I Do What I'm Told... Sometimes.

So, part of the reason mom started this thing asking us to post our memories is because I was on the phone with her and told her some things I remembered. So I'll re-tell the stories here.

One was about one time when Alex and I were tasked to clean our room. (It was when we had the room in the basement of Ackroyd). I don't remember too many details but dad was getting annoyed that we weren't cleaning it fast enough (or maybe not at all... who knows. haha.) so he put on a timer and said we better finish it before the time was up... or else. As soon as he put the time on, we thought it was a super fun game and we cleaned our room really fast and finished before the timer. I don't know exactly how this next part went but either we were giggling and told him right away or we asked him to time us again later and I remember him being annoyed about it because he didn't time us so we could have FUN. He times us so we would do what we were asked. Hahahahaha.

Maybe Alex has more insight on that.

Speaking of dad, there's another memory that I often think about. It was at the Des Lilas house. Dad was trying to wake me up for something and I wasn't waking up - but he thought I was awake, so he started counting down. But I was having a dream that I was in a spaceship and we were counting down for blast off. Anyway, when he got to 0, I woke up. And again, he was annoyed at me because he didn't believe that I was asleep and just conveniently woke up when he finished his countdown. Lol.

I always wonder how much of my memories are real. I know they are never 100%. It's literally impossible with the human brain. But who knows how much is actually real?

I guess we can never know.

Brain songs

In fulfilment of mom's wish for us to post about childhood memories, I have something that came to mind today.

As I was working in my kitchen today I began absentmindedly to hum a song from the deeper recesses of my brain. In light of mom's request for our memories, this aroused my thoughts.

I have a whole bunch of songs in my brain of whose titles I am ignorant and of whose lyrics my knowledge is spotty. These are the songs I learned (or partly learned) from hearing mom and dad practising choir pieces from the various choirs they were in over the years.

Today I was singing the one that goes "farewell my friends I'm bound for Canaan...". Fortuitously, we now have Google and I was able to look up those lyrics and find that the song is called "Parting Friends" and then listen to it on Google Music.

I have a few such songs floating around in my brain. There are several ancient hymns and folk songs like Parting Friends, the music from dad's Gift of the Magi musical, and other things I can't think of at the moment. Also, despite my modest abilities in music reading, I happen to be able to sing all the alto parts of church hymns because I had them coming in one ear every week.

  I'm glad we grew up with lots of music. My own ability to create music is limited but I learned a lot by osmosis and have somehow managed to have a basic musical education without having put in any effort.

Who needs TV....

Ok, so, I thought I'd start this thing of memories.  I'm looking forward to reading yours....

My first thought was near the beginning of our family and when we lived in Vancouver and I was outside of our place in the middle of this complex and all of a sudden I saw a toy flying out the second storey window.  Then I saw another and another.

I looked up to see Jacqui's arm pull back and I call out and asked her what they were doing up there.  Amy said, 'cleaning the room'.  Jacqui said 'They're flying'.
(Amy and Jacqui, if you remember this, comment).
Seriously, you guys would find highly inventive ways of cleaning but NOT cleaning your room.

Another time I was outside the house and Jacqui called down from her bedroom (the windows were floor to ceiling) and said, 'Mommy, is my leg sexy?' and she lifted her skirt to show her leg to the world.
My friends thought it was hilarious but all I could think was what they must have thought I say in front of my kids!
I told her that she had very nice legs and she said, 'No, but is my leg sexy?'..........I looked at my grinning friends and knowing that Jacqui does not give up I called up, 'Sure, it's sexy'.

There aren't any real posts for May, so I thought I would contribute before it was too late. So here it is. My free verse poem about my hard life.

Sans Banane

Normally I make smoothies
In the morning
To accompany my bacon and eggs.

It usually consists of berries and banana
A handful of spinach
And the juices of carrot and orange.

Today, I didn't have any bananas left.
My smoothie was without
And so it just tasted like spinach.



You're welcome.

A Representation

This picture encapsulates everything that has made it so difficult to post lately.

The fine weather you see is exhibit A. It's difficult to get used to the fact that it is basically a desert here. We honestly have not had precipitation since I'm pretty sure January. Sometimes, it's true, there are clouds. Or a frigid, high velocity wind. But not lately. Lately, it's all sun, high temps, and gentle breezes. It causes me stress to spend time indoors. I'm not used to this eternal sunshine. INFERNAL SUNSHINE! No no, I love it. But it keeps me outside out of Canada-stress.

Next, we observe the glorious clothes line. I actually had next to no involvement in this project. It was all Brad. But it represents all the projects we've had going on. See what I did there? Anyway, yes. Spring is the time of Brad Awakenings and he sucks me in. Just the other day I cleaned the entire garage for him. I did. I mean it was for all of us. And mostly for my hating knowing about horrible terrible disaster messes in the back of my mind. And also being fed up with not being quite sure what was even out there, or ever being able to find tools I need. But definitely there was the element of feeling sad for poor puppy Brad who kept bringing up his "plans", so he calls them, to do it himself and then with a sigh never actually getting to it. Anyway. Projects.

Lastly, let me draw your attention to the child atop a bunch of barrels. Why, yes he is practicing his log rolling. That's still a relevant profession, isn't it? My children unschool which is pretend school, so it only makes sense that they will pursue pretend careers. But also this captures a child playing. Much playing! It is, of course, related to the weather. Additionally, though, Evelyn has recently made friends with some kids that live in the town houses across the street. It started with two Philippino brothers named Tom and Wilmer. And now it has expanded to what seems like hordes of nameless children frequenting our property at various times of the day. We have a two storey high zip line now, you see (see: projects), so it's kind of popular with the neighbourhood. And all this playing keeps my kids outside all evening. And that pushes bedtime back. And that means my night starts later. And that means...

Yes. It means less time for blogging.

Good picture. Useful picture. And the funny thing is the reason I really took it is because what it mostly represents to me is SPRING! Clothes blowing in the breeze; children playing in the yard; green grass and blue sky! Ah, this.

This is bliss.

The voice of my enemy

I've been reducing sugar and trying not to snack at night. Sounds pretty innocent and simple. The first weeks were successful, and I felt good about my success. I lost ten pounds.

Then I stopped losing weight. Then I gained some back over Easter. That's when it started playing in my mind: the mind script I have. The one that sounds like it's my own voice. The one I thought I had tamped down for good, but it swirls up uninvited at times like this. It says things like,

"I am unworthy. I cannot be happy in this body. I am a failure. I need to do more. I need to be better. I am unlovable. I dont deserve to be happy"

You are in trouble when the voice of your Enemy starts to sound like your own and it's hard to tell them apart.

My mind didnt come up with this script. It was given to me. It is my inheritance. It was given to me in a box that was wrapped in beauty. A box that looked soft, smooth, pink, and perfect. Nobody asked me if I wanted it.

When the box is opened, the darkness comes out. Inside the  beautiful package swirls hate and fear and sadness.

I am reminded of the story of Pandora who in myth was the first woman to find such a tempting box and was unable to resist opening it. It seemed to promise treasure, but once opened, it released into the world nothing but pain and suffering. She slammed the lid closed just in time to trap the last remaining content: Hope.

I am reminded of Eve who was beguiled by the snake to eat the apple with the promise of becoming worldly, wise, like the Goddess. By one bite of that beautiful fruit, she released into the world death, pain and suffering. Cast out of the garden, she and her daughters were barred from accessing the fruit that would reverse the effect.

It seems like a woman should be free to eat what she wants without ruining the world, but that's not how it works. Everything I eat is filled with portent. 

Can everyone stop already?!

I just don't know about people sometimes. 

I've been watching, for almost the past year, post after post of someone angry and feeling the need to trash Muslims, refugees, immigrants, and anyone else that they decide to be mad at. The thing is, I can deal with a little upset, annoyance, etc. because those feelings can be dealt with and others can explain and then the annoyed one is more likely to listen.  But that is not what I've been watching and reading lately.

I'm not sure where all this anger is coming from, but it really seems to be gaining momentum.  
I've wanted to speak out and say something, but what do you say to someone who seems to have no idea that the refugee they are angry over taking 'our jobs' or 'our money' is just a person like them and if anyone here was placed in that refugees shoes, they would be begging to just come live on a street that was safe, forget about money.  
People are people, no matter where they come from, no matter what they wear or what language they speak or the religion they are or their skin colour.  

I had a conversation with someone the other day and we both agreed that too many out there are absolutely clueless and have had way too much safety and comfort in their lives to truly be empathetic toward others.  Why that is, I don't know.  We all have the ability to step outside ourselves and imagine how someone might feel. 

So, lets take the example of Muslims....that is a religion, and a dang cool one at that.  Their religion happens to be very close to mine.  They are taught to love others and that they and everyone else have worth.  They are taught to treat others in a kind and loving manner and to be honest in their dealings with others.  They are taught about life before and after they live on earth and they are wonderful people. 
Saying all Muslims are all terrorists is like saying all Christians belong to the KKK.   
Sounds ridiculous, right? 

There are good people all over the world, in every country.  And there are also evil people all over the world.  But if we take the time to quiet our minds and look around peacefully, we will see all the good and realize that our job is to hold the good up as a standard and treat everyone with kindness and as we would want to be treated.  
Our job is to search out the good in everything and everyone.  Look around, it surrounds you. 

Seriously, people, just stop already.