6 of swords

 6 of swords - The Light Seer's Tarot by Chris-Anne 

The image on the card shows a dark-haired woman wearing a red shawl and holding a suitcase stands in a row boat. The boat is being pulled by 3 crows while 3more fly in in the background. The woman woman is holding her hair out of her face and looking down pensively.

Summary of card meaning: I accept help as I easily cross this transition.

The first sentence of the author's interpretation says "You are moving through a period of realignment, and things can feel turbulent during these times of transition." I read it and laughed, and also felt tears well up in my eyes. It feels incredibly, capital t True to me. Whether I look at my current personal circumstances or the world at large, realignment, turbulence, and transition are major themes.

I've felt hopeless lately. 

I've been trying to power through, and force myself towards joy, non-judgement and acceptance of what is. 

It's not working. Of course not, because "force" isn't how I get to feeling those things. I can't skip the feelings I'm having, or shove them in a box. I know how that turns out (hint: not well). 

I'm reminded that help doesn't only come from people. It can come from animals, and nature, and the Universe. 

I'm also reminded of the old call and response song from when I was a kid. "Can't go around it, can't go over it, can't go under it, gotta go through it." 

Which feels hard, and exhausting, and that is a reminder to also help myself, with compassion, and kindness. 

Dear Angela,

This note is to remind you, the next time you are looking at your body and not liking it very much, just exactly why your body is amazing.

First of all, go look at that photo of you from last summer, looking smoking hot in your bikini. Go, now. It's ok, I'll wait.

Good.

Now, think of all the things your body is capable of doing. It can swim. It can sing. It can snuggle, both cats, and people. It can make yarn out of fiber, and then make stuff out of the yarn. It can dance.

Next, when the Buts start (but I used to be able to do the splits, but I can't walk in high heels, but I'm fat, but I used to be able to deadlift 125 lbs.), remind yourself of a few things.

1. If you really want to be able to do the splits, stretch more. That's how you got there the first time. Flexibility takes just as much work and practice as learning to spin, or rhumba, and you can do both of those things. Also, why, exactly, do you want to be able to do the splits?!
2. You can sit (and do other things) very well in high heels. Why the hell does it matter if you can walk in them?
3. Yes, you're fat. So? You're also healthy, which, really, is far more important. "Fat" is just a descriptor, like blue-eyed, or big-boobed. It's not a value judgement, and it says nothing about your character.
4. This week alone, you lifted somewhere around 6000 pounds of boxes at work, 3700 of those in one day. That means you lifted about 300 boxes at 20 pounds each. You lifted them from over your head down to the floor, and vice versa. You hauled pallets around. You pulled around a pump truck. Maybe you could deadlift 125 pounds again right now. Maybe you couldn't. You haven't tried lately, so cut it out with being stuck in the past.

Telling yourself that you have no value because you don't like the way your clothing fits, or because things are saggy, or wrinkled, or whatever, is not useful. Your worth is not based on what you see in the mirror. You certainly don't base the value of anyone else in your life on they way they look, why are you doing it to yourself?

TL;DR: as one very awesome person once told you "Don't be a knob." And go look at that photo again.

Xoxo

Angela

*Blows Off The Dust*

I've been inspired by a couple of people (Annika, and Jeff, mostly) who have started/ramped up their blogging to attempt to dust this off and do a bit of my own.

There will probably be stuff about my depression, my cats, my house, my relationships, and my crafting. So, much the same as stuff that winds up on other social media, but hopefully with a little more depth to it.

But, um, not today, because I should be doing work instead of blogging. Ahem.

Thunder

There is something about the air after a thunderstorm.  It smells a little sharper; feels a little more electric.  

I missed the light show part of tonight’s storm, but even hearing the spectacular boom and crack of the thunder, and the cadence of hard rain on the GLT rehearsal space rooftop was enough to remind me just how much I love a thunderstorm.

I’m normally a water person.  I get recharged and do my best thinking near bodies of water: streams, waterfalls, the occasional lake, when I can get to one.  The first time I realized that it wasn’t just the water part of a good, violent thunderstorm that energizes me was when I was in high school.  A bunch of us crammed ourselves into someone’s station wagon and drove to Wasaga Beach on a whim, Depeche Mode’s Violator tape in the deck.  It was off season, so the beach wasn’t busy, but the weather was warm enough that we spent a good few hours there.  Just before sunset, I climbed up into one of the guard chairs and watched as a lightning storm rolled across the lake.  Dark and light, colour and gray, actual calm being chased by a true storm.  It was primal nature and it made me feel like I was buzzing and fizzing.  Restless.  Undone.

Of course, the rain part of a thunderstorm, especially one at the end of summer, can be just as powerful.  The summer before my third year of university was hot, and dry.  The day we finally got rain, a roommate and I were out riding our bikes, looking at apartments for September.  The rain, when it finally came, came in sheets with great fanfare.  The rain smelled electric.  The sizzling sound of it hitting the hot pavement was a quiet echo of the lightning splitting the air.  We got home, drenched, and then danced in the front yard out of sheer joy.

Years later, I lived on the 20th floor of an apartment building in downtown Toronto.  The balcony was solid concrete, deep and safe, with a wall of windows looking out it.  We faced Lake Ontario and the CN Tower, and my then-husband and I looked forward to shutting off the lights and sitting on the balcony together to watch a thunderstorm roll in off the lake.  We would watch the advancing curtain of water, and count the seconds between the light and the crack and the boom, taking guesses at how long it would take for the blast of air before the rain to reach us.

Now, when I can, I stand on my front porch, and I try to watch for the curtain of water.  I can still feel the sizzle, the zzt of the air, the electricity dripping from my fingers.  I miss my balcony, but I still count the seconds between light and sound.  I hope that someday I’ll dance on the lawn again, with wild abandon, and primal joy.

Rockstar

I am going to go teach my former peers how to use the software I update every Monday with the numbers that everyone in the company uses to manage their headcount.  Because I am a rockstar.

Yesterday, I finished booking my Guild speakers for the year, and I got Amy Singer, the founder of Knitty.com to come talk to us in April.  Because I am a rockstar.

Today I am wearing heels, and an awesome dress, and eyeliner, and lipstick.  Because I am a rockstar.

Today I am not feeling like an utter fool for waiting (and waiting, and waiting) for responses from people who clearly are not going to respond in the way I hoped they would.  Because I am a rockstar.

Maybe, if I keep telling myself I am a rockstar, I will believe it.

Last night I dreamt that my feelings were bleeding through, blossoming in bruises across my skin.

They started on my hips, wrapped around my groin and wandered, slowly, colourfully up my stomach.  Browns, purples, that sickly, awful green, spreading across my breasts until there was no pink left, except the bright, bright red of my nipples.

This morning I asked for peace, and for passion, with the understanding that I probably won't get it in the way that I think I want it.

I am tired of "bruises" that I did not ask for.

Shameless Self-Promotion

One of the places I am decidedly not stuck is in my personal-professional life.  I call it that because it's not the work I get paid to go to an office and do everyday, but work I do for my community, and work that feeds where I want to go on the professional side of my life.


I was asked by my friend Gillian over at Craftzilla Conquers the World to be a part of Ignite Culture: Guelph on June 21, 2012.  I was very honoured to be asked, and also very terrified.  Give me a script or a song and send me out in front of people, and that's just fine, or get me introduce somebody else and I have no problem with it.  But my own ideas?  Who would want to hear those?  As it turns out, I have an awful lot to say, which is why I'm talking so fast, as I had only five minutes to say all of it.  


The experience was wonderful due to getting some excellent feedback (I had one very pregnant woman walk up to me and say "I want what you have", which was an amazing and difficult and important moment for me), and getting the chance to make connections in my home arts community.  It also helped me to realized some of the stuff I talked about in yesterday's post - that I'm not invisible, and that I do have stuff to say that people want to hear.


Also, I managed not to completely dissolve into tears at the end.  Go me!

Stuck

Last night I drove home under a full moon, and I thought about where I am in my life.

"It's been a rough few months." I think.  And then I think "Wait a minute, this time last year, I was in pretty much exactly the same place I am now.  What gives?  Why haven't I been able to progress in a year? What's stuck?"

Some things have changed.  I can deadlift 100 lbs. fifteen times in one work out.  This time last year I was barely able to use a 15 lb. dumbbell.  I've got a better sense of self - I've realized that people actually like me, and that I'm funny, and I'm a good friend.  It used to surprise me when people would want to spend time with me.  I told myself a story: that I was invisible, and unloveable.  So, that's changed too.

I think a part of that change, that rediscovered sense of self, has impacted how I feel about other parts of my life - or rather - how I want to change the way I manage the parts that I am unhappy with.

If I'm completely honest, I spend a lot of time blaming outside factors for my lack of forward movement. I was waiting for our beloved (ancient, incontinent) dog to pass before doing anything about moving to a new house.  I don't do a good job of cleaning the house we live in because my husband doesn't pitch in as much as I'd like him to.  My finances aren't where I want them to be because my husband and I don't share the same philosophy when it comes to money. You see where I'm coming from - I haven't taken adequate responsibility for my own stuff.

Is it true that it's harder to manage shared finances than just doing it on your own?  Sure. Do two people make more of a mess than one?  Probably. But, just because he buys a video game when I'm not expecting it, that doesn't mean I can go buy a dress.  Just because he doesn't pick up his pop cans, that doesn't mean I shouldn't wash the floor.

These are little-big things.  They are small things that can have a big, big impact when unhappiness around them piles up over days, weeks, months, years.

Then, there are big-big things.  We went through the fertility testing process.  Our options, at the end of it all, would mean that we would not have natural children of our own.  We discussed, and dismissed adoption.  Except that I can't really dismiss it.  I can't really let go of the feeling that I would be a good mother - that I want to have that chance.  I can't figure out yet if I can channel that into being a Big Sister - if being the cool "aunt" or the nifty lady down the block will be enough for me.  And if it's not, what does that mean for the path we're on?

So, I'm stuck.  Just as stuck as a year ago, albeit for different reasons.  I need to sort out what I can change - where I can unstick me. 

February Photo a Day - Day 2: Words

This is the front of a birthday card my dad gave me.  I brought it to work and put it on my desk to remind me that this job isn't all that I am, but since I'm here, I should give it the best that I've got.

February Photo a Day - Day 1: My View From Here

I am cheating and backdating by a day, since I only found out about this today (Feb 1).  All photos will probably be taken with the camera on my phone.

This is what I see when I stand up at my desk.  It's a dreary, cloudy morning.  I'm hoping it will get sunny, and the view will improve.

...so I don't have to dream alone

This past weekend I over-scheduled myself, which is a pretty common thing for me.  I get so excited about having time to do things that I try to cram 48 hours of things into 24 hours.

On Sunday, I missed a chance to go to a Lammas ritual with a local pagan group I've worshipped with a couple of times.  I went to a Pirate Festival with my friends instead, which was pretty awesome, and I got an amazing leather Steampunk-themed waist cincher.  But that is beside the point, because I have been missing a spiritual community.

I used to have a really strong spiritual community. My friends were also the people I worshipped with, and it filled so many of my needs.  Unfortunately, just over a year ago, my circle disbanded because I was the only one still feeling a need for ritual.  So I have practiced alone, or with one friend, or with this other group of people that I am still getting to know. 

As much as I enjoyed my Pirate Sunday, I missed going to ritual.

Apparently, my subconscious agreed with my conscious, because this morning I participated in a dream ritual.  I remember the tail end of it: the fact that there were a lot of people there, some friends, some strangers.  I remember singing, although I sadly cannot remember the actual song.  I remember dancing and drums.  And then my alarm went off, and the dog needed help, and the feeling faded a little, but I could still hear singing on the edge of my hearing, like someone's radio was on in the next townhouse over.  I crawled back into bed for a bit, and breathed, and reached out for the dream.  And in that few moments, I heard a voice.  It was partly mine (or at least the way I sound in my head) and partly another woman's voice.  She/I said "You aren't alone, even when you feel like you are.  You will get what you need, even if it's not what you think you want.  You will be supported, and loved." 

It's been a bright spot in a dark time, and I'm thankful for that moment.

Dog Days

Today feels like the summer before my third year of university.  I remember it being a crazy hot summer.  I was subletting at The Partington House with friends and working at Wendy's, riding my bike pretty much wherever I needed to go in Windsor.  I was 20, it was my first summer away from home, and I was enjoying myself like crazy.  It was the summer I discovered They Might Be Giants, and "I Can See Clearly Now" by Holly Cole was my personal anthem.

But it was hot!  So hot!  I'd finish my shift at Wendy's and some nights go over and sit in Tim Horton's because it was just too hot to go home right away.  Other nights I would bike home and sit on the front porch with my housemates, smoking, and talking in the dark because it was too hot to even put a porch light on.

There were news stories about cows dying in the fields.  I would watch the neighbourhood kids in their sprinklers and want to go join them.

When the weather finally broke, I was out on my bike with one of my housemates.  If memory serves, we were out looking at places to live for September.  The rain came down in sheets, and it was glorious, with great booming cracks of thunder and lightning you could see even though it was day time.   We rode home, whooping and laughing, and then went and danced in the street in the rain with the neighborhood kids.

Goals

I was just reading Crazy Aunt Purl's end of July update, where she talks about her goals for this year, and how she's doing with meeting them. She talks about defining success, and how everyone does that differently. For her, success is defined more by working towards her goal, than about saying "ok, that's done, what's next?".

Reading her post got me to thinking about my own goals, and my definition of success. If I go by the "that's done" mentality, I'm a pretty pitiful failure, as I've been working on having a clean house, a healthy body, a stable bank account and a career for years now, and I'm not very much closer to crossing any of those things off my list than I was 10 years ago. In some areas I've even managed to go backwards.

I don't often feel like a failure though, so I'm guessing that while I do get satisfaction from crossing stuff off my lists at work, I don't have the same drivers at home.

I do know that I work better when I set small goals. I joined a gym in February, and my goal for my first year of membership was to still be going at least once a week, and enjoying it, at the end of that first year. So far, so good. I'm actually at a point where I want to expand my fitness goal to say that I want to move mindfully every day. Whether that's going to the gym, or going for a walk, or doing some stretching, whatever it winds up looking like, I want to take some time every day to move, and not just walking from the car to my desk.

I also want to get back to eating food that I've prepared mindfully. I've slipped out of it, but with the recent start up of the summer crop share at Everdale, I've been reminded of how much I enjoy eating freshly prepared, locally produced food. So that's another goal: take the time to prepare and eat good food, and take coffee with me instead of buying it.

So, that covers my body. What about my mind?

I have fallen out of the practice of daily meditation, due to lots and lots of spirituality related stuff that needs it's own post. I know I feel better when I take time, even just 5 minutes, to breathe and connect and pray.

I am also very affected by my surroundings. Our house is...well, let's just say that it causes me anxiety to have people in my house. I get overwhelmed by the fur, and the stuff, and the fur, and the stuff, and then throw up my hands in defeat while the fur and the stuff continues to pile up around us. So, 10 minutes a day, as soon as I walk in the door for the evenings, I'm going to pick stuff (and fur) up, and put it where it belongs.

So, goals for August:
1. Move mindfully every day.
2. Eat mindfully every day.
3. Meditate every day.
4. Spend 10 minutes every day picking up stuff.

I also intend to update every day to keep myself honest. And if I don't cross those things off, that's ok. Because I'm going to measure my success instead of my failure.

The finer things

I just took a break from doing homework to have an amazing dinner - almost all of which came from vendors at my local farmer's market.

Mixed greens (purchased earlier this week from a local butcher shop/small grocer) with some red bell pepper, mushrooms, cherry tomatoes, dilled goat cheese and grilled salmon, all topped with fresh strawberries and a splash of raspberry balsamic vinegar (the only thing that came from a supermarket). To drink, organic 1% milk from an Ontario dairy.

I am blessed to have the wherewithal to feed myself this well.

So blessed.

In which I undertake a project

Last winter a friend suggested I check out Janel Laidman's book "The Enchanted Sole", since I like to knit socks and I have a love of myth and fairy tales. I took both that book, and the first one Ms. Laidman published called "The Eclectic Sole" out of the Kitchener-Waterloo Knitters Guild Library, and I instantly fell in love.

There are 34 patterns between the two books, and only two that didn't immediately knock my socks off (pun intended). I asked my lovely yarn store owner at All Strung Out to order the books for me, and started planning. Did I want to leave out the two patterns that didn't grab me? Did I want to knit all of them, just to say that I had? What order did I want to do it in?

I wound up deciding that I would knit all 34 pairs of socks, starting with the first pattern in "The Eclectic Sole" and knitting them in order all the way through to the end of the second book. Every pair will be for me, and I'm not setting myself a time limit, but I want to knit them all.

I try to keep only 4 projects on the go at a time (or at least 4 that aren't hibernating; the ones in time-out don't count): two pairs of socks and two larger projects. My larger projects are currently a baby sweater and a grown-up sweater, and I have a sock on the go for a friend, so last night I cast on the first of my Janel Laidman Project socks.

It's called "Simplicity" and is one of the ones that I was originally on the fence about. I'm glad I left it in though, as even in the first 18 round of sock 1, I'm liking the way it looks.

I smell like pool!

I was rudely awoken this morning an hour before my alarm was set to go off by a stinky cat bum in my face. I got up and cleaned her up and realized that I was not going to get back to sleep. So, what do you do at 5 am on a Friday morning? My usual choices would have been
1. to climb back into bed, steal the covers back from my husband and lay there for an hour, perhaps falling back to sleep 15 minutes before the alarm would go off
2. to head into work, getting there almost 2 hours early
3. to fall back asleep on the sofa in front of the tv and wind up running late, panicked and grumpy.

Now I have a new choice to add to that list: go to the gym. A little over a month ago I joined a fancy schmancy gym. The point of joining this particular one, the most expensive in my city was to do exactly what I did this morning. They are open pretty much 24/7 and there is a women's only pool there that is open from 4 am to midnight every day but Sunday. I was in the pool this morning by ten to six and swam lengths for a half an hour, before relaxing in the hot tub for a few minutes. I was showered and on the road to work with a breakfast smoothy from the gym's coffee bar by 7 am.

Once upon a time, even if I had had this option, I wouldn't have taken it. Now I'm finding that movement, whether it's a Monday night Zumba class, a lunchtime walk with a co-worker, or an early morning swim, is becoming a necessity for me. It's a really great feeling, and is a reawakening of how I used to feel many years ago when I danced fifteen hours a week. What's really neat to realize (as I did in the pool this morning - swimming is also a great time for thinking) is that I am also not restricting myself to one moving thing a day. I didn't think "Well, I could go for a swim, but I'm planning to go to belly dancing tonight, so I don't really need to." So today, I swam, and I'll go for a walk at lunch, and I'll go to belly dancing tonight. Tomorrow I'll go to a Pilates class. I may not get to the gym on Sunday, but I may wake up feeling the need to move, and if I do I will, but if I don't, I won't beat myself up over it (which is also a new thing - giving myself permission to do exactly what I need to do for me).

I am really enjoying the discovery of me, and my body, and what it is still capable of, even after all the years of struggle and neglect and pain.

I don't want to miss a thing

Which is a mediocre Aerosmith song, but that doesn't make it not my truth.

I'm working full time, married to someone who works an opposite shift leaving us just one or two days a week to be married in. I start my first class towards a Project Management Certificate at a local college this coming Wednesday. I have just joined a local gym, and love it, and also have committed to giving them money for at least a year. I have a very active social life - I'm out minimum three nights a week having tea, knitting, watching movies/tv with friends. I am responsible for the well being of 5 cats and a very old dog, and doing stuff like making sure we have clean underwear and dishes. I also have a brazillion ideas for things I want to make - fibre, jewellery, food, clothing, children.

One would think that this would be more than enough to keep me busy. And it is. There are days when I feel overwhelmed and don't want to get out of bed (but I do).

And yet....

Today I sent off an email to the director of a new-to-me local theatre company asking if they are going to be holding a second round of auditions for their summer festival.

Because although it will run me ragged, I don't want to miss a thing. I want to grab all of life by the tail and ride it until it shakes me off, or I bring it down under me.

Guenivere

Just now, sitting at my desk, working on vacation reconcilitaion and listening to "Guenivere" by Shaye, I had a major revelation.

There was someone I was so angry with for so long. I just realized where part of that came from.

I was mad at her for being like me, with my storied sexual history, and her hiding affairs, and both of us being cheaters. She was meant to be the one who was stable and stuff, and she wasn't. I was mad that she lied to me, yes, and that she used me to further her agenda in her relationships, but I just realized that it was really that I was mad at me, and mad at her for being like me.

You see, until my current relationship, my current marriage, I have never had a relationship in which I was completely faithful. Even in my first marriage, which was an open one, I managed to go outside the rules of engagement, as it were.

This part of the song was something I believed about myself for so long:

"Sorry but I can't help myself
So I can't help you
I'm always searching
For something new
It's in my nature to be untrue"

It's something I still struggle against, and while I know that I wouldn't cross that line again (because trust me if it were going to happen , it would have happened this year), it's something I'm aware of. I get crushes, I flirt with people, but I work very hard at keeping that arm's-length engaged.

I wonder where this comes from in me. It's quite likely that at least one of my grandfathers philandered, and I know that another family member flirted with the idea but didn't follow through. Is it nature? Does it have something to do with experiences I had as a teenager and my resulting lack of self-care? I think the answer is a little of both.

Ultimately, I think I was chasing a fairy tale. People talk about how you don't want to settle, you should wait for the perfect...whatever. I don't think I have settled, although my life is not a fairy tale. That's just as well, since I would get pretty bored up in a tower all day.

"It wasn't just you, it wasn't just this
Maybe I'm looking for something that just don't exist
It wasn't just you, it wasn't just here
I'm not lady, I am Guenivere"

Camera challenged

I knit a lovely green chunky moebius cowl for my boss over the weekend, and I want to take a photo of it before I pass it on, but it just looks like a lump unless it's on a person. I tried to take a photo of me in it, and that also went badly (not enough light without the flash, WAY TOO MUCH light with the flash).

Any suggestions?

It was a joyful noise

Last night I prayed.

I stood in a baseball stadium with 55 000 other people while Bono sang, The Edge and Adam Clayton played guitar, and Larry Mullin Jr. kept time on the drums. They showed us images of Iranian women and children; protesters bathed in green stage lights while the band played "Sunday, Bloody Sunday". We were gifted with a message from the International Space Station by Frank de Winne during one song, and a message from Archbishop Desmond Tutu was the lead in to "One". During "Walk On", we were introduced to the plight of Aung San Suu Kyi while the volunteers who helped mount the concert filed across the front of the stage and were thanked for their work.

The roof of the Rogers Centre was open so in addition to the phenomenal light show inside, we were treated to the sight of the CN Tower's nightly light show, which at times seemed to have been programmed to enhance U2's performance. Better than that was the energy, the wind on my face as I raised my hands, and sang, and clapped, and laughed until I cried from the sheer joy of it all.

There is nothing quite like the sound of so many voices being raised together in joy.

"...beauty's religion
And its Christened me with wonder"
-If Venice is Sinking - Spirit of the West