Out of the mouths of babes...

The following conversation took place as my family and I were leaving my grandmother's apartment building on the last day of our recent visit to Winnipeg...

Son:  Mommy, why are you crying?

Me: Oh, well... I am just going to miss Great-grandma because we are going home. I would really like to put her in my purse, but she won't fit and that makes me sad.

Son: Or you are upset because you are afraid that Great-grandma is going to die soon.

Me: Or it could be that.

Hmmmm... so much for protecting my kids from my sadness. For the record, the Son in this story is 7-years-old.

It has been too long

As I look back over my blog posts - all nine of them - I am simultaneously shocked and dismayed. I am shocked because I cannot believe that I have actually written (and published) nine blog posts. I am dismayed because I cannot believe that I have only written (and published) nine blog posts. Prolific I am not... clearly.

I am about to embark on a new phase of my life, however, one that requires that I get a whole heck of a lot more prolific and fast! I am (finally?) stepping out into the consulting world with the intention of helping people get clear on their marketing and publicity needs. I hope to reach everyone from small and solo entrepreneurs to creative and professional self-publishers. This means that I need to get wordy, pithy, but most of all out there - PRONTO.

Although I am what some would call extremely outgoing, under the out-spoken and joking exterior hides a very introverted gal. I may have mentioned this before, but I secretly yearn to be a librarian roaming the stacks, applying order and organization, and immersing myself in the silent consumption of a good (or even a bad) book. To be putting my thoughts and opinions out on display for all the world to see is, well, shocking and not just a little bit intimidating and scary. I have never been called a coward before, but there you have it.

It is now Put-Up or Shut-Up time... yikes!

Just hold me...

As much as I have had to contemplate my sadness over the past few weeks, I would be incredibly self-centred and selfish if I didn't also consider the impact of my grandmother's illness (and ultimately her death) on my children. I should note that my children are nine and seven respectively, old enough to feel and express profound emotion, but not so old as to be able to rationalize it. I both despise and envy them this, particularly at times such as this.

I have been very fortunate in that my maternal Grandfather and my paternal Grandmother have both been a part of my childrens' lives and experiences. By virtue of trips by our family to Winnipeg, and trips by the Greats to Ottawa, my children have come to really know and appreciate my Grandparents. This is turning out to be a blessing and a curse. A blessing, obviously, because my children know and love two people who have been so fundamental to my happiness from childhood. A curse because now the Grands are both approaching their inevitable end... and my son doesn't like it. Not one bit. And I don't blame him.


My son is a boy's boy. He is rough and tumble, thinks making electromagnets in the garage is cool, and loves to turn anything and everything into a gun or a sword, I have never before considered macaroni as being particularly violent, but in the hands and imagination of my seven-year-old boy these unassuming elbow-shaped noodles are transformed into grenades and landmines. Charming. He is an avid reader (of REAL books... with paper!), passionate about science, and interested in just about everything. He does well at school, mostly gets along with his sister, and love love loves his great-grandparents.

When he sobs out his grief over my Grandmother's impending death, I am helpless. I want to cry too, but instinctively feel that that isn't really what he needs from me. Or is it? I can relate to his questioning of the 'rightness' of death... why can't she live to be 120 like her brain cells are capable of (thanks for that statistic Dr. Smith)? I have no answers. I can only just hold him, and tell him that he is right to be sad. I hope it makes everything a little easier even if I can't make it better.

I'm glad I have someone to do the same for me... xo, SG.

Life's not fair...

Humans are born, they live, and then they die. I get this... truly, I do. But it is oh so much more painful to experience this first hand than it is to conceptualize it. So much harder to explain, when the theory becomes a reality.

My beloved Grandmother (Grandma 'S' to some, Great-grandma to my babies) is dying. Given that she is pushing 90, one could say that she has been dying for quite some time, and one would be right. But until a month ago it still seemed like maybe she would live forever. That we would have more time to visit, to be with her, to enjoy her. Sadly, cancer is going to claim another victim and there is nothing any of us can do to stop it.

Kishino (Sasaki) Sakiyama is 89-years-old, lives on her own in Winnipeg, and has been one of THE most important people in my life. She has survived war, cruel internment by her own government, the deaths of her brother, her sisters, and her husband, but she won't survive this. It seems so unfair, really, that someone so strong in mind and spirit is being failed by her physical self. And worse yet, it is going to take its sweet time doing it. She is going to suffer, and that just doesn't seem right.

I am angry.

My heart is broken.

Be careful what you wish for...

So it turns out that the universe does indeed move in mysterious ways, and perhaps does actually listen to the things we say... the laws of attraction, perhaps. Either that, or I jinxed myself.

I have been wearing glasses since I was 10-years-old. My eyeglass 'fashion' has run the gamut from petite tortoise-shell sized just right for my little face, to glasses that did more to magnify every pore on my cheeks than help me to see better. Needless to say, those were not my prettiest years (let's just burn those Jr. High School photos). In spite of all this, however, I have never really hated my glasses per se, but rather have come to see them as a fashion opportunity. The fact that glasses morphed into a 'hip' accessory over the past 10 years hasn't hurt. When you have designers like Dolce & Gabbana and Versace to choose from, how far wrong can you go... assuming your pocketbook stretches like an elastic band, that is.

Let's face it, glasses are expensive, even if you aren't as blind as a bat like me. So this brings me around to the heart of the matter. About six months ago I decided it was time for some new glasses. I took a deep breath, opened the wallet up wide, and forked out a pile of money for lovely new specs. At the time, the optometrist suggested laser eye correction, which I had considered years ago and dismissed as being too creepy (lasers... eyes... ugh!). This time, however, the suggestion gave me pause, and I told him I would seriously consider it again if only because of the crippling financial burden of buying new glasses, getting contacts for sports and special occassions, lense solution, etc., etc. A seed is planted...

Fast forward to one month ago. I am getting out of bed one morning and what do I do? The unthinkable. I step on my glasses! I NEVER step on my glasses. I am anal about keeping them safe, and yet step on them I did. Big scratch across one lense. My immediate thought at the time, "I should just get laser eye surgery and be done with glasses". What?!? Where did that come from? Now watered, the little seed of an idea now began to grow...

I figured that since I was not immediately turned off by the idea, that perhaps it would be worth investigating. I have a number of friends and acquaintences who have had the surgery and all of them swear that it is life changing. The fact is, I don't feel like it will change my life, but I think it will simplify things for me and that is as good a reason as any that I can think of. After all, the good doctors have been at this for a fairly long time at this point, and I am imagining they have perfected the technique by now! And so, taking my cue from an ad on my local radio station, I call the newest location of a well-known clinic in Toronto and book an assessment... and promptly lose my glasses in the bottom of my lake over the long weekend.

I would say the plant has bloomed, and I am following the advice being sent to me from above... I am booked for laser eye surgery next Tuesday. Wish me luck, and I hope to see you soon... literally!

Am I really sorry???

Do you ever stop to notice how often you say 'I'm sorry'? During the average day, I am finding myself apologizing... a LOT, and for things that I don't really need to apologize for.

Should I really be saying "I'm sorry, but you can't have ice cream for breakfast"? Or what about, "Sorry, but I don't have time to iron your shirt before we all have to rush out of the house to work, sweetie". Am I really sorry? Not on your life. Chances are, I am more exasperated than anything at having been asked such a ridiculous thing in the first place! So why apologize?!? Even at work when I am confronted by an unhappy colleague or client, I am almost always the first to rush in with an apology. Heck, I even apologize to people who bump into me with their shopping cart in the grocery stores!

So what is this all about? Why do I, and so many of my friends (read: women friends... my husband would rather eat glass with a soup spoon than apologize for anything!), feel we need to apologize for things that are not really our fault/responsibility? For me, I think it has something to do with wanting to keep the peace, with my motherly instinct to keep people happy because happy people (particularly happy toddlers!) are easier to be around. Sometimes, though, I catch myself apologizing for what seems like just being present, for being myself, and for decisions or actions that I know in my heart are the right ones.

I need to honour my need for space. I need to recognize and take ownership for my decisions and embrace them as reflections of my best intentions and desire for good outcomes. I will acknowledge and respect other people's time and space, and in so doing extend that respect to myself as well. When required and when appropriate, I will take ownership for my actions and words and extend a heartfelt "I'm sorry" if that is what is needed. I will make amends, but will stop justifying and explaining myself to myself and to others.

So from today forward I will stop apologizing unless I truly mean it. I hope that's okay with you... sorry if it isn't.

Cruel to be kind...

This weekend my family gathered at the cottage to enjoy some time together, and in particular to visit with my grandfather who is visiting Ontario. Pa lives in Winnipeg, but comes out to visit us a few times a year. In recent years, however, my beloved Pa is slowing down. At the ripe age of 89, his spirit is willing but his flesh is weak... and getting weaker by the day.

It is difficult to watch someone you love so much, someone whose vitality and spirit are such a part of your life's memories, slowly start to slip away. At 89, my Pa has certainly lived a full life, but has sadly outlived not only most of his friends but his wife and a daughter as well. Time marches on, and I feel a bit as though my Pa is getting left behind.

My mom remarked that one of the most desperately sad things about aging is the fact that in old age one becomes invisible. The hearing starts to go so you miss out on conversations. Perhaps the eyesight has already gone, and energy levels have dropped dramatically. Life starts to move around you rather than through you. Worse yet, loved ones begin to impose limits on what you can do, where you can go,  whether you can drive...all in the name of love, caring, and a desire to keep you safe. Does the kindness chafe, I wonder?

How good can it possibly feel to have lived a long, and hopefully fulfilling, life, only to have your freedom and dignity swept away by the passage of time? How hard is it to experience your children now parenting you?