" Confrontation is healthy... [How to do it] Ask questions until you fully understand the other person's concept and then the idea can be confronted with your own biases"
Imperfectly [mis]quoted by my cousin, quoting a Saskatchewan politician and youngest minister of Education, not named. A brief google search shows it might be Woodrow Lloyd who said this, the man who brought medicare from an idea into practice. Or it might have been someone else. I am not sure. Poor journalism, but reasonable words, I think.
Monday, July 31, 2017
HOW TO BUILD A BRAIN RESERVE
My friend Holly is obsessed with the brain. She is also obsessed with exercise. These two are linked. Exercise is what you need to do to build a brain reserve.
BNDF is like MiracleGro for the brain.
Autophagy is a big word for the cells compost system.
The ideal way to combine a love of books and exercise would be a walking book club! I wish you lived closer, Holly!
BNDF is like MiracleGro for the brain.
Autophagy is a big word for the cells compost system.
The ideal way to combine a love of books and exercise would be a walking book club! I wish you lived closer, Holly!
RESTO'S TO TRY
A resto to try, Pho Tay Ho; Vietnamese Coffee is recommended.
Best veggie burger, according to Leslie Chesterman: LOV Burger Big LOV
Best veggie burger, according to Leslie Chesterman: LOV Burger Big LOV
VIKTOR FRANKL SPEAKS
Everything can be taken from man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms -to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
PLANETS, GODS AND METALS
Mercury is also known as Quicksilver
Venus, female is Copper
Mars, male is Iron
Venus, female is Copper
Mars, male is Iron
MOVIES TO WATCH
The Edge
Interstellar
Sahara
Wonder
The Post
Suffragette
Risen (Joseph Fiennes)
The Woman Upstairs
The Accidental Husband (Patrick Dempsey, Uma Thurman)
Philomena
Hunger ( Irish famine)
The Insider
Chaplin
Conspiracy
The Ottoman Lieutenant
United Kingdom
The Program -Doping and Lance Armstrong
Eye in the Sky -Spying and the ethics of killing
Interstellar
Sahara
Wonder
The Post
Suffragette
Risen (Joseph Fiennes)
The Woman Upstairs
The Accidental Husband (Patrick Dempsey, Uma Thurman)
Philomena
Hunger ( Irish famine)
The Insider
Chaplin
Conspiracy
The Ottoman Lieutenant
United Kingdom
The Program -Doping and Lance Armstrong
Eye in the Sky -Spying and the ethics of killing
ROMAN CURRENCIES
Copper asses and Gold aureus (pl. aurei). Is Staphylococcus aureus a gold bacteria?
NIKE IS A WOMAN
The Greek goddess of Victory, Nike, is equivalent to the Roman goddess named Victoria.
NEOTONY
Reaching sexual maturity while retaining larval characteristics.
Can this be a word for an ineffectual adult who has neither accepted responsibility nor is striving to be the best for those around them?
Can this be a word for an ineffectual adult who has neither accepted responsibility nor is striving to be the best for those around them?
Friday, July 14, 2017
1050 m PR
I did not want to go swimming tonight, but my daughter was keen and I had missed my chance to go for a run, what with sleep and grocery shopping. So I gobbled down a light dinner of sweet potato roast chicken, lettuce and roasted spicy red pepper wrap, and gathered up our housecoats and warmest towels. It was definitely a good idea!
There were only 3 people in the pool but they were diligently doing their laps when we arrived. One woman called encouragingly, "It's nice once you get in", and another neighbour stated the water was warm. That's the thing about grey drizzly days. It's the difference that makes the water feel warm, and once you start working out, you are warm, so it doesn't matter anymore. But it sure makes it harder to show up, and get in!
Unfortunately there were no other kids, but the lifeguards were kind and let my daughter do laps beside me. We each had our own lane, with a total of 5 of us, and one lifeguard, long rain jacket donned, alternating in the chair. She has a wicked breast stroke kick, and I had a hard time keeping up with her. She gave me a few pointers, as did the supervising lifeguards, and we worked through a plan they had on a white board. I always do the lesser side, and today was no different. I was unable to do some of the drills as expected, instead just happy to be better than last year. I have little trouble with the drill of 2 kicks 1 breath in breast stroke, but I can still fail to breathe on 3 strokes in free, so I didn't even try the 6 strokes 1 breath that was proposed. I did get further than last week, managing 50 m breaststroke with the drill, and 100 m normally. I still struggle with the breathing on freestyle, and usual pant on the end after 25 m, even when I breathe every other stroke. The last 50 meters I managed to get halfway and breathe, a first with my butterfly stroke, only to meet the instructor running up to me to tell me I had used a breast stroke kick to do it! No wonder it seemed so easy! My last lap was a proper "fly", again only lasting half way, and feeling a little slower, but managing to catch a few breaths before pooping out and counting up what I had completed of the drills.
My daughter's upper lip was a little blue when I finished, but her grin was just a little bigger than when we started. She's a great little fish, and an inspiration I am happy to try and keep up to. We rinsed off in a warm shower, dried off and walked home in terry robes and sandals, and changed into winter pjs for the night.
Swimming is the perfect sport. Nobody I know gets injuries swimming. If you get hot, you don't notice because you are bathed in cool water so that you never sweat. If you aren't a swimmer, you have to admire the cardio of the ones who are, because they do lap after lap seemingly effortlessly. I am not stiff afterwards, barring the occasional calf cramp because I wasn't quite ready to do a butterfly stroke with dolphin kicks!
So my new personal record is 1050 meters, in 25 m and 50 m and one 100m drib and drabs. I am on my way to a sprint triathlon, only needing to swim 750m bike 40km and run 5. I have quite a bit of work to make it to a standard one (Olympic) of 1.5 km 80 km and 10 km. Hats off to those of you who can swim 4 km bike 190 and then run a marathon in the Ironman! I bought a $30 backpack with the name, but that's as close as I need to get!
There were only 3 people in the pool but they were diligently doing their laps when we arrived. One woman called encouragingly, "It's nice once you get in", and another neighbour stated the water was warm. That's the thing about grey drizzly days. It's the difference that makes the water feel warm, and once you start working out, you are warm, so it doesn't matter anymore. But it sure makes it harder to show up, and get in!
Unfortunately there were no other kids, but the lifeguards were kind and let my daughter do laps beside me. We each had our own lane, with a total of 5 of us, and one lifeguard, long rain jacket donned, alternating in the chair. She has a wicked breast stroke kick, and I had a hard time keeping up with her. She gave me a few pointers, as did the supervising lifeguards, and we worked through a plan they had on a white board. I always do the lesser side, and today was no different. I was unable to do some of the drills as expected, instead just happy to be better than last year. I have little trouble with the drill of 2 kicks 1 breath in breast stroke, but I can still fail to breathe on 3 strokes in free, so I didn't even try the 6 strokes 1 breath that was proposed. I did get further than last week, managing 50 m breaststroke with the drill, and 100 m normally. I still struggle with the breathing on freestyle, and usual pant on the end after 25 m, even when I breathe every other stroke. The last 50 meters I managed to get halfway and breathe, a first with my butterfly stroke, only to meet the instructor running up to me to tell me I had used a breast stroke kick to do it! No wonder it seemed so easy! My last lap was a proper "fly", again only lasting half way, and feeling a little slower, but managing to catch a few breaths before pooping out and counting up what I had completed of the drills.
My daughter's upper lip was a little blue when I finished, but her grin was just a little bigger than when we started. She's a great little fish, and an inspiration I am happy to try and keep up to. We rinsed off in a warm shower, dried off and walked home in terry robes and sandals, and changed into winter pjs for the night.
Swimming is the perfect sport. Nobody I know gets injuries swimming. If you get hot, you don't notice because you are bathed in cool water so that you never sweat. If you aren't a swimmer, you have to admire the cardio of the ones who are, because they do lap after lap seemingly effortlessly. I am not stiff afterwards, barring the occasional calf cramp because I wasn't quite ready to do a butterfly stroke with dolphin kicks!
So my new personal record is 1050 meters, in 25 m and 50 m and one 100m drib and drabs. I am on my way to a sprint triathlon, only needing to swim 750m bike 40km and run 5. I have quite a bit of work to make it to a standard one (Olympic) of 1.5 km 80 km and 10 km. Hats off to those of you who can swim 4 km bike 190 and then run a marathon in the Ironman! I bought a $30 backpack with the name, but that's as close as I need to get!
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
A SHIFT WELL DONE
I was exhausted, thirsty and tired. I had traded shifts with a colleague to free myself up for my daughter's summer birthday, and it should have been the easiest shift of the day, with a sign out on time at midnight. It was not to be.
My colleague called me, saying she was doing a double, so could she at least do the easy shift that ends on time, to make her day a little more bearable. I couldn't say no to that, so I knew it was going to be iffy how the evening went. Even so, that thought did not prepare me for the evening I had. We had 7 new patients to be seen, which never happens, and immediately 3 more. I forgot my water bottle on my dish rack, and can't bear to use plastic for one use, but getting to the fountain was a time challenge, and I only managed twice. I brought light supper and a snack, but opted to give the snack to the resident who hadn't brought supper. It was worth it! I was assigned a resident I had worked with on the weekend, and the only criticism I had had then is that she took on work too near the end, so that we left three and half hours after a night shift that was plenty long. I was grateful for her enthusiasm this time, and we both dug in until the torrent began to trickle off, and we desperately documented what we hadn't had time to, knowing that the next patients were arrriving, in threes all evening.
It didn't stop, and even the sign over was delayed by an hour with another torrent of patients, so that we were looking at another late closing. But it always feels different after signover. The pace and the responsibility slows dramatically, and then there is time for the last details finally to be completed, which give me great pleasure to finish so that I can leave with a clear conscience.
Our last clinical act was to see a patient and discharge her home at 1:30 in the morning. This is not always possible, and the patient had more than her fair share of reservations, but we responded to her questions and concerns, and planned to organize appropriate followup. I was looking to close up the shift documents with the resident but realized she hadn't returned to the doctors' station. I stood up and saw she was explaining the paperwork to the patient we just discharged at the very end of the room, and I remember feeling tired, thirsty, hungry, and that I was waiting. I must have looked a little happy too, because my colleague came up beside me, and said, "You look like someone proud of a shift well done." It was true, and I was proud of my resident's hard work, and my team, and very grateful to have survived another shift, and truly done the very best I could.
My colleague called me, saying she was doing a double, so could she at least do the easy shift that ends on time, to make her day a little more bearable. I couldn't say no to that, so I knew it was going to be iffy how the evening went. Even so, that thought did not prepare me for the evening I had. We had 7 new patients to be seen, which never happens, and immediately 3 more. I forgot my water bottle on my dish rack, and can't bear to use plastic for one use, but getting to the fountain was a time challenge, and I only managed twice. I brought light supper and a snack, but opted to give the snack to the resident who hadn't brought supper. It was worth it! I was assigned a resident I had worked with on the weekend, and the only criticism I had had then is that she took on work too near the end, so that we left three and half hours after a night shift that was plenty long. I was grateful for her enthusiasm this time, and we both dug in until the torrent began to trickle off, and we desperately documented what we hadn't had time to, knowing that the next patients were arrriving, in threes all evening.
It didn't stop, and even the sign over was delayed by an hour with another torrent of patients, so that we were looking at another late closing. But it always feels different after signover. The pace and the responsibility slows dramatically, and then there is time for the last details finally to be completed, which give me great pleasure to finish so that I can leave with a clear conscience.
Our last clinical act was to see a patient and discharge her home at 1:30 in the morning. This is not always possible, and the patient had more than her fair share of reservations, but we responded to her questions and concerns, and planned to organize appropriate followup. I was looking to close up the shift documents with the resident but realized she hadn't returned to the doctors' station. I stood up and saw she was explaining the paperwork to the patient we just discharged at the very end of the room, and I remember feeling tired, thirsty, hungry, and that I was waiting. I must have looked a little happy too, because my colleague came up beside me, and said, "You look like someone proud of a shift well done." It was true, and I was proud of my resident's hard work, and my team, and very grateful to have survived another shift, and truly done the very best I could.
DUST OF SNOW, a poem by Robert Frost
The day a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of a now from a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Shook down on me
The dust of a now from a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
Monday, July 10, 2017
SANDAL UPDATE
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| The decorations on my Venetian sandals were falling off, so I removed them, with a dollarama strip of sticky gems, these are the updated pair. |
LOLA ROSA NEVER DISAPPOINTS, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU CAN SHARE DESSERT!
 Burrito and Almond Tagine |
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| Skor Pie |
JAZZ FEST SECOND DAY
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| Artists at work |
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| CHOCOLAT FAVORIS: rich dipped cones, sea salt caramel and maple vanilla and a hairy monster at the art table at the Jazzfest |
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| McGill Street Expo 67 outdoor exhibit |
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| Marianne, acrobat and hoola hoop dancer |
ZYARA TAKE TWO
DIX TRENTE third annual trip was another hit! We loved zyara so much, we went back on a much warmer day, this time, so we enjoyed the lovely terrace and excellent service.
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| Menu |
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| Fresh pita. Couldn't pace myself again, and asked for a second with next course's hummus, which is too much food! |
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| Sesame, oil, and za'atar |
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| Mezzo was again a hit! |
BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS (WHEN THEY RUN OUT OF MARGARINE BUT NOT RIPE AVOCADO)
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| Toast with avocado, scrambled eggs and veggie breakfast sausage, and French Vanilla Nescafé |
THUNDER AND TORRENTS WITH A GOOD FRIEND A LITTLE DEARER
We both knew that we were leaving a little late to avoid the clouds predicted by the weather app, but it was a beautiful day and we were both free, so we set out to the parking beside the welcome centre and started out with one light pack between us. We had water each, and my granola bars were an enjoyed treat, but our ascent had two problems. The first was a downhill ascent that we were enjoying as our goal was to have a little trail running with the hike. It was, however, a path off our trail, necessitating an unexpected ascent and and additional 3 k that would later prove to be regrettable. The second problem was that the rain was torrential, and it was accompanied by thunder. That made the swimmable lake a hazard, and as the paths became rivers, we were faced with the idea of lightening with our feet ankle deep in water. We were cold but exhilarated by the the time we came down, missing the view, and very wet. I could barely change, my hands clumsy with cold. It was fun to run, and not be hot, and we did have brimmed hats, although my glasses were obscured with so much rain. Still, we had a great snack and a story to tell. Not many would do that and do it again, but Spidergirl just might say yes next time anyway!
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| Park Mount Sutton |
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| Incredible trail maintenance |
INCREDIBLE MEAL WITH GOOD COMPANY
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| Asparagus Mushroom Béchamel Crèpes with melted Swiss cheese and chopped parsley |
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| Balsamic house salad |
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| Strawberry Sangria and a pretty plate |
AMANDA THE INSTAGRAMMER
This weekend, after a delicious lunch of asparagus mushroom crepes with béchamel sauce and melted Swiss cheese, we settled down to a tea. Meanwhile, her daughter Amanda had an idea. She saw a blue budgie, like hers, with a background on a flower stem on Instagram, and she had an idea to recreate it. So finding a piece of bristle board that suited, and picking a few flowers from the front planter boxes, she set about to photograph her fidgety bird to mimic and post her version. There was a lot of squealing and coaxing, and her dad eventually was recruited, to the satisfactory result of her photos, which she scrolled through with pride. Imitation is the highest complement. Her creativity made me smile as I think of my own daughter's ability to have an idea and make it happen, in much the same way.
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| Not the photo, but you get the idea |
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| Artzooka craft center by my creative kid |
W.A.N.G ( Women Against Nonessential Grooming)
This year my daughter started showing signs of puberty, the most obvious to me, is her need for sleep and for the first time ever, she can be grumpy in the morning! One small thing that has also given me pause is axillary hair. I am finding myself growing back my own leg, armpit and groin hair, wondering what it should be like if the norms for women were the same for men for body hair. Yes, before you argue that manscaping exists, in modelling, acting, and swimming most obviously, and many men may have memories of facial grooming as being the same category of grooming. These things are mostly in the hands of your parents to tell you their habits.
I don't remember when I started to shave, but I do remember having late exposure to waxing and regretting the hair that grows back now on my legs. You get one chance with these things. My daughter has long hairs under her arms that are almost disproportionate to her small but developing frame. She is completely unaware and natural, and I fear for the day that someone shames her into grooming in a way that is so universal in North American culture. So I was interested to hear a CBC radio episode about a woman named Emer O'Toole, who has been dubbed "the international face of female body hair". In pursuit of this idea, I made a few google enquiries and was both encouraged and disgusted by some ideas that are so pervasive, I was hardly conscious of it. Firstly, I was led to a Facebook group whose acronym is W. A. N. G.
It is a strange realization that I don't remember what I look like with hair on my legs. I forgot that I instinctually shave my toe hairs! Now that I no longer have stubble, I find myself unconsciously stroking hair on my legs I haven't left alone for decades. It's a shame really that my never shaved hair on my upper legs is so much nicer than the shaven hair growing back on my calves. It's also a shame that I have been embarrassed to have underarm stubble, let alone let my hair grow. But there are internet examples even if from no one in my neighbourhood. Sophia Lauren, Julia Roberts and Drew Barrymore are seemingly unconscious of the stigma, as it should be for my daughter and for you and for me. I am not sure specifically photographing my underarms will by necessary, but I want my daughter to have an example of a "natural woman", before she feels pressured to unnaturally groom, and thereby have a choice. So this summer I am growing my hair where it naturally does, and hopefully relearn the confidence to wear it at the local pool on my thrice weekly swimming sessions.
I don't remember when I started to shave, but I do remember having late exposure to waxing and regretting the hair that grows back now on my legs. You get one chance with these things. My daughter has long hairs under her arms that are almost disproportionate to her small but developing frame. She is completely unaware and natural, and I fear for the day that someone shames her into grooming in a way that is so universal in North American culture. So I was interested to hear a CBC radio episode about a woman named Emer O'Toole, who has been dubbed "the international face of female body hair". In pursuit of this idea, I made a few google enquiries and was both encouraged and disgusted by some ideas that are so pervasive, I was hardly conscious of it. Firstly, I was led to a Facebook group whose acronym is W. A. N. G.
It is a strange realization that I don't remember what I look like with hair on my legs. I forgot that I instinctually shave my toe hairs! Now that I no longer have stubble, I find myself unconsciously stroking hair on my legs I haven't left alone for decades. It's a shame really that my never shaved hair on my upper legs is so much nicer than the shaven hair growing back on my calves. It's also a shame that I have been embarrassed to have underarm stubble, let alone let my hair grow. But there are internet examples even if from no one in my neighbourhood. Sophia Lauren, Julia Roberts and Drew Barrymore are seemingly unconscious of the stigma, as it should be for my daughter and for you and for me. I am not sure specifically photographing my underarms will by necessary, but I want my daughter to have an example of a "natural woman", before she feels pressured to unnaturally groom, and thereby have a choice. So this summer I am growing my hair where it naturally does, and hopefully relearn the confidence to wear it at the local pool on my thrice weekly swimming sessions.
BOOK REVIEW: AN ASTRONAUT'S GUIDE TO LIFE ON EARTH
I was bowled over with how frank and humble his approach he was to this extraordinary career he had. This is a book for the curious, those in positions of a hierarchical system, and for those who dream and make them reality. A great biography with a purpose, and a reminder to those of us who will never leave the planet on how to get along on this beautiful place we call home.
PLEASURE PIERS
Pleasure piers are a peculiarity of England, the country most known for the tradition of building a pier out into the sea for a walk and some entertainment. There were at one time over one hundred. Now, according to Wikipedia there are 47 left to visit.
North America has its share of well known pleasure piers, even if fewer. I think Santa Monica Pier and Coney Island are most well known, but the only one I have ever visited is Chicago's Navy Pier.
Canada's most famous pier is Pier 21, which now houses the Canadian Immigration Museum, which is appropriate since it functioned as an immigration shed, much like Ellis Island was to the United States. Initially these piers were built for function, but it seems that the Chicago World Fair of 1893 was the beginning of its use of a pier to add culture to the city, known as the Beautiful City Movement. This was used to attract tourism, and the World Fair had visitors that numbered half the American population at the time.
I was reminded of these points to visit in a series Escape to the Country I was introduced to by a friend, to tour England without purchasing a plane ticket! Episode 10 from 2014 visited Norfolk's Cromer Pier, which houses a theatre. It's a great program that showcases the coastal regions of the U.K. It's both a real estate show and a travel guide. What a fun trip to more places than I am ever likely to visit. Subscribe to Elton Bennett's exhaustive list, and your can watch 216 videos in order!
North America has its share of well known pleasure piers, even if fewer. I think Santa Monica Pier and Coney Island are most well known, but the only one I have ever visited is Chicago's Navy Pier.
Canada's most famous pier is Pier 21, which now houses the Canadian Immigration Museum, which is appropriate since it functioned as an immigration shed, much like Ellis Island was to the United States. Initially these piers were built for function, but it seems that the Chicago World Fair of 1893 was the beginning of its use of a pier to add culture to the city, known as the Beautiful City Movement. This was used to attract tourism, and the World Fair had visitors that numbered half the American population at the time.
I was reminded of these points to visit in a series Escape to the Country I was introduced to by a friend, to tour England without purchasing a plane ticket! Episode 10 from 2014 visited Norfolk's Cromer Pier, which houses a theatre. It's a great program that showcases the coastal regions of the U.K. It's both a real estate show and a travel guide. What a fun trip to more places than I am ever likely to visit. Subscribe to Elton Bennett's exhaustive list, and your can watch 216 videos in order!
Saturday, July 1, 2017
52 WEEKS A YEAR
There are many habits that it would be a good thing to do everyday. I seem to have trouble planning a week of regular activities, and part of it is likely due to the irregularity of my schedule that I have had now for almost twenty years, or most of my adult life.
So I am at a point that I miss discipline and I desperately want regularity. So I am going to propose something I cannot fail to do. I will do something weekly, and if it is possible or necessary, I will increase the frequency until I do things most days that I should do all days.
Here are a few things I want to do more regularly:
DAILY, eventually:
Exercise
Clean the house
Eat well
Read about medicine
WEEKLY:
Hike through nature
Climb
Try a new restaurant
Cook something else
Eat dessert/bake
Kindness to strangers
Talk to friends
Email
Blog
MONTHLY:
Create art
Admire art
Do something different
Travel
Scrapbook/Manage memories
Read
BIG THINGS:
Decorate house
Recipe book
Curriculum
Medical Synthesis
Upcycle/Mending
GASLIGHTING AND OTHER SHAMES (Reflections on the rise and fall of a failed marriage)
Today is my 15th year wedding anniversary, and my 45 1/2 year birthday, also known as summer birthday. It was exactly the kind of day you would expect, after two years of living separately and almost that long of missing my daughter one week out of two. Originally, I had toyed with the idea of a party. Unfortunately, as the date approached, I realized that there was no way I was ready to pull that off.
I am tired. I work a stressful job and now I work all my shifts, and sometimes a little more than before, in one week out of two. This makes the week without my daughter possible, and I am grateful to be a mother one week in two, which is so much more than before, even if it feels part-time. But as the years go on, I am finding it harder and harder to catch up, in sleep and household tasks and finances. I feel my life shortening, my health and fitness declining, but I have not been so grateful in such a long time!
After waking up from a short night, 24 hours post my last shift, a tough overnight one, I ate a late breakfast, and went to pick up my darling girl in the pouring rain for the start of a week with me. I learned that my idea of jazz fest was usurped when I mentioned it yesterday, which was my plan today. I got back the camping equipment I had lent for the benefit of my daughter, only to find the grill uncleaned, and the propane tank tucked away, now empty. I do it for her, but I wonder at his attitude of complete entitlement, even now, and think about a new term I learned, gas lighting. I guess the term started with a play in the late 1930s, and it describes a manipulation of another person that attempts to lead them to believe that they are the ones in the wrong. According to wikipedia, "the original title stems from the dimming of the gas lights in the house that happened when the husband was using the gas lights in the attic while searching for hidden treasure. The wife accurately notices the dimming lights and discusses the phenomenon, but the husband insists that she just imagined a change in the level of illumination." This lack of acknowledgement of the reality of the state of these items, with a seemingly sincere thank you on carrying these items to the car, but no mention, was so common in my marriage. Until I separated, I wasn't sure I wasn't the crazy one. In a marriage, there are lots of unfairnesses and slights you swallow, but you think you are in an ordinary state of craziness. Following the separation, when it was assumed that half was his, after putting in a fraction of the responsibility and money and stress and work, I was unburdened of this belief. All along, I had been given the idea that I was crazy. But it actually wasn't me.
"You don't want me to work. You want me to be free to go on vacation more than the 2 or 3 weeks a job would afford me."
"You love your job. You don't really feel stressed by it. You should keep earning money and paying for everything and I will stay at home and keep saying I'm a stay at home dad, as if that was what we planned, and spend the day on the computer but never tell you about any of it."
"I am looking for a job. I don't feel comfortable showing you my CV but it's done. I don't want to tell you about the jobs I've applied for, but I am going to work, just like I promised when we decided to have kids. I just can't tell you what the job is or what I am looking for, but you don't really want me to work because that will interfere with your work, and my lifestyle."
"Your problems are all in your head. They are not really problems. Your problems are not real problems, so they are not my problems. You just need to stop seeing them as problems."
"I can't listen to you when you raise your voice. " So I say, after I stopped trying, strongly, when can we talk then. "Stop screaming", he says, when I haven't screamed at all.
After the same cyclic conversation about how I needed him to see our individual problems as shared problems and how much responsibility he left to me when I didn't want it or feel it fair, he said, "I finally get it. I understand now. I'm tired. Can we talk more about this later?" The last time he said this was November. I moved to the basement the next April. Each day I waited for him to come back to it, but he never raised the conversation again. We were over, and I wished I had seen it years before. I couldn't figure out how to leave my daughter or how I could afford it. But he had never been in it, or left long ago, maybe before we married, the day he quit his job and figured his comfort was more important than our marriage. When I saw that, as painful as it was, it was possible for me to move on.
Today's goodbye was early, with his habit of usually calling at 19:30. I said we would be at the jazz fest so the early good bye was best to be the day's good bye. He was going out of town, he said, to celebrate Canada Day in Ottawa, as I had tried to convince him to do for years. So at a percussion interactive session, at 8 oclock, when I didn't hear him call unexpectedly from his brother's phone, he sent this message: "Please turn up the volume and keep your phone handy close to when I call [our daughter], thanks."
I married a man I thought was kind and smart and attractive. It was not a grand love story, but it would have been enough, if he could have just turned his face towards me, found a way to take care of at least himself with the occasional gift to our daughter, if not me, and if he could have taken just a little bit of my care and burden from me. I grew to realize he would never meet me halfway on anything, but I had hoped he would try for his daughter at least, if not for me. But in the end he really felt he deserved half with no attempt to meet me near half way. He once added up his financial contribution to argue for half, despite the fact that my balance sheet had liabilities I had avoided for most of my adult life, and his had none. His contribution was 1/16 of what mine had been (that's what happens when you work 1 1/2 years out of 15), and yet he had no hesitation to insist on dividing by two or any sense of shame or responsibility. When I met him, he was recreating his life in IT. He quit on our wedding week, and it was the greatest struggle our marriage was to bear. Against all odds, he did it again, this time recreating a job in marketing, with great personal cost to my own career and social life. It might have been the turning point, but it was then I finally saw his his true colours, and the gas lighting began anew. What I felt were not true feelings. He knew those feelings, and dismissed those feelings, and I was the one who was crazy to think otherwise.
This should give me some comfort in my escape with my sanity, but I feel my life shortening, and my constraints are much higher than I think I can manage long term. One of the hardest things is the injustice of it all. One of the major reasons I was compelled to choose my sanity over a bad marriage was the hope that there would be a chance that I could be free of an adult dependent, and maybe the only way he could learn independence that he couldn't achieve while living with me as his convenient sugar mama. So while I struggle to pay off a loan I took to buy him out of a home I paid off and maintained (minus his deposit of an inheritance from an elderly great aunt, not even money he earnedI ), he earns interest on the cash. The money I saved for future renovations that had been hoped for for over a decade went to his pile of cash. Meanwhile, I keep paying for the house, for my daughter's sake, and keep the cats alive, with vet care and food in the thousands, and pay him monthly to take care of my daughter. He gets that money, and I get to pay it, plus her dental bills because he doesn't insist of her taking care of brushing twice a day, and daycare fees if he puts her in and camp and swimming and swim shoes and swimsuits and clothes and boots and school incidentals, even if he doesn't tell me. He almost called off a camping weekend he had told her about for months before, building up her excitement because friends were going to be there, his rationale being that it was going to be "too expensive". He asked to borrow the car, and the camping equipment (I offered to drive him out but I needed to use the car to work and the hours I had free didn't suit him). I was astonished to find that, while he claimed not to have enough to pay for 2 nights camping, I pay interest on a loan so he could sit on half my house in cash, and although still unemployed, he had started not only to date, but introduce my daughter to the girl he only met 2 weeks ago!
I am tired. I work a stressful job and now I work all my shifts, and sometimes a little more than before, in one week out of two. This makes the week without my daughter possible, and I am grateful to be a mother one week in two, which is so much more than before, even if it feels part-time. But as the years go on, I am finding it harder and harder to catch up, in sleep and household tasks and finances. I feel my life shortening, my health and fitness declining, but I have not been so grateful in such a long time!
After waking up from a short night, 24 hours post my last shift, a tough overnight one, I ate a late breakfast, and went to pick up my darling girl in the pouring rain for the start of a week with me. I learned that my idea of jazz fest was usurped when I mentioned it yesterday, which was my plan today. I got back the camping equipment I had lent for the benefit of my daughter, only to find the grill uncleaned, and the propane tank tucked away, now empty. I do it for her, but I wonder at his attitude of complete entitlement, even now, and think about a new term I learned, gas lighting. I guess the term started with a play in the late 1930s, and it describes a manipulation of another person that attempts to lead them to believe that they are the ones in the wrong. According to wikipedia, "the original title stems from the dimming of the gas lights in the house that happened when the husband was using the gas lights in the attic while searching for hidden treasure. The wife accurately notices the dimming lights and discusses the phenomenon, but the husband insists that she just imagined a change in the level of illumination." This lack of acknowledgement of the reality of the state of these items, with a seemingly sincere thank you on carrying these items to the car, but no mention, was so common in my marriage. Until I separated, I wasn't sure I wasn't the crazy one. In a marriage, there are lots of unfairnesses and slights you swallow, but you think you are in an ordinary state of craziness. Following the separation, when it was assumed that half was his, after putting in a fraction of the responsibility and money and stress and work, I was unburdened of this belief. All along, I had been given the idea that I was crazy. But it actually wasn't me.
"You don't want me to work. You want me to be free to go on vacation more than the 2 or 3 weeks a job would afford me."
"You love your job. You don't really feel stressed by it. You should keep earning money and paying for everything and I will stay at home and keep saying I'm a stay at home dad, as if that was what we planned, and spend the day on the computer but never tell you about any of it."
"I am looking for a job. I don't feel comfortable showing you my CV but it's done. I don't want to tell you about the jobs I've applied for, but I am going to work, just like I promised when we decided to have kids. I just can't tell you what the job is or what I am looking for, but you don't really want me to work because that will interfere with your work, and my lifestyle."
"Your problems are all in your head. They are not really problems. Your problems are not real problems, so they are not my problems. You just need to stop seeing them as problems."
"I can't listen to you when you raise your voice. " So I say, after I stopped trying, strongly, when can we talk then. "Stop screaming", he says, when I haven't screamed at all.
After the same cyclic conversation about how I needed him to see our individual problems as shared problems and how much responsibility he left to me when I didn't want it or feel it fair, he said, "I finally get it. I understand now. I'm tired. Can we talk more about this later?" The last time he said this was November. I moved to the basement the next April. Each day I waited for him to come back to it, but he never raised the conversation again. We were over, and I wished I had seen it years before. I couldn't figure out how to leave my daughter or how I could afford it. But he had never been in it, or left long ago, maybe before we married, the day he quit his job and figured his comfort was more important than our marriage. When I saw that, as painful as it was, it was possible for me to move on.
Today's goodbye was early, with his habit of usually calling at 19:30. I said we would be at the jazz fest so the early good bye was best to be the day's good bye. He was going out of town, he said, to celebrate Canada Day in Ottawa, as I had tried to convince him to do for years. So at a percussion interactive session, at 8 oclock, when I didn't hear him call unexpectedly from his brother's phone, he sent this message: "Please turn up the volume and keep your phone handy close to when I call [our daughter], thanks."
I married a man I thought was kind and smart and attractive. It was not a grand love story, but it would have been enough, if he could have just turned his face towards me, found a way to take care of at least himself with the occasional gift to our daughter, if not me, and if he could have taken just a little bit of my care and burden from me. I grew to realize he would never meet me halfway on anything, but I had hoped he would try for his daughter at least, if not for me. But in the end he really felt he deserved half with no attempt to meet me near half way. He once added up his financial contribution to argue for half, despite the fact that my balance sheet had liabilities I had avoided for most of my adult life, and his had none. His contribution was 1/16 of what mine had been (that's what happens when you work 1 1/2 years out of 15), and yet he had no hesitation to insist on dividing by two or any sense of shame or responsibility. When I met him, he was recreating his life in IT. He quit on our wedding week, and it was the greatest struggle our marriage was to bear. Against all odds, he did it again, this time recreating a job in marketing, with great personal cost to my own career and social life. It might have been the turning point, but it was then I finally saw his his true colours, and the gas lighting began anew. What I felt were not true feelings. He knew those feelings, and dismissed those feelings, and I was the one who was crazy to think otherwise.
This should give me some comfort in my escape with my sanity, but I feel my life shortening, and my constraints are much higher than I think I can manage long term. One of the hardest things is the injustice of it all. One of the major reasons I was compelled to choose my sanity over a bad marriage was the hope that there would be a chance that I could be free of an adult dependent, and maybe the only way he could learn independence that he couldn't achieve while living with me as his convenient sugar mama. So while I struggle to pay off a loan I took to buy him out of a home I paid off and maintained (minus his deposit of an inheritance from an elderly great aunt, not even money he earnedI ), he earns interest on the cash. The money I saved for future renovations that had been hoped for for over a decade went to his pile of cash. Meanwhile, I keep paying for the house, for my daughter's sake, and keep the cats alive, with vet care and food in the thousands, and pay him monthly to take care of my daughter. He gets that money, and I get to pay it, plus her dental bills because he doesn't insist of her taking care of brushing twice a day, and daycare fees if he puts her in and camp and swimming and swim shoes and swimsuits and clothes and boots and school incidentals, even if he doesn't tell me. He almost called off a camping weekend he had told her about for months before, building up her excitement because friends were going to be there, his rationale being that it was going to be "too expensive". He asked to borrow the car, and the camping equipment (I offered to drive him out but I needed to use the car to work and the hours I had free didn't suit him). I was astonished to find that, while he claimed not to have enough to pay for 2 nights camping, I pay interest on a loan so he could sit on half my house in cash, and although still unemployed, he had started not only to date, but introduce my daughter to the girl he only met 2 weeks ago!
Although it was a bittersweet day, my daughter and I went downtown by train, which was fun for us both. She was enthralled with planning her summer birthday, and the rain held off. We stopped at my friend's to help her put a chair together, and after catching up for a while, we went out for supper at a favourite pizza joint (Amelia's) with the best "white" i.e. 5 cheese pizza. Then we went to the jazz fest and stayed up too late, getting face painted and contemplating ice cream which in the end we were way too full to actually buy, and playing percussion with Julie, a jazzfest animator.
The day was not as remarkable as I had hoped, but it was, all in all, a very nice day. One day at a time. Immunized to gas lighting. Holding my head up high with shame slowly becoming a figment of my past.
Jazzfest playground
 |
| White pizza |
The day was not as remarkable as I had hoped, but it was, all in all, a very nice day. One day at a time. Immunized to gas lighting. Holding my head up high with shame slowly becoming a figment of my past.
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