Ho-Hum

Lately I've been knee-deep in a blue sort of feeling and it's so strange. So encompassing. So heavy. So unwanted, truthfully. Thick as mud and just as hard to get out of. Damn wheels are stuck and we all know I'm rear-wheel drive.

Usually, October is my jam. Pumpkins and horror movies, sweaters and new seasonal colour palette - that riot of orange, yellow, red and brown, what's not to love? What's not to celebrate? Every other year, I've looked forward to saying goodbye to summer (good riddance, summer, with your tiresome heat that causes my meaty thighs to chafe) and hello to Autumn (Hello, warm blankets and big mugs of hot tea (well, actually, lukewarm tea. If you know me at all, you know I don't drink my tea while it is hot. It's a quirk, I suppose).

Except, this year is different. (You know how I am not equipped to handle different)

At first, I thought it was because of the baby boy's first birthday. Yes, he turned one. (Certainly I deserve some sort of praise and cake for this?) And yes, I was unusually emotional. Like the weepiest of all the weepers. I couldn't believe how often I welled up at the thought of him turning a year old. It was, to say the least, headache inducing and annoying. (You know how I am when it comes to feeling the feels.) I thought, for sure, I was being ridiculous, but word on the street is that being a mother is a very emotional business. In truth, I am not cut out for all these feelings. They are exhausting. So, I was sad. Very sad. But also hugely happy and excited about the baby boy turning one. After all, we made it a whole year together. It was both a blink of an eye and the longest period of time simultaneously. 

That was back in August. In September, I chalked it up to the change of seasons and the lack of warmth. Rainy days are great for reading a book but not so wonderful for adventuring with the wee one. We try to get out and explore for a couple hours a day. Hard to do that when the heavens are throwing a temper-tantrum of epic proportions.

Still, I thought for sure once October hit, I would be back to my joyous self. Actually, no one has ever used the word 'joyous' to describe me. So, let's not get too hyperbolic. Exaggeration is fine in moderation. Lo and behold, I did not feel excited about October. In fact, it turns out, I became even more morose. Confounding, I know. 

Now, it's ten days in, and I've yet to shake this melancholic mood. It's Thanksgiving today and I have many things to be thankful for. I try to focus on that, but you know how sadness creeps in until it has coated everything with its weepy residue and no matter where you sit or stand you get it all over you. The truth is, I don't foresee a turn around in mood any time soon because, and I know this is going to come as a shock, I am moving again (YES, AGAIN). And I started thinking, maybe this is why I wasn't enjoying October in my typical Halloween obsessed fashion. 

Even though we have a crazy landlady and an ant problem, I actually like living here. I have good memories. Like the most important recent  life-changing memory ... baby boy's arrival home. This was his first home and, for some weird reason that I'm sure other mothers can understand, I am sad to say goodbye to it. I know in my heart our next home will be just that, our home, but this one is special because we spent so much time together here. We grew so much here. I became a completely different person here. And that's the most truth I have written in a very long time. 

I learned to love another human unconditionally here. This is where my universe shifted. In this house, where I write this, I became a mom. I figured out how to be a mother. And I brought my son here. He learned to crawl here. He learned to say 'mom' here. He learned to eat food here. He learned to walk here. His first smile was here. My life was given new meaning here. 

If that won't trip you up and make you feel a bit sombre, I don't know what will. 

Also, the house we are moving into at  the end of the month is much smaller (cozier). 

Do you know what a smaller home means? Less space. 

So, I have been purging. And by purging, I mean throwing out my life. You wouldn't believe the things I've gotten rid of. There is still so much more to go through. It's daunting, really. I have donated, consigned, sold and thrown out so much of my life. So many things I was holding on to. At first, when I found myself knee deep in sentimentality, this was hard. Really hard. I felt as if I couldn't let anything go because I'd be hurting someone, or myself. That I would be letting go of who I was. The girl I used to be. 

And you know what ... sometimes you need to do just that. 

When I seriously started to get down to business, when I stopped moping and getting all boo-hoo over this junk, when I finally pulled my purge pants on and actually started giving things away, selling them, throwing them out - it got easier. With each thing I donated, it was easier to toss something else. Until, I looked around and thought, Well, shit, this is all just stuff. 

Now when I look through a box labelled 'my past', I don't see the people I used to love or memories we shared. I see things. Things that have been sitting and collecting dust. And some of these things I have moved around with me since I was seventeen years old! Do you know how many moves that is? Let me think ... Surrey, New West, Main, 14th, back to Surrey, another place in Surrey, to the Island, and to here ... that's eight damn moves! And do you think I even opened those boxes? Or went through that stuff? 

Big. Fat. Nope. 

So goodbye pirate shirt, I might fit you again but I will never wear you. Goodbye ex-boyfriend boxes full of twenty page love letters and mixed tapes. Goodbye scrap books of ticket stubs and weird advertisements. Goodbye jewellery I've had since I was sixteen, no one needs three dog chain choker necklaces. Goodbye wedding dress with the wine stain from Leppy. Goodbye random tooth I had pulled when I was eighteen. Goodbye first tattoo design which I seriously regret having now. Goodbye all this crap. 

Because these things may serve as memories, but you know what else does. My memories. In my brain. I still have them. They are all stored up there in meticulous order. And if one day I no longer have my memories, then these items will be useless anyhow! 

Okay, so maybe I know why I'm in a funk. Birthday. Moving. All this change. And I know I am terrible with change. There's been so much of it in the last couple years - the business, the baby, the job. It's basically been a complete overhaul. And now all this purging - it's hard work, you know. I suppose even the brightest beam of sunshine might be disenchanted by this act. All these items, they fill up our lives, don't they? It's almost as though this stuff defines us in some weird way. It is nice to have a few trinkets to hold onto to remind us of who we once were and how we got to this point. But we are not the same people we used to be and, you know what, it is okay to let that person go. I think letting go of who you once were is freeing because you no longer have to compare yourself to her. 

You can simply be who you are now. And maybe that's something I can look forward to. 

Then I can start working towards the girl I want to be.*

*a girl who isn't in a funk

And now a picture to sum up the chaotic beauty of my life: 

To My Mum

Happy Birthday, Mum.

Sometimes, as we grow up, we forget our parents are real people. When you get older, and hopefully wiser, you see them in a new light. They are human beings and they have thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams, ideas and expectations, disappointments and blessings, hurts and comforts. When you first realize this, you have to sit down, especially when you start recounting all the stupid things you did and said, how uncaring your teenage years were. How you never really stopped to think about what your parents may have wanted out of life and how you may have messed up that plan.

If you're lucky, your parents become your friends. Sure, they are still that authority figure you hated having as a kid and love having as a grown up. Someone to turn to and count on. A person who will, even though you hate it, tell you you're being dumb, even when you think you're being smart. As you get older, you turn towards your parents, like I have. I go to you when I am lost and confused, broken and beaten, but also when I have joyous things to report. You are my friend, mum. You are the one I want to talk to when I discover a new truth about life or when I have debunked an idea I thought to be true.

I am lucky to have you in my life. A person who cares unconditionally for me and wants me to be happy. That's truly a wonderful thing to me. To know, no matter where I go or what I do, that there is at least one person in my corner, rooting for me, on my team. It's nice to know I have backup, who will listen, and defend, fight if need be, and if not, then send Dad to do some dirty work.

Life is complicated and weird. Sometimes I don't know up from down, but through all the complicated weirdness, I know you are there. To offer what advice you can. And when you have no advice, to simply say, "I don't know what to tell you" and it's funny because even that feels good, because at least we have no idea together.

There is beauty here on this Earth, despite the complications and weirdness. While I certainly inherited your introverted quirks, your misanthropic tendencies, I also won your love of nature. Your ability to cherish creatures big and small. And I am cultivating your respect for Mother Nature and all she holds, teaching anyone who will listen how important it is to listen, watch, and feel the sun, moon and stars. I take notice of the dew glittering like diamonds as it clings to the blades of grass in the morning sun. This is your imprint on me.

When I am walking along and I am dumbstruck by the beauty of what surrounds me, I think of you. It happens daily. And we hold a connection that vibrates through this earth and will always exist, no matter what. This gives me comfort. It gives me peace.

There are many things I want to thank you for, but there are not enough words or time to do so. We'd be here for hours. Days. Months. This is a blanket thank you. A blanket I love you. And a blanket, I'm thinking of you.

Xox

A Million Words

Over the last year, I've been writing a book for my mother. When I first moved to the island, I sat on the ferry with her, travelling from Horseshoe Bay to Departure Bay, all my belongings in a U-Haul below deck. This was one of the biggest changes of my life, leaving the mainland, but I wasn't thinking of how monumental this decision was. I sat with my mom and talked about this idea I had for a new novel. 

You know, one of those stories about the good and wicked. 

She seemed to really enjoy the premise. After mulling for a couple months, I decided to give it a go. The beginning came easily and whenever I finished a chapter or two, I'd Skype my mom and read it over the internet. In the beginning, I had a lot of time to write because I wasn't working as much and had enough energy to be creative. Once I got a job, the writing ebbed and flowed. As it goes, my imagination suffers when punching a time clock. Not that I am complaining about having work, it's just hard to craft, create and bring characters to life when you're tired and use your brain for other things, like creating Excel spreadsheets. 

 So, writing became a weekend endeavour. I worked hard to turn out those chapters. This novel, we will call her Ramona, wasn't the only thing I was working on. I had some Pankhearst projects and this alien collaboration, and a zombie thing I was dividing my time up for. Honestly, Ramona was like pulling teeth.  But I kept at it. As some of you may know, I am the Queen of putting things to the side when I lose interest in them. At the side they will sit, eating away at me, but I never seem to find the time to pick them back up and get involved again. 

Thanks to my mother's interest, I couldn't put Ramona to the side. My mom wanted to know what happened. How it ended. If everything was resolved in the end or if there were to be more books coming. And she asked about it. Asked how it was coming along. So, not wanting to let her down, I kept at it. Toiling away. Some days I'd write a paragraph, others pages, and once in awhile I'd do really good and churn out a couple chapters. Those were the best days. Days where I slipped back into those characters with ease and knew exactly where the story was going. 

That's one of the things a lot of people don't know about writing a book. 

It changes as the characters grow and as you write it. Sometimes the ending is completely different from what you thought it was going to be. This happens a lot to people like me, anti-plotters, people who don't map out where they are going, what they are doing, and how they are going to get there. What can I say, I like my freedom. 

In the end, this is the ninth book I've written on my own. Ninth. That's hard to believe. Don't get me wrong, the first eight were terrible. I've also co-wrote three novels, that are completed. And I refuse to count how many short stories I've put to virtual paper. All those words. So many of them. Thousand. Hundreds of thousands. Over a million, believe it or not. 

I have written over a million words. 

Well, that thought simply exhausts me. But before I tuck off for a nap, I want to thank my mother for her support and interest in Ramona, the clumsy book that she is. Without her I wouldn't have finished it. It's been nice having someone who cares what happens. 

In the end, Ramona is still a work in progress. After all, a first draft does not a finished novel make. There is plenty of work to do, and plenty more books to write, but for now, this one is roughly done. The fine tweaking will start, but for now she will sit and rest, until I have the courage to take another look and bring out the red pen. 

Onto the next book. 

Mother Wisdom

Life can be frustrating. I think we can all agree on that fact. 

Today, the property management company that plays God to the home we live swung by for an inspection only to tell us the owners are planning to sell. Furthermore, the landlords think too much hydro is being used so they don't want to pay anymore. Fine, I guess, except we are already overpaying for the place. Trust me when I say this. We are totally overpaying. 

So, it's a bit on the annoying side. 

That being said, I am also looking into selling the condo I purchased several years ago on the mainland. Which isn't easy either, not for my heart or head. Basically, it's going to be an uncomfortable and worrisome next couple of months. I am a worrier, and I don't like upsetting people, especially myself. But I know what's coming down the pipe. Money. Interactions. Bank meetings. Real estate conversations. Mass panic. All that fun stuff. 

My blood pressure is getting the best of me. And I know I need to calm down. I have to clear the thoughts. In with the positive energy. Out with the negative. 

Except, I am really terrible at that. Or, to put a more positive spin on it, I am excellent at sucking at being positive. 

Then I called my mom. It's the fail safe thing to do.

She offered up what she called 'mother wisdom'. 

Project what you want, she said. Put it out into the world, she said. And believe it will happen. 

It's the last part that's hard for me. Still, I believe in 'mother wisdom'. And she's telling me what I already hold true in my heart. So, I choose to believe this will all work out for me. That everything will fall into place for everyone involved. There will be happiness. And this time next year I will be laughing over what a worry wart I used to be. 

That's what I am doing now. Putting it out into the world. Following Mother Wisdom's advice. All I want is a small house with some trees around it. A fixer upper would be great. A yard for some gardening. Some place where I can have my pets and just sink my feet into the forest floor. 

Pass the word along. 

I also drew a picture of it and put it on the fridge to remind myself everyday what it is I am striving for. 

And thank goodness for Mother Wisdom. 

Dear Mom:

Today, I miss you.

It's Mother's Day and all over the world there's brunches and poorly made cards being handed out. I don't have a card for you. Or flowers. And I won't get to see you. Not in person. Though, I do hope you pop up on Skype later.

I already talked to Dad. He said you were sleeping. That's one thing I will always remember about you. How you loved to sleep in. Some moms wake up at the crack of dawn and make breakfast. I remember being quite in the mornings to let you sleep. It's a nice memory. Besides, we were old enough to fix our own damn breakfasts.

There are a lot of things I think about when I sit down with you on my mind. Like right this minute, I am remembering how you used to lie on the floor and stretch your legs above you. I used to try to do it too. But, I couldn't. I remember those moments.

I know we have fought. What daughter hasn't battled it out with their own mother? It's almost a prerequisite for growing up, I guess. And I know, even now, I get short with you and temperamental. But that doesn't mean, not even in my most bitchy moments, that I don't love you. And appreciate you.

And miss you.

It's weird being over here. Sometimes I feel so supremely detached, but I am thankful I have you and this computer. The times we have talked in the last couple of months, how interested you are in this latest novel of mine, your encouragement. It means so much. You have no idea.

I love that I can swear when I talk to you.

That I don't have to pretend to be someone I am not.

There are mother/daughter relationships that are surface relationships. Not ours, though. I honestly think of you as one of my friends. One of the longest friendships I have ever had. You are someone I can tell anything to, even if it is something that is highly inappropriate, or a piece of information you really didn't need to know. But you don't judge me. You let me be me. And it's okay that I'm weird and like pirates and zombies.

Thank you for accepting me. I mean, I don't know if this is who you wanted me to become. It's probably unlikely that you looked down at the baby version of myself and said, "I want this girl to love horror movies and be an obsessive music nerd." Still, I hope I haven't disappointed you. I want you to be happy with me. Proud, even.

Last night, I couldn't really sleep, and I started thinking about you. Remembering these random little things from way back in the day. Like your macaroni and cheese, how you put Cheese Whiz in it. How you put ketchup in your spaghetti sauce. The Spearmint gum you used to chew, that smell still reminds me of you. Watching you put your make up on. The scent of your makeup bag. And that song you used to sing, the French one, this one:


So today, I miss you. And I wish you were a little closer to me so I could hug you and tell you I'm glad you're my mom.

I love you.