Life in progress

Category Archives: Photograph


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10/16 – Yesterday’s News – Caring

moon

The article in yesterday’s newspaper that caught my eye was about a community group which takes disabled adults (over age 16) on outings. The sentence in the article that sparked my interest in particular said, “Without our programs, some of these individuals would be staying at home so it helps reduce the risk of isolation for the parents and caregivers as well as the participants.”  That got me thinking.

The first thing that comes to my mind when someone mentions ‘caregiver’s isolation’ is simply the fact that when they’re stuck at home caring for someone who is disabled, they just don’t go out. But it goes so far beyond that.

As a parent of disabled children I find it hard to have discussions with parents of “normal” children, because we have so little in common. Even people who aren’t parents of kids the same age as mine (for instance, if they’re grown up and moved out) have a hard time relating to me. Whether they assume because my kids aren’t like theirs, they can’t possibly have any of the same tendencies, or whether they’re afraid of being told that their problems can’t possibly be as bad as mine, I”m not sure. Maybe it’s both. Therefore, I try not to talk about myself much. When they are kind enough to ask me about myself, no matter how nonchalant I am about the way I live, telling anyone about my kids is a slow death towards being a conversation stopper. Occasionally they’ll mention a niece, or a neighbour who has a similar circumstance, or they’ll ask me questions about the health of my children, but when I’ve said all there is to say, if I don’t quickly find something other than the weather to talk about, (and it’s always up to me to find something, because no one knows quite where to go after being told about my kids) then it’s game over. In fact, come to think of it, it shuts people up about as fast as telling a stranger I’m writing a novel. Think about that for a while.

Having said all that, I’ve been invited out tonight with my next door neighbour and six of her closest friends for dinner, none of whom I have met before. As long as I can keep the conversation away from my kids, I should be fine. But of course someone is bound to ask me what I do for a living…

My point is, the isolation parents and caregivers of the disabled experience isn’t necessarily as clear-cut as it sounds. So next time you come across a single, stay-at-home mom of disabled children, or a novelist for that matter, don’t be afraid to look beyond what’s apparent.


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9/16 – Yesterday’s News – Property Damage

I had a hard time coming up with anything inspirational in yesterday’s paper, until I decided to put my dubious organizational skills to use. A headline which reads, “Have you planned for illness?”, mashed together in my little brain with a picture I took the other day, gave me the following idea:

What do you do when part of a tree collides with your house?

Property damage

Are you a natural born handyman/handywoman?

Handyman

…handyspider?

Owning a home is great, but the number of things that can go wrong is spectacular. If you’re like me (single and totally inept when it comes to anything more complicated than taking out the garbage) then you have to pay someone to fix anything that goes wrong. And when the boiler starts to leak all over your basement floor? (Hint: the water is supposed to stay inside the system.) You spend the next six years paying for a new one, like I am.

Easy to squash or not, there’s something to be said for being a squatter, like my little eight-legged architect/do-it-yourselfer.

 


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8/16 – Yesterday’s News – Focus on those who inspire

I’m inspired – not by the article on the front page of the paper yesterday, but by its headline:  Focus on those who inspire.

I can’t count how many times in the last month I’ve been asked the question, “What inspires you?” This question was my first assignment in my short story course and it continues to come up. Like here: on Opinionated Man’s blog just today.

My answer is ‘everything.’ All people, all things. There is nothing that can’t inspire me if I am in an imaginative mindset. And that leads me to a question for anyone willing to put forth an answer. If you consider the fact that you potentially inspire someone, does it make you want to be on your best behaviour?

Personally, I don’t think it should. After all, if everyone was always nice, pretty, clean, healthy and polite, we wouldn’t have antagonists. If our homes were always neat and tidy, would we be able to come up with a trash heap for a setting? If we all believed in the same things, would we be able to imagine strife?

Conflict is what a good story is made of. We NEED people to be at their worst once in a while. Misery, while not something most of us strive for, is necessary for the well being of the written word, as is sickness and death. Beauty is nothing without ugliness. Yin cannot exist without Yang and vise versa.

Think about it. What interests you? Conflict. Happiness that has overcome defeat. The struggle…

I can be inspired by a rock if it’s in the way, or if someone trips over it, because it’s all about the human interaction for me. It’s even better if, whoever trips over it swears like a sailor. Yes, I can be inspired by a scenery. But without life, it’s only a scenery.

What inspires you? Or, better yet, WHO inspires you?

In other news, the tree formerly known as Nosehair is sporting a new eyebrow

In other news, the tree formerly known as Nosehair is sporting a fancy new orange eyebrow


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6/16 – Yesterday’s News – The Hotel Experience

My local newspaper – the one I deliver – isn’t published on Sundays, so I instead get the Toronto Sun. I had a hard time finding anything that inspired me until I came across an actual writing prompt, so I figured what the hell.

The prompt encourages people to enter onto the Sun’s facebook page the story of a memorable hotel stay. I couldn’t decide which one I should write about, so I’ll do them all. Considering how many rooms I’ve stayed in, there aren’t that many that are worth mentioning. After all, how memorable is one room over another in most cases?

There was my weekend with my ex – a rare ‘escape-the-kids’ weekend – when we got a theme room  at the Fireside Inn in Kingston, Ontario. The theme itself wasn’t the best part however. What really tickled my fancy was the shower for two, complete with two shower heads, each with its own temperature control. I wish I could say I need one of those at home, but alas… the ex is still an ex.

The only really bad experience I can remember was in Kurashiki, Japan. Since I was headed out to a concert the night I was there, I decided not to rent a lamp… So I went back to the room with my corner-store bought spaghetti dinner and ate in the dark. The next morning when I took a shower, I found the bathtub to be so creaky I hurried as fast as I could through my shower. It would have been a short but embarrassing trip from room 305 to room 205 in that state of undress.

At the Grand Prince Hotel in Hiroshima, on the other hand, I was quite impressed with the bathroom in my room. Not only was the ceramic floor heated, but there was some sort of heating system behind the mirror as well, so there was a spot at just my height (I’m short and stereotypically so are Japanese people) that stayed clear from the steam of the shower. Very impressive. The view from my room was also out of this world.

Sunrise, Hiroshima

Sunrise, Hiroshima

The last and second most impressive stay I’ve had in a hotel was at the Chateau Montebello in Montebello, Quebec. (Click the link.) It was really just up the street from where I lived at the time, and I needed a weekend away. My ex agreed to look after the kids so I took the cheapest room in the place, just for myself, for two nights. I was surprised to find a note from the management on the second day to say they’d made a mistake and double booked my room so they were moving me out. Paint a picture of yourself of an outraged, overworked mother, wearing the cheapest of clothing, carrying her luggage half in plastic shopping bags, standing at the front desk of a resort hotel that has entertained Prime Ministers and Presidents, (G-7 Summit) practically jumping up and down at the unfairness of it all. Got that? Okay. Now paint for yourself a picture of a woman luxuriating in the Pierre Elliot Trudeau suite (see the Deluxe River View Room) sitting back on a king sized bed gazing out the window at exquisitely manicured gardens, and beyond, a gorgeous view of the Ottawa River, and you’ve got my wonderful stay in a room for which I paid only a fraction of the price it was worth.

And the best place I’ve ever stayed? Has to be The Hochelaga Inn, in Kingston, Ontario.

So, there you have it. I encourage you to click the links. The only one I don’t have a link for is the one in Kurashiki – I don’t remember the name of the place, but I’m sure I’d recognize it if I ever go back. The town itself is beautiful, so I would encourage anyone to visit. Just check to make sure you don’t have to rent a lamp when you stay there and you should be safe.


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Home is Where the Heart Is

I consider myself lucky to live here in Canada; far enough away from the east coast not to experience the dreadful weather that comes off the Atlantic, and with plenty of distance between me and the west coast to worry about major earthquakes.  Of course it’s nice as well that I don’t need to survive through winters with no sunlight. Such a vast country… Yet, I’ve always lived within the same 300 mile stretch of Ontario and Quebec, at varying distances from Highway 401.

I’m glad to have had the opportunity to travel a little. I realise my view of the world would be quite narrow, otherwise.

When I started writing this post, I had no idea where I was going with it. But I have a picture. This is part of the walk I take every day on my paper route:

walk

Looking at this picture I get a profound sense of where I am, and the circumstances that brought me here. I didn’t aspire to live in this town. I was guided here by the needs of my son. I’m not sure that I will stay here – there is not much here for me that feels like home. But then, I don’t know that any place along the 300 mile stretch of land in which I’ve lived feels that way.

What is home? My extended family lives in the U.K.; there is only my immediate family here, and they have followed me everywhere I’ve chosen to settle. There are places I’m familiar with. But are they home? I hold no attachment to the places I’ve lived. Home is most definitely where my children are.

I’m blessed to have been born in Canada, and consider it a wise decision to have stayed to bear my children here. But if I did decide to leave, where ever I go will be home, as long as my family comes with me.


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Silence

Silence is the loudest sound on earth.

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From every thing that exists, when affected by another element, there comes the potential for vibration; energy transformed into sound. Consider the leaf hanging from a branch on still day. It is alive and in all its glory is a a source of energy that can be sensed by any who are sensitive to it. In its existence is potential. When a breeze picks up and the leaf brushes against another, it is able to sing. Energies clash in a song so fine, so perfect – it is nature’s own harmony.

Silence holds potential. Silence is energy, energy produces vibration, vibration is sound, silence is the loudest sound on earth.


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Field Trip

covered bridge

I had to drive and hour out of town to feed my youngest son his lunch today – the teachers aren’t allowed (according to school board rules) to give him a gastric-tube feeding.

Normally I get pissed off when I have to do this, but today, as you can see from the picture I took with my phone, it was worth it for the scenery.


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Putting it Out There

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Kurashiki, October, 2005

 

A flight to Tokyo on December 27th and coming back January 9th would cost me $1148.73.

Just sayin’.


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Lifespan – Weekly Prompt of September 22

Something I wrote for The Community Storyboard Weekly Prompt. Hurry and get your submission in before Sunday!


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Emptiness

Last week I found this:

Empty Bug2

Empty shell

It is the empty shell of what I believe is a June Bug. I didn’t even realize they shed their skins, but there you go. [Edit: It’s a cicada.] The thing is, I’ve been contemplating these remains for the past week, and how they  relate to my life.

The fact is, I am full. It would be easy for me to say I need to shed my skin and let out the real me, but that isn’t quite the case. For many months I have felt oppressed by a relationship in which I felt unable to speak my mind. In those months, feelings, thoughts, visions, and opinions have built up which I have repressed, for fear of pissing someone else off. It’s no way to live, especially for a writer who lives to put to paper her every inspiration. It’s difficult to function in every facet of life, for me, when I am unable to express myself.

There’s a teaching in Taoism, in which the example of a full cup of water is used. At first glance, a cup filled to the brim with water may be considered a positive thing. And yet, a full cup holds no potential. The usefulness of a cup is its empty space… When I’m full of thoughts and ideas, I’m also of no use to anyone.

My problem now is twofold. Although I’m out of the relationship that caused me to keep quiet, I am so full of the things I want to say, I don’t know where to start.  The other part of it is that I know the person involved may be reading my blog. So, do I say to hell with it and speak my mind, the other person’s feelings be damned? Or do I continue to tread cautiously?

I found, in examining the second of two pictures I took of this bug, there is something that looks like a face inside it. This picture is not doctored. But the face inside the empty bug shell, I think, may be me, still afraid to come out.

Empty bug

Look closely to see the face