Â§hria's Spot

Best-laid Mayhem

I can't reach Michele again. My skin is still trying to take one full step to the left without me every time the phone rings.

This entry is about New Year's resolutions, though.

This year, I wasn't going to make any because I never keep them, but instead decided to get extreme. Sort of an 'aim high so you don't shoot yourself in the foot' idea.

Resolutions for 2006

Relationships

- I will focus my attention on my children completely when they are home and save work for when they are gone.

- I will abandon all hope of ever being loved by a man or finding a partner in this lifetime. The second pillow stays in the basement.

- I will renew and cultivate my friendships that I have let languish while taking time to pursue a man who will never want me.

Home

- I will clean my whole house every night before going to sleep – walls, floors, fish, everything -- even though no one is coming over.

- I will paint my house this spring -- properly. Some idiot put latex over oil paint in here.

- I will build enough bookshelves to hold ALL my books.

- I will clean out all the closets, giving away all the clothes that don't fit, fixing the ones that are damaged and ditching every stitch of colour in my wardrobe. All black clothes for me. Only black for this lumpy body.

- I will conquer clutter for once and for all. No more damaged CDs kept for some-day projects. No more stacks of papers waiting to be filed. No more boxes of old bathroom stuff in the basement.

- I will shovel the driveway to the pavement all winter, every day.

- I will cut the grass to a perfect four inch length, every day all summer.

- I will prune the lilac and rowan trees in my front yard this spring and plant a vegetable garden.

Diet and exercise

- No food shall pass my lips (one way) until I am a size two.

- I will work out 40 minutes every day, including Pilates, aerobics and anything that makes me fall on my face with exhaustion until I am a size two and beyond (maintenance).

- I will save every penny, nickel and dime until I have enough money for a boob and belly job.

- I will then save the rest of my money for a face lift.

- I will make my body what it needs to be so that, maybe, I can love it enough to be loved.

Well, I think that about finishes both feet off. They seem to be shot full of holes before I even get started on 2006.

Now I think I'll go look for something positive to write in my blog and try calling Michele again.

One thing for sure, with all this positive energy emanating from me, it's no surprise that men are just lining up around the corner to spend time with me.

Okay, enough wallowing in self-pity. Time to take hold of life and make some serious and positive changes. Starting tomorrow!

Happy and safe New Year to everyone!

A moment's insight is sometimes worth a life's experience. -- Oliver Wendell Holmes

Tonight's insight: Cookies would have only made me more fat and even less attractive. If that's possible.

But, on the other hand, although I didn't get the unattainable chocolate chip cookie I've been dreaming about for over two years, I did get a little taste of some oatmeal raisin that was surprisingly good.

Above, you can see some of the good stuff from that cookie at 12 Musicians of Christmas in Loplop Lounge and Gallery last night.

There were, however, moments when thoughts of Michele drove into me like a dagger between the eyes but mostly things were nice, light and wholesome. Just what I needed and, in my present frame of mind, chocolate chip would have been too sweet, anyway.

Speaking of sweet, Catherine (the pretty guitar player) has given me a lovely project to keep me occupied for a day or two. It will be fun and may even score me a free dinner with some compassionate, intelligent and sweet company as well. That is sure to take my mind off other things for a much needed break.

For now, every time the phone rings, I jump out of my skin.

I've also decided to put the second pillow from my bed in the basement and close the door on it for ever -- or at least until I need it for the sofa. It isn't going back on my bed, anyway. There is one man and only one man that I want to be with and that will never happen, so, oh well - that's that. Done. No more chocolate chip cookies for me.

Cookies

I feel your support and I thank you all for it.

Last night Michele managed to wake up and talk to me for a very short time. She sounds far away.

She said she went to the hospital for some procedures and it didn't go well.

Everything seems like a dream right now.

My kids have gone back to their dad's so I can work but that isn't going well either. I have to try to pull myself together for tonight.

I told people I would be there.

Okay, truth be told, I need to be there. I'm not sure why but I just feel like its a ritual I have to do.

There isn't likely to be anyone there who cares if I make it or not and part of the reason I have to go is to remind myself that they don't care and to just give it one more shot. One of those 'Life goes on' things.

It's a ritual.

Like sleeping with two pillows on my bed.

Like Michele and I hitting the mall before going out.

It's just something that is supposed to be done. Like a dog sitting for a reward. The thing is, sometimes you get a cookie, sometimes you don't. You just have to keep sitting on command in hopes that this will be the time you get a cookie.

Most times Michele and I went out there was a cookie of one sort or another involved. When we stayed in there were plenty of cookies. Even when James painted the furniture, even when Sparky died there were cookies.

If nothing else, there was another shared experience in our memory bank, more smiles, tears and sarcastic digs shared. Us against the world. Anyone who didn't care about us wasn't worth a second thought.

Soon it will be just me.

Memory of time shared is not the same as her voice on the phone when I really need to talk to someone. Her ring on my finger is not even a fraction of what I need from her. It is almost a betrayal of my desire for more time with her in this world at my side.

Maybe if I don't wear the jewelry, she will stay.

But that isn't fair, either. It's selfish and stupid. She is suffering so much and is almost ready to leave.

I'm putting the pillow in the closet right now.

If I go to Loplop tonight, I will go with no expectations. I will simply take things as they are, take some pictures, ask some questions and go home to my empty house with things as they are really supposed to be.

Yes, Joan, I agree. The love you give is the love you take.

I still love her and I want her to have peace. Her peace is more valuable to me than my own.

I still love him and I want him to be happy. His happiness is more valuable to me than my own.

Neither her peace nor his happiness lies with me.

Are there any cookies in the jar for me?

I keep two pillows on my bed

Michele asks me if I would ever consider getting back with Jerry, or if I regret leaving him.

I laugh before I say, "NO, no and not in this lifetime!"

That is obviously the wrong answer.

Then she asks if I am happy with Lyle.

"Who? Oh, what's his name who's never around, never on line and doesn't have a phone," I say. "Yeah, he's perfect for me. Sort of the Goddess' version of retribution for me screwing up at love so many times."

Obviously that is a wrong answer, too.

Michele has this way of cutting to the point, no matter how many squishy layers of vital organs it's hidden under. I think that's why I sort of let work/school/kids and not being able to walk take me away from her these past few years. I knew that I would always disappoint her and that hurt because she is so me.

That's how she knows how to find the point, under all that blood and guts. She has the same one.

Maybe more of us have that point than I am realizing right now.

After a few seconds with her eyes closed to wait for the pain to subside, she looks me in the eye with that look. The Michele-look. The one that goes through you, all your ancestors and at least seven generations of your offspring yet to come.

"You know, dear, I love you," she says.

I brace myself.

"So I just want you to know that you've always thought less of yourself than you really are. If you could just see yourself the way I see you..."

'What?' I think. 'As a spinster cuddling with my dog every night while watching the fire on channel 17 and reading a 'good' book until I fall asleep on the sofa?'

"I wish you could see how really smart and beautiful you are."

'Uh huh, there are a few other people in this world I would like you to talk to,' I think. 'Maybe if they... if he... then I...' as two years of the damage wrought by unrequited love flashes through my mind like a trout in a stream of consciousness.

I'm trying not to cry as I look at her. She is barely half alive in that body with her legs like two pieces of wood and her broken arm cradled against her in a sling. Really, only her head, left arm and torso are sort of working. (But she is still knitting and trying to take care of me - as always, driven to create and to nurture.)

Her eyes are the same, though. So huge. So beautiful. So seeing. And she is seeing that there is still much for her to do in this world and no time to do it.

"You know, this shouldn't be happening to me," she says, as her eyebrows lift and her eyes fill with tears.

That's too much for me. I break down. So much for being strong and 'helping' my friend.

"You're so right! In so many ways. And I am so going to miss you. Please don't go!" I wail.

"Yeah, like I have a choice," Michele says as she wipes a tear away. "I just want you to remember me, as I really am. Me, inside."

"Trust me, sweetest. No one who has ever known you could ever forget you."

So, that's what this is about.

It's about remembering Michele and it's about remembering what she says to me, what she means to me and what I need to do about it. This is my stab at writing it down so that later, when the job/kids/loneliness starts to take me away from it, I will remember and get back on track.

So what do two pillows have to do with Michele?

She knows, as well as I know, that I have a lot of love to give. That I am not supposed to be alone. She knows, without me even telling her, that I keep two pillows on my bed to keep a spot for someone. Just in case.

I would be so happy to hear the man I love (whom ever he may turn out to be) snoring beside me every night for the rest of my life. I would be happy to fetch a blanket from the closet because he keeps stealing the one we are supposed to share. Just to have him there would make it all okay.

Well, it would be okay until he started chewing with his mouth open or making little grunting noises while he ate. Then I would probably have to smack him upside the head before going out to buy a book and some doggy treats.

Michele probably knows as well as I do, that I will be alone for the rest of my life.

It shouldn't be that way any more than she should die so young.

Michele says, "what can we do to change it?"

What I intend to do is keep two pillows on my bed, call her every day until she is gone and write notes to myself in my blog so I don't forget.

But then, Michele whispers to me, as I am about to leave, "Sometimes, I wish it would be all over. That I could just die. I haven't seen the sun in so long. I can't even get out of this chair."

And I think that maybe I should put that second pillow away and get on with things as they are because, really, I am utterly helpless to change anything.

*******************************
Post-note

I wish that I could love me even half as much as I love her. That would make her happy before she dies and that's all I really want.

It may even help me find love in this world before I die.

But, really, should be me on that chair instead of her. I truly suck at life.

And, one last thing for tonight... I will never have a recliner in my house, not even for love.

Dark times

This is a picture of my girls, taken the last time I saw another person. December 25, about 2 p.m.

I miss my kids. They are spending time at their dad's because I will be taking them to Mexico in a few weeks.

I haven't been able to reach Michele. She was too tired and sleeping on Sunday. Answering machine today. Honestly, I was too depressed to call yesterday.

I had nightmares when I could finally sleep last night and feel groggy today.

Maybe I shouldn't be alone now. Maybe I should go out and see people. I'm afraid to miss a call, though. And I just don't have the strength to put on my face.

More waiting.

I feel like a piece of shit. This isn't about me. It's about her. She is the one suffering. She is the one about to leave this world. Why am I thinking about how I feel about it? I guess I'm just not dealing with this very well.

I'll wait a little longer now. Then, I'll put on my face and go take a picture for work. Then, I'll come home and snuggle with my dog, get drunk and wait some more.

No point to go over there until I'm called. I'll only be in the way. It's time for Michele and Tony to have some private time. They love each other so much. This is the most unjust, grossly unfair thing to have ever happened!

If not for the grace, beauty and innocence of my daughters, as well as the strength, intelligence and integrity of my son, I might believe that the Goddess is a sadist.

Very good news

Guess who surprised me today?

My baby boy! (Okay he's a little bigger now)

Scott came buy and had a very nice visit. The time flew and we took pictures.

It was so totally awesome! I have the cutest kids, don't I?

And it was the coolest Christmas gift I could ever have to be with them all together.

Maybe this holiday isn't so bad after all.

The present time has one advantage over every other; it is our own. -- Charles Caleb Colton

I am here now. Half an hour ago I was in my driveway shovelling. Now, I am here, alone. My driveway is nicely shoveled. My knives are sharp. I just have to wrap some gifts and stuff some stockings.

Michele wants desperately to believe all is in order before she departs this world but I can't lie to her. Never could but now, here, with her so frail, so hurt, so broken and so very sick -- here and now I cannot lie to her.

An hour and a half ago I was stuck in Michele's driveway. I left her side in a daze and drove right into the snowbank at the end of her driveway.

How could my beautiful, vibrant, sexy, vivacious and beloved friend have become so small? She is hollowed out and sunken in, but who she is still shines through vibrant and bright. I believe she will hang on for some time longer.

She gave me a lot of her jewelry. She had it set aside for me when I arrived. She couldn't lift the box because her right arm is broken and they can't cast it because its so full of bone cancer. I sat close and touched her as softly and as much as she could stand.

I started to tell her to keep the jewelry, that I would get it tomorrow or later or something, but I could see it was important to her. She was very happy when she saw how much I liked it.

Some of the items were things we had picked out together on one of our long-ago yard sailing adventures. All of the items were things that Michele knew, rightly so, that I would dearly love.

I love them because they are hers and something of her to hold on to and because they are a link between us... rings to bind us even beyond death. I know that I well never really lose her. Enough others have gone before for me to have learned that, although she won't be there for anymore late night phone calls or shopping trips, she will always be with me.

When I was seeing her there on the recliner she has spent the past month in and will be in until she dies, I also saw her standing on the sidewalk in front of a yard sale. Her legs were planted wide apart in her thigh-high four-inch-spike-heeled blue suede boots, tight black leather pants and soft, flouncy, black poet shirt. Her arms were crossed across her chest and her dark auburn curls kept blowing across her face as she huffed impatiently.

"Come on, Carol," she said. "The good stuff is over here in the garage."

"Forget that junk. What do you need another junky sofa for anyway?"

"To sit on," I said. "I don't have a sofa, remember?"

"Well don't even look at that one," she told me as she spun on her heel and (there are no words to describe Michele's walk... men have choked on their drinks in the bar when she walked by) Michele-walked toward the table in the garage and the sparkly bits arrayed upon it.

"What's wrong with classically tacky?" I pouted, dutifully falling in behind her and enjoying every minute of our exchange.

"Some day purple and pink paisley will be in style again, you know," I said.

"Purple and pink paisley was never in style, especially not for sitting on," she said. "Besides, you never know what they've been doing on that thing."

She was standing quietly in front of a folding card table loaded with what looked to me like a tangled mess of chains and pretty beads.

She reached in and pulled out the most beautiful necklace I had ever seen. Then she did it again. With the next pluck she came out with a lovely pair of ear rings then a ring, two bracelets and a pin.

Then she Michele-walked over to the dumpy woman hunched behind a cash box.

A short while later, we were walking to her mother's car with her loot and the poor woman behind the cash box was looking dazed.

"Isn't that great," Michele said. "This one is Victorian, looks like rhodonite, probably worth a few bucks. I paid $10.00 for everything."

"Remind me to never try and sell you anything," I said as we got in the car.

Tonight, I left her in a daze. My mind wants to stay behind in the sun. My heart is numb.

Although those long-ago days were anything but care-free, they were full of promise of plenty of time to come and to make things better.

My car apparently drove itself to Lyle's house because I don't remember much of the trip over there.

When I saw him last (dropping him at work on Thursday afternoon) he said he was going to come home with me and spend the night before Christmas with me. I was going to have someone to spend the night with and like the holiday better because I wouldn't wake up alone. Apparently he forgot.

I am here, now. Alone is okay and the driveway is done. I couldn't lie to Michele and say all is well in my life, but I could be truthful and say it's pretty darn close. Close enough for me and I can see there being enough time ahead for me to make it even better.

So I gently took the jewelry she offered and softly patted her hand. We cried together a little and I will be there again some time tomorrow. I will not be alone on Christmas day. I will not grieve for the friend I know will soon be gone. Instead, I will be glad for a chance to be with her.

But, here and now, I must wrap some gifts for my children coming home for a few hours in the morning.

Good night to all and to all a good night.

In the cookie of life, friends are the chocolate chips... so quit picking them out!

This blog entry is mostly about my friend Michele. Not about the sweet fellows you see below. I just put this picture on here because I love them, too, I like the photo, the show was great and I wanted a picture for this entry.

My best friend is in the final stages of cancer and she is only 46.

This is really hard to take and I may not be writing much in the next few weeks.

I want to spend as much time as I can with her because she hasn't got much left and I will miss her a lot when she is gone.

The list of loved ones who have left this world before me is way too long. It just isn't fair.

As always, the boy friend is MIA and now I am left to deal with my feelings about Michele, shovel the driveway in spite of my sprained elbow, wrap all the gifts for the kids and stuff the stockings some time tonight, after I visit Michele.

I'm trying hard not to say it, but I am really not fond of this holiday.

December 19 was the 10th anniversary of my childhood best friend, Phillip's, death.

I will, as usual, be alone on Christmas day, boxing day and likely most of the two weeks after it, other than when I am visiting Michele.

Michele is the image of wonder. She is so strong, so real, so brave and so very sick. I can't stand to see her in so much pain but I have to be with her.

It hurts so much to watch her go and leave her perfect loving husband and son, especially now that she has gotten her life together so well and overcome so much.

Did I mention it isn't fair? Did I say it pisses me off?

I'm trying to hear everything she says to me and to really listen but it's just not getting through the anger. I want to hang on to every second, to every word, gesture and sigh but it's passing fast.

As always, she is more worried about me, her family and her other friends than she is about herself.

She has mostly made her peace but she sometimes sways into the angry place. That's fine with me. She can say what ever she wants to me and I will always love her. Just as it's been for the 27 years we've known each other.

She's known that she terminal cancer for about three months. They told her she had about three months when they found it but she didn't tell me until last night, although we saw each other about two months ago at something I was covering.

She said she had something she wanted to talk to me about and I hate myself for not making the time to listen more carefully. This job has devoured any opportunities for making deep and lasting friendships like the one I've enjoyed with Michele but I like it that way. I'd rather stay busy than think about how lonely I am or try to build the layers of experience and feeling that we shared with someone else.

Michele was my closest friend and frequent companion from about 1978 to about 1987, when I left for Sudbury and Journalism school. We did keep in touch but it wasn't the same.

I moved up north and got busy having kids and a crappy marriage. Days turned to weeks, to months and to years. Even when I came back to the Sault I couldn't bring myself to renew that tie with her.

And now it's too late.

To illustrate our friendship, let me relate an excerpt from our long conversation last night:

me: "I can't believe I let you slip away for so long. I can't believe how many other people in my life have simply drifted away with little effort on my part to keep things together. Is this what I have to learn from this... it didn't have to be this way, you know."

Michele: "Yeah, no kidding. I mean, if I'm going to have to die just to remind you to keep in touch with your friends more, that really stinks."

me: (laughing through tears) "I love you Michele and I will miss you more than you can ever know. With you gone, who am I going to compare myself to and feel normal beside?"

Michele: Raspberry.

Yes, there is a little voice in me that says it should be me instead of her. Something that wants to make a deal so she can stay and live. Something that would desperately give almost anything to have her be okay -- well, as okay as she ever was, anyway!

Maybe I will write more about this. Maybe I won't.

She said I should but it feels a little too personal. A lot too real and too immediate.

Well, time to head over there.

But, speaking of friends, here is one more picture of two friends -- again, just because I love them, too and because I like the picture.

Can do

Okay, so I'm ugly. Does it really matter anyway?

I can do stuff and some people like me no matter what I look like.

Sunday night I had a full sit-down turkey with all the fixins dinner for 16 at my house and we ROCKED. My oh-so-cool friends made sushi (to die for), lettuce-less Greek salad, bread, ham and some sweet thing brought piles of chocolate stuff. Although I didn't get to try them, I heard the potatoes were awesome, too.

We emptied all the furniture from my living room (thanks Manda and CinCin) and set up some folding tables with scrounged lawn chairs and such.

The Solstice ritual was terrific and everyone hung around well into the evening afterward because they had too much fun to go home.

The ultimate best, though, was the gift exchange.

We played the gift game and I unloaded a crap-load of candle holders and homemade jams. In exchange I received the pen-ultimate... a real, totally cruelty-free (found on ground) eagle feather. It brought tears to my eyes that Brad would offer up such a special gift and trust it to find its way to where it should be and that Lyle would give it to me in the last trade.

Such love and generosity makes me feel deeply happy - no matter how ugly my body and face are. As a matter of fact, with this post I am putting a picture of me and the feather without photoshop corrections (other than the red eye). Now let's see how long I have the nerve to leave it there.

...Oh well. I couldn't look at it more than three times. Nice feather, though.

Know any good plastic surgeons who give credit?

The really nice general practitioner who brought my second child into the world through an emergency c-section (he was certified for emergency surgery) was kind enough to save our lives 11 years ago but, I being in full labour, made it quite a challenge to cut a straight line and was left in a bit of a mess.

For about a decade I've been trying to convince various doctors and my spouse that it should be tidied up. No such luck.

As far as the spouse was concerned, hockey tournaments were much more important than my self-image. He wanted the money I would have spent on plastic surgery (OHIP may cover some, but definitely not all) for his hockey and pool expenses, even though I earned as much money as him. Now that I am single, there is no spouse to stand in my way.

As far as the doctors are concerned, I'm old and should just accept my ugly body as it is. To fix this mess would be a waste of resources and there are many more important people in the world who actually need to look good.

I asked my doctor again, yesterday, if he would refer me to a plastic surgeon to fix the scars on my belly and get rid of these revolting aliens on my chest. For the third year in a row, he put me off.

On Monday, I'll be calling local plastic surgeons to see if I need a referral and if it costs anything for a consultation. Then I'll be saving my pennies from the raise I got at work to buy me a new body as soon as I can.

I mean, why the hell not!? Why shouldn't I do something to be happy about the way I look!? I've dieted myself into a size five and anorexia years ago and still had huge ugly, saggy boobs. I couldn't even find a flat stomach under all this skin and fat at 120 lbs.

It's evident that diet and exercise alone aren't going to do the job. Joining a gym is out of the question. They cost even more than plastic surgery, if you want to actually talk to someone who knows what they are doing. Besides, there is no way I could suffer the humiliation of walking around a gym in a work out clothes. I need to hide myself away in a dark corner until I am fit to look at.

New plan: intesify the diet and exercise while saving money for plastic surgery. Focus on making my body what it should have been all these years like I would have focused on making a man happy if one had ever chosen to love me.

I just wish I could have done that in time for the trip to Mexico. That is going to be absolute living hell. It will be nice to see my parents and to watch my kids have fun with them, but that's where I'll be, hiding and watching. There is only one place I am more uncomfortable than a gym: the beach. As a matter of fact, as the day gets closer, I am desperately searching for excuses not to go.

Sentimental moment

Driving out of a blizzard it became apparent that things don’t stay the same when a place is left behind.

Lately I’ve been thinking about people I’ve left behind.

My road has been very long and very winding, sometimes right bent out of shape. All along the way there have been incredible people to point the way back to the road when I’ve wandered off.

Sometimes they’ve been strangers I met on a bus and never saw again. Sometimes they’ve been wanderers like me who pass in and out of my life at appropriate times. Sometimes they’ve been people I never met but whose stories taught me something important that I needed to learn. Some of them are dear friends I still have in my life but don’t get to see enough of.

Everyone who has made a positive impact on my life and who I am have one thing in common. They see things that are not apparent on the surface of life. They look beneath the obvious and they read the way the winds of change are blowing. These are the people who are born grown up. The ones who walk their own way. The ones who know who they are.

To you all, - living and dead - I say thank you, I love you and I still think of you.

Oh garsh! I think it’s time for some chocolate and big group hug! *Sniffle*