I'm looking for something

I am home alone this morning. My husband gets back from the city later today after a 2 night "me time" break. I go away for work or fun quite a bit.  Huge gratitude to everyone that I am able to do that, especially the fun parts.  So last winter as the snow looked like it was staying for ever my husband said that he fancied a weekend away in Toronto. Nice idea I thought, but who will look after small person?  " Well you will Fiona, I'm going alone".  I'll admit that my mind went at 300 miles an hour from "how dare he; what's he up to; it's alright for some" and then I applied the brain brake and realized that this was a great idea.  He gets to sit in silence if that's what he needs; he gets to drink beer in a bar and watch sports that he is only now starting to understand, like Curling.

So he's off having fun and being the smartest man alive he also seals the deal this time by asking "do you want anything from the L'Occitane store".  Smooth!

So I'd planned mummy and me time with Small person.  Nothing elaborate, just a meal out Friday and a trip to the movies Saturday.  Turns out that when you are 8 you don't need your mum so much, you prefer friends. Apparently people have studied this. I can vouch for it being true because on Friday night he fidgeted throughout the meal and acted like he was sugar high and then he dumped me for his mate who asked him for a sleep over. I could have said no but I have learnt that dragging him kicking and screaming with me with the order "we will have a nice time" is exhausting and not so much fun. So, home alone, plus cats. Strong tea and calabrese toast with Scottish Marmalade. It's so quiet I can hear the silence.

Having had time to myself this weekend I have been sorting things out, in the house, at my bank and in my head. I tried to explain introversion to others at work this week, but I'm not sure I did it that affectively. I said "everything that I see, feel, need to do, need to understand, every imagining of any kind is a file in my head. So when we are at work and it's busy, and we need to work out what to do first, all of those questions are files in my head, additional files.  My head ( physically larger than it should be for sure, as my family have mahoosive heads) has to hold all of the information.  So when I check a box on a survey that says " workload is too high or not fairly shared out" what I mean is there is too much to fit in my head.  It's not about my ability to prioritize at this point, because if you imagine hundreds of files shoved in a finite space there is no room to sort them and move them around. It just becomes a pile of stuff wedged in a box.

That to me is the crux of introversion  - it is the beauty of being able to think before I speak and the burden of having a very full head.  So the challenge then becomes about doing thing that silence the thinking. Doing absorbing things that have me focus in the moment. I am back doing yoga. It's helping but I still find that the silence in my head is a new space that get filled with thoughts on how to solve that work conundrum.  It will take time and practice, probably over a lifetime I reckon.  Another way that works is to get lost in a crowd of people who are just like me.  It's kind of diversity in reverse in a way but if I go camp out in the woods with my tribe the need to "work it all out, whose who and why" isn't needed. My brain slows right down...and that my friends is why I am going twice to Squam this year. Woot woot!

Namaste

Cemetery in the woods

Sunday morning, breakfast behind us. Small person and husband have a day of doing nothing planned but I want to do something. It's mild for February, around freezing point, a little bit of ice in the shade. What to do, what to do? I decided to just get in the car and see where it went. It went to Tim Hortons drive through...well this is Canada, and I haven't had a coffee in around a hour so coffee it is.  Then I drove onto the Mcmichael Art Gallery which is magically 3 miles from my house.  Somedays living in a small town north of the burbs can be boring or overly franchised.  But then I remember that the greatest collection of Canadian Art (IMO) is 12 minutes away...and off I go.

 

Sometime I go inside but mostly I walk around outside. Today I took a different path and then watched 2 chipmunks playing, up trees, down trees, through hollow logs. It was very cute and they were surprisingly loud and squeaky. I walked around the sculpture garden. Huge bronze statues. I liked them in their setting, as they were so out of scale and hard looking against the trees.  I walked through an art installation which I think was about the river of dreams. Sign was in French so I had to guess a few word.  12 massive weather vain like structures along a frozen stream. Each one had a message in a bottle hanging from it... I read them all.  Again, I likes the fact that this was so large and incongruous but it didn't touch my heart.

Then I wandered on to what the map called "the artists cemetery". At first I thought I'd detour to avoid that but why? Go have a look. As always the thing that I would have avoided if I'd let myself dwell on it too much was the best experience. I had no idea that six of the Group of Seven artists were buried, with their wives, in a circle in the trees. Before I came to Canada I had not even heard of the Group of Seven. Now I am learning as I go, and their art is a spiritual connection I have made with my new home. The cemetery and graves is a circle of granite rocks with their names carved out. The rocks symbolizing the Canadian landscape that they captured in their art in the 1920's and 1930's.  I'm still processing the experience...how people, live, are great, have a profound impact that remains when they are gone, and then there is a circle of rocks. The trees keep growing, the chipmunks play on.  I stood in the silence, my bare hand on a tall tree, trying to feel something. I have trouble feeling feelings, nobody's perfect. But what I did see after standing still was more detail.  It was as if more of the nature came into focus.  I liked that.  I took a lots of photos of foliage for a study of the colours of winter that I am starting on later today...simple pleasures

Namaste
Fiona

Things to know when visiting Canada from the UK

We are all very excited as Small Persons BFF is coming for a visit in 2 weeks time.  Coincidently her class is learning all about Canada this week, so we thought we'd offer up some translations to help her in both adventures.  Also yesterday, as I rummaged in my bag to find my purse I was reminded of the differencies in language.

I was in a shop paying a bill and as I rummaged I said " sorry, just need to find my purse". The girls pointed at my bag and said " but that's your purse".  "No, that's my bag.  Here's my purse".  "Really? Because to me that's your wallet".  " ha, men have wallets, girls have purses and bags"... So you see the fun that can be had moving to another English speaking nation.  I suspect the French to French here has similar nuances but I don't have those language skills to tell yet!

So, here is the helpful list:  from UK to Ontario English ( things may be different in other provinces)

A hat is a toque
A jumper is a sweater
Trainers are runners
A cuddly toy is a stuffie
A pussy cat is a kitty
Trousers are pants
Pants are underpants
Salopettes are snow pants
A bag is a purse
A purse is a wallet
A white coffee is coffee with milk
A biscuit is a cookie
A scone is a biscuit
Sweets are candy
Fizzy drinks are Pop
A swede is a rudebega
A cucumber is an English cucumber
A muffin is an English muffin
A Canada goose is a goose
Petrol is Gas
Gas is gas
An estate agent is a realtor
A chemist is a pharmacist
Cigarettes are smokes
Our car is a truck

Toilets are washrooms
Starbucks is Starbucks
Torches are flashlights
Crisps are chips
Chips are fries
Sledge is a sled
A manual car is a Standard
A queue is a line
Football is soccer
The car boot is a trunk
The car bonnet is a hood
The road is pavement
The pavement is the sidewalk
The head teacher is the principal
The deputy head is the vice principal
Play time is recess
The climbing frame is a playground
The back garden is the yard
The settee is the couch
Young people are called youth
Pudding is called dessert
Jelly is jello
Wool is yarn
Doughnuts are donuts
A tram is a streetcar
A spade is a shovel



If we got and wrong feel free to correct us in the comments below
#weloveithere

Interview with small person

Hello small person, what did you do this weekend?

- I went to camp.

Where was that?

- in a cabin

Did you sleep on the floor?

- no in a bunk bed

What was your favourite thing about being at camp?

- tobogganing

What did you like the least?

-  hmmm, like the least?  Looking at trees.

Why were you looking at trees?

- I don't know.

What did you eat?

- schmores, sandwiches, berzangne, bacon and syrup. That's it.

What was the funniest thing that happened?

- nothing...

Interview suspended whilst he visits the bathroom. Door closed he's singing " I kissed a girl and I liked a it...her lips tasted of cherry Chapstick." He returns and the interview continues.

Did you kiss a girl?

-NO!

What made you happiest at camp?

- I already told you, tobogganing

What did you learn at camp?

- Nothing.

nothing?

- eesch mum, how many times do I have to say it.  Nothing.

Interview ends, TV off pause and SpongeBob fills the room once again.

#makingmemories

Raggy Blanket

What to do with a pile of old kids t-shirts and jeans when you have a week off work? Raggy blanket!

Lots of six inch squares, cut with a roller cutter. It's super sharp so I managed to cut my finger at the start of the project.

Then sew 12 in a line with 1cm edge on the right side.  Clip the corners at 45 degrees, so that it's not too bulky when it all gets sewn together.  Iron it flat, see below.

Make 9 rows then sew them together, with a 1 cm edge on the right side.  When you have a rectangle you just need to sew on a back sheet having first sandwiched in thick fleece or quilting fluffy stuff.  Then spend a couple of hours clipping all of the edges into fringes. Voila!

Did you have a good Christmas?

It's back to work next week after 10 days "off". "Did you have a good Christmas?" folks will ask. What shall I reply? I think I'll go with "yes thanks, how about you?" rather than the longer version. In truth I kind of went away for Christmas. I was here for small person and ooh'd and ahh'd in all of the right places.  Husband spent hours roasting a turkey, I spent hours making mince pies from scratch...including the mince meat.  Weeks of watching Tudor Monastery Farm had me convinced that chucking fruit and booze in a bowl was all that was needed. The rum and brandy helped them taste right.  Santa came a left lots of lovely gifts. Small person was very happy if a little over wrought by the build up and excitement.  On a bedroom time out by 9 am cooling off from a tantrum.  And through it all I was unwell.

The weeks leading up to Christmas were extremely stressful. Work stress, awake at 4 am and down to the sofa to fall asleep in front of the TV. Then stomach flu that became head flu which for the last 10 days has meant back pain.  Two physio massages and my back and neck hurt a lot.  A routine trip to Toronto for a mammogram, just because I'm at the age when you have those. Then a call back Christmas Eve for another mammogram and an ultrasound.  The nurse telling me that that is not unusual to be called back, as they have no previous records for me, but it got me thinking...and feeling the fear.

Usually at Christmas I plan ahead - I like planning. I don't always follow my plans but I like the order that is created, all be it superficial, by making plans. Where shall we go on holiday this year? Should we get another car once our house is sold? Should I join weight watchers? What shall we do for husbands 50th birthday?  I am distracted this year by a huge self indulgence of feeling ill and worrying that I am ill'er, if that's a word.  I think that is a symptom of being stuck indoors in 12 days of Christmas limbo.

I sent small person to day camp yesterday as I had pre planned that, worried that he'd be stir crazy by now.  He's fine but I think I'm the stir crazy one. After a brisk ( not too brisk so as to fall over ) walk in the snow, to buy essentials I cleared the drive of snow.  I was ably assisted  by three small children from up the street who came with shovels. I paid them in candy.  It's the way we do things in this street.  Then I made a healthy lunch and settled down to watch Gone With The Wind. 3 hours later I remembered how it annoys me that he left her...great film though.  I cooked Chana Dal for my dinner...having made turkey stew for the guys.  It said add 7 chillies, so on the advice of the author to half the chillies, on seeing my pale Celtic skin, I added only three.  Who knew you were supposed to take the seeds out. That's one hot Chana Dal.

So today, it's me and small person, again no car and he's out up the street throwing snow around with his friends.  They'll play old school for 20 minutes then pile in and fight over the Xbox. They have a very loud and volatile relationship.... When 2 play it's okay, when 3 it gets loud, today it sounds like 5 have turned up out there.  There will be demands to "get off my property" from small person any time soon.

My plans? Tidy up a bit, take an ibuprofen, rest, cough. Drink lots of water. Maybe get the paints out...we shall see. No point worrying - worry has no value.  And when people ask "did you have a good Christmas?" I shall say yes.

Namaste

Dunkirk Spirit

We all stood at the bus stop this morning in a very mild December ( I'm still wearing my Birkenstocks, although I look like a nutter) and the kids were very excited. The big kids were off to the rink for skating - gotta love a country where PE is ice skating. The little kids were buzzing as today was the Christmas concert. No political correctness here - it's holiday season and we talk about Christmas. That's what I love about the bus line ( translate that as queue ) it's mini Canada to me.  I did a mental roll call of the parents...we have 2 white folks with studs and dreadlocks, a grandpa from Jamaica, Russians, Bhuddists, Catholics, Muslims, Protestants, a Pastor, and us. Not sure we fit in any of those boxes but I feel an affinity with each one of them.  It is such an eclectic mix.

Small person square danced to a Christmas song, wearing a tinsel elf hat.  The kid with autism wore noise dampening headphones, that I guess cut out the volume that bothers him, so he had a great time too. It's fabulous to me all of this "so what diversity". I'm the girl who grew up in the sixties and still remembers her gran saying " if you see a black man you make a wish for good luck". I don't think she was racist, simply that she was born in 1900 and society was very linear as folks had small worlds that they never left.

I may have blogged before about childhood, I can't recall, so apologies for repetition, but I am local to stories of the 2nd World War, of my dad arriving home as a small boy to find that the Gerry's had blown the door off; stories from Grandma about carrying cans of evaporated milk in a paper bag during rationing and the bottom dropping out just as a policeman walked by; my mum telling me that during the Cuban missile crisis they really did think they'd be dead within the week; being afraid to go up to London each year with school, for fear of Irish terrorists. Ironically they blew up a local bank, so there was no need to travel for terror. It came visiting. As I look back at the journey I have made I both cringe at the things that I used to think and say about others; and am proud at the progress I have made although there is still a way to go as I still have a concious bias against Yorkshireman.

Is there a point to this ramble? Well yes...as I sit here in my warm home in Canada I connect to the world via the web, via the BBC and via Facebook.  I see my awesome friend Pauline make twice weekly trips to Calais to distribute aid, feed hungry refugees and share hugs most likely with some of the poorest people on this planet. They have fled terror, travelled miles, trying to get to UK where they think life will be good. Sadly laws, red tape, lack of political will, nimbyism, racism, selfishness and ignorance have so far condemned these people to live on a rubbish dump in Calais and Dunkirk. They may never be allowed into Britain but ignoring them is not the answer. But it gets worse because the governments of France and UK have spent a fortune on security and preventative measures to stop these people from getting to a safe, warm home.  If they were dogs or horses the British would be lobbying Govt to do something now.

My head links their horror in Dunkirk to the horror of world war 2 in that place; links them living in French mud with the First World War trenches; links our fear of them being terrorists with my fear of the Irish when I was a kid; links my grans stories of milk during rationing with Pauline and her friends helping get cans of food to these people. That's almost funny- taking food to the cuisine capital of the world.  But it's not.

Maybe the links that I make in my head are just my over charged brain working overtime but to me ignoring or arguing about these folks is wrong on every level.  After a tough ( safe western tough ) few months at work I heard myself today telling some one that we have worked really well as a team, pulled together, that we have a "Dunkirk spirit"...and there it is again.  History is rewriting what it is to have a Dunkirk spirit...it should remain as a memory of strength and togetherness and must not be allowed to become " the ability to survive squalor in a muddy field, with PTSD, whilst folks sit indoors eating turkey 20 miles away".