Burn this City

Montreal has more fires than anywhere I’ve ever lived.  I have had a ton of people comment that it’s probably due to Montreal being an old city and that there are likely old wires, etc… but I’ve lived in old parts of Europe.  Twice.  There was never anything remotely close to the number of fires and extent of damage.  It’s unreal.

I have my own theories on this topic but I won’t get into it at this time.  All I know is that I’ve rented in two apartment buildings and there have been small, contained fires in each of them.  I’ve been very lucky but this is why I insist on insurance.

The fire in my previous building happened one summer evening when I was out with friends.  It was small and was dealt with so swiftly that I didn’t even know it had happened until I received a letter from my landlord a couple of days later.

The fire in my current building had about the same extent of damage but I was home and less than pleased with how it all went down.

Last Friday, I arrived home from work feeling horrible.  I had acquired some kind of a virus from one of the kids and was beyond congested.  I promptly threw on my pjs, curled up in a blanket and snuggled up with my ass groove on the couch.  It was exactly what I needed after a long day.

After a few (okay, many) hours of watching favorite shows online, I decided it was time to move to my other ass groove in my bed.  Knowing me and my need for solid sleep when I’m unwell, I loaded up on Neo Citran before tucking myself in and promptly fell into a chemical-induced slumber.  Glorious.

03h25:  An alarm starts ringing.  In my groggy sickness/drug haze, I start mashing my alarm clock thinking, “WTF.  It’s the weekend.  This is BS.”  A few seconds later, I realize it’s the fire alarm going off.  I jump out of bed, start to go for the door and then realize that I sleep in my birthday suit, so some sort of covering is necessary.  In a mad scramble, I find my pjs and a hoodie so I put them on.

03h27:  There’s someone pounding at my door.  Still unsure of where my face is (yes, cold medication gets me high as a kite), I answer the door with a confused expression.  I’m asked if the fire is in my place, I say no.  I can see smoke filling the corridor, so I decide it’s time to evacuate.

03h28:  I’ve got my jacket on with keys, cell phone and external hard drive jammed into my pockets.  I’m staring blankly at my laptop wondering if I should grab it too because I can’t remember when I backed it up last.  I decide against it and start to leave.  When I open my apartment door, I realize that everyone in the hallway is in jeans.  I look down at my flannel birdie/heart pjs (which I wear constantly – kudos to my sister for a great Xmas gift) and decide that if the building burns down and takes all my clothes, that I would like to have something other than cutiepie pjs to go shopping for new stuff in  (sorry Shar!).  I run back to my bedroom, throw on a pair of cords and return back to the corridor.

03h29:  The alarm shuts off while I’m locking my apartment door (I really shouldn’t take cold medication).  The superintendent calls out that we don’t need to evacuate, the fire is out.  I open my door and start to go back in, hearing behind me, “Yeah, that one next to the elevator.  She fell asleep while she was cooking.  Stupid [expletive deleted]“  (Ironically, the person who said this was the female counterpart of the loud sexcapade that woke me up the following night)

03h30:  I sit back down on the ass groove in my couch.  Still sort of dressed, wearing my jacket with bulging pockets and a continued expression of confusion on my face.  I realize that had we been evacuated, I would have no ID, money or means of getting money as I had left my wallet behind.  I start to process how I can turn this whole fiasco into a witty but biting FB status update because, well, that’s what I do.

03h38:  FB status is posted.  Time to go back to bed.

*********

The good news is that the scorched smell finally disappeared yesterday.  Instead, it was replaced with something that smelled much like Corn Pops.  The new scent was so delicious, that I returned back to my pad and scarfed down a huge bowl of cereal… at 20h45.

Yeah… I’m a Rockstar and you know it.

Smiling faces, smiling hearts

As long as I can remember, I’ve been a people-watcher.  I’m not sure why or how it all came about but I’ve always been one of those people who can sit somewhere and just watch strangers around me do whatever it is that they’re doing.  I’ve found myself fascinated with their clothes, mannerisms and quirks.  I’ve constructed fantastical stories to go along with what they’re doing at any given time.  I’ve wondered what it is that they’ll do next and what they’ve been up to before.  Once they’re gone, they’re forgotten and I move on to study others in my vicinity.  I don’t stare, take notes, make recordings or participate in any other equally creepy habits.  I just watch.

This odd little activity never seemed abnormal to me until I hit 18 and started going to bars.  It was then that men would approach me and insist for some reason or another that I must be sad or lonely because I wasn’t dancing or socializing.  I was just sitting and watching.  To them, I’m sure it appeared to be the perfect ‘in’ but to me, they were just interrupting my thoughts.  I loved seeing all the attempted hi-jinks, hookups and arguments around me.  I felt like I could sit and watch for days… or at least until one of my favorite songs would come on and then I’d go bust a move, but I would always return to my perch to watch.

Nowadays, I still people-watch but I do it in parks or cafes rather than in rowdy bars.  I’m finally at the age where more of my friends enjoy conversing rather than shakin’ their thangs on the dance floor (not that this is bad from time to time), so my people-watching nightlife has been significantly reduced, but I’m fine with it.

More recently, I’ve discovered that a great place to watch people is on the bus or metro.  At first, I didn’t enjoy it because I was so often stuck in rush-hour/squashed-like-human-sardines scenarios that I disliked all the exhausted, defeated, and genuinely discontent expressions around me.  I grew frustrated with how ‘blah’ everything was when it came to people on public transportation.

But one day something changed.

As I was sitting on the metro, looking at all the expressionless faces and imagining them as box of bobbleheads (yup, I actually do this to help pass the time), I glanced up to see a man, perhaps in his mid-fifties.  There was nothing particularly unique about what he was doing or wearing, except for the fact that he had a guitar, but what actually stood out were his smile lines.  Not only did he have great big wrinkles framing his mouth, but I could see where his cheeks had so often raised up in laughter and folded the skin on the outsides of his eyes.  His face was not expressionless but it wasn’t contorted with emotion either… he just looked happy.  There was a twinkle in his eye that told stories of joy regardless of hardships that he had experienced.  He was one of those people that you could look at and instantly know that he perhaps didn’t have the greatest riches, the best life circumstances or a wealth of the things that our society dictates we should have, but he was happy and joyous nonetheless.  What was most notable was that you could tell he was never going to be one of those miserable old turds who make life difficult for everyone around him as he gets on in years.  Instead, he will be the one who will crack jokes until the day he dies.

… and then I smiled.  A great big smile that brought giddiness to my heart and a twinkle to my eyes too.

This man, so seemingly ordinary, changed the way that I people-watch.  Now, I often take my first glance to see how often people have smiled.  I look to see if they have similar lines around their mouth and eyes.  I look for signs of joy that the stresses of daily life can sometimes suppress.  When I make up my stories about these people, I put them in the best light with the most things to be happy for.

Additionally, he changed the way that I display myself in public.  I am far more aware my day-to-day expressions and even on bad days, I work diligently not to show it as much.  You never know.  Maybe this man had just had a terrible day but yet influenced me so profoundly because he wasn’t in a zombie-like trance with a horrendous grimace on his face.  What if I can do the same for another?

I also look at my own face differently now.  I’ve started to notice changes in my skin as I’ve been getting older (oh don’t groan, I don’t mean it like that… I know I’m still young) and I can see where my smile lines are starting to etch themselves into my face.  This used to terrify me but now, I enjoy it.  I like being able to display my happiness for the world to see.  I am pleased to be able to have souvenirs of a phenomenal life to share with others.  They’re perhaps the best display of how lucky I’ve been and how much joy I have in my heart.  I don’t think I’ll ever regard these not-quite-wrinkles (yet) as anything but good.

So… I people-watch on transit again.  I love it.  I’m back to my old, weird habits and couldn’t be more thrilled.

A word of warning though… I (or someone else) might just be watching you.  What kind of story does your face tell?

I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello

It’s always hard to say goodbye.  I should know.  It feels like I’ve said more goodbyes in the last couple of years than most people have in a lifetime.  I’ve said goodbye to relationships, to former friends, to new friends, to family, to dreams that I’ve carried, to loved ones who have passed on and to my apartment.

I know, I know, my apartment was just somewhere I paid rent and it shouldn’t even have made my list… but it did and for many reasons.  Unlike many of the places where I’ve stayed, this apartment wasn’t just somewhere that I slept and ate.  I lived there.  Sometimes it feels like it was the first time I was really alive in years and I made it my home in every sense of the word.

Cleaning the last of the dust bunnies, followed by taking a walk through to survey the nooks and crannies for remaining items was one of the hardest parts of the move.  There was still so much of me in every corner, although nothing physical was actually left behind.

So much happened to me in that space.  I laughed and I cried… sometimes I laughed until I cried.  I felt angry, happy, confused, scared and joyous within those walls… sometimes I felt all of those things at once, sometimes individually and sometimes in rapid succession.

It was where I had my heart broken for the final time by the repeat offender and it’s where I was when I severed the remnants of our feeble friendship.  It’s where I allowed myself to finally move on.

It’s where I learned not only to be alone but to embrace this time; to enjoy it and to relish in it.  It’s where I learned to love being me.

Although I have many people who I trust, my apartment was also the place where I learned that the most important person to trust in this world is myself.

With that said, it was while I was in that apartment that my loved ones really shone through and protected me when I was down.  They helped me to see that it’s okay to need help from time to time.  They showed me what true friends and family are.

But it was too expensive.  And I had no phone reception.  And there was no balcony.  Laundry was expensive and my door was right next to the mailboxes, so I could hear every last person in the building each time they opened the small metal door, hoping for something other than bills or flyers.  And the hill that I lived on was hell to go up and down, especially during extreme weather.

It was time to move on, to let go, and to find a new place where I could be me… so that’s what I did.  I won’t bore you with the details (and those on FB probably already know the majority of them) but finding my new pad was easier said than done.  I’m choosy and demanding at the best of times, so squashing these qualities into a three week deadline was less than fun but I did it.

My new place is substantially smaller (I was shocked to discover that smaller places even existed) but it’s got a thousand times more character and 12 foot ceilings.  It’s a bit further from work, downtown and some of my friends but it’s closer to grocery stores, other friends, as well as a trendy strip of bars, restaurants and stores.  It’s not in nearly as nice of a neighbourhood but it’s far less expensive.  Because it’s a sublease until the beginning of May, I will also not have to move the last week of December again (at this point, I also intend on renewing the lease, so I won’t have to move again for over a year, if I choose to move at all.  Yay!).  The kitchen, (if you can even call it that) is nothing more than a fridge, sink and stove crammed into my living room.  Oh yes, and it has a balcony.  I’m in love.

Within mere days, this tiny little space has indeed become my home.  I thought I would have a much more difficult time adjusting but once I got all of my stuff littered into every corner, it became chez Shauna, my home and my sanctuary.  I still have some things to hang and much organizing to do but I can already tell that this space fits me… perhaps even better than the last.

I now look forward to laughing and crying (preferably tears of joy) here.  I can hardly wait for my quiet Saturdays on the couch in the winter and on the balcony in the summer.  I eagerly anticipate having visitors and showing them not only my space but my neighbourhood and city.  I am already dreaming my dreams and hoping my hopes for the future.

I guess it hasn’t taken me long to learn something new here.  Goodbyes are hard and can be painful but sometimes they lay the groundwork for paving roads to new beginnings.  It’s amazing where life will take you when you tap your heels three times and say, “There’s no place like home.”

I’m amBEDextrous… and you?

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been working on breaking an old habit.  I’ve been teaching myself to sleep on the other side of the bed.

It’s weird, I know, but have you ever really put any thought into why it is that you sleep where you sleep?

I recently did some Googling to see what was most common and if there were any gender-defined roles in regards to what side of the bed people sleep on.  The results were slightly confusing as the orientation of where one is when considering this isn’t always clear.  For example, if I picture myself in bed, I would say that I sleep on the right side but oftentimes, people refer to sides from the perspective of standing at the foot and looking towards the bed, in which case I would sleep on the left.  Some of the other information stated that much of our habits today are based on old traditions, which is understandable, but even the traditions discussed tended to contradict each other.  I suppose it’s all sort of irrelevant but I was curious and thus ended up with less answers than I had hoped.

Regardless, I did find out that I like to sleep on the side that is typically favored by men, which I shouldn’t have been surprised about considering that in both of my co-habitative (I think I just made that term up) relationships, I had to kick up a fuss to get a good night’s sleep.  It’s also presented itself when I’ve stayed with platonic male friends and we’ve bickered over who gets to sleep where.  I’ve never really figured out why it was that I was always so insistent on sleeping on this side, it just seemed more comfortable.  It’s the way it has always been and it’s been a tough habit to break.

The funny thing is that I don’t even have a reason to change my sleeping habits.  I frequently change the location of my alarm clock to make it more difficult to hit the snooze button, but changing sides of the bed???  It just seems silly and kind of pointless but I suppose I have my reasons.

I guess a part of the change manifested itself over the last year, as I realized that even though I’m no longer sharing this space, I still slept close to the edge with nothing but emptiness at my back.  When I bought my bed, I intentionally bought a queen size, assuming that it would be a long-term investment and might get shared again one day, but yet I’d be crammed all the way over as if waiting for someone to come along.  I woke up at one point and realized that for one person, my bed is HUGE and I should have been relishing the amount of space that I could spread out on rather than curling up in a little ball all the way at the edge.

My habit became particularly troublesome when out camping this summer, while sharing an air mattress and sleeping on the opposite side from what I was accustomed to.  I tried to turn over in my sleep but not realizing where I was, I actually fell off and landed on the tent floor in the middle of the night.  I knew something had to change.  No one person should be this reliant on an old habit.

So… I shook things up Shauna-style.  I not only changed where my trusty alarm clock was but I also started getting into bed on the other side.  I don’t really try to sleep all the way on the opposite side per se, but I work very hard not to sleep the way I used to.  From time to time, I fall back on my comfort zone but for the most part, it’s been a relatively smooth transition.

I still have nights where I nearly end up catapulting myself onto the floor but more often than not, I end up in some odd diagonal sprawl where no one in their right mind would dare try to fit in with me.  I guess it’s a good thing.

My bed, my beloved treasure and representation of home is mine, all mine and I wouldn’t have it any other way… for now.

Cacti: My archnemeses

There were several childhood family vacations that will go down in history thanks to things that happened with either my brother, my sister or myself.  We always had some sort of disaster to contend with but I would like to think that this is fairly normal… maybe I’m just kidding myself.

One trip that stands out to all of us was a trip to Grandma Bud’s cabin at Lake Diefenbaker (?) in Saskatchewan.  The majority of the trip is fuzzy to me because I was perhaps 3 or 4 years old at the time but there are certain aspects that are crystal clear.

Grandma Bud was the grandmother of our family friends and she lived just down the street from us, whereas our grandmothers both lived in Manitoba.  She often babysat us or we would go play with her grandkids when they were staying with her.  I don’t remember her well, as I was very young, but I do remember the layout of her house and going to visit her when no one else was there just because I liked her so much.

Anyway, this specific trip was on the disastrous side thanks to yours truly.  I was the youngest of the group of us (by several years) and although I was often a pain to be around, the other kids frequently got stuck with me so our parents could all have some kid-free time.  So without a parent in sight, we were out playing, wandering around and just being kids.  It was great… until I accidentally stepped on a cactus.

This would have been relatively minor in and of itself but not only was I wearing flip flops, I apparently hadn’t mastered the theory of cause and effect.

Rather than stepping away from the cactus patch and going back to nurse my wounds – I freaked… and started jumping up and down, screaming.  Even the jumping by itself would have hurt because I had cactus needles in my feet but I continued to jump ON the cacti, collecting more and more needles with each bounce, the pain of each landing sending me into further frenzies of jumping.

Smart kid, I know.

At some point either one of the kids went back to get our parents or the adults heard the commotion and came running.  Of which, I can’t be sure but regardless, one of the adults came and hoisted me out of the cactus patch, carried me back to the cabin and set me down so I could spend the remainder of the day having cactus needles pulled from my little feet.

My poor parents.  That must have been awful.

The good news is that to this day, I still have friends and family who stand by me and watch helplessly as I make mistakes and get hurt.  They try to provide direction but I’m stubborn and will often jump repeatedly, hoping for different results, despite their warnings.  At the end of whatever cactus patch I’ve gotten myself into, they continue to carry me to a safe place where I can remove those needles and heal with time.  After all is said and done, they also poke fun at me for my stupidity… I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I guess some things never change and for that I’m grateful.

So there’s your schmoopy post for this Thanksgiving weekend.  Yes, I promised to stray away from them but I figured it was fitting with the holiday.

Lots of love to all.  Thanks for being a part of my life.  xo

Life less ordinary

My apologies for taking so much time to write a new post but it would appear that the last few weeks have been rather busy.

A full year (and then some) since I left Etown, my life has returned to a state of extraordinary normalcy.  I get up early, go to work, return home, put on my pjs and relax until I go to bed…  It’s fabulous (and rarely this simple but the days which are, I enjoy immensely).

I become a bit more enchanted with the kids at work every day and I don’t see myself growing tired of it any time soon, although I am exhausted at the end of each day.  It’s amazing how much energy it takes to work with kids.  I don’t think I’ve ever given any of my teachers or my friends who are now teachers enough credit.  I guess we are all students at school, whether it’s the intended purpose or not.

Even though I’ve now fallen into some level of routine, I’m still having a lot of fun and enjoying every minute of my new life.  Some days are mundane, others are beyond busy and the rest often make me giggle uncontrollably at things that have happened.

Mere days before beginning my new job, I was on a sail boat (the type used for sport sailing) in the middle of the St. Lawrence when I sat up suddenly and exclaimed “Oh my God.  I live in Montreal!”

One might think that this thought would have occurred to me before then but I believe that this specific moment was when it all became real.

After relaying this story to a couple of people though, they were more surprised that I was on a boat.  I don’t like boats or open water.  I never have.  Apparently this changed over the course of the summer because I’ve found myself saying that I would really like a boat some day and I’ve been eagerly anticipating my next excursion on the water.  I cannot pretend that I am not uncoordinated or nervous when doing such things (it’s a small miracle that nothing has capsized yet) but I’m getting better.

This past weekend I went camping at a lake a couple of hours north of Montreal.  The land is owned by the province and as such, it is virtually untouched by anyone but campers and hikers.  In order to set up camp, one must either hike through the woods or have a boat.  With that said, I never thought I would have a canoe strapped to the roof of my car but I can now say I have.

Despite the cold nights, the weather was ideal and I, the die hard city girl, roughed it… and I mean really roughed it.  There were no outhouses, sinks or anything of the sort.  I drank water from the lake and tried chewing on wintergreen, picked fresh from the ground.  It was beyond unique for me.  The last night there, I even managed to get in and out of a canoe in the dark, while shivering and after drinking a couple of “pops.”  I’m still surprised that they didn’t have to drag me out of the depths of the lake.

The following day, I went wading in a shallow part of the water where I was picking up clams, running from frogs and giggling at the hilarity of my partner in crime who had given himself a mud scrub.  It was entertaining, to say the least.

Another recent new experience was having the pleasure of showing my parents my new place and my new town.  Granted, they had done the big drive from the ‘burbs to Etown to visit me but let’s be honest – it’s different when you live across the country.  They were in town for nearly two weeks and I camped out on my couch so that they could have my bed.  The visit was welcome and they spoiled me rotten.  I took them to some of my favorite places and they took me shopping.  I can’t complain in the slightest.

I guess my promise to myself about trying new things and living life without regret has really paid off.  Each time I am faced with something that terrifies me, I try to work past it and this decision making process has contributed to my evolution into the person who I’ve always wanted to be.  I’ve discovered that adulthood can be a lot of fun and that if one wants to be truly happy, they must take chances.  It’s not a novel idea but one which I had never really employed before.  It feels good to actually do it.

That’s the extent of my news these days.  With mixed emotions, I have seen the leaves start to change colors.  I am sad to see summer go but I eagerly anticipate autumn and winter.  I plan on trying a bunch of other things I’ve never done before so I’m sure there will be more stories and pictures to come.  It would seem that some stability has been really good for me (not to mention my appreciation of weekends) but I don’t plan on falling into the same old habits that I used to have.  It’s too much fun doing everything else.

Until next time, dear friends.  xo

Welcome back to real life

It’s hard to believe that it was a year ago today that I was saying goodbye to my friends and coworkers on my last day as an employed Albertan.  I was filled with fear and excitement, insecurity and expectation.  It was a difficult day but one that will stand out as being monumental because of it’s representation of what the following year would hold.

It’s been a year of firsts and lasts, of new beginnings and tragic ends but each time I enter my little apartment, I am reminded of why I am here and what it took to get me to a life that is so far from ordinary.

One of the best firsts I have had was my first week at my new job.  Although I know I could have found a job sooner and done things differently, I am thrilled that I held out and got the job that I did.  I think it will be an amazing fit.

Earlier this week, I approached my new workplace (a school for children with disabilities) with great fear and trepidation.  It was like my first day of school in Alberta after my move from Saskatchewan all over again.  I could barely say my own name, nevermind allow my personality to come through.  I was a nobody again and didn’t have contacts or reputation to fall back on like I had over the last several years.  I was shy, meek and felt horribly out of place but thankfully, this feeling of inadequacy didn’t last long.

As it turns out, my new coworkers are amazing.  They are passionate, funny and outgoing.  They had no reservations about taking me under their wings and making me feel welcome.  I realized that although I left much behind me career-wise, I was not incapable of building a professional persona here.  Like everything else, it will just take time and I’m perfectly okay with that.

The job itself is a teaching assistant position working with some of the youngest kids in the school.  I will be dividing my time between two classes and helping out as needed.  I have met only one student so far, as classes don’t begin until Monday but if the rest are half as cute as her, I will be in heaven.

Even though I thoroughly enjoyed my year off, my emotional and financial states dictated that it was time to go back.  Meeting new people and having meaningful purpose to my day have been the absolute highlights of the last week.  I still find that my quiet time alone is comforting and necessary but having spent much of the last year in solitude, I anticipate that this time (in moderation) has become a fixture to my emotional well-being.  It’s time that I rarely granted myself before but I realize its value now and intend on maintaining it.

With this new stability, my adventure has not ended.  I think it’s only just begun.  Life will continue to evolve and surprise me at every turn.  I will continue to go with my gut and step blindly into new experiences when they feel right.  This decision making process has brought me this far and taking risks has paid off.  So here I go… Thanks for coming along with me.

xo

Life in a Nutshell

I’ve made the resolve to cease my rather schmoopy posts about how much I love life and my loved ones.  It’s not that this rose-colored view has depleted or that I don’t think that my people deserve it, it’s just that there are other things to write about and I can only assume that reading the same old stuff day after day can become tiresome after awhile.

So here it is… but now what to write about?

Well, for starters, I found a job.  I start August 25 and I’ll be working in a private school for kids with disabilities.  As a teacher’s assistant, I’ll be floating between three classes of 4-6 year-olds and spending my days singing and playing amongst other (more serious) things.  I am rather excited to enter the workforce again, although I am a tad nervous and sad that I must leave my leisurely life behind.  With that said, I know it’s necessary because my bank account and lull in brain use dictate that it’s time.

With this taken into account, I also have decided to let my apartment go at the end of my lease.  I love it dearly as it was the first home that I’ve had in many years but my job won’t pay me enough to stay in the neighborhood, especially while living alone.  I have found a potential roommate, with whom I get along very well, and she and I will set out in September to start looking for our new place.  This will give us a few months to be really choosy and find the apartment that will suit us both.  I will miss living alone but the reality of the situation is that if I want to eat, I need to make some financial changes.  Such is life.

I have made several friends here but many of them are foreigners seeking a way to immigrate to Canada and must leave for awhile to get all of their necessary requirements in order.  I am sad to see them go but I know that many of them I will see upon their return.  In the meantime, I just need to figure out a way to save enough money to go and visit them.  Regardless, they’ve made the last few months highly enjoyable and they have assisted me in seeing why it is that our country is so great.

Much of my time right now is spent living the dream.  I spend a lot of time in the park either reading a book or with friends playing cards, drinking beer or just chatting.  I have also taken up fishing as a hobby, despite my inability to touch any of the fish or clams that I catch… but it’s not for lack of trying.  Whenever I think I’ve got the guts to do it, I encounter a vision of them biting me with Fred Flintstone-like results.  I’ll do it one of these days but for now, I’m always grateful to have a friend to do it for me.  I’ve also come up with a system to bait my hook with worms without having to touch them more than once or twice but I am even better at baiting my friends into taking care of the dirty work while I watch and squirm.  It’s much easier this way and I walk away with far fewer hook-related injuries.

And then there’s me… just me.  All my mushy emotions are finally starting to sort themselves out.  My departure from Denmark and relationship with E haunted me for months.  It followed me everywhere and instilled a fear of trusting people… something that I had never really experienced before.  I very intentionally avoided writing about anything to do with dating or relationships for a long time because it was too fresh and the hurt that I experienced was unlike anything that I had ever gone through.  I ended up burying a lot of it rather than letting it go, which proved to be very detrimental to my emotional health for awhile.

Now, I am doing great.  Fabulous even.  I’ve allowed myself to be sad, to be angry and to let the hurt and betrayal run their courses.  I still have days where I am disconnected and out of sorts but they are fewer and further between.  I guess it still surprises me that something so brief can linger for so long.  I would like to think that I am usually very good at letting things go but for some reason, this one really got to me… again – such is life.  I’m moving on and that’s what counts.

So, that’s the very short version of a large amount of time and information.  In an ideal world, I would have dedicated a post to each of my updates but I promised myself that if I smashed it all together in one newsy entry, that the next ones would be lighter reads.  Now I just have to devise a plan so that I will stick to that promise.  In the meantime, I hope you are well.

Much love.  xo

So much more than Justafellow

I have had a handful of people profoundly influence my life.  Some told me things that I will never forget.  Some performed actions that changed the way that I think.  Some gave me a reason to appreciate everything that I have.  Nubie did all three.

Nubie was one of those people that everyone loved.  It was impossible not to.  He was funny, charming, friendly, honest and had a positive outlook on nearly everything.  He would give anything for his friends and they would give anything back.  He was just that kind of a person.  He also lived what seemed like a thousand lives in a very short time.  If you name it, he probably did it.  It was as if he knew that his time was limited so he had to cram as much in as he could.  It was inspiring.

With a story that’s too long to tell and quite irrelevant now, I had become disenchanted with many of my high school friends not long after my graduation.  There were some hurt feelings and far too much distrust but Nubie, without realizing it, brought me back to this group several years later.

Upon hearing that he was terminally ill with Cancer, I knew it was time that I re-establish my lost friendships.  It was not because Nubie was sick but his illness certainly acted as a catalyst.  I was quickly reminded that life was too short to hold onto old grudges and I wasn’t sure if I would ever get another chance to make peace with the people who had been with me through so much during my younger years.

The first time that I saw this group in its entirety in many, many years was Nubie’s CD release party.  I walked into the bar that night to see what felt like a reunion.  I was awed and humbled by these friends who I missed so much and who apparently had missed me. It felt great to be back even it would take a couple more years for me to really blend in like I had in the old days.

That night, Nubie said something that I will never forget.  It’s played a role and dictated much of what I do now, not to mention that it set the tone for much of what I’ve done for the last two years.

He said that since being diagnosed with Cancer, he had learned to walk a little slower.

Granted, I still walk with lightning speed pretty much everywhere I go but I do take more time to appreciate the little things around me.  I like to stop and enjoy the beauty of each day.  I have become fascinated with life and all it has to offer.  I love the people around me with everything that I can.  I take the time to see and feel everything I can, while I can, because I can.  His statement was a true gift and a reminder of how wonderful life is.

This year, one of my oldest friends got married.  She chose one of Nubie’s songs to play while she had her first dance with her husband.  All of the people at the wedding who knew him sat and smiled while holding back tears because of her heartfelt decision to have him involved in her special day.  He was there with us.  We could feel his presence whether we could see him or not.

After the dance a few of us went outside to get some air.  We just sat without speaking, knowing the hurt that each of us shared at the same time understanding why it was so important to hear his song and watch one of our closest friends dance to it.

I never got a chance to say goodbye to Nubie.  The days leading up to his passing, I was fighting what appeared to be an eye infection that I didn’t want to pass on.  I planned to go see him as soon as it was gone but I was too late.  He passed away on August 3, 2005… my 25th birthday.

I had never been a big fan of my birthday so it wasn’t of great importance in that respect but it changed how I celebrate that day for other reasons.  As a self-described party girl, it is the one day a year that I prefer to spend quiet time with my family or a group of close friends.  It is a gentle reminder that I should embrace the relationships that I have and that I should nourish them with things other than martinis.  It is a day where I love the people in my life just a little bit more because life is so fragile and I should not let go of those who I care about.  It’s a day where I am thankful for one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received… the pleasure of knowing Nubie, even though it was only for a brief time.

So dear friend, thank you for being so much more than Justafellow.  We miss you but we know that one day, we will meet again.  Until then… xo

http://www.justafellow.com/

Montréal est chez nous.

The last month has been a particularly difficult one for me.  There is not one specific reason but instead, a melange of many different things.  It’s not a bad thing but it is part of the process of being me and finding me.  The unfortunate result is that I have been moody, irritable and generally unpleasant to be around.  I know that this can be difficult on my loved ones so I’ve been spending a lot of time alone to try to spare my new friends from my less-than-charming self.

The last time I was like this, life gave me a very precious gift.  It gave me SMEW.  I suddenly had two dear friends who understood the ups and downs of what I was going through and I understood theirs.  Together, we fought through a very difficult time.  We found strength in one another and it pulled us out of our darkness.

Despite the on again off again nature of my relationship with E, we remained friends until very recently.  He has since decided to separate himself from W and I.  I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t part of my current low point but he is a grown man and has made his choice.  W and I both wish him luck in whatever path he follows.  So SMEW has disbanded but W and I remain close as ever.  Some gifts, you should never let go of.

Anyway, life must have sensed that I was having trouble because I received another gift just last week.  I have yet to name it but the story goes something like this:

I was feeling really down but I wanted to take the opportunity to spend time with one of my Brazilian friends before she departed on the next leg of her Canadian journey.  She and I had gotten to know one another several months ago when we took French classes together.  Her story was something like mine in that she had traveled a long distance for a man to find herself hurt and alone.  It was a great bonding point for us when we met and the friendship grew from there.

One of the things that she wanted to do before leaving was gather several of her friends together for drinks at the Jazz Festival.  When we all arrived there were five women:  three from Brazil, one from France and myself.  It seemed like a good beginning to the evening.  It got even better when my friend and I were walking ahead of the others.  She pointed out two of the three women and said, “They understand.  The same thing happened to them.”  I understood instantly.

But something really special happened to all of us that night.  Something great.  We clicked and identified with one another.  We spilled wine, sat in the rain and nearly died laughing when two men showed up at the same time to see the same woman (and it wasn’t me!).  It was simply amazing.

The five of us spent three nights in a row out and about in Montreal.  We talked, laughed, ate, drank, shared stories and bonded.  It’s almost as if we’d known each other our whole lives.  They now know my story and I know theirs.  It was the perfect pick-me-up when I was down and I think the same goes for the others.

Sadly, our friend left for Vancouver but the remainder of us continue to spend time together and have joked about having a club.  It can never replace SMEW, nor do I want it to but it will surely be a source of strength for all of us while we struggle to reformulate who we are while in a new place.  We all look forward to it because Montreal is now chez nous.

One of the most amazing experiences for the group of us was going to O.Noir, a restaurant where you eat in complete darkness to simulate dining with a visual impairment.  All the wait staff are blind as is the band that plays while you eat.  We all fell in love with the experience despite losing bread (by far the biggest crisis of the evening), raising our forks to our mouths to discover nothing was there and walking out with sauce on our faces and chocolate in our hair… We would all do it again in a heartbeat.

There you have it.  Life has yet again given me a gift to remind me how wonderful and special it can be.  I am warmed by its ability to luminate my path and provide me with friends to travel with when I’m feeling lost and lonely on my journey.  Here we go, ladies.  On y va!

Bisous