Pink Faux Fur Skies

Have you ever noticed the sky at night in Hamilton when it snows?

It turns pink and has the texture of faux fur. I hate to be cold--I get chilled easily, yet, when it snows in Hamilton it warms my heart to be in it. To be in the heart of the furry pink sky late at night when no one is really awake; when there is little traffic, fewer pedestrians and my neighbours have all gone to bed or to work for the night; to lie on my bed and watch the sky glow as white snow falls like icing sugar dusting all the imperfections of the city, my heart is warmed and I feel content.

Romance flourishes under pink faux fur skies and melancholy becomes a desirable state of mind.

Even the man upstairs with his anger, bitterness, loneliness and madness is soothed by the soft night. His footsteps are lighter and the music he chooses it peaceful--even to me. He coughs less and paces very little.

I can hear my neighbour on my left has come home. She shuffles up the three flights of stairs with surprising energy considering the time of day she returns and the time since she left. She rarely fumbles with her keys, unlike me, and tonight her touch is gentle and when the door closes it isn't startling. The delicate wonder of this night has pacified us.

The ebb and flow of my old building contracting and relaxing with the fluctuations in temperature is the only sound I can hear besides the distant whir of a siren and putting of an engine.

Tomorrow will come too soon and the pink sky will fade into gray conjuring up little passion in those who observe it. The usual frustrations of the day will return with the sun and the fantasy of the snow will become a mild nuisance to motorists, pedestrians and the like. And in the morning, as I sadly move between dreams into reality, a vague sense of distaste will cloud my mind as I reflect on this flowery post inspired by snow.

He's living my dream...

This movie makes me incredibly happy.
Also--if some of you (better yet, a group of you) out there are struggling with what to get us for our wedding present--we're registered at The Bay but more importantly, we're registered for a great video camera---something that would make me even happier because then I could make my own movies like this one!


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

This post goes out to all the MIA girls (and boys) who had candy in their shoes. Candy AND canned heat.

I'm a little bit ashamed of this post...

I've realized a crazy thing lately--well, for a while now. Yet, after almost a quarter of a century of habitual thinking patterns, it's hard to think in new ways.

And that new way is that the Lord is always there--ready to pick up where I left off. I think there's a period of adjustment where sin is involved, but generally, the Lord is just waiting to pick things up again--like a long standing, long-distance friendship.

I have a few friends like that--people I don't have to see or talk to for months, sometimes years, and yet when we're together we carry on like we've never been apart. Actually most of my best friends are those kinds of people. Not sure if that's bad or not.
But it sure is helpful.

Because with those friends there's no guilt, no shame, no anger, no resentment for not being in touch more often. Sometimes there's a bittersweetness to it once you realize how much you miss that person, but there's no guilt, because they love you and any time they can spend with you is priceless.

The Lord is like that--because he isn't interested in having us 'put our time in', or how 'deserving' we are.

Anyway--this post is dedicated to RuBy--for her inspiring, challenging posts on life, learning and God, and for her friendship that is like Jesus'; picking up where we left off without a second thought.

Wedding drama...but no crying lately

Yesterday consisted of mailing invitations, picking up my dress, doing some alterations on it, forgetting (temporarily!) my mother's birthday, working on my resume, my book, doing research for my book, doing research about wedding favours, updating my to-do lists and exercising because I can't fit into my dress.

Today consists of tracking down gifts for my bridesmaids, redoing the budget, mailing more invites, getting my sewing machine fixed, preparing for Ken moving in, getting quotes for cakes, looking into furniture for Ken and I and exercising again, because chances are good I won't fit into my dress again today and for many days.

Ah. This is the life.

But with so much out of the way, like choosing a photographer, videographer, the church, the reception, the pastor, the dress and al the bridesmaid's stuff and sending out invitiations I feel much more relaxed and prepared. For now.

Consequently I'm looking for a job. Part-time mind you, but I have lots of time these days and I suddenly feel the domestic responsibility to help win bread, especially for things like down-payments on houses and just surviving the economy these days.

Anyone got any leads?

Fortunately I haven't had my Monday break-down for a few weeks! This is great news for Ken. However, I'm sure there are more of those to come.

Hm, Ellius wants me to post more things about wedding plans...but it's not very interesting apparently.

Oh--Ken's parents met mine on Sunday. We had them over for lunch--it went well. There was some good laughter, good food, and intimate conversations. Overall a good experience. AND as a bonus my apartment is pretty much as good as it's going to get for a while! So--all of you out there you're welcome to drop by sometime!

We had a little photo shoot on the fire escape after lunch.




On and annoying note--as I was preparing for Sunday by hanging pictures on the walls my neighbour upstairs--the very neighbour taken to hospital by EMS workers about a month ago because of drug use--pounded his fists on my ceiling after about the 6th nail. He proceeded to sing in a foreign language and play his foreign sounding guitar. This lasted until about 1am when he literally fled from the building.
Ah...how comforting.
I think I'd rather live below an angry man then a drug-man.

A little research...

I don't know how I got onto this, but something made me research the species of baboon indigenous to the mountain region of Malawi that I was in when I was lost hiking there.
Apparently it is the yellow baboon, or hamadryas, variety. Omnivores, travel in packs, with one head male...who roars.




I had the mace in my left hand and my leatherman in the right hand (for accuracy) and I was SO ready to kill. I already had the headlines running through my head 'Lost hiker slays vicious 80 lb. male baboon' or 'Canadian backpacker lost in mountains makes a meal out of pack of dangerous baboons'

I never got a good look at that male, so putting a face to those roars is...disturbing.

That's all I wanted to say. You can be impressed and amazed now.

Born to birth

Hello mon petit frites!

Good news! I passed my NARM exam! It's been a long journey and there was more than a few times that I wished I had never started walking down that road, but I did it, and I'm so pleased. I think I was the most pleased when I just WROTE the exam, so that when I found out I passed it was rather anticlimactic. Weird eh?

I've come a long way though--from being that green little hippie in Boise to a student in Manila to supervisor in Antipolo to today--just a regular girl in Hamilton planning her wedding.

Suturing for the first time. I enjoyed it too much and henceforth continued to enjoy it too much--even with the real deal.

Learning how to give (and receive) subcutaneous injections with Katie.

Studying hard in Manila a couple weeks after arriving. I believe that the stethescope on the text actually helps one to 'hear' the knowledge.

Our last homebirth as a team and as a clinic---in, without a doubt, the worst living conditions I've ever worked in or witnessed. Rats between your ankles, cockroaches on your back, being peed on and delivering a newborn on cardboard.

Helping a mother focus, breathe and push.

With my special survivor Baby Tan--born 8 weeks early and the only one of FORTY premies to survive the Nicu in a Filipino Children's Hopsital.

Albeit, a much wiser, harder-working and disciplined midwife-bride. (Ooooooh these words are rich in Christian subtexts, eh? You could just go crazy with the parallels!)

Thanks to everyone who helped push me (ah...hilarious) to the finish line.

(More on wedding shananigans later!)

Lessons in human nature

Interactions with people are always amusing--in one way or another. I believe my levels of patience, or my cap, is pretty pathetic, so maybe I'm not the best observer of human nature. Yet a few interactions last week stand out.

I was at the mall returning a book to the library when I walked by a dress shop and saw a dress in the window that I wanted to have for my honeymoon--so I went in. I asked the guy working there what size it was, assuming it was tiny, and I suppose I scrunched my face when I asked because he was literally taken-aback. He said it was a medium and that I shouldn't frown so much. I looked slideways at him and continued looking at clothes. He proceeds to prophecy over me:
'You're really high maintence, aren't you?'
'No.' I pout. 'I have high standards.'
'Yeah. You're hard to please. How's that going for you?'
(I can't believe this conversation is happening.)
'Fine enough I suppose considering I'm shopping for my honeymoon...' and I flash him my ring. 'So I guess things are going just fine thanks.'
He pauses, all the while just watching me look through the racks. 'So basically you've just found someone who's just as picky as you?'
'Is that a bad thing?'

I try the dress on and love it--there aren't any mirrors IN the change room so I have to come out and he's all over me. 'See I told you not to frown so much--it fits. It looks great. See here,' he starts touching my waist, 'this is so flattering.'

I can't believe he's just touching me, but I'm too....startled to do or say anything. He continues to do this despite my very clear body-language 'get the flip away from me'.

So I leave that store in a daze--feeling totally insulted yet somehow complimented as well. Also having been groped and having done nothing about it and just smiling at him and buying a dress.
People are weird.

Then--this is a little life lesson for you all:
DON'T POINT OUT OBVIOUS PHYSICAL ISSUES TO OTHERS YOU DON'T KNOW OR CARE ABOUT

I feel like that is Life 101, yet a lot of people haven't learned that yet.

I was at my HipHop class, (yes, hiphop yo,) and whenever I exercise I get a really red face and get super sweaty. That's just me. It's been like that since childhood. It's doesn't matter if I'm totally out of shape or in the best shape of my life. And I know it's not a phenomenon unto me alone.

Yet, as I was busting my moves in class an older lady who was too 'dizzy' to participate turns to me and says with a big smile 'Your face is all red,' as if she had said 'looks good!'
It was so bizarre. I was infuriated and humiliated. YES my face was red. Any idiot who wasn't COLOR BLIND could see that (I guess in that case she would have thought I was cyanotic?), but who points that out? She might as well have said 'Your hair is in a ponytail!'

I've been totally wounded like that before in ballet classes as a kid. I was asked why my feet were so wide by this girl named Clarissa who was a petit ballet-bodied Italian girl. And a girl named Sarah told me there were bumps on my arms. As if a young girl isn't aware of these things.

Anyway folks. Do mankind a favour and be kind. Put yourself in the position of receiving the words you are about to say and see how they make you feel before you wound another with a flippant remark.

And I thought last week was bad!

Hey folks!
As most of you know, I hope, Ken and I were engaged almost two weeks ago! These pictures were taken that day by my sister, Catherine. I don't think we even need to get 'professional' ones done, eh?

I'm so excited to be marrying this amazing man of my dreams ( despite my dreams about Tom Petty dancing in leg warmers) very soon! Jan 24th is the date--we were aiming for an extra week, but, a week sooner isn't too bad either.

It's only been about 10 days and I'm already begging Ken to consider eloping and SIGNIFICANTLY reducing our guest list. This would be heartbreaking to not have a lot of people that we love there, but it would be more heart breaking if the bride DIED before the wedding due to freaking out.

Wow--wedding are expensive eh? Who knew.

My body is crying out though--I went from studying for my exam, to driving 8 hours to Michigan, to writing the exam in about 4 hours to IMMEDIATELY going to Target and buying wedding invitations. No break. No respite. No down time.
Needless to say I'm exhausted. I woke up this morning disfigured by an eye infection. Now I'm taking drops every two hours that slowly drip down the back of my throat leaving a sharp bitter sting. It's lovely.

And on top of all of this I thought it would be grand if I invited Ken's parents and my parents over to meet at my place before it was even ready for guests. This has led to a mad dash of painting (melamine inside...in winter...windows barely open. You might think that the windows not being open is merely a side-effect of the brain-damage I've had, but no, the windows were never open to start with.), cleaning, unpacking, hanging things up, yadda yadda.

Now might be a good time for Ken to go away on a work-trip for 4 days. Ok. Done. No I have NO ONE to help me wipe the crust from my eye while I lap up the paint fumes and drill holes in my walls.
Well, my dad helped...but that's not the imagery I'm going for.

Anywho! Despite all this, I'm happy! I'm getting married SOON! And I can't wait. I can't wait for it all to be over and to be able to just be with him.

Is that weird? I've never day-dreamed about my wedding. I've day-dreamed about marriage, but the actual day....not really. I think I understood from a young age that my personality makes me susceptible to stress, disappointment and anxiety, so I must have just avoided the topic altogether and day-dreamed about retirement.

Funniest clip EVER!

Bon soir mon petite fantomes! You know who you are and you know I don't like it!

Anywho--Ken ditched me for hockey...shockingly...so I rented Run Fatboy Run. It was directed by (gasp!) David Sschhhhhwimmer, and stars the usual suspects from the Hot Fuzz and Shawn of the Dead movies. So, you know it's hilarious and dumb. (But not in a Just Friends kind of way, RB).

Here is my favourite clip--don't mind the intro. It was the only version I could find online. I might have watched this....8 times laughing and crying and rolling around on my bed in gorgeous agony (pardon?) as I laughed until it sounded like I was being smothered by my pillow. Half gagging and snorting. It was....well, as I said, it was gorgeous.

Just the first minute or so...

AHHHHHAHHHAAHAH WHOA! .....and YOU READY?!?

Ah. Gold.

Anywhoskis--I'm off to the cottage tomorrow morning bright and early. I should be packing, but who can pack when you're laughing alone? Hey? Tell me--who can?

I would recommend this movie. It was funny, the accents are enjoyable and, yes, there's even a good message to the movie; something that particularly applies to me and my exam next week--fortitude, discipline and follow-through.
Good things.

List

This is a list of things I'm going to do, or not do, in two weeks when I'm finished my exam:

1) Eat Flamin' Hot cheetos until it hurts to poo
2) Have a massage and not stress that it's 'taking too long'
3) Never look things up in an Index ever again. (I might be fumbling around a book for a while, but I'll find what I'm looking for eventually. Or give up. In which case what I'd been looking for mustn't be very important to begin with.)
4) Paint my forest green tv cabinet, and UNPACK. Holy crap.
5) Have a tea party.
6) Hang pictures on the walls.
7) Not think about another person's vagina for at least a week
8) Burn my flash cards
9) Leave all the facebook groups that have anything to do with babies or breastfeeding. Just because I can.
10) Never carry over 60lbs. of books on one shoulder at one time ever again!
11) Brush my hair.
12) Shave my legs--yes Ken.
13) I may or may not continue wearing sweats I bought second hand at the Village. It feels pretty good.
14) Stop spending in excess of 15 hours a week at my parent's place
15) Read a book that doesn't contain the words 'obstetric disaster' or 'nipple stimulation'. Well...maybe a book with the second phrase in it.
16) Visit people I haven't seen in ages and meet new people I've been putting off until the exam was over. That's right. I've been putting off meeting new people. 'I don't know you? Sorry. You'll have to wait...oh another month or so.'
17) Look for a job that supports me as opposed to a career in sucking my saving's dry and feeling like shit as it happens. It was a good run, but I'm looking for something more challenging.

That's it for now.
In the meantime, here are a couple pictures from my latest wedding gig:

Huh.

Sometimes it's unfortunate having grown up in a Christian home as it can deaden to you words, scriptures and theology that would otherwise blow your mind!

That happened to me today when, after ashemedly watching 100 Huntley St., I realized, hey, I have 'freewill'. Everything I do or say is a choice. God doesn't coerce me into things, or manipulate (that's the proper name for coerce, isn't it?) me into behaving a certain way, or cause my heart to suddenly be a different heart. He might romance me into wanting to, but ultimately, it's by choice that I spend time with him; by choice I turn to him when I'm angry; by choice muster up the courage to trust him.

I know this is Faith 101, but seriously, I hadn't ever really thought about it. Everything I do to get closer to the Lord is by MY will, and everything I do that takes me further from him is again, my choice.

Bek has really inspired me lately (but not ever anytime before just the other day) with choosing to take an hour out of her incredibly busy schedule to 'waste' on the Lord. The ball is in our court, so to speak. It always is and always has been. I mean, I suppose there are times when we wait on the Lord to answer a prayer or request, and then the ball would be in his court...inner court, I'm assuming. But the rest of the time it's my decision to serve the ball back.

Yes yes. We ALL get it. I don't need to keep repeating myself in different ways until I hear someone in the distance cry 'oh! I get it! Free will!' I'm just so stunned by this revelation---the gravity and seriousness of it, and yet, it being a gift.

On Huntley St. this lady was speaking about making choices. She told a story about praying with her friend. Her friend wanted to quit smoking so they prayed together, and no sooner had they finished then her friend said 'pray again. but this time ask the Lord to take away my desire to smoke.' And this lady, I don't remember her name, said 'no. I won't do that because God won't do that. You need to make the decision and say no to the cigarette and pray that God gives you the strength follow-through.'

I've never thought about it that way. I want to lose weight--and I'm certain I've prayed something to that same affect--'Lord, take away my desire to eat fatty foods.' When, because I love him and love my body which is his temple, I should pray for the strength to make wise decisions and the grace to follow-through.

The Lord is so dynamic, eh? So multi-dimensional and yet so simple and straight-forward.

The other cool thing I realized a while ago was that, if for a time I drift from the Lord, spending very little time or thought with him, he's one of those friends you can just pick up where you left off. It isn't a game--there is no time limit. I can turn to him and say, ok, where were we? And he won't miss a beat.
Again, this seems elementary, but to me, and perhaps to you, it was so refreshing and exciting that I didn't need to start from level 1 again. That whatever 'level' I had reached before I got lazy or angry or distracted, was the same 'level' the Lord was wanting to meet with me again.
He has so much grace. I can't fathom it.

Anywhoskis. It's almost the weekend! And I have another wedding on Sat. That's 6 this summer! Look for pictures forthcoming!
Here are a couple from my most recent weddings:

My quarterly blog. Qu'est-ce que c'est?

After midnight, I'm going to let it all hang down. Then I'm going to shake my tambourine. Shake my tambourine. Shake my tambourine.

For those of you know are aware of the Lakeland debacle, rather, the Todd Bentley debacle, I have a word to two. For those of you who are not aware, I can't decide if I think you're lucky or deprived.

There are a couple things I've concluded.
One is, a lot of pain and suffering in this life could be avoided and completely prevented if we all heard the voice of God for ourselves--as we're supposed to.
This would cover our bases in discernment, trust, truth and love.

And there is a part of me that is a little fatalistic in that I feel that despite a person's (potential) shortcomings, if God speaks mightily through them, who the hell am I to argue or judge?
But then, Ken makes a good point--isn't that our job? To discern and weigh words against the Bible?

Then again, what did people say in David's time when he had an affair, a child and murdered a man? I'm sure they were disillusioned too. Yet, God still used him yadda yadda---but more importantly said he had a heart like his own (1 Samuel 13:13-15). Whoa. So the adulterous murderer has a heart like God? The actions have little importance to God verses matters of the heart?

Tres cool.

I guess I'm feeling disillusioned less over Todd because he's just a man, not some immune super-hero, and more in regard to my own judgement.
Who do I look up to? Why do I look up to them? Does my discernment go as far as discerning what the person besides me believes in? I'd have to say yes. Generally it does. It's rather near-sighted. And if there's anything God is not, it's near-sighted.

On a lighter, nay, fatter note--I'm...not ideal. Ew. What a way to put it. I just feel so strongly that considering my health history and the family history, to not be in shape as I approach 30 is a mistake. Especially to not establish a healthy lifestyle before it's too late or before I have kids is the biggest mistake.

On a smaller note I've moved---I'm in a 1 bedroom place just around the corner from my old place with Bek. Strangely I don't miss it in the least. I miss Bek and Gill and Ryan and being SO SO close to Ken, but overall I feel it was time and I was ready to move.

FYI I have internet and phone at my new place now, and the number is still the same.

I've had 5 weddings this summer and I have two more this fall. Exciting/terrifying!

Well--I should go track calories eaten today so I can be shocked and disgusted with myself.

I need ultra-sound treatment...or DO I?

*** I work at Mac doing scenarios with medical, nursing, physio, etc students to help them learn, prepare, and take their exams. This is a story from last weekend.***

There's a knock-knock at the door. It startles me by it's forcefulness--almost too purposeful. The force of the knock makes me want to defy it's knocker and not answer. Pretend like 'oh, were you knocking' just to make a point that the knocking was over-done. But, I'm not that calloused. Not yet.

'Hello...' he looks at his note pad, 'Stephanie?'
'Yeah.'
'Hi--I'm Peter. I understand you hurt your knee in soccer?'
'No. Squash. Hard left.'
'Oh. That's right. On your....the back of your left knee? Well--it looks like we're going to do some ultra sound therapy today. Have you had ultra-sound before?'
'Nope.'
'Do you know anything about ultra-sound?'
I just shake my head. Swinging my legs from the side of the exam table has become a chore by now--let's just get this over with. I've been reduced to one word answers or gestures, if possible.

'Well, ultra sound is a, basically it's crystal in the head of the machine that has sound waves passed through it and, well, essentially provides a 'deep heat' or 'deep massage' to the injured area bring blood to the area to support healing.'
'Hm. That IS basic.' Actually, it's pretty fascinating. Something like a naturally occurring crystal being used as an effective, widely accepted tool in modern medicine.

'So, I'm going to get you lie on your stomach. Yup...ok...and I'm going to put this pillow under your stomach for comfort...'
This is incredibly awkward and not comfortable.
'Comfortable?' he asks me.
'Yup.'
'Ok--now I'm going to put some ultra sound gel on your knee and then on the head. This gel is just to aid in the transmission of the sound waves into your tissues---it's a little cold...sorry.'
'Oh. That's...cold.' Tres amusant. It's not cold. But it's like choosing your battles in 3rd world medicine--is it harmless, harmful or helpful? In this case telling Peter, no, the gel is not cold, would be harmless yet I'm sure would lead to a thorough examination of my thermal sensations. So, for now, yes, the gel is cold. That's the right answer.

'Ok--well, I'm going to keep the head moving to avoid burning you'.
'Thanks.'
'So, we'll do this for 5 minutes.' Pete's breathing is returning to it's resting state--poor kid. At least this time gives him a chance to collect his thoughts.

As we both continue playing in this ridiculous tableaux the examiner is also catching up--making notes, shading in little circles, waiting for the student to do the right thing...or the wrong thing.

This 5 minutes of active therapy, ('please, demonstrate your technique for 5 minutes,') is boring for all of us. Not only that but after a while the paranoia sets in and we all start wondering if we're not doing something crucial that we should be doing.

The examiner is thinking--what did I miss? Has it been 5 minutes yet?
I'm thinking--have I forgotten an important piece of information? What is Peter thinking? I hope he's not thinking things up to talk about or trying to figure out if he's missed an important piece....
And no doubt, Peter's thinking 'this is too easy? What did I miss?'

It's at this point, around the 3.5 minute mark, about the time the spot on the back of my leg begins to get irritated by the osculating attention that I'm tempted to toss poor Peter a bone. He's desperately searching for something crucial he's missed. He needs something, he wants it, even if it isn't scripted--'why isn't the examiner stopping me? Is she waiting for me to figure out the REAL problem? Is there something serious I missed?' When suddenly I begin seizing and I topple to the floor writhing and shaking on the laminate floor. It wasn't my squash injury that's caused my leg to hurt--it's thrombophlebitis and I'm having a stroke!

No--that's too dramatic. Peter might cry under the stress.

Instead I begin to cry---I'm really a recluse and I purposely injured my knee just to so I could be touched on a regular basis. No...that's too psychological. I might try that on a med student, but not a physiotherapy student. I also toss the 'abuse' idea around--but again--too psychological.

In the end I contemplate just laying my head down...closing my eyes for a second...or two. It's been such a long day--and this is my last exam scenario for this class of physio students.

Suddenly the whistle blows and I'm back in character--'All done, Stephanie.' Peter wipes the gel off my leg along with the sweat from his forehead that dripped on my leg, mingling in with the gel, providing a better transmission solution no doubt.

If I were a real writer...

I'd write many many books. I mean, actually finishing writing many many books. And a few would be fiction, a couple would be anecdotal for people with Crohns and one would be spiritual. It would go like this:

The Rebirth of Death
By Claire De Ath (hopefully my name would be changed by then....fingers crossed!)

Perface:
Are you hungry for more of the Lord? Are you unsatisfied and desiring more in your walk with Jesus? Are you desperate for more revelation of his Love for you and of your love for Him? Have you read countless books that leave you overwhelmed and striving with techniques, prayers and missional living? Then go to chapter one.

Chapter 1:
Fast. Pray. Read. Go do it. No, right now.

Put down this book--just another book in the long line of books you've half read in hopes of finding that secret formula, certain prayer, the magic words that would give you the Kingdom--and go fast. And while you fast, pray. And when you pray give the Lord time to respond. And the rest of the time read the Bible.

I'm not kidding. Do it now. You know it's the answer.

The End.

That's my first book. I mean, it's only the 1st draft. But I feel pretty good about it. I think I'm sending it into a publisher next week. Just need to tweak some of the punctuation.

Of new days and old ways.

A few things to update you all on.

1) On Friday Ken and I celebrated the 6th month mark of our dating relationship. This is quite exciting for both of us--both having been essentially single for about 2 years before last November (don't ask about the 'essentially single' remark) and with an exciting future looming in the distance (and don't tell Ken I said that).

We celebrated the event with a lobster dinner we cooked ourselves followed by a late-show movie. Here are a couple shots from that night:




It wasn't fun boiling them alive. It's definitely not our new tradition.

2) I officially shot my last wedding on Saturday! It went well, photographically speaking, but nerves speaking I was...a mess. Thank God, no...really, that a close friend of the bride's was there to take pictures with me. Turns out he's in school for photography, if you can believe it, and let's just say I was exposed for the fraudulent photographer that I am. But his presence was honestly a God-send. I wouldn't have survived without him. So, this post is dedicated to Darin Rigo. (Darren?)

And as I casually mentioned above, this will be my last wedding*. It was fun while it lasted. Psh. Hardly. It was excruciating and almost always had an element of humiliation. But it's another trophy job I can add to my ever-growing list of oddity jobs. It will be right up there with goose wrangler, pneumonia patient and nude model.

Here are some shots from the last two weddings.




And a sneak peak at Jessica Culver's wedding from Saturday:



3) Lastly...well, truthfully I hadn't thought of a 3rd point when I started this post. Perhaps as the photos load, it will come to me.
Oh, well the study for my NARM exam in Aug continues on. It's been a good solid couple months that I've been studying full time and it's getting easier as I cover and recover topics.
I'm going away to study for quite a bit this summer. First Amy has invited me to study with her in New Mexico in July, and closer to the exam I've been invited to study with the most recent group of MIA girls in a lake-side mansion in Florida. Ouch. That's going to suck.
No, it will suck quite a bit since Ken won't be able to be with me at all over the collective 4ish weeks I'll be away. (And he won't come visit. Shame shame.)

Anyway. That's it! I have too much work to do today!

*Excluding being asked to do a small wedding, medium wedding or even big wedding for a friend, or for someone in a pinch.

My Rollercoaster

Oh the undying lament of a melancholic romantic--Will I ever be normal?

I feel tres transparent of late--and I know, have been a bit of downer for you phantoms out there. It's true, I can't compete with the ER or the OR, and in true melancholic style, (or was it a Simpsonism?) if you can't win why bother trying.

Yet, I will persist!
Things have just been so enjoyable lately I can't help but want to blog about it--if not to refresh your impression of me.

Let's see--my 25th birthday turned out to be a fantastic day--completely delightful and lovely thanks to Ken, RB and the team (GnR, Joneseseses, Jenny etc etc) Although the piercing-every-8-years tradition with Jen and Catherine was broken I still managed to deface myself with a nose ring.

Had there been an appointment available I would have tattooed myself the same day. But that happened on Thursday and although I LOVE the design the tattoo itself will require touch-ups. Mmmm....that will feel nice. Being tattooed over my veins and tendons again.

This is the new tat AND piercing. You can't tell in this pic but I just had my hair blondified today. It needs a bit more work, but I'm pretty happy.

I've had the great privilege to photograph my first wedding on Friday. I think it went well, but I haven't heard from the family yet. We'll see. Hopefully it goes well since I have two more weddings THIS month.


I've also been asked to write for my church's newsletter....again... No--I'm only joking. Don't get me wrong it's been such an honour being able to sit with people I don't know and hear their life story. Wow. Everyone has a story to tell. And very few are without tragedy and a few tears.
This little gig has been a huge impetus to write more, not to mention read more to improve my vernacular, grammar, and comfort with English.

More and more I'm feeling called and, whoa, Excited to write.

The lord has been so good to me lately--it's been an answer to a long standing prayer: I want to know Him and be on fire for Him; to hear his voice and understand it.
And with that wisdom that has revealed more of who He is, more of who I am has been revealed.

It's such an interesting paradox--as you 'press on' to know Him you ultimately do, of course, but you also begin to see who YOU are in Him---which is an endless fountain of hope in your calling and future in Him.

Anywhoskis--sorry I've been a real drag lately--it's something one has to walk through at times, as you all know--but unfortunately I have a public forum in which to do so. Ha. Suckers.
This is a kitchy song from the Juno soundtrack by Kimya Dawson--it's a feel good song that if you listen to too much you'll hate one day. So, beware.
This is a version of it I found on YouTube:

It's the dawn of a new ear...I'm sorry, era.

It's 12:01am.
I'm 25.

There's a VISA bill sitting, unpaid, on my desk, (from my father's VISA account no less), midwifery books and notes still to be studied, and a song playing by Blue Rodeo and Sarah McLaughin:

Tell me you dreams;
Lay your head on my pillow.
Tell me the things that you hide away;
Your pain, your pleasure, your sorrow.

I'm a year older but nothing has changed except the beginning of a new beginning. My deadline for childbearing is apparently up; I can now recall things that happened "23 years ago" (it's true--but it involves breastfeeding...sooooo I won't get into it); and I am officially at least 3 years off from when I thought I'd be married.

Things surely aren't what I had thought or even wanted them to be--but then I'm so grateful I'm not married to the man I thought I would be only a couple years ago. And I'm even more grateful for the time I've had living with Rebekah and then Gill and Ryan then Ken---these aaaaaarrrrrrre the daaaaaaays we will remember----
Midwifery has taken a turn for the worse but the experiences and memories are priceless and will be, no doubt, instrumental in the plans God has for me.

My Psalm for this year is Psalm 26:

Vindicate me, O LORD,
for I have led a blameless life;
I have trusted in the LORD
without wavering.
2 Test me, O LORD, and try me,
examine my heart and my mind;

3 for your love is ever before me,
and I walk continually in your truth.

4 I do not sit with deceitful men,
nor do I consort with hypocrites;

5 I abhor the assembly of evildoers
and refuse to sit with the wicked.

6 I wash my hands in innocence,
and go about your altar, O LORD,

7 proclaiming aloud your praise
and telling of all your wonderful deeds.

8 I love the house where you live, O LORD,
the place where your glory dwells.

9 Do not take away my soul along with sinners,
my life with bloodthirsty men,

10 in whose hands are wicked schemes,
whose right hands are full of bribes.

11 But I lead a blameless life;
redeem me and be merciful to me.

12 My feet stand on level ground;
in the great assembly I will praise the LORD.

That's a tough act to follow. I can't say I've not sat with the wicked, nor that I have led a blameless life. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for this.

Anyway--thanks to everyone for a great 24th year--thanks for putting up with my crap and for holding me up in prayer far too often.

Too much too little

This is ideal really. Even for a girl. Procreate A LOT then sleep it off.


I don't know about anyone else, besides Gill, who's not having fun these days.

Personally I'm eating too many calories, spending too much, online too often and stressing too much. Oh and apparently burning TOO MANY calories. Go figure.

On the other hand I don't have enough money, nor enough time or patience to study all day every day, my internet connect it too slow and no one knows how to fix it. As I sit here the wireless router is directly beside my computer and yet it struggles.

I'm too fat, too tired, too frustrated and too undisciplined.

My relationship with God is on the fritz too. I just have NO interest in fostering anything with Him at the moment. I feel exhausted from striving and have been let down too many times to care much. I recognize that I can't see the 'big picture' but that pisses me off further. Just show me the damn picture and then I'll have something to work towards! As it stands I don't know which prayer, which time of fasting, if I ask Him this way or that way, the next time of ministry or if I worship Him in this 'new' way will get me what I'm getting after.

And this new calorie counting bull-shit I'm doing...it's been ONE day and I'm SO ANGRY. I only have 200 calories left to consume for the rest of the day. I don't understand how that's possible. It's even MORE frustrating since I'm stuck eating high-calorie things like coconut flour and agave nectar on my Elimination diet instead of regular flour and sugar.

Life is just complicated beyond any grasp of sanity these days.

Studying is REALLY upsetting because the deeper I get back into it the more I realize how screwed I am. I need to LEARN most of this stuff again. So, I opted to blog. Took some pictures of a Gerbera daisy....the ushe.

I'm doing a little work at SLP in Waterdown. That's ok just frustrating because I am the kind of person who forgets things often because I'm multi-tasking so much. Which means many many trips to Ikea for items I've forgotten.
Or even the grocery store.
For example--I went to the grocery store 2 days ago--and last night I asked Ken to buy me some coconut milk. 'No no that's all I need. Coconut milk.'
By 11am this morning I have a substantial grocery list on my fridge again. How do I do it?

I was cruising along there for quite a while---and suddenly I've collided with an impenetrable wall made of calories, books I've never finished and Visa bills. I keep trying to work through it but like a good knot; the more you tamper with it the more complicated it gets.

Enough analogies? Friggin tell me about it! I'm sick of hearing myself think.

Here's a funny picture that made me laugh out loud...or lol. Oh I lol'd and I lol'd. It was hilarious. The owners referred to it as 'the lamb-dog'.

It's the look on his face. Something between shame and fear. He also looks a little annoyed. 'Yeah yeah...I'm a lamb-dog. Sheesh...laugh it up.'

Oh mercy. Then there's my birthday.
I just filled a prescription for more narcotics for my occasional Crohn's pain--I'm considering sleeping through the 29th. I just can't settle on anything to do---and the longer I waited more and more events took up all the potential birthday dates.

25. 25. A quarter of a century.

Here are the animals that live for 25 odd years:
-some dogs...(huh....I didn't know that.)
-cows
-tigers
-cats
-pigs of the wild variety
-bulls
-rattlesnakes
-pigeons (aka gray doves)

25 is the age by which my surgeons highly recommended I should have had ALL the babies I wanted to have. "Ok, ok. Let's compromise and I won't have ANY children by 25, but I'll start AFTER I'm 25. Fair?"

In dream language 25 represents 'the forgiveness of sins'. I hope that includes self-pity and indifference.

I am Kevin's mother.

And Kevin is 7. Maybe two months ago his teachers at school called me because they were 'concerned', they said. They were 'worried about Kevin's health' because he'd done poorly on a couple language tests. 'He fell asleep in class!' they explained as though it were a sin and completely unheard of for a child to be tired or, God forbid, fall asleep in class. I've met his language teacher; I'm not surprised he fell asleep.

They asked me to take him to the doctor. Who they hell to they think they are? I'm his mother. I know if he needs to go to the doctor or not. Do THEY know Kevin better than I do? I was indignant. So I ignored their request.

But they had planted a seed in my brain so now I was watching Kevin through their eyes; their watchful, scrutinizing, judging eyes. He was still the same loving boy, but perhaps he was more tired than normal. Ok, I concede, he was lethargic and yes wasn't top of his class anymore.

So, the next time his teachers called I tried to not get as offended, and I took him to the doctor.
My friend who's into aromatherapy and stuff said it looked like Kevin had parasites. She said she could give me some herbs for him to take. I like my friend, don't get me wrong, but she stinks like cloves. It smells like the dentist...I can't trust her. I didn't tell her, but I'm just going to give him the medicine the doctors give me.

We see a nursing student at the hospital. She's green. So green that she refers to a list of questions during our consult. This does not impress me. And unfortunately I think I set myself against her. I know I made it hard for her to do her job, but in a sense, I needed her to prove herself to me before I could trust her.

I tell them my name but am henceforth referred to as "Kevin's mother". This is so typical of child-care people, so I'm not surprised, but for once it would be nice to have a name too.

She asks a few questions about why we're there, how Kevin's doing at school, how he's sleeping. Stuff like that. For a 7 year old Kevin does a good job answering her questions. The nurse takes very long, thoughtful, deliberate pauses between questions. I feel like I should have sworn on the Bible first to 'tell the whole truth and nothing but'.

She seems to run out of questions or is hesitant so she looks me in the eye and asks Kevin if he'd like to go play in the waiting area while she 'talked with mommy.' My kids rarely call me Mommy; I look over at Kevin sitting there hunched over in his little Batman t-shirt that I HATE, snot perpetually running down his lip being licked up by his tongue and he looks back at me with a look that says 'Who the hell is this quack?' I smile at my boy and agree with the nurse. 'Go read for a bit--I'll come and get you. K?'

He slips his little body from the examination table and I hand him his book to read. 'See you in a minute.' Watching him answer questions and interact with another adult sheds new light on this kid of mine. I'm so proud of him. I'm so concerned about him. Without asking or insinuating a thing the nurse has undone me by making me look at my son. Really look at him.

She quickly gathers her thoughts and dives into an interrogation period that makes my muscles tighten. I'm aware that my eyes are really wide. I must look defensive. She must realize I feel guilty.

"So, what does Kevin have for breakfast?" Shit.
'Usually....nothing.' The nurse eagerly jots down my words as though they were god's nectar. Or good evidence against a negligent mother. We jump from topic to topic about what he eats, what his little brother eats, what I eat, when we spend time together, what his father does...
I can see the pieces in my brain coming together at about a millisecond faster then they are the nurse's brain, so I find it hard to tell her the truth. Because I know what she'll think.

'His father is unemployed...he's home at the moment. He's looking for anything really. Construction. He does construction.' Oh, I'm falling apart and she knows it. I've guarded myself so well against this attacker but we both know how much this hurts me to talk about. My eyes are still wide in an offensive way, like I'm saying 'Come on! Come on! You wanna fight?'

No. I'm not working right now. We're ok. We're cutting back where we need to. But we're ok.
She asks me what we'd typically have for dinner. I try my best to make No Name chicken fingers seem healthy but now it's just for what's left of my dignity that we pretend chicken finger are a good source of protein.
In the same fashion I reassure her that I know how important the first 2 years are for a baby and that even though we're not eating as well as we'd like I make sure that David, Kevin's little brother, gets what he needs to build a firm foundation for his little life.

She looks at me and paraphrases "So what I'm hearing you say is, you're giving the better food to David, and Kevin eats poorly like you and his father?" Fuck you! Fuck her! What the hell do you WANT me to do? What would YOU suggest?
"Was that decision hard for you to make?"
'WHAT decision?'
"The decision to feed David better than Kevin.'
I'm stunned. I can't believe she just said that. This green, docile nursing student has turned on me. "It wasn't a conscious decision. It wasn't like I thought, hmm which child do I love more to feed better. I know how important the first 2 years are for a baby--Kevin is a good kid. He'll be fine... I didn't really have a choice, did I? ...So, yeah it was a hard 'decision'.' I sarcastically put quotations around my head when I say 'decision'.

This carries on for a a bit longer and with each question I answer she slowly dissects me further to the point of death. She leaves the room for a minute. I call after her 'are you getting the doctor?' I hate myself for being so horrible to her but it's instinctual and I can't control it.
She returns quickly with a stack of hot papers in her hand. She reads them off to me 'Child Pension Plan', 'Food Bank Ontario', 'Salvation Army', 'Feed A Kid' breakfast programs. I nod enthusiastically with that wild eyed look again. I want to kill her and she knows it. She quickly finishes her recommendations and leaves me to 'read over' the literature.

Not waiting for a third assault I put my coat on and grab our things. Kevin is reading in the waiting-room. He's pulled his knees up to his chin and is reading over them. He's tucked himself into the corner of the couch and from where I stood he looks so little. My big boy is so little.

'Come on. Let's go home.' I hold his coat out to him. He's come obediently to put it on. "I'm done?"
'Yup. Let's go. I need to start dinner as soon as we get home.' I squat down in front of him to help him start his zipper. He fumbles a bit but I don't have the patience to wait for his childish fingers.. He looks stiff in his winter jacket and the underside of his runny nose rubs on the top of his collar--I grab his hands and look into his tired eyes. 'We're having macaroni and cheese tonight! You like that?' He smiles from behind his collar and asks 'can I have mine with hot dogs?'

'Yup!' I say excitedly and we gather our things and turn our backs from this place that has exposed me like a criminal and shaken me as mother. Kevin is oblivious to my turmoil and knows not of the literature that burns a shameful hole through my purse.

Wordy words with little value.

There are so many things in this life that I want to do, accomplish, FINISH, start, read, see, smell, experience, be good at, EXCEL at, be known for, teach, learn...
I want to see Paris. I want to read a million books--from classics to contemporary literature; from poetry to prose to plays.
I want to be good at singing--as though it were an instrument. Not just able to carry a tune but GOOD at singing--harmony, scats, spontaneous song, variations, pitch!
I want to play an instrument well--I used to play piano; I sort of play guitar....

I'm right back to the eternal struggle I've always had. I'm mediocre at a lot of things but I don't excel at anything.
I'd like to be that person who is amazing at that 'one thing'.

Oh Claire, yeah she's such a great vocalist.

You know who'd be able to help you with that project? Claire.

Perhaps it's the desire to be honoured by man. Yeah, that's most likely it. But I'm also unsettled in my soul that I'm so many different things. I'm scattered and disjointed and unorganized.
I feel like I'm always going though an upward learning-curve or struggle. Nothing comes easily to me. I just started singing on the worship team and I HATE it that I have to be coached along the ENTIRE way like some child. I've been asked to take pictures for two weddings this summer--and I almost want to say 'no' because I'm not that good. I can't even remember what an f-stop is. I used to, but the convenience of automatic cameras has cleverly robbed me of that skill by feeding into my laziness.

Ohhh how convenient! Now I can stop thinking altogether!

I wish I'd been named something prophetic that was undeniably WHO I was meant to be. Something Celtic for 'writer' or Hebrew for 'artist' or Latin for 'midwife'.

All of you who KNOW your calling and KNOW your place, more or less, Thank Yeshua you are blessed to know! And to all of you who think you're boring because you DO know--that's ridiculous. Don't be silly. You've had the courage to follow the promptings of your heart.

For the rest of us...I'm at a loss of words. We are the wandering children of the earth. The eternal artists who never surrender. Dreamers in denial.

Where is Contentment? Where has she gone to?
Where is Purpose? Has he forgotten me?

Nathaara: Arabic: Writer
Carisa: Latin: Artist
Melatiah: Biblical: Deliverance of the Lord.

The Folly

My body pulsates with hot blood as the physiological gears kick in and the adrenalin hits me snapping me out of the thick fog I had suddenly walked into.



It's February in north eastern Ontario and we're on our way to Toronto. Typical of February, it's mild and gray outside. Roads and walkways are slushy which leads to slippery sidewalks when the temperature drops at night. It's that tricky time between winter and spring that builds false hopes only to dash them to smithereens like an icicles hitting the pavement below.



I feel so awkward. My fingers and toes are cold to the touch and I feel a deep chill in my bones, but inside my jacket I'm sweating from the internal chaos that overrides my senses.
My legs feel prudish clenched together but when I let my knees fall to the sides I feel clumsy and fat and easy. I know I have a very unconvincing smile fixed on my face but if I showed how I really felt I'd be weeping.



Instinct kicks in after the gears in my head process what had been said.
I am cornered like a dirty rabbit in a dirty cage and I can neither escape my cage nor hide my filth. Nor can I turn his eyes away from me.

My mind is racing but my body immobile; instinctual.



I pet his hand as though I weren't churning inside.



I look out the window at the unending pathetic landscape jerking by to distract myself or at least to stop staring at the dash in dumbfoundedness. But then I stop staring out the window as the all too familiar feeling of fighting in the car with my mother floods over me. Feelings of injustice, misunderstanding and teenage defiance confuse my current feelings so I turn away from the window. I don't want to look as wounded as I feel.


Like an injured rabbit in a cage I'm unable to lick my sores in peace and am instead forced to smell the stench of my own shit through someone else's nostrils.



I've lost a lot of blood; I can feel it draining from me. I'm growing tired. And now I'm a cat. And all I want to do it sleep. But I know that once I wake from my escapist slumber I'll be drawn too quickly from that idyllic world only to be reminded of the trouble of this one. And the pain of that drowsy realization isn't worth the pleasure of sleep right now.



The dull roar...no, how typical. It's more like the grating vibration of the wind grabs at the sides of the car while music with a militant beat hammers at the silence carving it into a war zone. Only the rumble of the tires rolling over the pavement at 120 kilometers per hour, the clumsy rattle of an old interior and the irritating tinking of loose change in the cup holder competes with the wind and the warring.



Strong winds shove the car back and forth between the lines in rhythm with my own emotional tug-of-war. I'm indignant! I'm caught. Defend yourself! Surrender... Yet, I know I'm not as wounded as I feel. I know this sore isn't as deep or tender as it used to be. I know I'm acting the way I'm expected to even though in my heart of hearts I see the truth. I see the folly for what it is and it's ok. Time and distance from the North gives me more perspective.



A gentle touch to my arm that has a lingering sense of concern in it's fingertips snaps other gears into place and my heart claims order over my ghosts again.

Hate in an elevator. Beating me up when we're goin' down...

It was a bitterly cold day in Hamilton. The wind was gusting causing the -8 temperature to feel more like -23; I wasn't enjoying running my errands like I usually do. But the sun was shining and I had the pleasant duty to interview a lady from my church for our newsletter.

She had called me the night before, 'Claire!' she yelled into the phone, presumably fearful I couldn't hear her like she couldn't hear me. "Yes, hello Lillian."
'Claire!' she called again, 'you'll need to park at the church. There isn't any parking at my building.'

Since the church was immediately across the street from her apartment this wasn't a problem. I arrived early so I went over my questions with Rebekah, the secretary at the church and my roommate. Finally, just before the appointed time of 1pm I walked across the street and into her building. I rang her apartment, was greeted with an anxious 'the door's open!' with the word 'open' cut off by a buzzing sound as Lillian had eagerly pressed the button to unlock the foyer door too soon.

So far so good.

I pressed and elevator button to go to the 6th floor and surprisingly the door opened almost immediately. A tall elderly woman stepped out and finished up her conversation with another elderly woman, this one short, squat and quiet.
I asked, 'Up or down', and the lady who had stepped out said 'She's going up.' I smiled, said thanks and entered the elevator, quickly pressing 6 so the doors would close.

As I pressed 6 the small old lady became quite agitated, and indicated to me, in Italian or Portuguese, that the 'B' button was already illuminated because she was, in fact, going down.

In retrospect it's odd that the lady leaving the elevator was a) having a conversation with this lady as she left the elevator and b) seemed so certain she was going up.

Anyway, I said 'It's ok. Down.' I indicated to her it was ok if we went down first. She calmed down and we waited for the jerk of the elevator to give us a split-second weightless sensation, when instead the elevator jerked up and our weight was multiplied and shoved down on us.
This generated a flurry of hand gestures and, presumably, swear words from the small lady. She turned to me, clearly blaming me for a mixed up elevator.

Is it just me or don't ALL other elevators across the globe follow the order of the buttons pushed?

As we continued to rise and her voice and animated body language grew more frantic, she ran her chubby little fingers all over the buttons for each floor illuminating every floor between 1 and 6 and then some. Sadly for her the elevator followed orders this time. I hate to think that she had to endure floors 5, 4, 3, 2 and 1 before she got to the basement again.

All this time I was apologizing and giving the international look for 'i-feel-badly-but-it's-not-my-fault' look by shrugging my shoulders as I said 'sorry' and pasting a concerned, upset frown on my face mixed with a pathetic smile to let her know I had good intentions.

This only intensified things and as she lifted the backside of her hand to the level of her face in the international 'I'm-going-to-slap-you' position the doors open to the 6th floor and I escaped unharmed but still enduring an onslaught of verbal abuse.

Lillian was waiting for me at the elevator doors and she giggled and hugged me as I stepped out onto her floor. This unabashed affection was mockingly imitated by my little friend in the elevator. ' HA HA HA HA HA!' she loudly mimicked.

And as the doors closed the sounds of mimicked laughter, multilingual swearing and cursing and body parts being flung about the elevator echoed in the hallway as the elevator made it's descent one floor at a time.

I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. De Mille...

I was approached by a photographer at my church who wanted to recreate a tableau he had seen a few weeks earlier when I had draped my scarf over my head because I was cold and had turned around to look at who was sitting behind me. (The real story is that someone was kicking my seat and I'd had it UP TO HERE!) (not true...it's all a lie to get laughs...)

This is the recreation at his studio in Hamilton. I've attached the link to his site: a photography project where he takes a photo everyday of the year, starting Jan 1 2008, of people from Hamilton doing Hamilton things. I don't know if I fit into that category, per se, but I was flattered and willing nonetheless.

I had just had my hair cut while channelling Clara Bow the day before, so the hair cut inspired an impromptu Art Deco photo shoot.
And this was the outcome: I'm not as skinny or Art Deco as I had created myself to be in my head. But hey, one day, in 30 years I'll look back and be glad I have this crazy picture.
There's a slight resemblance--minus the cocaine eyes and kewpie/cupi/QP doll lips.

Anywho--this has been my brush with fame. I was fortunate enough to have 24 hours of it.
www.hamilton365.com

Heart-broken PT 1

He pulls into his driveway, the frigid snow snapping under his tires. Rolling up the crack in the window he gets out of the truck, shuts the door and drops his cigarette to the ground crushing it under the heel of his cowboy boot. Pulling a roll of antacids from his coat pocket he unwraps the last chalky piece and tosses it into his mouth grinding it with his molars. The powdery texture and unappetizing flavours don't bother him anymore.

Walking up the stairs to his front door the dogs, having sensed his presence, start barking madly from their perch in the bay window beside the door. Exhaling the last drag from his cigarette, he glances up at the them and smiles at their incorrigible excitability and steals himself for their furious welcome home. It's been a long, cold, never ending day and he's glad to be home even though he replaces the heaviness of work-life with the heaviness of domestic challenges. He notes the interlocking brick needs to be refitted in the Spring and adds it to his mental list of things to do around the house when it warms up. For now he can at least ignore the needs outside since it's too cold to get much accomplished.

Opening the front door ushers in a shocking gust of bitter air that doesn't seem to faze the dogs and the flurry of their tails and kisses. Ok, ok, he pets them, yes, I'm home. Their joy barely recedes as he kicks of his boots and hangs up his jacket and gloves smelling of gasoline and washer fluid. He pads up the stairs into the living room. The TV is on but no one is watching it. It's his new TV--wide screen HD mounted on the wall above the fireplace. It's just a TV but it's like a trophy on the mantel and he pauses for a moment to enjoy the crisp image and sound of Dr. Phil before he calls out to no one in particular 'I'm having a shower.'

He goes into the bathroom and automatically locks the door behind him. Now that his daughter and her husband and child live in the basement apartment privacy measures must be taken. He starts the shower before he's in unwilling to get into a luke-warm shower after being outside in the chill of winter all day. He strips off his sweater and undershirt in one movement and dumps it half inside-out in the corner by the door. He faces the mirror above the sink and combs his fingers through his disheveled hair that stands on end from being sucked through the neck of his sweater and undershirt. His hand falls to the edge of the counter and he looks into his own eyes--the tired eyes of a tired man. He rests his other hand on the edge of the counter and his back sinks in between his shoulder blades. The shower is hot now and steam starts to etch the corners of the mirror into which he is lost.

Matters of this life consume him and wash in and out of his mind as he stares back at himself. Today was just an ordinary day, a good day even, but left alone with his thoughts with nothing to distract him and outside noises hushed by the rush of water he was heavy with his burdens, uncertain, unknowing and feeling very alone.