home.

i haven't been the best at writing here, i know this to be true.  there is a strange phenomenon taking place, though...somehow the days are disappearing right from under my nose.  how can it be possible that we have been here, in st.stephen, for almost a month already?  it seems like it's been only a few days, or maybe a week - but then, that's not right either.  what it really feels like is that there is no time, none at all.  if calendars didn't exist, i'd guess we could have been here for months and months. 

part of it, i suppose, is that this place always just feels like home.  i lived here, new brunswick of all places, for six years (school years) and that's actually a big chunk of my life (my life which, by the way, seems to be expanding as quickly as north american waistlines.  did i mention that i'm going to be thirty soon?  thirty?!).  places like todd's point, dover hill, new river...these places are practically tattooed on my body, a physical knowing that defies logic. 
it is like this with some places, and with some people.

i know that this is rare, to have a place that feels like home when my 'real' hometown is a suburb that doesn't recognize me anymore, probably never did.  so why can't i stay?  chris and i are tempted, believe you me, to plunk ourselves down on any old creaky porch in this town and let our legs grow into roots that go deep down.  however. 
we can't stay.  we just can't.  it doesn't 'seem' like the right time, if there ever will be a right time.  but there is a longing in me for stability, a longing that would have shocked the pants off of teenage me (weird expression).  i always prided myself on not being a homebody.  as a child, i would beg, literally beg to be sent to camp, for the whole summer if possible, for my whole life if my parents could afford it!  (they couldn't).  but they did somehow manage to send me to camp, every summer for weeks, and i trotted happily off with never a tear, barely a wave.  as a teenager, i tried to be everywhere at once, and everywhere was decidedly not at home.  it wasn't that i didn't love my family, because i truly did (do).  but i didn't need to be at home, because it was enough to know that home was there for me to come back to.  and the sense of home was very real, very necessary to my adventuring. 
when i went to australia after high school, what it meant to be seriously dating an australian was a concept that was lost on me...until i actually got there and realized that i could never imagine staying for the rest of my life, not for him or anyone else.  it wasn't home, and i had the distinct feeling that it never would be. 

i don't have a family home anymore.  after cancer stole my mom, there was no more glue and everything fell apart.  it doesn't take a genius to figure out that my longing for stability is very deeply connected to my very real lack of it.  i just want a home again, a place to adventure from and then return to, a place to lay my head.  i don't know why i of all people should deserve this when Jesus himself didn't have it, but i can imagine that he longed for it, especially after knowing the fullness of home that only heaven could be.  at least he had a strong sense of purpose to keep him warm at night!  it would seem i am without that too...

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the great great outdoors.

today it snowed, and in such cases i am always torn:  stay in and watch the gorgeous fluffy stuff pile up while drinking coffee and bailey's, or go out and walk in the cold white stuff.  or both. 

i went out.  the nature trail is no longer maintained, and there are big cement blocks across the entrance that say S-T-O-P-! in fluorescent orange spray paint.  while at first i was appalled, this is not necessarily a bad thing...while there may no longer be bridges, there is a distinctly more nature-y feel to the nature trail when the paths are a little overgrown.

i spent so much time on the nature trail in my first two years in this little town, and a bit less every year since.  back then, i knew what i needed to feel sane/happy, and i did it.  it's funny how being 'busy' can clutter everything up so much, mentally, that we forget what gets us through, what makes us tick.  being in the woods does something very real for me, something that i don't even know if i want to name.  the mystery is enough. 

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a poem by margaret atwood

Cell

Now look objectively.  You have to
admit the cancer cell is beautiful.
If it were a flower, you'd say, How pretty, 
with its mauve centre and pink petals

or if a cover for a pulpy thirties
sci-fi magazine, How striking;
as an alien, a success,
all purple eye and jelly tentacles
and spines, or are they gills,
creeping around on granular Martian
dirt red as the inside of the body,

while its tender walls
expand and burst, its spores
scatter elsewhere, take root, like money,
drifting like a fiction or
miasma in and out of people's
brains, digging themselves
industriously in.  The lab technician

says, It has forgotten
how to die.  But why remember?  All it wants is more
amnesia.  More life, and more abundantly.  To take
more.  To eat more.  To replicate itself.  To keep on
doing those things forever.  Such desires
are not unknown.  Look in the mirror.


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doing my best.

ok, so i missed two days.  and almost three.

you know what this reminds me of?  when i used to be completely wrapped up in the Pentecostal church as a tween/teenager,  fasting was a big deal - and by 'big deal', i mean that it was a sign of how holy you were/were not.  i would vow (and i do mean vow) to fast for x amount of time.  sometimes i would be victorious/holy and sometimes i would eat/fail miserably.  there was no guarantee of spiritual enlightenment from the fast, but there sure was a guarantee that if i did not fulfill every agonizing day i would feel like the most unholy of creatures for weeks on end.  isn't that messed up?  i'd say yes.  i got the impression from these ridiculous attempts at sainthood that i was a) a failure, and b) never able to follow through on anything.  i don't know if these are the elements of selfhood that my youth group aimed at instilling in us, but either way, they succeeded. 

so it's not really surprising to me that, after just a few days, i have already been defeated by my own determination to make reckless vows.  it's no big deal, but it brings up bad memories that i have to actively try to keep at bay.

oh well.  perhaps i just need to get over my need for perfection.  if i write here for 28 out of 30 days, or 12, i am still writing, still trying.  and i guess that's all that matters.

in other news, tonight i made mushroom ravioli for the first time in life, and it was exciting.

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allergenic.

something tragic has happened.  somehow i have become allergic to cats.

no, you don't understand:  this is a disaster!
i love cats.  i have always loved cats.
i pet them in the streets.  i pet them in the fields.  i love them even though one gave me poison ivy all over my face two weeks before my wedding. 
the best christmas gift i ever received was a kitten when i was seven.  tigger.  he used to chase me around the house and put both front legs around my ankles.  we would play together.  8 years later, when we moved, tigger disappeared from our new house and it was devastating.

i don't know how this happened.  maybe it was being away from pets for so long:  first four years at ssu, then two in alberta.  whatever the reason, i am inconsolable.


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Geeking Out

If you've never organized your iTunes before, I most adamantly do NOT recommend it. 

I haven't written all day, and the reason why is this:  I have been severely geeking out all afternoon.  The problem is that once I start organizing my music library (or photo library, or documents, etc), it's got a sick addictive power over me.

I forget to eat.  I forget to speak.  My legs inevitably fall asleep as I sit there, a blue-tinged glow on my space-cadet face.  The occasional expletive thrown in when the computer just isn't obeying me.  The truth is, it is a poor use of time.  I know this, but I have already started and the thought of not finishing makes me want to vomit (likely because I've already invested so much time in this, which will be 'wasted' if I don't 'finish').

Judge me all you want, but I dare you to try it.  Once you try to organize it - getting the correct song names, album names, and album artwork - you will see what I mean.  It's just so nice to not have four 'Arcade Fire' spots mysteriously showing up on my iPod. 

Also, I think I'm kind of OCD.


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accepting my own skin.

it takes an enormous stretch of my imagination to fathom this truth:
in less than a month, i will be thirty years old.  3-0.  thirty.

i have heard (from people who, no doubt, are also attempting to come to terms with the fact that their twenties are over) that the thirties are awesome.  suddenly, you don't care what people think of you anymore!  suddenly, you are comfortable with yourself, content in your own skin, a real developed person!

i can't wait.

jokes aside, i do hope for this.  and i hope, after the past couple of dreadful years, that maybe i have finally learned how to make better decisions.  that maybe i will learn to love myself and treat myself with respect.  that my size and shape won't determine my self-image, and that i will let myself be a real person - also known as having grace for myself, and others.

there is at least one practical way that i am already changing, already accepting myself more.  it concerns a little thing called makeup, or as i like to call it, super-fun art for the face!!
i grew up with makeup all around me...literally.  my mom loved glamour.  she was a makeup artist and (oh 80's trends!) an image consultant.  she did 'colours' for women so that they could learn what colours looked best with their skin tones (p.s. it actually makes a huge difference!), and she wanted to help people feel good about themselves.  and she did.  but whether it's the times a-changin' or just me a-changin', i don't believe (as she and so many other women did) that a woman shouldn't leave the house without 'putting on her face'. 

i loved, and still love, to play with makeup.  i love to put it on others.  it is a little-known fact about me that i have taken courses in makeup artistry.  it is just fun.  i've never personally been one to wear a lot of makeup (lipstick in particular tends to look awful on me), but i have consistently worn it since i was, oh, thirteen or so.  it became something that i needed to feel good about myself...or just to feel like myself!  as my friends know, i have had a love affair with liquid eyeliner for at least 10 years, and it got to the point that i looked weird to myself if i wasn't wearing any.  i was trapped by my own consistency!  if i dared to go a day without wearing any eye makeup, the inevitable consensus was that i looked so tired!  people weren't sure why, but it was clear that heather was exhausted and needed to be asked many times if she was feeling ok.  

truth be told, my eyelashes are invisible.  they are the colour of nothing, and they stick straight out, so if i'm not wearing any mascara, i look like maybe i tried lighting a gas stove to my own detriment.  or maybe i'm sick.  or really, really tired.

what's weird is that i'm becoming okay with it.  me, heather, on the cusp of my 30th birthday, may be proving all those people right who say that 30 is the magic number! 
don't get me wrong:  i still love makeup.  but my husband can testify to the fact that i regularly go without any makeup at all, whole days even!, and that i appear to be able to handle it just fine.  to not care, if you will!

so what happened? 
i'll let you know when i figure it out.


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harsh times.

last night a girl who was past tipsy told me that she is surprised to find that she really likes me, because she had heard that i am kind of harsh.  and it made me so sad! 

i don't know how, but i seem to give off the impression that i am pretty confident.  which is a gross overstatement of the facts, which are that i am actually shy and awkward with strangers.  i don't usually know how to relate to people that i don't know, which is why most of my dearest friends are the people who took me in or made an effort towards me or just showed me that they loved me from the start.  i know, it's a tall order.  and a protective measure.

since grade two, when i found out a friend's mom disapproved of me (for being too headstrong? slightly rebellious? a natural liar?), i have two intense, subconscious fears that colour all my interactions:
1. being disapproved of
2. being misunderstood
yes, the two go hand in hand, like best friends on the playground.  i have an inherent distrust of adults (which i have started to work through, maybe because i am now one myself...what?!).  i lack discipline and can't seem to surrender to authority.  but i am trying to overcome these things.

my sister, five years my junior (an eternity in my younger days) once told me that some of her friends found me intimidating.  this shocked me, but it shouldn't have.  i wasn't really all that nice to my sister or her friends.  i don't know why.  i regret it.  it wasn't really about them, is the thing.  i am just a classic self-absorbed, emotional artist-type, so wrapped up in my own things that sometimes i forget to see people.  also, i find it hard to trust people.  not because i assume some flaw in them (although occasionally this is the case), but probably because of some deep-seeded sense of shame or the idea that there is something wrong with me, that i will inevitably be disapproved of.  it's not logical, but it still is. 

perhaps it's this subconscious feeling that drives my intense desire for non-confrontation in all things.  i'm not very good at sharing...my feelings, my things, anything!  my go-to response throughout the jungle of teenagedom was "i don't want to talk about it" and it was my opinion that things were better left unsaid:  since words can't ever be taken back, it's best to let situations evaporate on their own.  needless to say, i don't feel that way anymore, or at least i don't "feel" that way in my brain.  on some level, though, i still feel that way in a deep place.  but i have seen what not communicating can lead to, and i have witnessed that in spite of the botched jobs we do at relating, to deal with things is far superior to letting them fester.  because things do not evaporate, really.  and if they do, they come down again as acid rain.

but let's get back to the beginning:  i don't want to be harsh.  i want to be kind, and open, and welcoming, and nonjudgmental.  i think i can do this, with some effort to not let myself give in to being the lowest common denominator, the easiest version of myself when i'm sad or wrapped up in my own thoughts or just feeling awkward.  it probably gets easier.  i just need to be more aware of the way that i give myself out to the world.  because, believe it or not, people will form some kind of impression of you from the evidence you hand out, true or false.  chris is fond of saying that i'm a tough nut to crack, but i'm sick of that.  i don't want people to need special tools to get to the heart of me, i want to be willing to yield the good stuff without putting up impossible barriers.  because in the end, i really do believe that human existence is doomed (and should be doomed) unless we can learn to love more, and show it more.  this applies to everything. 


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a little lighter in the loafers.

today i actually feel lighter. 
it's a strange truth that the spiritual, the psychological, the emotional...these things somehow affect us in a very physical way.  we carry our pain on our shoulders like oxen, every step a grim reminder of our failings and the failings of those around us. 
i don't know how it's possible, especially for someone as religiously jaded as i am or have been, but my burden has been lifted.  i am willingly yoked now, reining in my rebelliousness, and somehow this new load that i am committed to is lighter. 
it's something about forgiveness!  for ourselves and for others!  i think if we can figure out how to do it (or let ourselves be helped in doing it), it just might be the thing.  for moving on, and letting go.


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the dread of scheduling.

it's the weirdest thing, blogging.  i feel guilty when i don't do it, like the blog is a living thing, a neglected friend that is hurt by my procrastination.  and, like a real friend, the longer you go without speaking, the harder it becomes to bridge that awkward, guilt-ridden gap.

i don't mean to stay away, i really don't.  i intend to write every day, not for the fact of online self-indulgence, but simply because i know that i need to write to be sane.  and i like this forum.  i like the idea of a virtual catch-all, a journal with the possibilities of photos and recipes to share and without the tiresome effort of handwriting (it cramps after a while!).

but.
as we all know, life tends to get away from you unless you grab it with not one but both hands.  days seem to literally disappear as they melt into one another, and without discipline (because oh, how i lack discipline!), i end up doing none of the things that i intend to do.  and i wake up every morning intending again, always intending.

it goes against my artistic temperament, but i think that making a schedule for myself - regardless of how it chafes at me - may be my only hope.  it's not exactly the same thing, but let me offer a case in point:  on our honeymoon, i decided that chris and i shouldn't plan anything for our trip, except for booking the flights, ferries and the rental car.  we would pick up the car in london, drive through northern wales, ferry to dublin, and then spend the next two and half weeks roaming the irish countryside.  we would be spontaneous! and carefree!, two whimsical souls so in love that we could not help but have a magical time.
but then it rained and rained and rained...the rainiest summer in fifty years. the campgrounds flooded, and we shivered in our tent wearing all the clothes we had with us (not exactly the picture of newlywed bliss).  every hotel, motel, b&b, hostel and guesthouse on the entire island of ireland was booked up (summer tourist season, anyone?).  we would often find places to stay at the last minute (i.e. later in the evening, after much stress) that were not nice but still not cheap.  we slept in the car on not one but two occasions.  as fun as that sounds, it wasn't really.
we still had a great time in ireland, but it could have been one heck of a lot better if only i had been willing to make a plan and stick to it, rather than trying to leave everything open-ended so that we would be available for whatever incredible and sudden opportunities would come our way.  and which often didn't, at least not where accommodation was concerned. 

it's sort of the same, isn't it?  instead of planning my days, even a little bit, i just assume that my best intentions will get me through.  combine that notion with my pathetically poor concept of time and what do you get?  a thoroughly unproductive person, verging on 30 with no foreseeable career possibilities (part of which may involve my distaste for the word 'career' and its connotations) and a head full of dreams.  no, heather, just because you delusionally assume that you can paint multiple paintings, write something worth publishing, cook elaborate and healthy meals, play your guitar, finally learn your mandolin, and make a family christmas movie from old home videos all within this week, does not mean that it is possible.  especially when you waste all your time on facebook (for shame!). 
i just really hate having a schedule.  it makes me not even want to do the things that i do want to do!  plotting things out seems to be the antithesis of creativity, and yet i suppose that the alternate (doing nothing) is not very creative either.  so i am going to try, God help me.

i would like to try to write something here every day.  i'm sure i will, for a few days, and then it will peter off again.  unless...maybe i will try to write every day for a month.  a whole month!  wowee.  they say habits are formed through repetition.
one can only hope.

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