It was not warm enough to have not put a coat on to go out for recess. Yet some of the older kids were walking around in the early spring sun in only thin cotton t-shirts. I held my skipping rope hoping that some of the girls would want to play with me, include me in their games. I couldn’t play double-dutch. I wasn’t good at it. But I could play all the other rope games. The fact that I had my own rope means they would have to let me play.
A tall boy, definitely at least in grade five came around the corner. He had a large silver-grey old-style boom-box on his shoulder. Everyone was following him. It was like the pied piper. The music that echoed throughout the schoolyard was inspiring. It was catchy. The songs told stories. In that moment, as I followed the sounds of Thriller , I became aware of music.
Later I danced to Thriller for my grandmother. I blasted that music on my small red tape-player that lasted me until university. I remember pepsi commercials. I had a blue and black tracksuit from k-mart that resembled the jacket that MJ wore in Thriller. I remember that video being one of the most fantastic things I had ever seen. It was terribly frightening for someone my age, but I still forced myself to watch it in awe.
The song We Are The World was the song that first impressed upon me the need to have a social conscience. It was a magical demonstration that made me, as a child, feel like the world was a good place.
Although later in my life I found out that Michael Jackson had terrible misfortune befall him, demonstrated some eccentric behaviours, and allegedly was a predator. I still feel that he was a part of my development. His music is something I hear and I remember my childhood. I smile.
For today, as I watch the memorial I will silently thank him for that spring day, when I was included as part of a group, inspired by the same music. The day I didn’t have to ask to play.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Monday, July 6, 2009
Waiting
My car is sick. I mean that in the literal sense of the word, not the cool modern sense of the word. It is an SUV – so it is definitely NOT cool. It sort of makes me a soccer mom with one small problem, I have no kids.
Anyway, I bought this vehicle approximately seven years ago. When I bought it I wanted it. I thought that it was cool. I had always wanted an SUV. And hey, I lived in Bancroft, close to Algonquin Park and I wasn’t one of those crazy people who buy big SUVs and live in the city. I need the all wheel drive and ability to avoid ditches and tow stuff. The fact remains that when I bought it, I couldn’t afford it. This is why I’ve had to pay it out over an extreme amount of time. And it is also why car repairs freak me out. I still have an awfully high car payment that makes it difficult to pay for fixing. Now, given that the vehicle is approximately 7 years old, it is due for a round of repair...and I will start noticing that I will have to put more and more money in to my silver beast.
The good news is that I make my last enormous car payment in October – so I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The bad news is that the car is in pretty rough shape. Currently, it threatens not to stop when I brake. Okay, it just doesn’t stop well. It sort of haltingly comes to a stop. This is a clear indication that I need a brake job...at least in the front end. Someone told me when this started that it was just a warped rotor. However, I am concerned that having left it so long has resulted in a seized or broken calliper. In fact, when I turn right and use the brake there is an unpleasant sound that resembles speaker feedback. That is the sound that worries me the most.
I tend to be a car hypochondriac. Every sound and bump worries me. So I take it in, and while it is in, I worry excessively about how much it will cost. Truthfully, I have a fantastic mechanic. It is a small family run business who bills you for your repairs at the end of the month and who know you by what you drive. I called this morning and said “Hi it’s Kate Cockburn calling” and the mechanic replied, “Ahh and you have a Santa Fe.” Then I tried to explain the halting stop and the feedback sound and I always feel really silly doing that. I think that mechanics should video tape people describing what is wrong with their vehicles. I’m sure that I would star in several of them – it could be a t.v. show like America’s funniest home videos.
Anyway, now I sit here. The car has been at the shop since 8am. It is now 1pm. I feel like an anxious parent or family member waiting for someone to exit surgery. I’m not sure if the surgery will work or if the someone will be able to function like they once did. This car is something I use every day; it allows me connection to the outside world, namely, the city; movies and shopping, visiting friends. To me it is a lifeline, not simply a luxury item. It is also the first big item I was able to purchase all by myself. Even if it was a poor financial decision, the car and I have history. I even have accepted the fact that the car will not ever be able to be a traded in. It is far too beaten up to ever get my money out of it. I’m sure that any car dealer that saw it coming would wonder how the hell they would ever be able to get it off the lot.
But it is mine. The beast is mine. It is a symbol of my adulthood. It is also a symptom of my adulthood. It is the reminder to always call my father before I spend a bunch of money on something. As much as I hate to admit that I have to do that...this adult knows where her weaknesses are. It is one material possession that straddles my two very distinct life paths. It has been part of an end and it has helped me have new beginnings. It has moved people out of my life and into my life. This vehicle has known two incarnations of me. It not only is my lifeline, but it is also a monument, a history of my travel into my adult life. So, really, why am I so worried about cost of repair? I have weathered far more expensive moments. So I will wait in anticipation, because repair, whatever the monetary cost will only serve to allow my car to valiantly drive me into my future. Perhaps one day it will realize its image and I will have car seats and soccer balls, ice-cream stained seats and goldfish crackers on the floor. Or, maybe it won’t. Maybe it will be like me...unsuspected, not what you think. Following a different road to get to my destination – because, that makes all the difference.
Anyway, I bought this vehicle approximately seven years ago. When I bought it I wanted it. I thought that it was cool. I had always wanted an SUV. And hey, I lived in Bancroft, close to Algonquin Park and I wasn’t one of those crazy people who buy big SUVs and live in the city. I need the all wheel drive and ability to avoid ditches and tow stuff. The fact remains that when I bought it, I couldn’t afford it. This is why I’ve had to pay it out over an extreme amount of time. And it is also why car repairs freak me out. I still have an awfully high car payment that makes it difficult to pay for fixing. Now, given that the vehicle is approximately 7 years old, it is due for a round of repair...and I will start noticing that I will have to put more and more money in to my silver beast.
The good news is that I make my last enormous car payment in October – so I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. The bad news is that the car is in pretty rough shape. Currently, it threatens not to stop when I brake. Okay, it just doesn’t stop well. It sort of haltingly comes to a stop. This is a clear indication that I need a brake job...at least in the front end. Someone told me when this started that it was just a warped rotor. However, I am concerned that having left it so long has resulted in a seized or broken calliper. In fact, when I turn right and use the brake there is an unpleasant sound that resembles speaker feedback. That is the sound that worries me the most.
I tend to be a car hypochondriac. Every sound and bump worries me. So I take it in, and while it is in, I worry excessively about how much it will cost. Truthfully, I have a fantastic mechanic. It is a small family run business who bills you for your repairs at the end of the month and who know you by what you drive. I called this morning and said “Hi it’s Kate Cockburn calling” and the mechanic replied, “Ahh and you have a Santa Fe.” Then I tried to explain the halting stop and the feedback sound and I always feel really silly doing that. I think that mechanics should video tape people describing what is wrong with their vehicles. I’m sure that I would star in several of them – it could be a t.v. show like America’s funniest home videos.
Anyway, now I sit here. The car has been at the shop since 8am. It is now 1pm. I feel like an anxious parent or family member waiting for someone to exit surgery. I’m not sure if the surgery will work or if the someone will be able to function like they once did. This car is something I use every day; it allows me connection to the outside world, namely, the city; movies and shopping, visiting friends. To me it is a lifeline, not simply a luxury item. It is also the first big item I was able to purchase all by myself. Even if it was a poor financial decision, the car and I have history. I even have accepted the fact that the car will not ever be able to be a traded in. It is far too beaten up to ever get my money out of it. I’m sure that any car dealer that saw it coming would wonder how the hell they would ever be able to get it off the lot.
But it is mine. The beast is mine. It is a symbol of my adulthood. It is also a symptom of my adulthood. It is the reminder to always call my father before I spend a bunch of money on something. As much as I hate to admit that I have to do that...this adult knows where her weaknesses are. It is one material possession that straddles my two very distinct life paths. It has been part of an end and it has helped me have new beginnings. It has moved people out of my life and into my life. This vehicle has known two incarnations of me. It not only is my lifeline, but it is also a monument, a history of my travel into my adult life. So, really, why am I so worried about cost of repair? I have weathered far more expensive moments. So I will wait in anticipation, because repair, whatever the monetary cost will only serve to allow my car to valiantly drive me into my future. Perhaps one day it will realize its image and I will have car seats and soccer balls, ice-cream stained seats and goldfish crackers on the floor. Or, maybe it won’t. Maybe it will be like me...unsuspected, not what you think. Following a different road to get to my destination – because, that makes all the difference.
Friday, July 3, 2009
May I return...to the beginning
I’ve stated before that every moment in my life has led me to exactly the point I am now. I would not want to change where I am now. I like it here. Granted, I tend to take the long way or the hard way round to get to my goals, but I eventually do get there. Hopefully, the journey has made all the difference. I know for a fact that I am a better person now than I was in my twenties, and I am definitely better now than I was in my teens. When I say better, I mean that I treat people better and think about my actions before I act...usually.
There are some incarnations of myself in the past that I would rather forget. However there are also aspects of my past self that I would like to recapture. I would like to possess the fearlessness I had when I was a kid. I would like to look at a chain link fence and feel confident about attempting to climb over it, instead of walking around. I wish for the courage to hop a creek. So what if I get wet. It’s like I’ve been conditioned to over-think things now. I would like to be more carefree...I would like to be able to wildly party like I could in my university days. I want to want to party or let loose. Now a reckless evening involves staying up way too late watching a movie, reading a book or playing my video game.
I would not want to revisit some of my less flattering hair experiences. Or my late Goth phase. In retrospect, you don’t start looking funny costuming yourself as a dark minion of evil when you are 26. You (okay I can’t speak for everyone, I) look funny doing it anytime over about 20. I have to give kudos to my parents on that one...they knew it but didn’t say anything. I don’t ever want to be someone who doesn’t value themselves again. I am proud that I learned that you have to demand to be valued by others. I think the most important thing I learned from my past selves was that I have no one to blame for how I’ve been treated by others but myself. One can blame circumstances, other people, other people’s personalities or shortcomings, other people’s flaws...or the ‘natural’ state of something. But the fact remains that it is you who made the decisions that lead you to be treated badly.
That’s not to say that I think that people who have been violently victimized cause their own trauma. But in terms of relationships with friends or lovers, people will treat you at the standard you accept.
This is why often the past can make people angry. Usually one focuses this anger on a person, like an ex-friend or ex-boyfriend. I find this is very true in large social groups. It is easier to be angry with the person who treated you badly. I’m not saying that there isn’t some blame due in that direction if someone has wronged you...but, if they have wronged you repeatedly and you were unable to see that you were selling yourself short...it results in misplaced anger. That anger manifests itself as obsession, gossip, and all sorts of behaviour that in reality is – you treating yourself badly. And that is unforgiveable. Behaving in a way that makes you feel like you are a bad person means that you are not holding yourself to a decent standard of care. I am guilty of this still sometimes.
But my journey the long way round has taught me some important things. I can hold myself to a standard of behaviour, a set of morals that allow me to meet my definition of a good person. I’ve learned that when dealing in financial matters ‘want’ cannot overpower what actually is your financial reality. And, if you let it, you end up in a long term mess. Similarly, if you allow people to take too much of yourself, lend out too many pieces of yourself – it takes a long time to pay yourself back. I guess learning these things has resulted in the cautiousness I practice when faced with a chain link fence or a creek. The fearlessness is tempered with experiences and what you are willing to risk changes. You recognize that although hopping a creek should be easy, you know if you misstep you will have to sit in your wet clothes...and perhaps get a rash. I don’t think I deserve a rash.
There are some incarnations of myself in the past that I would rather forget. However there are also aspects of my past self that I would like to recapture. I would like to possess the fearlessness I had when I was a kid. I would like to look at a chain link fence and feel confident about attempting to climb over it, instead of walking around. I wish for the courage to hop a creek. So what if I get wet. It’s like I’ve been conditioned to over-think things now. I would like to be more carefree...I would like to be able to wildly party like I could in my university days. I want to want to party or let loose. Now a reckless evening involves staying up way too late watching a movie, reading a book or playing my video game.
I would not want to revisit some of my less flattering hair experiences. Or my late Goth phase. In retrospect, you don’t start looking funny costuming yourself as a dark minion of evil when you are 26. You (okay I can’t speak for everyone, I) look funny doing it anytime over about 20. I have to give kudos to my parents on that one...they knew it but didn’t say anything. I don’t ever want to be someone who doesn’t value themselves again. I am proud that I learned that you have to demand to be valued by others. I think the most important thing I learned from my past selves was that I have no one to blame for how I’ve been treated by others but myself. One can blame circumstances, other people, other people’s personalities or shortcomings, other people’s flaws...or the ‘natural’ state of something. But the fact remains that it is you who made the decisions that lead you to be treated badly.
That’s not to say that I think that people who have been violently victimized cause their own trauma. But in terms of relationships with friends or lovers, people will treat you at the standard you accept.
This is why often the past can make people angry. Usually one focuses this anger on a person, like an ex-friend or ex-boyfriend. I find this is very true in large social groups. It is easier to be angry with the person who treated you badly. I’m not saying that there isn’t some blame due in that direction if someone has wronged you...but, if they have wronged you repeatedly and you were unable to see that you were selling yourself short...it results in misplaced anger. That anger manifests itself as obsession, gossip, and all sorts of behaviour that in reality is – you treating yourself badly. And that is unforgiveable. Behaving in a way that makes you feel like you are a bad person means that you are not holding yourself to a decent standard of care. I am guilty of this still sometimes.
But my journey the long way round has taught me some important things. I can hold myself to a standard of behaviour, a set of morals that allow me to meet my definition of a good person. I’ve learned that when dealing in financial matters ‘want’ cannot overpower what actually is your financial reality. And, if you let it, you end up in a long term mess. Similarly, if you allow people to take too much of yourself, lend out too many pieces of yourself – it takes a long time to pay yourself back. I guess learning these things has resulted in the cautiousness I practice when faced with a chain link fence or a creek. The fearlessness is tempered with experiences and what you are willing to risk changes. You recognize that although hopping a creek should be easy, you know if you misstep you will have to sit in your wet clothes...and perhaps get a rash. I don’t think I deserve a rash.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Rainy Day Vacation Ramblings...or a computer, some chips and some coke.
Most of the female friends I have are hard on themselves. I'm not really surprised, people tend to attract people they have something in common with..and well, I'm hard on myself too. For example, I spend an awful lot of time worrying about the way I look. Call it vanity. That, after all, is what it really is.
I worry about my size and by extention my weight. I worry about my size to the point that I am concerned about the size of my head. That may seem really strange, but whatever body dysmorphic problem I have, it seems to focus on two places - my head/jaw and my butt. I admit that I practice taking pictures of myself to find the exact angle that my head does not look huge. (I am briefly reminded of a Mike Myers film...look at the size of his noggin...it's huge ) Seriously. Like most women I know, I worry about the size of my butt.
Lets talk about my butt for a minute. It is decidedly difficult to find pants that fit my butt well. But is that really my butt's issue...or is it the fact that very few clothing designers create pants made to flatter the curves of women who have ass-sets? I hear this complaint often. It seems that unless one is 16 years old and hipless, pants were not made for you. So, this again brings me to the idea that because sooo many women complain of this problem, and we spend only one or two years of our lives with the bodies of 16 year olds, my butt should be absolved of all charges.
After all, it does it's job. I can sit on in comfortably, it boogies well on a dancefloor, it looks somewhat sexy in lingiere..and it does all of the biological things that butts do. It has smooth soft skin...why would I complain about my butt. Seriously. Why would I let clothes make me feel bad about my unique physique - the physique that I have been told by people is attractive.
Now, perhaps these people are lying. I mean let's face it, all of us answer our friends and say, "what are you talking about, you look great.." or some other phrase when someone is being self-depricating. Do people really always look great? Or have we now desensitised ourselvess so much to the question that we can't answer it honestly? I am going to hope that it is really the case that everyone looks great. I was recently at a party where a woman was wearing a provocatively short skirt. She had fantastic legs...and a fantastic ass-set. In fact when she bent over or some wind caught her skirt you were able to see exactly how glorious her legs and rear were. I want to wear clothes with abandon...without worry...I want the confidence to claim my short skirt, show off my ass-sets and hold my head up proud. (Okay maybe not to that extreme...as I am a teacher and showing off my ass-sets is not appropriate - but a skirt above the knee...a swimsuit in public would be good steps)
I am 33 years old...and I look HOT. Seriously. I look at other people who are around my age and I think, wow I look awesome. I have a strong body. I have a curvy body. I have parts of my body that look better than some 16 year olds. I know how to dress my body for its best parts. I haven't had kids so I haven't had to deal with the body fallout from that...and I know from talking with friends of mine who are parents that you look at your body differently when you have children. I haven't had children, I might not ever have children. I need to feel good about my non-reproducing 30 some odd year physique and be proud.
I am not Jennifer Garner or Angelina Jolie. My livelihood does not rest upon my red carpet appearances. So, I should not feel that I have to work out 4 hours a day minimum and eat only raw foods. My living is made mainly from my brain...so I need to start working it out...and THINKING. So, I guess I even need to appreciate my big head which houses my big brain. Maybe I should take pictures that emphasize my enormous head...embrace it...own it...
Hey world this is my awesome big head.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Procrastination and Cleaning
The truth is that I despearately need to clean my house. I feel better when it is clean. I'm happier...I feel like life is in control.
However, I cannot seem to bring myself to clean the damn thing. Seriously. I'm going to have to work naked because I simply can't bring myself to do laundry. I'm likely to get some sort of disease from my kitchen. :(
*sigh* Well perhaps I will rise from my mound of filth and write again.
However, I cannot seem to bring myself to clean the damn thing. Seriously. I'm going to have to work naked because I simply can't bring myself to do laundry. I'm likely to get some sort of disease from my kitchen. :(
*sigh* Well perhaps I will rise from my mound of filth and write again.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Henning wants me to write about him.
"You can't say that I want you to do that." - Henning.
There was a whole interesting post here but then the computer hiccuped..or farted..and it disappeared. :(
Have you ever written something and then been forced to rewrite it? It is never as good the second time around. The words might fit together in a more fluid way, but some of the initial artistry of 'in the moment writing' is lost. It is like plagarisim, because once you have already written it, with no intention of editing it, re-writing it is like cheating. It loses its authenticity.
In anycase, the title of this post and the beginning quote would suggest that the post that did originally exist here had soemthing to do with Henning's desire to be a constant topic of my blog. In truth, he wants me to write about how wonderful he is. Don't worry, he doesn't have some sort of inflated ego. He is actually wonderful. However, I think that initially he would like me to write about him. Until of course, he does something that is not particualarly wonderful. You know what I'm talking about. We all have our less than wonderful moments. The people we live with get to see us at our best and at our worst. I don't think Henning really wants me to have him as the singular topic of my blog. For example, if he were to write a blog in which I were the target, he would be posting lies if he didn't paint the whole picutre of me. I mean I can be pretty terrible. That's not to say that he can be terrible..but lets face it..there are some aspects of people that should not be published. Like his.... hehe you actually thought I would go ahead and post a flaw here. Nope, I like my relationship thanks.
Know he wants me to write about him...and that he is wonderful. :)
There was a whole interesting post here but then the computer hiccuped..or farted..and it disappeared. :(
Have you ever written something and then been forced to rewrite it? It is never as good the second time around. The words might fit together in a more fluid way, but some of the initial artistry of 'in the moment writing' is lost. It is like plagarisim, because once you have already written it, with no intention of editing it, re-writing it is like cheating. It loses its authenticity.
In anycase, the title of this post and the beginning quote would suggest that the post that did originally exist here had soemthing to do with Henning's desire to be a constant topic of my blog. In truth, he wants me to write about how wonderful he is. Don't worry, he doesn't have some sort of inflated ego. He is actually wonderful. However, I think that initially he would like me to write about him. Until of course, he does something that is not particualarly wonderful. You know what I'm talking about. We all have our less than wonderful moments. The people we live with get to see us at our best and at our worst. I don't think Henning really wants me to have him as the singular topic of my blog. For example, if he were to write a blog in which I were the target, he would be posting lies if he didn't paint the whole picutre of me. I mean I can be pretty terrible. That's not to say that he can be terrible..but lets face it..there are some aspects of people that should not be published. Like his.... hehe you actually thought I would go ahead and post a flaw here. Nope, I like my relationship thanks.
Know he wants me to write about him...and that he is wonderful. :)
Monday, May 11, 2009
No one reads this but...
Well, it has been almost a year. No one got at all upset at the idea that I wasn't writing. Perhaps I ought to change my privacy settings.
So once again, I am waring with age, weight, and appearance in general. I really do hope that one day I feel really really good about the way I look. I don't mean to be depressing, but sometimes I think that my best looking years are long past..and it sucks because I didn't make the most of them. I think it is cruel that you don't learn all the tricks of looking good until you no longer look good.
Anyway, I'm exercising, following weight watchers as best I can. Although I am worried about this next week. I'm away for a few days this week. That never goes well. So I'm figuring a gain this week and a gain next week. It is too bad because I was just starting to feel good. I even got a compliment today. :).
Well...goodnight.
So once again, I am waring with age, weight, and appearance in general. I really do hope that one day I feel really really good about the way I look. I don't mean to be depressing, but sometimes I think that my best looking years are long past..and it sucks because I didn't make the most of them. I think it is cruel that you don't learn all the tricks of looking good until you no longer look good.
Anyway, I'm exercising, following weight watchers as best I can. Although I am worried about this next week. I'm away for a few days this week. That never goes well. So I'm figuring a gain this week and a gain next week. It is too bad because I was just starting to feel good. I even got a compliment today. :).
Well...goodnight.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
