From Nat's Brain

I support you.

 

A bit more introspective here for a change. My deepest sympathies go to Jamie Hubley's family and to all his friends. It feels a tremendous loss for this community and for the world.

The Boy is going into middle school next year. We're facing the hard decision about where to send him, that scary time for parents when you realize it's time for him to leave the spread his wings a bit. Decisions that seem enormous and overwhelming at the moment. Jamie's story hits close to home. Jamie by all accounts was involved in his community, like his dad. He was well liked by his friends.  Like Jamie, The Boy has been bullied. And like the Hubleys, the situation was brought to the attention of school officials.

In our case, I'd give the school a solid C+ for handling the situation. I know another situation, the previous year where, quite frankly, I don't think it was handled so well. (The bullied child in this situation left the school.)  Our bully left the school at the end of last year, I know more than one parent who was happy we'd heard the last of him. But at the end of the day, leaving the school doesn't solve the problem in the long run. In my mind, the fact that the incidents would happen in the first place is indicative that whatever programs we have in place, are clearly not working.

Kids committing suicide is another.

Zero tolerance, koombaya at recess and "be nice" posters and talks sounds really good in the boardroom but as an increasingly high number of suicides show don't translate well at all to the classroom. I'd go so far as to say the same thing for the pledges.

I'm worried because I know The Boy,  try as he may, doesn't fit nicely into the mold. He's not particularly athletic, he's a bit of a philosopher -- an artsy, smart and funny.  He's different. He's a lot like me. And I adore this about him. I love that he's not typical, but didn't that make high school a very special inner circle of hell for me. I hope that like me, he'll find some cool close friends and keep his head down. Just makes it through -- those uneventful kids none of us remember. (Yes, in fact I was one of those.)

I was bullied in grade school. Not seriously, you know fat kid with a funny accent stuff.  Things were better in high school. I remember feeling like I never quite fit in, but I had friends and it was ok. But things were dark in my head. Very dark. Depression just wasn't something anyone talked about then besides really, I didn't know who to turn to, even if I'd wanted to. Looking back on those years now, I just remember feeling tremendously alone. It was definitely a hard hard time. I can't imagine having to deal with taunts and physical assaults.

But here is my point.

As an adult, there are 800 things I'd tell my teenaged self to do. And I'm pretty sure teenage me would ignore them -- every single one. I confided in no one about the dark ideas in my head except maybe the long lines of angsty poetry I kept in my journal. Really, there is no way I'd have gone to my parents or a teacher or anyone with this. Somewhere along the way, the adults lost me. Somewhere along the way I lost me too. (But that is fodder for another post.) I'm 90 per cent sure that if you'd thrown bullying into that mix, I'd not be here today. It's just one more thing.

It gets better, yes. It will. (Really, if you're a teen in trouble, it does. I swear.) It got better for me. I found my like minded cohort. But damn it if I'm not ok with kids going through for years of torment. And wouldn't it be well, great, if it could be better now. Right now? And isn't that what we should be aiming for? Don't we want to look back on this period as the dark days when adults did the right thing stirred shit up. Why is it we're all ok with high school being so bloody mean? It's time for change.

Out-dated ideas towards sexual orientation need to make their way out of the curriculum. Normal need be about love and caring and healthy relationships. Not so much about who does what to whom ...  not about sin, and fire and brimstone. It should also be about respect for differences. And if the teachers and parents disagree, fuck 'em. This attitude is killing our kids.

And it's not citing the bible that is going to be make it better. In fact, one could argue that it's what created this problem in the first place. Reciting the Bible did me absolutely no good either.

As adults though we need the courage to support our kids 100 per cent and that means being ok with different sexual orientations.

More importnat than this, we  need to give kids the strenght to stand up and in turn ostracize the bullies. Because it's only through social pressure that these kids will see the problems they're creating. But I have no clue how we get there... And right now, I'm not sure the school boards around here do either. But it's time they got wise and fast.

As for me, all I can do is be there and be loud in support of all kids. A lot of us care... come find us, we'll work through it together. Promise. And if I can't make it better today, I promise to help you get through for tomorrow.

Ten excuses my son won't let me use on his late slip

The Boy goes to a private school and I have to drive him to school. As part of our marching orders, they routinely send us emails about getting our children to school on time. Though I'm all about being punctual usually. School on time is occasionally problematic. You know traffic and morning and can't get my shit together.

When we get to school, I have to fill out the late slip, which includes such pertinent information as name, time and reason. Usually I make up traffic jams and things like "overslept." This morning it occurred to me that maybe, these excuses lacked creativity. And I suggesed a few new ones to the child.

As a result I have been strictly forbidden from putting the follwing thing in the "reason" box of his late slips.

1. The turtle ate his homework.
2. Took the red pill. 
3. The police said that the first bell DID NOT constitute an emergency. Tuition payment for next month will be late. 
4. Tequila. Gin. And Vodka.
5. Delayed by a Fringe event.
6. These are not the droids you are looking for.
7. Hey teacher, leave them kids alone!
8. Zombie Apocalypse drill.
9. Is that's a blue police box in the yard?
10. Late night slaying vampires.

I just don't get it. 

The deal with the turtle

This story begins a long long time ago when The Man was just a boy. His mother came home with a surprise for her sons -- two small turtles. I'm not entirely sure how it transpired or if it was a June Cleaver-esque type thing: "Hi boys, I was in pet store and brought you home each a turtle. Here have some soy milk and vegan, ancient grain beet carob cookies" or if the guys nagged her into it. (Don't buy pets in pet stores.)

We ended up with both turtles when The Man's brother moved to the States.Then in the 90s, a girl who was trying to woo The Man asked him to take care of her turtle. "Hey Baby, want to take care of my turtle." Then we never heard from her again.

Sucker written all over us.

In the last ten years, two have died. We also lost track of who is who. Really, they do all look the same and they quickly grew to be all the same size. And then there was one... it's like a discount Agatha Christie novel. (Seems like a waste of that line.)

Given that they need a spot to bask, she has a stack of rocks that she can up on to get close to the light (and heat). The rest of her aquarium is filled with water. (This, I understand, is not the way most people keep red ears. Then again, most people's red ears don't live to be at least 30. So fuck 'em.)

In the spring and in the fall, the turtle goes on these walk abouts (sex and hybernation we think). She climbs onto her rocks and props herself over the side to freedom. Once out, she'll explore things like the bathroom (a favourite spot) and the hallway. Or the middle spot under the bed where I won't stick my hand because of monsters. (And the turtle bites if you put your hand in front of its head. Under the bed it's hard to tell which end is which.)

Now if we miss the original escape. (You can hear it.) Or we're at work and she has a good long walk about tracking her down can be problematic, leaving turtle pee ponds for me to walk in.  From time to time, she's waiting for me in my shoes (no doubt peeing in those as well). 

This season, for whatever reason, the turtle has been particularly active and got out of her tank FOUR times last Saturday. Which is, quite frankly a pain. There have been a number of slow speed turtle chases. Then if The Man catches her she happily succumbs and let him put her back in her tank. If I catch her. She'll hiss and pee on me...and you hear all about it on twitter. (@natsbrain)

 

And as I was writing this, the turtle fell out!

Abundance...

As most of us in this city/country, I have much to be grateful for this Thanksgiving... and as we've done with the feast with terrific wine and conversation. I usually do this Abundance Journal on paper for tonight, an exception.

For all of you, who take moments out of your day and share it with me, thank you. It's safe to say you've made me a better writer.

For the bloggers and tweeters, who've become in the flesh friends ... I'm thankful to the technology and the interface that makes this possible. And to you for open your lives up for me to share in them.

I'm, of course, tremendously grateful for The Man and The Boy, who allow me my journeys of self-discovery -- and who never ever let medown. I love you guys, and I'd be lost without you. Gratitude isn't big enough a word for the immense joy that our family unit has brings me every day. I love you two so much... (it's that bone crushing can hardly see kind of love.)

To my nearest and dearest friends, you all bring something unique and terribly necessary to my life. I've learned so much from you all. Thank you.

Thankful for the tremendous unwaverign support of my family. Thanks guys.

For music, the folks who make it and the all the audio equipment I own. Sigh. Life savers.

For the communities I live and work in. And the folks who make it tick. Thank you for making walking down the street a fun experience. Abundance and gratitude ...

For this life that is, by most measures spectacula, I have much to be thankful and grateful for...

Three cheers to you.

30 days of play

I am working through a bit of a creative blockage of sorts when it comes to writing. It's not that I don't have time to write or that I have nothing say, really materials isn't lacking or time... well time is at a premium always, but you know I could cut back on Facebook time. I'm somehow gripped with fear and just can't quite put it out there. You know? Yeah, I could go on about any number of top of mind issues. Rant about this or that... women's rights, head scratching politics, odd things along the street. But I'm not. I just can't quite bring myself to do it.

And then I think, do you really need to know that I'm worried about how you all re-act if it's not "good". Then I think well how the fuck cares if you don't accept me. Except, you know, part of me does, and I'm working to get over that. Yeah I know, maybe I need to suck it up...  high art and punk rock et tout ça.

I was speaking to a friend, who as most of you are, is wonderful. I think part of me was hoping that she would give me permission to quit writing. Rather than that, she gave me a warm hug and bit of inspiration, and a kick in th ass. (Great you're drawing and painting, write something would you.) Sometimes I need that. Amazing, she really is...

And she gave me tips and advice and we had a jolly good chat about playing and nurturing ourselves. Starting soon, I'll be posting how I've been playing. I'm also toying with the idea of creative practice. I'll be talking about that a bit as well. How do we, as people, make sure that we are nurturing our inner creativity... and maybe a bit of writing too.

Who you are...

“I'd rather be hated for who I am, than loved for who I am not.” Kurt Cobain

I was walking down the street carrying a newly purchased $40 black Buddah under my arm. When a man in an old Toyato Corrola winked at me from inside his car. Now given, this is Hintonburg -- I'm pretty sure he wasn't looking for a trick. Unless there is a new string of hookers walking around with Buddahs. Perhaps it's a code that I, not keeping up on hooker trends, didn't even know about. Some sort of weird Buddhist fetish thing...

There is the possibility that he's a guy I know and I didn't recognize him. Still it made me chuckle. And we'll never know what he wanted because I didn't stop. (Probably for the best.) Still I was smiling and saying hello to folks along the street.

All in all, it had been a very good week. The 1st year on my forties ended with little hooplah. (or is it the last year of my 30s?) I settled a rather long standing issue with a former employer. In the end, I got exactly what I wanted and then a bit more. To top it all off, I found this Buddah and he had to come home with me. Right then¹.

Buddah is now sitting on my baker's rack, laughing. Because the kitchen is the most sacred spot in this house and well, it means he's facing me when I work here. I like that. I think he's supposed to live in the garden but so did the gargoyle and he's never seen winter either. He's an indoor laughing Buddah.

I was  thinking about the girl at Herb and Spice. Buddah made her smile too. "Oh you bought a Buddah," she said. I laughed. I suppose most customers don't put a Buddah on the counter as they pay for their broccoli. She asked if I wanted a bag for Buddah. That just seemed wrong... "No, I want to carry him home like this." She gave me a warm smile and a knowing nod.

All this Buddah stuff did get me thinking about a question posed to someone's status Facebook.

Who do you want to be? It said.

I dislike this question. Because it implies that I shouldn't want to be myself. And quite frankly, I don't want to be anyone else. (Even when life was turbulent I don't think I ever wanted to be anyone else.) Simply because I don't think that gets you anywhere. There are people whose talents and skills I admire, people I'd love to work with and be mentored by, people whose successes and failures have a lot to teach me, people I'd love to befriend. But, I really don't want to be anyone other than genuinely and authentically me -- real and true me. Aiming to be anyone else is a lie, and every time I've deviated from my true path, it's led to all sorts of misery. I think this is the sort of answer they were trying to elicit (or maybe not) But it occured to me that this is entirely the wrong question. But I'm not sure exactly what the right one is. But I didn't post that to Facebook. 

All that aside though... right at that moment, I wanted to be the woman walking down Wellington street with a Buddah tucked under her arm.  Life is good, people. Life is good.

___________

1. Upon showing my new purchase to The Man, he raised an eyebrow, which I interpreted to mean he thought $40 was too much to spend on a black volcanic ash Buddah. (I actually saw the same Buddah online for $48 + shipping) He says not so... maybe it was more questioning my sanity. This morning, he said he liked Buddah. This makes me happy.

 

Answers to the age old question

1. Because I said so.
2. 42.
3. It was there.
4. I built it, they came.
5. It just is.
6. I felt like it.
7. They made me do it.
8. It felt good.
9. That song came on the radio.
10. The only thing better than one is two, the only better than two is three.
11. How often do you get the chance.
12. They said it was good for me.
13. Mom said good girls didn't.
14. Just because.
15. They said I really shouldn't...
16. Because they make my ass look good.
17. Comfort over fashion
18. Fashion over comfort
19. He's really really cute
20. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
21. Someone had to.
22. Birds scare me.
23. I like it loud.
24. I forgot my skates.
25. I'm sure the stove is still on.
26. Well, his feet were really really dirty.
27. It's common sense really.
28. I lied.
29. I told the truth.
30. I was afraid.
31. I love him.
32. I never turn down exquisite chocolate, coffee or wine.
33. Sometimes you just need to hear a song over and over again.
34. It had a connector for my iPod.
35. Could you say no to that?
36. Just look...
37. Take my word for it.
38. I wanted to.
39. I needed it in red too.
40. To prove to myself that I could.
41. Because they were wrong.

The problem is all inside your head, she said to me... #earworms

Little known fact: I know most of the words to 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover by Paul Simon. It's not that I particularly like this song, it's just that when the song came out in 1975, it quickly became one of my father's favourites. He used to play it over and over again.(Along with Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot and Heart of Gold by Neil Young.)

"The answer is easy if you take it logically."

The record player at our house in Moncton was on top of the stairs on a high shelf. Apparently at the age of 3, I decided to play my dad's record. Some vinyl may have been damaged. I'm not sure he's forgiven me yet.

"I'd like to help you in your struggle to be free, there must be 50 ways to leave your lover."

Some kids learn the Wheels on the Bus, I learned 50 Ways.

The Boy at age 2, found a box of cassettes. He proceeded to pull the tape out of all of them. Luckily he stayed away from the vinyl. (I miss vinyl and record stores -- btw I'm looking for a cheap turntable in working order.)

Nature or nurture, I'm sure I'll never really know. 

"She said it grieves me so to see you in such pain, I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again."

The Boy, The Man and I were standing at Bluesfest watching The Tragically Hip. (Great show, drunken frat boys aside.) And every now and then, The Boy would turn and say "Do I know this one?" And I'd tell him the title of the song. And he'd nod seriously. Then the lyrics would start and he'd know some of the words ("Off the coast of France, dear") and the entire bridge from 100th Meridian. I think every Canadian should be able to recite it, you learn O 'Canada, then a heavy does of The Hip. (I don't give a fuck about hockey, but The Hip...)

"I said I appreciate that, but could you please explain about the 50 ways."

It's only during Bobcaygeon that The Man expressed his confusion. "He knows all the words?" Why would such a young impressionable mind be crammed full of lyrics...

Short answer because my internal song-lyric hard drive is almost full so it's downloading them to The Boy. The hard drive skips and words get stuck in my head. When words get stuck in my head, I need to listen to them so I can get rid of them, it's a download of sorts. (File under you might be a geek.) And I like to listen to music in the car...

The Boy goes to a private school and I need to drop him off every morning. This gives me 30 minutes a day to cram his head full of whatever is in my head. I do this until he'll finally say to me "Mom, can we please listen to something else." Then I know I've gone a bit too far.

Still, I took me a moment to all the pieces together as to why he knew all the words to Bobcaygeon. Really knew.

Bobcaygeon is one of my favourite love songs ever. I guess I play it a lot. Well, I know I play it a lot. So much that The Boy knows all the lyrics by osmosis.  It's one of my warm blanket songs. You don't want to go to work and the thought of leaving it all behind is terribly appealing. (And well, really, this is possibly one of the most romantic songs ever.)

I suppose the concept of quitting and leaving it behind is appealing to The Boy as well, he's learned all the words too. He chose it this morning on the way to camp. Wonder if he had an earworm. Or if he's attempting some sort of download.

Apple. Tree. Not far indeed.

Don't touch the bikes.

I have spent the last few weeks, begging and pleading and cajoling everyone I knew to volunteer in the Hintonburg Centennial 5K this past weekend. You rocked my world, you made it awesome... you retweeted, you wrangled for me... and damn it if you didn't get up early on a Sunday morning to help out.

The Hintonburg 5K is not your usual 5k course. It's a neighbourhood run, we close something like 34 intersection. In a part of Ottawa that is changing, still there are spots were the struggles of the last decade shows. Our course goes through these.

Deep in the heart of Hintonburg, the Outlaws have a safe house. Right around the 3.5k mark. Every year in July, they all get together and have a very delicate biker gang kind of party.  They have cookies and tea. (Or something just like it.) So when at 5:30 a.m. one of the sedate not-scary-at-all and "very-happy" revellers asked The Man was he was doing. The Man explained. (What do you really?)

"Well, do you think they'll want beer? We have beer." asked the nice Outlaw man.

"I don't think they'll want beer, but you could have a misting hose ready," The Man said explaining about the marathon at the Bejing Olympics. (Only The Man would do this, I'd have adopted a back away slowly kind of attitude.) "But maybe you could ask before you spray people."

But The Man did note that the bikes were all lined up along the streets, and bikers love their bikes. Eeek.

Hence in the pre-race announcement, The Man told the runners "DO NOT TO TOUCH THE BIKES." (And maybe pick up the pace a little.) I, of course, was not paying attention to the announcement because well, I was busy handing out timing chips. And The Man will repeat when I don't listen -- besides it wasn't for me, it was for everyone else. Oh, admit it sometimes you turn your spouse off from time to time too. Besides I knew the drill... I helped coordinate the volunteers. Right?

Hence, when the running third of FoodiePrints explained that the biggest baddest looking biker she had ever seen hosed her off during the run. I looked at her funny.  "And Nat, I didn't touch the bikes." I hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

See I hadn't actually talked to Jeff since 11 p.m. the previous night. I'm told that perhaps in their blissful state the bikers were, taking a bit more of a take charge approach and hosing everyone off. Listening not so much part of the biker code. Perhaps I have something in common with bikers.

Apparently the Outlaw enjoyed themselves. I think we can all agree that this is a good thing. For the race, for the runners, and for the 'hood.

Before I leave you, special kudos to the following...

The Fabulous Ms. G. who postponed her group 16K marathon training run to help out with chips. She called and said "What do you need me to do?"  before she even said hello. You have to love that.

Spydergrrl got the whole damn family up, retweeted and shouted from the rooftops. Amazing. Love you for that.  (I got to meet Dude, Spydergrrl's cool is genetic. Love that kid.) Hit me up next time you need help... (well, heck you can all do that.)

To FoodiePrints (the third that doesn't run) for taking on a tricky intersection without much training (I hear the kid is going to run the 5K next year.) Great ideas, thank you for the post run chat too.

So good to see Finola again. And well, I just love Joe and Marshall so much that it's worth mentioning them as well. (Great work on the water station guys.)

To the folks who came out again for the 5th time or those who attended it for the first time, and volunteered for barricades (@goldiej7 -- wow!), and our usual suspect. Amazing, all of you. The race is built on volunteers. I can't express how much it means to The Man aka the Race Director, and to me -- we are both tremendously grateful. It's a lot to close 30-odd intersections. And really, we couldn't do it without you.

You all fucking Rock! 

 

 

 

 

The right thing...

I called 911 and I would do it again.

The Boy and I were goofing around walking home from the Quicky Mart, where he'd proudly gotten himself a Freezy when V, a woman who lives down the street came running towards me in her bathrobe. Frazzled, she explained that she was taking a long lovely bath when it was interrupted by smashing and a man yelling profanities at someone.

V looked in her backyard, and saw a woman cowering behind her shed, babe in arms, while a man continued to yell and scream at her. But V didn't have the street address and didn't want to leave her young daughter alone while she went to look. I did it, as I walked around to see the house, I heard yet more smashing and more name calling. As V ran up the fence to see if the woman was ok. (The Boy watched her little one for a bit.)

Address located, I called 911. They sent police.

As I walked back to my street, I came upon the woman being comforted by V. and another neighbour J. I told them I'd called the police. The woman looked scared and mortified and quickly went home.

J. explained that he knew the couple and that they are both teachers. A teacher as well J., when he saw which house it was, he decided not to call the police because he knew them. But, as if, trying to make me feel better he says "You did the right thing by calling." Which really begs the question, well, why didn't he?

Three of us witnessed this event

I told him I was only worried that after the cops left, he was going to beat this poor woman to death. J. looked at me as if I'd suddenly grown a second head. "Oh no, he wouldn't do that they're teachers you know." Right, but he would terrorize his wife to the point where she was hiding behind the shed with her baby. I said, I hoped he was right.

I was having a glass of wine with DV across the street and J. came up to me. He said again "You did the right thing. But I think he was just drunk because it was the last day of school." As if this somehow justified the behaviour. "I'm sure they're both mortified," went on... as if this is throwing things at your spouse and calling her names... chasing her out of her own house is normal behaviour.

"J., I have no regrets about calling the police. If you and your wife were having that kind of fight and she was cowering in the back yard, I'd call the cops. We need to stand up for those who are too scared to stand up for themselves. I hope that this is the wake up call they need to get their lives and their relationship under control and that it didn't lead to her getting a savage beating. I also hope the police took this seriously."

This is clearly not what J. wanted to hear. I wanted me to say "OH, he's a teacher I'm sure he's a fine upstanding citizen." Certainly there are exceptional wonderful teachers out there... but the virtue of the profession does not exempt you from normal common decency. Too many horror stories start out this way and it's time for it to stop.