Hooked on a Feeling

“Do what you feel in your heart to be right – for you’ll be criticized anyway.” ― Eleanor Roosevelt

As I age, I learn. I’ve learned that even though people think I’m a people person, I’m really not. I’ve always been an introvert. There was a time, I was so introverted, I couldn’t even lift my eyes and say hello to people. I was terrified!

As I age, I have learned that not everyone will like me, no matter what I do. This is big! It used to give me panic attacks if I knew someone didn’t like me. I needed to understand why.

I’ve learned that music impacts me deeply. I can be happy and instantly become depressed if I listen to the wrong song. I can be low and brought up in mood just by listening to the right song. It’s not always the same music, so I don’t always know what will hit me (though there are some I know exactly what they will do to me).

I’ve learned that I can’t be everything to everyone. This was a hard one emotionally. I was once a very active person, in every sense of the word. I volunteered, I worked overtime, I had my kids in everything reasonable, I stayed up late, I did it all. I hit the wall hard and everything came down in a landslide. Being diagnosed with a chronic illness will do that (MS in my case, along with others). I haven’t volunteered in so long, I work my hours (gratefully), but no more. I wish I could do more with my kids. I’m in bed by 7:30 pm or I don’t function the next day at all. It’s been over a decade and that was on of the hardest things to realize.

You always hear the tune of ‘just follow your dreams and life will be great’. I offer up the alternative – do what makes you smile, but remember, you are human. Not everyone can climb Mount Everest. Not everyone can travel the world. Not everyone can reach the outer reaches of our oceans. Not everyone can board a ship to outer space. It’s OK if your life is what it is. I struggle with this one. A lot. I dreamed of being an archaeologist. I did two BAs to accomplish that end, but then I got married. He was not kind and my dreams were dashed on the rocks. I created new life (literally), and began seeing my life differently. I have children I love, I have a yard I love puttering in. My second husband is my best friend and if we were stuck in the house together, just us, I’d be content. It’s not the life I dreamed I’d have, but it’s the life that makes me smile.

Sometimes I hyper focus on my depression and anxiety; on what I lack instead of what I have. At 48, I’m working hard on focusing on what I do have, what makes me smile, what I care about. I colour my hair crazy colours as a mood booster. I stopped caring what people think of my hair and skin – heck, I’ve even gotten many tattoos (for me, that was huge!). Letting go of what others think of me has been one of the hardest things to let go of. Yes, I still have times when I go into a panic attack because I worry about how I’m perceived (I’ve often been misread in my life).

Right now, in this present moment, I’m content. Would like I my dreams to come true? Of course! We’ve all been hooked on those feelings; but I’ve learned to be ok with my life, with how I’ve lived it. That to me is the best feeling of all.

Blue Swede – Hooked on a Feeling

That Don’t Impress Me Much

“It is amazing how complete is the delusion that beauty is goodness.” ― Leo Tolstoy, The Kreutzer Sonata

I have never felt beautiful.

Even as a little girl, I remember standing in front of a mirror, in a bathing suit (I might have been 6 or 7), I thought I was fat and ugly. Yes, that young. Guess what? I wasn’t. I was told as an adult that I was a beautiful little girl. I never felt it.

As a teen, I would wear clothes that were too big. I was 5’1″ and all of 105 – 110 lbs. I was not a big teen. I thought I looked massive. I wasn’t impressive. I’d spent most of my young life being bullied, maybe that was part of it. Teen life involved me drinking, smoking, and finding a group of friends who loved me (and still do!!!). But I was shy, and overwhelmed in groups. My marks were average, I was always told I could do better.

Enter adulthood, I worked jobs I loved. I worked at a small country store with a lunch counter, I worked at a club (bar). I went to university. I adulted, as they say now. But I was also drunk – a lot (never at work or school). I’m pretty sure I was what is termed a functional alcoholic. When I drank, I drank hard. I can no longer drink more than one or two drinks as I get panic attacks.

Everything in that time would impress me. Cars, guys, smart people, everything. I even finished my degree, then got a second one! Then I got married.

I won’t go into my first marriage. A year after we split, I developed MS that was believed to be stress induced (he was not a good person).

I was on my own with two young kids for a while, then I met my current husband. What impressed me about him? He became my friend first. His family all loved him genuinely. He loved (loves) my kids.

I’m so much older now. My second husband and I had a child together, bringing our family fully together. I should be completely happy.

Depression, anxiety, my weight, and so much more has made me numb. I’m having a hard time keeping contact with friends. I’m a hermit. Covid didn’t help, I’m more reclusive than ever. Nothing really impresses me anymore. I put on a smile and act impressed, but everything is just meh.

My joy is in my garden. Snuggling my kids. Spending time with my husband. being close to my pets.

What does impress me? When I see people who genuinely want to help others with no strings. Rescuers who do it over and over again, in spite of the hurt and pain it can bring because the joy is so worth it. Those who put others first because they love how it feels, not what it can bring them. I could go on.

I’m tired. I’m sure this is coming through. I’m drained mentally and physically. I want to be impressed. I want life back.

Shania Twain – That Don’t Impress Me Much

Where Are You Going?

“Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.” ― Albert Einstein

What a month this has been. Not even half way through June, and so much has happened, is happening, will happen!

My 19 year old son is on the cusp of graduating! I’m so proud of him. He has FASD. If you don’t know what that is, it’s Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder. His birth mother drank while pregnant, causing a great many neurological issues for my sweet boy. That said, he has constantly strived for what he wants. The past week alone he has past his learner’s driving test (YES!) and will finally graduate with his GED that he worked so hard to get. He even has full time work on a farm. To say this momma is proud would be an understatement. I can’t take the credit though. He has been staying with a caregiver who is trained in assisting those with issues like my son’s. She has been my super hero, a guardian angel that swooped in and made life so much better for all of us. My son’s mind is active, he is constantly thinking of what he wants to do with his life, how he wants to do it, where he wants to go, and so on. He has a huge heart, and his spirit shines so bright.

In other news, my parrotlet, Kalypso, has started laying eggs! My budgie, Pi, has become her mate/guardian and even injured himself trying to keep me away. Oh my. The eggs will not be fertile, budgies and parrotlets are from two very different genera. If you’d like to see a little video of them, feel free to head over to my Instagram (link on the sidebar). They are so adorable. The eggs will remain until about 20 days after the last one is laid. If I remove them any sooner, it will cause Kalypso to lay more, and that could be very harmful to her. Parrotlets can lay up to 8 eggs every other day in one breeding season!

Schools almost over for my youngest. He’s so excited to start summer, and we are so fortunate for our lives.

This, then, brings me to a very important current happening, something that needs to be talked about.

Many people in Canada, and around the World, were shocked to hear of the discover of 215 children at a former Residential School. Some calling it a dark part of Canada’s history. What a load of shit. The last Residential school closed in 1996. I graduated in 1992. I graduated university in 1997. I grew up knowing how horrible these children were treated. I don’t know if it’s because of where I was raised of my family dynamic, or that I had friends and loved ones who are First Nations. Maybe a combination of all those and the fact that I have a thirst for knowledge.

My mom’s family (as mentioned in the previous post) is Acadian from Northern New Brunswick. I’m not going to paint it with rainbows and fairy dust, but for the most part I grew up hearing how wonderful First Nations treated Acadians, especially during the horror of the deportations by the English (we know we have family that were separated from us, but we don’t know where they ended up).

My dad’s family is Welsh. My grandparents immigrated to Ontario around 1938/39. My dad’s oldest brother was born in Wales, followed by my dad who was born in Canada. If you don’t know the history of the Welsh, let’s just say the English treated them just as good as they did the Acadians and for centuries longer. The Welsh weren’t allowed to speak their own language, it’s amazing it has survived and now there are many Welsh schools in Wales.

I do know how to speak French, my mother insisted on it. I have struggled to learn Welsh. My dad spoke Welsh at home until he was school aged, then it was all English. He remembers a few words, but not much else.

Why am I explaining my family history in this context? I think because I feel like it shines a light on perspective. I was raised by families who had endured hardships. That being said, I’m white. I completely understand and see my privilege. If you see me on the street, you’re most likely going to judge me by my tattoos or lack of make up, not my skin colour. That is wrong on a level I can’t even put into words. There are those who have been born with this privilege, but they lack the perspective to see and understand it. They lash out with terms that are meant to demean, all the while showing how fragile their own self image truly is.

The fact that First Nations children were so heinously abused for just wanting to speak their mother tongue is absurdly cruel. They were harmed for things any white child would never have been even scolded for. I’ve started to read the names of the dead First Nations children, starting from A. The list is long. My pronunciation is atrocious, I am sure. I will persevere in reading each and every one. Their names deserve to be heard, I just wish their birth names, not Christian moniker, but true First Nations birth names were written therein. Some do, you can tell which ones. It breaks my heart and hurts my soul to see so much pain. I’ve tried to put myself in the shoes of their families, and I can’t. It would quite literally break me if someone stole my children from me and sent them away to such a place.

I’ve said it before, I will say it again – the depths of human depravity never cease to amaze me.

If you want to learn more, please visit The Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s page – http://www.trc.ca/index.html. Here you can find more information, resources, children’s books that can help open up a conversation about Residential Schools – I firmly believe they need to be taught this, it is not just of historic importance, it is important CURRENT issue.

My heart is with you. My eyes see you. My mind thinks of you. My spirit weeps with you.

Dave Matthews Band – Where Are You Going

Dégénération, or when you learn I’m half Acadian

“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”― Mae West

On April 25, 2021, my beautiful Mémère passed away, aged 102. Yes, 102 years old. She would have been 103 on Canada day, July 1st.

I missed her birthday last year, thanks Covid. I was sick and unable to visit out of fear of making her ill (no, I didn’t have Covid).

Two weeks before her death, I got to visit her. She looked great! She held my hand tight, looked deep into my eyes. She loved having her family near. She was a very devout Catholic and I’d like to believe that she is in her heaven with her husband, my pépère (he died in the 1980s), and her daughter, my matante Clairine, who died almost 13 years ago in an accident. I hope she is surrounded by all her loved ones.

Ma belle Mémère, my mom and me

Her name was Albertine Doucet (née Dugas). She survived the Great Depression, WWII, and so many other calamities. She started life with no indoor plumbing, no phones, none of the things we take for granted now. After my pépère past, she got her driver’s license at the ripe young age of 66! She raised seven children, only losing one in her twilight years.

My mémère spoke very little English, but always had a warm hug and a huge smile for those who didn’t understand her words. She accepted everyone for who they were. She had a huge heart and loved all of us, and we are a BIG family.

My mémère survived to see the youngest members of her extended family six generations on. She was a great great great grandmother to my cousin’s grand-children! She was the matriarch of our family and I know it just won’t be the same without her.

For the first time in years, I won’t be travelling up north to see her on her birthday. For the first time in years, I’ll be making plans for Canada day locally. It feels weird.

Je t’aime beaucoul et je t’embrace ma belle mémère. T’es toujours dans mon cœur.

Mes Aïeux – Dégénérations

End of the World

In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.

– Robert Frost

Well then…it’s been a few months since I’ve posted and I can’t say they’ve been grand.

Covid has me working from home and I love it. I had no idea that working remotely would have me being more productive. It hasn’t been without it’s challenges.

Financially, I’ve heard of people saving money due to being home…all I have to say is they must not have teens!

We lost our bearded dragon, Charlie, in the Spring due to heart failure

My baby Chalie 💔

We adopted a new pup, Dahlia! She’s almost 15 weeks and is 25 lbs already.

Pretty baby girl ❤

In April, we found out Bishop had lung cancer and his liver was herniating into his esophagus. Notice the past tense…my heart broke last week when we had to take him for his last drive and visit to the vet. I can’t talk about it yet. I miss my boy so much. He was my copilot on drives, my snuggle buddy.

Bishop’s smile

Basically, my depression has been shit, my anxiety worse and my life a go-to. But! I have a home. I have happiness. I have family. I have food in my belly. I have gratitude ❤

It’s not the end of the world, even though it feels like it is sometimes.

Great Big Sea – End of the World