Archives for February 2011

Blessed

Years ago, as we walked down the street after a meeting, the woman who was then my boss asked me a question.

“Do you feel blessed?” she asked – suddenly, and with no indication of what had prompted the thought.

I can’t recall many of the specifics about the conversation that followed, but I remember my response: Yes. Absolutely. I seem to remember that she expressed a similar feeling. That she, too, felt blessed. (Which is interesting to me now because she split up with her husband a while later. Looking back, I wonder if it was her way of saying, “Yes, I am blessed. I have the freedom to choose the life I want and I choose something different.”)

I’ll never know, but it doesn’t matter. In that moment, for whatever reason, she made the question about me.

On the surface, I live a fairly average life. In many ways, I am simply as blessed as many. In some ways, I am less so. In some ways, much more. I am blessed.

Blessed.

There is so much meaning in that word for me. It’s not one single, specific thing. It’s not even the sum of a list of things. It’s not a person or a quality or a memory or an experience. It’s a feeling.

The dictionary defines “blessed” as “blissfully happy or contented” but it’s so much more than that to me. It’s a big feeling, a physical feeling, one centred in my chest somewhere near my sternum. It bursts with gratitude. It’s something that knows and sees all I have been given and is stronger for appreciating it. It’s something that, if I don’t appreciate it, will go away. It exists because I know it exists.

This feeling was lost to me for a while. PPD took it away. It wasn’t even replaced with “why me?” It just simply wasn’t. I didn’t miss it, because I couldn’t see it. I didn’t remember that it had ever been there. But now it’s back. And, in case I might choose not to see it, it’s come back in tangible form.

I recently wrote about participating in the Planting Love giveaway. I participated – donated – because I couldn’t not donate to this cause. Lots of others felt the same way and in doing so have blessed Amy and her family, raising over $1000 for their medical bills. And, while it wasn’t my motivation, I won something. I won this, donated by Alely from her ohsweetleeme Etsy shop [update: now closed]:

Like I said, I’m blessed.

I say this not to chase away those of you who don’t feel blessed, who can’t find that feeling, who don’t know where it went or who don’t remember whether they ever felt that way in the first place. Because I, not so long ago, felt all of those things.

I say this not to sound snotty or to make you feel bad about how you feel. (And I certainly don’t say it to put you off reading my blog.)

I’m not saying, “Be grateful for what you have because you are blessed, whether you can see it or not” because I know some of you can’t see it.

I say it on this particular day because today I’m mindful of it again. Today was one of those days where a whole bunch of people acknowledged something I had done and thanked me for it, turning what was otherwise a fairly normal day into one where I felt hugely, wonderfully, beautifully blessed.

I say it because I think it’s important to acknowledge these things, because I’ve spent way too much time in the last couple of years focusing on what was wrong instead of what was right.

I say it because to say it is gratitude, and that’s something, recently discovered, that was missing in my life.

I say it because to say it is to hold on to it, and I don’t want this feeling to be taken away again.

I am blessed.

A stellar example of just how much I do not have my shit together

As mentioned, I’m travelling for work this week, as I did last week. Last week I went to Montreal, where it was very cold. I got there and realized I had forgotten a sweater and had only brought one glove. Brilliant, Robin. That’s helpful.

I felt silly, but it was fine.

This week I’m in lovely Toronto (where it’s warmer and there’s less snow than in my balmy west-coast home – go figure). I brought my gloves and my sweater, though I haven’t had to wear them.

What I didn’t bring was underwear.

Really, how does one forget to pack underwear? It’s the first thing I normally pack. It’s in my top drawer. I brought socks. I brought my sports bra (which I actually used – yay, me!). But underwear? Not so much.

After having a good laugh I texted my husband to tell him this (because, really, he needs more evidence of the fact that I’m crazy). He asked if I bought new ones or just planned to go commando. I’ll never tell. 😉 (But let’s just say I only realized my predicament when it was time to leave for the presentation I was scheduled to give.)

The old me would never have done this. The old me – the pre-baby, pre-PPD me – would have had a list. I guess they did remove my competence with the c-section, because I didn’t have a list.

I also don’t have any underwear.

Fledgling Friday link-up: Feb 25 edition


Fledgling Friday is back for week two! Thanks to everyone who linked up last week.

If you’re a new blogger looking for some friends, some traffic, some comment love, please link up one of your posts from this last week.

If you’re not a new blogger, remember what it was like to be one and give these folks a visit. :)

Wordless Wednesday: Peace and Quiet

I’m travelling for work again today, the second time in two weeks. I used to relish these trips, even if they were short, even if the travel was long, because it gave me some time to myself. A little bit of peace and quiet.

I still cherish this time and try to make the most of it, but I look forward to it a little less, dread it a little more. Because sometimes what I’m leaving behind is peace and quiet* and I appreciate it more now.

*Yes, I realize he’s not always quite this quiet. But he’s still my little boy.

Birds of a Feather

In my late 20s, I spent several days crammed in a van with my parents and three (adult) siblings driving halfway across Canada – from BC to Manitoba – for my grandmother’s memorial service. When I tell you this is the type of experience I wish for my son, you’ll think, “That’s it. This chick is definitely crazy.”

I’d say you have to understand my family to get it, but you don’t. We’re like any number of other families out there – we drive each other crazy at times. Sometimes we’re in touch a lot and other times I can’t remember when I last saw my brother. We compare ourselves and find fun and comfort in our similarities. We contrast ourselves and joke that our youngest sister is adopted. We are there for each other – always, unfailingly, without question.

So when all the logistical hurdles have been tackled and it turns out the most logical – and least frighteningly expensive – option for getting us all to the service is to drive there, in a van, together, none of us balks. It will be nothing less than an adventure.

Picture a van with miles and miles to go on the Trans-Canada. Each of us likes to be prepared for any eventuality (we get it from our mother) and this means none of us packs light. The van is crammed. Full of people, full of bags, full of cameras and things to do and music to listen to. And somewhere, beneath all of the people and all of their stuff, is an urn.

This suddenly occurs to me.

“Mom, where’s Grandma?”

“Under the seat.”

Silence.

I knew she had to be with us. She has to get there somehow. But I didn’t actually stop to think about the implications. I have a brief, “Oh my God. Mom!!” moment but it quickly passes. Of course she’s with us. It couldn’t be otherwise. I do briefly wonder if Grandma thinks we’re all crazy but realize she knows us well enough to know. We totally are. And I know she’s glad this is how this trip has turned out to be.

We drive.

We’re six people who are very similar and very different all at the same time, and between swim meets and family trips we’ve spent a lot of time in vehicles together. I know how this could go. I know how it would have gone in the past. I cross my fingers no one asks my middle sister where she wants to eat. (Kidding, Michelle! I know we’re long past the days where we’d all choose somewhere and you wouldn’t want to go and would have a fit about it.) (She’s going to kill me for this.)

We drive.

We were smart enough to get a van with a DVD player, so we watch movies.

We drive.

When movies get boring, we turn on the music. We have very, ahem, different tastes in music, and that same middle sister usually wins for having taste that’s agreeable to most of us. So we pop in her disc of tunes.

We drive.

We’ve left BC behind. We’ve left Alberta behind. We’re long past the ocean, which all of us love. We can no longer see the towering Rockies, to which all of us return repeatedly because there’s something there that draws us back. (Two of us live there now, and I won’t be at all surprised if we all end up back there again.) We’re now in Saskatchewan. It’s pretty, but flat. Nothing but miles and miles of highway in front of us.

The music plays and we drive on.

None of us is particularly shy about singing along, and over the last couple of days there have been various voices joining in for a chorus here, a verse there.

One track ends, and another begins. And suddenly we’re all belting out the same song.

“Movin’ right along in search of good times and good news,
With good friends, you can’t lose,
This could become a habit.”

The Muppets. Does anyone else have a family who would have a Muppets song on a road trip mix? This is totally normal for my family. And it’s totally normal that we’d all be singing along.

“Movin’ right along,
Foot-loose and fancy free.
Getting there is half the fun; come share it with me.”

Driving and singing. There’s nothing really that stands out about this, except that this is how my family is and I’m grateful for it. Then comes the moment.

“Movin’ right along.
Hey LA, where’ve you gone?
Send someone to fetch us, we’re in Saskatchewan!”

Peals of laughter. My mom is laughing so hard she’s crying. Of course my magical sister would have this song on her mix. Of course we’d hear this song, this line, while we’re driving along the highway in Saskatchewan. All six (seven?) of us, in a place none of us has visited often – some of us never before and never since. A place we’ve never all been together.

“Movin’ right along.
We’re truly birds of a feather,
We’re in this together and we know where we’re going.”

I want this for my son. I want him to have a family he can laugh with and cry with and drive a thousand miles with. I want him to have shared experiences that pop up at just the right moment, that make him laugh and cry at the same time, and that define his family in ways it’s hard for outsiders to understand. I want him – no matter the circumstance – to know that we’re in this together and we know where we’re going.

—–

This is another post in response to The Red Dress Club’s memoir prompts. This week’s assignment was to choose a memory, recall it in detail and then investigate what this memory means. I had a hard time choosing a memory and when I first started working with this one I wasn’t sure where it was going. But of course the meaning was there all along.

Post dedicated to my awesome family, which includes my husband who, while he wasn’t there for this, fits right in to the craziness. Birds of a feather, indeed.