewood, New York
Sauk City, Wisconsin
and others as they arise. By 'considering' I mean that Dan has applied for jobs/opportunities in these places and may or may not get an interview.
It's an interesting thing, and we went through this last fall too when we were looking for work. A job would come up in X place, we'd research the area, look on Google Earth, perhaps send away for the brochures.
We do have some criteria. The place has to be near water. The last three on the above list are on lakes. But it is for this reason we would not consider Boulder, Colorado. Not to mention the altitude. When we were on our honeymoon last fall, we decided that anything above 5,000 feet was unbearable.
We have now decided that if we moved to a place where there was a proper winter, that that would be okay. In those eastern states, they have maple syrup! And it would sure be a good excuse to knit non-stop. One more thing - hardneck garlics grow better in climates where the ground freezes in the winter.
I grew up in Alberta, remember walking to school in temperatures below 30 degees Celsius (that's lower than 20 degrees Fahrenheit). I learned how to drive in the snow. I can do winter no problem.
I mentioned garlic above. One of our dreams is to have a garlic farm.
And the price of real estate! The 60x80 foot lot across the street from us is $199,000.00. You can buy 32 acres with a house, barn, mill, and all kinds of timber for $105,000.00 in upper New York state.
If you remember the week before last I had a depressive episode, and that spurred a conversation about us being settled here. I told Dan that until he had a contract, I wouldn't feel settled here. Now that I know he won't get a contract, I feel strangely settled in being unsettled. I don't know if I can explain that. Like we are once again taking control of our fate and not waiting for other people to make up their mind.
I'm really on the fence. If we stay, great; I have lots of ideas for things we could do and we have a business plan in the works. If we move, that's fine too. I mean, we hate actually moving (it's never fun), but knowing that we could, if we have to, drop everything (except the kitty) and move somewhere else, then that would be okay.
So that's what's happening with us. I've been holding a lot of this in over the last three months, the anger (more like fury!) about not getting the contract, not getting paid. We don't have a lot of money right now but I know that this situation is temporary and within a year, we will be on our feet. At the end of the day, we still have each other (mush, mush). And that's the most important thing, right?
July 3rd always makes me a little sad
Just so you know, my dear reader, I'm not trying to be depressing, down, or crabby. I know my last few posts have been on the negative side, and hopefully this will be the last one in that impromptu series. I just felt like I need to pay tribute to a friend here.
When I was in grade 10, I became friends with this guy named Jeremy. He was really into metal and taught me all kinds of stuff about Metallica, Kiss, Poison, Skid Row, and other like bands. It was through him that I went to my first concert ever - Bon Jovi - in Edmonton in 1990. Jeremy wasn't really part of any clique or of any popular group. Nor was I, really. I don't actually remember what got us together, what our common interests were, but I do remember spending hours on the phone each night (as a teenager, I had my own phone line).
In the spring of grade 10, I was 16, and my mum told me she was going to leave my dad when school was finished. My sister and I had the option of staying with dad or going with her. I decided to stay, my sister decided to leave. So we rode out that spring knowing soon, our parents would be separated and not knowing what that would result in.
Late in June, Jeremy was walking somewhere with his girlfriend when he had an asthma attack. Jeremy had severe asthma and never went anywhere without his inhaler. In this moment he used it, but something got stuck in his air passage and he fell unconscious. For reasons we'll never know, it took the ambulance half an hour to get there from only a few blocks away. The EMT did their CPR and brought him back, but by then the brain damage was done.
Jeremy was taken by helicopter to Edmonton to be treated at the University Hospital. If anything could be done for him, it would be there.
His friends waited for news, and none of us could see him. It was the end of grade ten and we were already grieving for what we knew was about to happen.
My mum left my dad on June 26. After having her father come to help her pack up all her stuff, she phoned my dad at work and said "as far as I'm concerned, this marriage is over". And left. My dad, who had no idea this was coming, was devastated. He came home that night and cried on my shoulder for support. (I was 16! And grieving my own losses!)
It was a rough time. Finally, on July 3, we got the news that Jeremy died a second time.
I grew up in a small town in Alberta, with a population of ten thousand people. Everyone knew each other, or knew of each other. When a child dies, the community is rocked.
Grief counsellors were brought in for us teens who suddenly felt lost without our dear friend. We all spent as much time as we could together, at least for that summer, because we had had that reminder that life is, in fact, short, and you never know when your time will come.
In the year that followed, two other teenagers in our town died, but by suicide (unrelated events). It was a dark year for many of us and the one that caused me to leave my hometown in search of a new life elsewhere. After grade 11, I moved in with my mum in Red Deer.
In the big scheme of things, I wasn't actually friends with Jeremy for very long and my memories of him are fading. But it is amazing how powerful those events were in those formative years. Following that year, several other people in my life died and ever since I have had a completely different view towards death - mine or others.
In a strange twist of fate, a few years ago when I was working at the BC Cancer Agency, I heard the name of Jeremy's brother get tossed around. This piqued my interest because they have a very uncommon last name. Could it be the same guy? He had become a hospice physician. Well, as luck would have it, the brother gave a presentation at the BC Hospice Palliative Care Association conference last year, the same conference where I was presenting my Master's work. I found him and we caught up. It was he that drove us to that Bon Jovi concert.
I've said before that you never know where your life will lead. My life with Dan right now is a bit of a roller coaster - we don't know if we'll still be here in two months or if we'll be moving to Michigan or New York or California. But I'm thankful for every minute I have because, as I always say, life is short.
When I was in grade 10, I became friends with this guy named Jeremy. He was really into metal and taught me all kinds of stuff about Metallica, Kiss, Poison, Skid Row, and other like bands. It was through him that I went to my first concert ever - Bon Jovi - in Edmonton in 1990. Jeremy wasn't really part of any clique or of any popular group. Nor was I, really. I don't actually remember what got us together, what our common interests were, but I do remember spending hours on the phone each night (as a teenager, I had my own phone line).
In the spring of grade 10, I was 16, and my mum told me she was going to leave my dad when school was finished. My sister and I had the option of staying with dad or going with her. I decided to stay, my sister decided to leave. So we rode out that spring knowing soon, our parents would be separated and not knowing what that would result in.
Late in June, Jeremy was walking somewhere with his girlfriend when he had an asthma attack. Jeremy had severe asthma and never went anywhere without his inhaler. In this moment he used it, but something got stuck in his air passage and he fell unconscious. For reasons we'll never know, it took the ambulance half an hour to get there from only a few blocks away. The EMT did their CPR and brought him back, but by then the brain damage was done.
Jeremy was taken by helicopter to Edmonton to be treated at the University Hospital. If anything could be done for him, it would be there.
His friends waited for news, and none of us could see him. It was the end of grade ten and we were already grieving for what we knew was about to happen.
My mum left my dad on June 26. After having her father come to help her pack up all her stuff, she phoned my dad at work and said "as far as I'm concerned, this marriage is over". And left. My dad, who had no idea this was coming, was devastated. He came home that night and cried on my shoulder for support. (I was 16! And grieving my own losses!)
It was a rough time. Finally, on July 3, we got the news that Jeremy died a second time.
I grew up in a small town in Alberta, with a population of ten thousand people. Everyone knew each other, or knew of each other. When a child dies, the community is rocked.
Grief counsellors were brought in for us teens who suddenly felt lost without our dear friend. We all spent as much time as we could together, at least for that summer, because we had had that reminder that life is, in fact, short, and you never know when your time will come.
In the year that followed, two other teenagers in our town died, but by suicide (unrelated events). It was a dark year for many of us and the one that caused me to leave my hometown in search of a new life elsewhere. After grade 11, I moved in with my mum in Red Deer.
In the big scheme of things, I wasn't actually friends with Jeremy for very long and my memories of him are fading. But it is amazing how powerful those events were in those formative years. Following that year, several other people in my life died and ever since I have had a completely different view towards death - mine or others.
In a strange twist of fate, a few years ago when I was working at the BC Cancer Agency, I heard the name of Jeremy's brother get tossed around. This piqued my interest because they have a very uncommon last name. Could it be the same guy? He had become a hospice physician. Well, as luck would have it, the brother gave a presentation at the BC Hospice Palliative Care Association conference last year, the same conference where I was presenting my Master's work. I found him and we caught up. It was he that drove us to that Bon Jovi concert.
I've said before that you never know where your life will lead. My life with Dan right now is a bit of a roller coaster - we don't know if we'll still be here in two months or if we'll be moving to Michigan or New York or California. But I'm thankful for every minute I have because, as I always say, life is short.
Friday, July 2, 2010
the longest cold I've ever had
Please bear with me while I whine.
It started as a sore throat. Then feeling crappy kicked in. I thought I was getting better, then I started coughing and the sore throat returned. The cold moved to my head, then back to my chest and I swear I have been having nightly coughing fits for more than a week now.
I'm on day 12 of being sick, and colds usually last 4-6 days for me, so this is unusual. Finally yesterday I decided it was time to go to the doctor. It was a holiday, so naturally the one clinic in this tiny town was closed. Guess what? They are closed today too. Long weekend for the staff. Happy Canada Day.
Ugh.
I could cry. I'm feeling so crappy again - I'm tired, fatigued, my chest hurts and I'm so bloody tired of coughing, and I can't get a good night's rest. All this is making me super crabby (forgive me, please, dear reader). I just want to feel better. I just want to be able to get a lung full of air. I just want to go for a walk and not feel like 15 minutes is more than I can handle. I want to sleep through the night.
By the time the clinic opens on Monday, I hope to the heavens that I am better and don't need them anyway. For insurance I went to the nearby pharmacy (so thankful it is 500m away) and got the strongest expectorant cough medicine I could find. If this doesn't help, my problems are bigger than just a cold, I suspect.
And it is finally beautiful today! I have been bemoaning about how summer hasn't arrived yet and it's July for crying out loud. It was cold yesterday, so cold I considered getting a fire going in the wood stove. Now it is nice and sunny and I want to go to the beach but I just have no energy.
Wah.
It started as a sore throat. Then feeling crappy kicked in. I thought I was getting better, then I started coughing and the sore throat returned. The cold moved to my head, then back to my chest and I swear I have been having nightly coughing fits for more than a week now.
I'm on day 12 of being sick, and colds usually last 4-6 days for me, so this is unusual. Finally yesterday I decided it was time to go to the doctor. It was a holiday, so naturally the one clinic in this tiny town was closed. Guess what? They are closed today too. Long weekend for the staff. Happy Canada Day.
Ugh.
I could cry. I'm feeling so crappy again - I'm tired, fatigued, my chest hurts and I'm so bloody tired of coughing, and I can't get a good night's rest. All this is making me super crabby (forgive me, please, dear reader). I just want to feel better. I just want to be able to get a lung full of air. I just want to go for a walk and not feel like 15 minutes is more than I can handle. I want to sleep through the night.
By the time the clinic opens on Monday, I hope to the heavens that I am better and don't need them anyway. For insurance I went to the nearby pharmacy (so thankful it is 500m away) and got the strongest expectorant cough medicine I could find. If this doesn't help, my problems are bigger than just a cold, I suspect.
And it is finally beautiful today! I have been bemoaning about how summer hasn't arrived yet and it's July for crying out loud. It was cold yesterday, so cold I considered getting a fire going in the wood stove. Now it is nice and sunny and I want to go to the beach but I just have no energy.
Wah.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
I beg to differ with the Yarn Harlot
I have to say it: as a Canadian, I am not a patriot. I have no interest in celebrating the birthday of the country I live in. And since I have lived in and visited other countries (who do some things a lot better than we do here), I feel like I'm about to gag when I see the flag waving Canada-is-so-awesome bollocks shoved down our throats.
Case in point: a few years ago our provincial government thought it was a good idea to brand British Columbia as "The Best Place on Earth". WTF? Who came up with that? Have they ever been anywhere else? Sure it's easy to to love the place you live, but if you've never been anywhere else, it's really hard to claim something is the 'best'. (They beat that out of me when I was an undergrad).
So, as much as I love the Yarn Harlot, she is one of those flag-waving Canadians and in her tribute post today, she mentioned a few things that I am compelled to take issue with.
She mentions 'peacekeeping' and 'hockey' in the same paragraph. Having grown up in a hockey town, I would have to say that hockey is the most violent team sport I know. Players earn their stripes by being able to successfully pull their opponents jersey over their helmet and beat the crap out of them. And I know that she didn't mention hockey in the context of peacekeeping - in fact - she observed that the situation would be a lot different if the Americans had won the gold medal. In some ways, I wish they had. I am so sick of this Canadian pride and pomp around their hockey prowess, all these guys walking around like they need ball room.
I was at a friend's house the day of that momentous game, in the final moments when Canada finally did take that medal. There were some hardcore patriots in the room and one of them remarked about how the Americans were 'assholes'. Why? Because they are Americans? Or because they are the other team? Would they have been 'assholes' if they were Russians or Danes?
I had a real eye-opener when I was working in Korea and Japan - at just how accepted it was to bash Americans. Now I'm married to a man who as dual citizenship between Canada and the US, most of his family are Americans. Why is it that Canadians pretend, as the Yarn Harlot says, to be 'proud of diversity' (which means supposedly that we aren't racist, sexist, homophobic, or discriminate in other ways) and yet American-bashing remains a popular quasi-national sport? And where do these attitudes towards our neighbours to the south come from? How many Canadians that have actually visited the United States hold these strong opinions?
I've had the privilege of spending a fair amount of time in the US in the last few years. We visited the 10 most western states on our honeymoon last fall. Compared with the snobbery and aloofness of Victoria, most of the people we encountered were warm, friendly, and held none of that reserve that we were used to. It was rather astonishing, actually.
(I'm on a bit of a rant here, I realize, but do note that I have a number of readers on both sides of the border).
My final point is about health care in Canada. I will try to keep this brief because, having spent four years getting educated in health care, I know quite a lot about it. You wouldn't believe the conversations I had with people in the US when they asked me about 'socialized health care' in Canada.
Now to be fair, I have had a number of procedures, including three major surgeries, done in Canada that I didn't have to pay for. For that I am thankful. But after ten years of having bunion problems, I had to wait two years before I could get my surgery. Wait lists are a problem of money, plain and simple. And I would argue that the term 'health care' in Canada should be replaced with 'health service provision', because quite often the 'care' is missing - how many horror stories have we heard about grumpy nurses or snarky care aides or doctors who don't seem to give a shit? In the United States, because patients have to pay for health care, care providers have to compete for 'customers' and, as such, they place more emphasis on customer service. You know, being friendly and helping the customer to be happy.
Dan injured himself years ago while working as a commercial diver. He had to have surgery on his knee, in Canada. And they screwed it up. So he paid, out of his own pocket, to go to the US to have a second surgery to have it fixed. Best service he had ever received in a health care setting.
Finally, the problem with universal health care in Canada is that we aren't given a choice. We have to pay into it and even if we have the money to pay for a procedure, in Canada there is legislation against that kind of 'queue-jumping'. It's not fair, you see, for people with money to get health care before people without money. Well, on that note, several years ago, my own doctor went to England to get a procedure done because she couldn't get it done in Canada. So while the system here is good for lots of people, it is also not sustainable. When taxpayers have to pay for the obese alcohol-consuming smoker to have his third by-pass surgery, where do we draw the line? It's no wonder there is no money in health care.
End of rant.
I can't wait to move to the United States.
Case in point: a few years ago our provincial government thought it was a good idea to brand British Columbia as "The Best Place on Earth". WTF? Who came up with that? Have they ever been anywhere else? Sure it's easy to to love the place you live, but if you've never been anywhere else, it's really hard to claim something is the 'best'. (They beat that out of me when I was an undergrad).
So, as much as I love the Yarn Harlot, she is one of those flag-waving Canadians and in her tribute post today, she mentioned a few things that I am compelled to take issue with.
She mentions 'peacekeeping' and 'hockey' in the same paragraph. Having grown up in a hockey town, I would have to say that hockey is the most violent team sport I know. Players earn their stripes by being able to successfully pull their opponents jersey over their helmet and beat the crap out of them. And I know that she didn't mention hockey in the context of peacekeeping - in fact - she observed that the situation would be a lot different if the Americans had won the gold medal. In some ways, I wish they had. I am so sick of this Canadian pride and pomp around their hockey prowess, all these guys walking around like they need ball room.
I was at a friend's house the day of that momentous game, in the final moments when Canada finally did take that medal. There were some hardcore patriots in the room and one of them remarked about how the Americans were 'assholes'. Why? Because they are Americans? Or because they are the other team? Would they have been 'assholes' if they were Russians or Danes?
I had a real eye-opener when I was working in Korea and Japan - at just how accepted it was to bash Americans. Now I'm married to a man who as dual citizenship between Canada and the US, most of his family are Americans. Why is it that Canadians pretend, as the Yarn Harlot says, to be 'proud of diversity' (which means supposedly that we aren't racist, sexist, homophobic, or discriminate in other ways) and yet American-bashing remains a popular quasi-national sport? And where do these attitudes towards our neighbours to the south come from? How many Canadians that have actually visited the United States hold these strong opinions?
I've had the privilege of spending a fair amount of time in the US in the last few years. We visited the 10 most western states on our honeymoon last fall. Compared with the snobbery and aloofness of Victoria, most of the people we encountered were warm, friendly, and held none of that reserve that we were used to. It was rather astonishing, actually.
(I'm on a bit of a rant here, I realize, but do note that I have a number of readers on both sides of the border).
My final point is about health care in Canada. I will try to keep this brief because, having spent four years getting educated in health care, I know quite a lot about it. You wouldn't believe the conversations I had with people in the US when they asked me about 'socialized health care' in Canada.
Now to be fair, I have had a number of procedures, including three major surgeries, done in Canada that I didn't have to pay for. For that I am thankful. But after ten years of having bunion problems, I had to wait two years before I could get my surgery. Wait lists are a problem of money, plain and simple. And I would argue that the term 'health care' in Canada should be replaced with 'health service provision', because quite often the 'care' is missing - how many horror stories have we heard about grumpy nurses or snarky care aides or doctors who don't seem to give a shit? In the United States, because patients have to pay for health care, care providers have to compete for 'customers' and, as such, they place more emphasis on customer service. You know, being friendly and helping the customer to be happy.
Dan injured himself years ago while working as a commercial diver. He had to have surgery on his knee, in Canada. And they screwed it up. So he paid, out of his own pocket, to go to the US to have a second surgery to have it fixed. Best service he had ever received in a health care setting.
Finally, the problem with universal health care in Canada is that we aren't given a choice. We have to pay into it and even if we have the money to pay for a procedure, in Canada there is legislation against that kind of 'queue-jumping'. It's not fair, you see, for people with money to get health care before people without money. Well, on that note, several years ago, my own doctor went to England to get a procedure done because she couldn't get it done in Canada. So while the system here is good for lots of people, it is also not sustainable. When taxpayers have to pay for the obese alcohol-consuming smoker to have his third by-pass surgery, where do we draw the line? It's no wonder there is no money in health care.
End of rant.
I can't wait to move to the United States.
Victoria trip part 5: the way home
I had a number of stops to make on my way out of Victoria. I had to go to the Mount Royal Bagel Factory for a few dozen bagels. Three dozen for me & Dan, and a dozen for the friend who looked after Sam while we were away. A trip to London Drugs for my precious vitamin E cream - after my last sunburn my nightly toilette was shortened by the lack of my facial cream. Costco (don't judge me!) for meat and a few other things.
Then I headed up to Cowichan Bay to see backyardfeast. We have been friends for over a decade now. T and her husband "The Skippper" unofficially officiated our wedding. (We did have a legal ceremony later, but seldom refer to that). T and I were coworkers for a while, roommates for a while, neighbours for a while, and have always found a way to keep in touch no matter where our travels have taken us. We have Skype dates often and have great conversations about work, food, writing, gardening, health, well, everything really.
T and The Skipper bought this beautiful little piece of property in Cow Bay last year and have pitched themselves headlong into gardening (hence the title of her blog). Ever the beer aficionados (which meant that, naturally, they liked Dan right away when I brought him over to meet them more than three years ago now), they are experimenting with some hop plants to see what they do. Here are the babies surrounded by some nasturtiums, I think.
Now unless they are dwarf hops, and I don't think they are, but hop plants are super-vines that grow up to 30 feet long. Pop on over to YouTube, search for 'hop harvest' and you will be amazed. So we'll see what these little guys can do. I think they planted something like four or five different varietals (there are at least 50 kinds of hops, but most people around here have only ever heard of Cascades).
Also featured are some garlic scapes. These will be flowers, if they are left alone, but if you actually want usable garlic bulbs, then you have to chop off their heads, so to speak, toss them up in a stir fry and eat them. Garlic scapes are delicious.
T also planted rather a lot of tomato plants, more than she thought she could find room for in her garden and offered up some of the babies. I agreed to take some away, hoping I can make them grow here. While I was carting the pots from the greenhouse to the gate, I encountered the biggest garter snake I have ever seen. He must have been two feet long and an inch in diameter.
I'm not afraid of garter snakes. I love them, as a matter of fact. They eat slugs. I remember one time when living in East Sooke I looked out the window and saw a baby garter trying to choke down a mature slug. Now I don't know about where you live, but the biggest slugs in the world live in this part of the world. So while I applauded the snake for its efforts, I wasn't sure his slender frame could take in a mollusk that was bigger than he was!
From Cowichan Bay it is about a three hour drive back to Ucluelet. I really wasn't feeling well, however, and so I stopped a few times to eat my salad, to adjust the straps on the stuff I had tied down in the back of the truck, and to collect myself. The whole feeling-crappy side of being sick was settling in and the last thing I wanted to do, the last thing I should have been doing, was driving. I was dozy and anxious to get home to my bed.
The road between Port Alberni and the Ucluelet/Tofino turnoff is twisty, turny, and at this time of year, filled with slow-moving RVs. You can't imagine how excruciating it is for someone like me who knows how to drive to be behind three RVs going 40 in an 80 zone. And passing is often dangerous because you can't see very far ahead. That didn't stop me from trying, though. And that was dumb. Because I darn near caused an accident. It was a good thing then, that everyone was going so slow, or my life and the lives of about six other people would have ended there. So boy o boy did I learn a lesson - nothing is worth losing my life or causing the deaths of others for. I pulled off to the side of the road after that to collect myself, and really took it easy on the way home. As it was, I was only 30km away. I much prefer to travel with Dan so he can drive, and I can knit.
I got home, Dan helped me unload. Then I spent the next three days in bed.
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