Sadie and her aunts

Our third grandchild, our granddaughter, Sadie Evangeline, was stillborn on December 10, 2007.


She was a beauty, a doll. We have all been walking through a veil of tears. Its has been unreal and horrible. Our grief has been intense.



Sadie will be laid to rest in the spring, alongside her great grandpa, and just down the way from her aunties, our twin girls, whose grave you see here. We will gather on that day and we will celebrate and remember Sadie's life.



I thought i had long worked through the grief of losing our girls. I have recently realized that this is not so. This gravestone is all we have. We have no footprints. No clothing. No bracelets. No photos. I have an old shoe box in my closet in which lay the ultrasound findings of their deaths and a yellow copy of my antenatal record on which my too large for my dates girth was circled on a graph. Also included in the box are various condolence cards and a cemetery record and map of the plot. I was only 5 1/2 months along when the first twin died. . another week passed at which time the second baby had died. . and another week still had gone by before i delivered them. The circumstances made for a great hesitance in looking and bonding. But in this past month and a half, as our daughter and her family have gone through the heart-wrenching loss of their little baby, and as we have walked alongside of them as parents, feeling for them and as grandparents feeling the loss of our grandbaby, the whole issue of closure has come up.

As painful as it is, it must come. As my daughter and her husband sort through what closure is for them, I realize that i have repressed a lot and have not had closure surrounding the stillbirths of my daughters, over 2 decades ago. In my own heart and its feelings of grief for Sadie and for my own babies, I have come to realize again how necessary it is to have symbolism, meaningful memory and identity. Those things are so helpful.

I had been able to see Sadie before she came out, growing under wraps as that adorable little bump, imaging what she'd look like and how it would be when she joined us. I finally got to meet her and touch her cheek and know her name and look at the clothing she wore on her first and only day here. As difficult as that was, i got to see her little face and bond with her. I see the teddy bear her mom bought. I see her foot prints on paper and it all helps me to know her and miss her. I miss her terribly.



Stillbirth is handled a lot differently now than it was 22 years ago. Back then it was thought best to hide everything away. . no pictures, no seeing, no touching, no foot or hand prints. Whisked away, just like it never happened. But it did. I didn't see their little faces. I didn't hold them.
It was too unreal.


My grief now for my granddaughter has brought me right back to my daughters and is triple in intensity. A measure of grief for each little girl. A measure of love, a big one. Still i am so grateful for each, as painful as their loss has been. Yes, I have shaken my fist at the sky and asked why, i have cursed the unfairness of it all, but as it settles in, i have learned once more about the deepening of love through suffering in the lives of those who have been refined by this intense sorrow.

With all the mingling of thoughts and love for each of these little ones. . . for Sadie whom i've seen and for her aunties, whom i've never seen, nor could bring myself to name them; i asked Rob what he thought about giving names to our twin girls after all these years. He thought it was a good idea. We asked our adult daughters what they thought. They said they'd always wanted their sisters to have names! I feel a settling peace. Little Sadie, who present absence has filled and sensitized our hearts, has been used by God to stir us, as a family, to name our daughters/sisters/aunts: Fiona Gillian Claire and Keely Madeleine Rachael

coyote. . .

random thought. . . ..

The Roadrunner always annoyed me.
I rooted for the coyote.
He had some good ideas!
How come he never tried them more than once?

Chapters gift card - half used

I love the store "Chapters".
I think its my favourite.
Nothing but books and mostly book-related items.
I especially love making the trip when its on someone else's dime!
Gift cards are fine things.
I think i scoured the entire store tonight -- and found all of my purchases in the bargain sections. Nice!

Two gorgeous 200-photo albums - 75% off $3.25 each!
The Complete Poems of John Keats $6.29
Selected Works of Virginia Woolf $11.69 *8 of her most famous*

I'm always looking at the cookbooks and I have my favourite chefs.
I have a pretty complete library at home, there's not much more i feel i must put my hands on.
There was one though. . . Ina Garten "Family Style". . . some gorgeous recipes in that one.
I had it in my cart with the intention of asking the clerk whether indeed it was still $50!! *The American price was $35!!!!! and our dollars are pretty much on par with each other. . . so this is definitely NOT fair. *
I asked her and she tried to smoke me with : "Well, ma'am all our hardcovers are 30% off." p.s. i hate the term 'ma'am'. . . its musty and old.
I said back: "30% off the American price or 30% off the Cdn price?"
At this point she was honest and said it was off the exorbitant Cdn price.
I told her i had lost my desire to buy it.
"I know its not your fault, said i, but that's crappy."
She just glumly nodded, as did the clerk next to her.
Blah!

Other than that bit of silliness harshing my Chapters mellow mood. . i was very happy when i left with half of my gift card value remaining for a future visit and my trusty "Irewards" 10% off membership card back in its holster, i mean wallet slot.
Using that card on already discounted stuff feels GREAT!

I don't know which book i'll start with first. . though maybe i should finish off one of the books i have here - still have in various states of 'almost finished'.
I suppose i should complete my Garcia-Marquez (100 years of Solitude) first.
KK will soon want to 'borrow/keep' it when she finishes her "Love in the Time of Cholera".
"100 years" is infinitely marvellous, so i don't know why its taking me so long to read it?
I can't believe that man's way with words, his imagination isn't like a typical adult's.
If i could possess just a fraction of his magic, i'd be happy.
Although if he had made a Robert Johnson 'crossroads at midnight' deal for his talent. . i take back what i said!! eek!
I didn't pick up anything of his (G-M's) tonight. . . my brain wasn't in gear.
But now I know what i'll get with the remainder of my card!
Forget the over-priced American cookbooks. . . there are tastier offerings.

can i stand?

in my post-"Christmas" whatever that 'thing' is that we all do. . was that Christmas?
in my unwinding, my grief, my gladness, my feeling of emptiness that comes when i lose focus on the one my heart loves and so easily forgets, i asked Rob to get his guitar out.
He obliged. . and he played and we sang.
In the course of our singing we came across this one again.
I remained quiet and listened as Rob played and sang it. I love the tune he gave these words - so beautiful. I wish you could hear it.
And it hit me all over again. . . its not about me, not about my feelings, not about my anything.

I remember writing the words. . . almost 8 years ago. I remember how i felt then --upset by circumstances, sitting down by the shore of Lake Erie, writing, working through my feelings. This is what came out. I felt my focus shift from me to God. . and that was a good, necessary shift then and again tonight. . .sorely needed.


can i stand in the light that exposes my sin?
can my tainted soul take your glory in?
can i understand how you made it all right?
can i thank you enough?

can my childish self know the cost of my gain?
can this selfish child feel the depth of your pain?
can i grasp how you suffered, so i could go free
can i thank you enough?

can i thank you enough
can i thank you enough
can i grasp how you suffered so i could go free?
can i thank you enough?

can i really believe that you love who i am?
can i see that my name is engraved on your hand?
can my soul really fathom the depth of your love?
can i thank you enough?

can i thank you enough
can i thank you enough, Jesus
can my soul really fathom the depth of your love?
can i thank you enough?

k&r aug 2000

my heart

". . . my heart was broken. my heart was broken. . sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow. .."

thinking about the need

lately i have been very emotional, thinking about the reason we need Christmas.
i'm glad to be feeling, because i was starting to worry about grinchiness. This year i'm a complete flop at getting ready for "Christmas" the way it is gotten ready for in North America.
I am so loathe to be at rat in the race this year. . . i've made some reluctant forays into the retail maze. . . blech. . i don't even like the 'cheese' at the end, it stinks.

Yes, the world's a mess, we all know it and Christmas has this way of sensitizing people to need, which seems extremely appropriate, given that dire need is exactly what Christmas is about.
but its not even about taking such a large view to highlight the problem and need for a lasting solution, the need is seen within

in me, it shows up every day.
i can't be good
i can't stay good
i try, i can't sustain
its not in me
i have lots of illusions of goodness in what i do and say and think. . .
but what's that taintedness at the bottom?

me, me, me, me. . . how is this affecting me? how do i feel ? what's in it for me? how can i be happy? what about me?

Of course this is paring it down to the core, but isn't that the only thing to do when trying to get to the truth?

i'm not saying i'm a spoiled brat 24/7, but i often am on the inside, in my heart, in my thinking. i feel very J&Hyde most days. If i was to remove all the social filtering i've learned through the decades, i doubt that anyone would want to have anything to do with my black-hearted self. I'm not saying all this to seem particularly insightful or bracingly candid. i'm just saying it like it is.

the true me is not a good me. this world is populated with billions of "me's" and there is not a single good one. all dark of heart. . with variations of shading . . but dark, without exception. every 'me' hides, every 'me' is selfish, every 'me' is identically damaged, every 'me' is in dire need of resuscitation.

when i was 30 i got to my breaking point. i realized finally that i hadn't learned from what i'd experienced. I couldn't make sense of a lot of it.
i felt bleak inside.
i gave myself over to this 'why bother' attitude.
why bother trying? why not just be . . . . only human, independent, proud, blatant, nasty as i wanna be - when i wanna be, angry without temperance, faithless, cynical, jaded
"Christmas" felt as hollow as a glass ornament and so did i.

now in my mid 40s and several Christmases later, i have been allowed a decade and a half of some more things i'm positive you wouldn't want to experience. i sure didn't want to. It wasn't all angst and gloom, there were amazing things as well in this time - but it seems to have been in the shadows that i've experienced the most change and growth, as painful as it might have been . Joy and rain, sunshine and pain.

i've learned some things that radically changed my heart.
i 've learned that sometimes what seems the worst can actually turn out to be for the best.
i 've learned to be grateful, i'm still learning this way of living.
i've learned to live from all parts of myself - body, mind, spirit and i've still got a long way to go with this, but i'm practicing.
i've learned to exercise -- even haltingly and losing ground sometimes - faith. .
elusive, mysterious, even for some, mockable faith.
not faith in myself because i am by nature faithless,
not in other humans, because they're in the same boat with the faithless nature thing,
but in Him. . in the one full of faith -- Christ, the one who saw our need and came down here with a heart for meeting it. I really believe that this is how it was and is and this is what really happened.
I have to tell you. . .
He is the reason i no longer feel hollow
He is the light in my eyes and in my smile
He is the one who sparks my heart to care
He is the one who 'speaks' into my spirit and brings it increasingly to life
He is the one who gives me the ability to be good, though that ability is all his and never has originated within myself
He is the one who sees my 'rotten core' and doesn't pull away in disgust. .
no one else has such love capacity
no one else has such love purity. . there's not even a sliver of darkness, not a pinpoint
How can i not respond to love like this? sometimes i get so emotional thinking about the only love in my life that has the power to redeem my darkness and i can never, with my words, thank him enough, but i use words and i thank him with my life.
He isn't 'seeable' to my eyes, but He is felt by me and while for the longest time i ignored his love, i always knew it was there, even as i piled offensive things up and up on top of it,
his stubborn love was not smothered by my attempts to bury it.
until the day i stopped piling. . . i can't forget this day, soaked in despair, crisis was a normal state. . and i remember lying on the bed, crying. .busy with the crying and the feelings of why i was crying and being wrapped up in my weeping. . which of course ran its course and after a while settled and i became quiet. Then came the moment when i 'heard' these words deep within myself, in the silence . . . . ..............."i love you, Kathy"

they weren't my own words in my mind, because i did feel like saying such a thing to myself. They were unmistakable. My heart knew it was him. I was 'resuscitated' by four beautiful words. I was still in the crisis, but i was remarkably changed right there in the mess of it. . i no longer felt alone, i never was, but now i didn't feel that way and i was different after that.
I looked the same in the mirror, but i was not me any more. . i was me plus him forever.
Not 'stereotypically Christian' if that phrase brings overtly fanatic or negative thoughts to mind.
The degree to which the difference is obvious is the degree to which i surrender my heart daily.
I have to tell you its not easy. Surrender is not easy. Some days you might see me and dare me to prove there even is a difference. . and those would always be the days i'm unsurrendered and i can feel the difference.
But easy isn't promised.
I have to tell you i make mistakes.
But i am completely encircled by Christmas every day of my life,
not baby in a manger, that was only the wrapping of the gift, which opened into life for the spiritually dead, which means the whole lot of us.
I am encircled by light, when i was dark
I am encircled by good, when i was bad
I gave up my illusions of independence to be dependent on him for life with meaning.
What a gift. .
i'm so emotional.

i love mincemeat

yeah, i love mincemeat
all by itself,
no pastry
a little bit heated in a bowl
little scoop of vanilla frozen yogurt
spicy and jammy. . with that clean vanilla flavour mellowing in

i love fruitcake with marzipan
same flavour hits with this treat
dark, rich cake with delicious dried fruit
almond flowery-tasting marzipan bringing that
clovey cake into perfect balance.
i could write a whole post about marzipan. . its that wonderful
the combination of these two elements, .... magic

I love the traditional, steamed Christmas pudding with real whipping cream
mmm. . mmmmmm -- moist, studded with fruit and nuts and permeated by those full, earthy spices - cloves, cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg
i love to make these glorious things, but they're a bit labour intensive
so i've given up
i'm sad that its come to this.
they remind me of my Nana, who made fantastic ones -- in fact, she made fantastic everything (except perhaps gravy)

This declaration of my admiration for fine, beautiful and fruity flavours is brought to you by me, food enthusiast and connoisseur of the three most generally unpopular Christmas time flavours. So, here's to marzipan fruit cake, Christmas pudding and mincemeat! hip hip, hooray!! 'Hip hip' all right if i don't watch my portions!

so bad, what's my problem?

i have found myself unable to write anything lately.
i'm in a kind of apathetic fog
i don't blog about current events because i don't keep current with the events.
are there events beyond MSN's home page coverage of Brangelina and Britney and the dollar levels?
my newspapers pile up, waiting for me to read them.
my household paper work does the same.
am i living out of country?
nah. . just a procrastinator.
work has me in a spin these days.
of course its busy in there
i know everyone's in that boat -- *the 'busy' boat* (i'm starting to hate the word 'busy' - and i've been entertaining the notion of striking it from my vocab and subbing something less annoying. . . like 'active' or 'industrious')
i wish i could jump ship and go over to the 'lazy' boat
work =
drama
stuff
issues
actual job stuff and lots of it
chocolate breaks *groups of women at work? say no more.*
come home with Rob
vent all the way home to each other (we work in the same place - different departments)
figure out what to make for supper
make supper
clean up
flop in the chair
think about working out, but don't cuz i'm too tired
doze off. .
think about all the Christmas shopping i must do. . .
and don't do it cuz i don't feel like it
get up
do laundry
retrieve phone messages
retrieve emails
catch up on both
get mail and papers from outside - add them to growing piles inside
read (not the stuff in the piles)
watch a show/movie
wonder how our girls are doing
wonder how the grandkids are doing
wonder how my Scrabulous games are doing on FB
play a turn or two. . .
make lunches for next day
choose outfit for next day
put out breakfast
put out toiletries to make it faster in the a.m.
fall into bed
sleep
up at 6:45
let dog out
check her food/water dishes
feel guilty for leaving her home alone all day
get ready
drive in to work
repeat daily drill until its the weekend
then a brief crash before 'the cram' (trying to do everything you want to do all week in the span of 48 hours)

i'm such a whiner
my apologies. . .
this is the 'empty nester' life/workstyle - younger moms have all the 'active' stuff with their young kids to deal with.
garsh. . . i'm already getting in practice for my 'grumpy old woman' years,
complaining about everything

it is hard though to go from working at home *which i've done for years* to working in the office.
working at home means rolling out of bed 10 minutes before you start your shift
putting on yoga pants and sweater, slippers
go downstairs - get cereal
splash face with water
no make up
no doing of the hair
go to computer
work
no drama
no stuff
no chocolate breaks
no conversations
no lunchtime banter with the girls.

you know what?
the daily routine ain't so bad
i'll shut up now.
i took out some butter earlier
maybe i'll get a start on my Christmas baking?
yes, i know lots of people think baked goods are 'no nos'
but i like 'no nos', anything i shouldn't have or do. . i'm gonna!!
anything i should ?. . you guessed it. . . can't help myself.

i'm not ready for all this

it started right after Halloween.
the 'lite rock' station was on in the office *shudder*. . that's a whole other blog topic.
i'm not a fan of any radio station - whose play lists daily expose me to gems like: "Shake Your Booty", "Rhythm of My Heart" and "Live Like You Were Dying". . geez, i can't bear the cheese.
After every couple of insipid songs, they began airing these 'holiday' commercials.
I felt so unprepared to hear these things.
Rapid-fire voiceovers superimposed on jingle bellish, string-heavy muzak tracks
I thought i might hurl.
I mentioned to this to one of my co workers, who seemed unfazed.
Maybe she was better able to tune it all out?
The more hours went by listening to all that crap,
the more angry i became.
Angry with the propagandish pressure on us to buy things.
Angry with society's interpretation of 'holiday'
Angry with the misdirection of it all.

I can't even pick up the newspapers lately. . they weigh half a ton - full of
gift-buying guides
wish books
countdown to savings
Christmas countdown
holiday baking editions
holiday magic
festive recipes
holiday home improvement guide

I don't really like being guided in this way.
I don't think its the right way.
I feel under so much pressure.
Pressure to choose and shop and spend and clean and bake and organize and cook and wrap and decorate and look great at all the soirees -- then there's the small matter of working full time and cramming all that extra stuff in there somewhere.
Is it just women who feel like this?

I've pretty much stopped with the Christmas cards.
They were just one more thing - sending cards to people i see all the time. .
I'm trying to keep myself together mentally
and spiritually.
Not easy at holiday time,
which i find pretty ironic

Holiday: O.E. halingdoeg -- 'holy day'
holy: of God, his works, dwelling place, attributes, etc.
living a life of spiritual purity, dedicated, set apart for sacred use O.E. halig

I don't want to seem grinchy
I love Christmas trees
I love candles
I love music
I love the traditional meal, cookies, mincemeat, egg nog
I even love fruitcake (which is a brave confession, i know)
I love feasting with people i love
I love giving to help others
I love to celebrate
I love the way people 'feel the Christmas spirit' -- beautiful
I love the love story of Christ - the Messiah, the Redeemer
I need redemption, i need love

I guess i just worry that we've lost our collective way
I worry that we've lost the essence of holy days
I worry that we buckle under the intense pressure of the 'holiday culture' -- 'Ho, ho, ho!', Frosty and Rudolph and "Buy yourself a merry little Christmas". .
keeping it lite and avoiding the light
drinking, feasting, jockeying for parking spots at the mall
drowning in a sea of desperately-seeking shoppers
feeling tinsel covered yet empty
donating a little something to assuage our feelings of guilt with this overboard overabundance
eating shortbread while wondering if we're still sane
wondering if this is how it will always feel
wondering how to feel

All the streets are filled with laughter and light and the music of the season
and the merchant's windows are all bright with the faces of the children
and the families hurrying to their homes as the sky darkens and freezes
they'll be gathering around their hearths and tales, giving thanks for all God's graces
and the birth of the rebel Jesus

Well they call him by the Prince of Peace and they call him by the Saviour
and they pray to him upon the seas and in every bold endeavour
as they fill his churches with their pride and gold and their faith in him increases
but they've turned the nature that i worship in from a temple to a robber's den,
in the words of the rebel Jesus

well we guard our world with locks and guns and we guard our fine possessions
and once a year when Christmas comes, we give to our relations
and perhaps we give a little to the poor if the generosity should seize us
but if any one of us should interefere in the business of why they're poor
they get the same as the rebel Jesus

So please forgive me if i seem to take the tone of judgement
for i've no wish to come between this day and your enjoyment
in this life of hardship and of earthly toil we have need for anything that frees us
so i bid you pleasure and i bid your cheer from a heathen and a pagan
on the side of the rebel Jesus

Jackson Browne

leaving things

Today i was cooking and thinking, to music.
I was making a meal for my family --
every meal leaves a memory
such a simple thing,
a small way to show love.

I started to think about so many people i know, i've known.
I was thinking about what they've left.
I don't really mean physical departure leaving, though some have physically departed in a locational way and some in an eternal way.
I'm thinking along emotional, soul lines you know?
the things people leave every day.

i know people who travel the world.
They leave home to do more leaving,
leaving music in the air of countless gyms, halls, arenas and venues around the globe.
leaving well-spoken words of encouragement, challenge.
leaving behind smiles and photographs, autographs

i know people who don't go anywhere.
they stay but they leave --
words
impressions
feelings
honesty
looks
wisdom
experience
talent

some people leave big things. . things that people who don't even know them would know about.
sure, lots of people have left big things -big things can be good or bad.
legacies
atrocities
most of us don't leave 'big', but even the small can take on big proportions.

i know someone who paid tribute to his departed wife by describing all that she left.
not 'things', not big. .
moments --
he loved her for them all.
i loved her too.
she left me memories,
good ones

i know people who brought so much with them and left even more
when they departed. . changed lives, thoughts, perspectives
Things left will always remain. .
this can be really good.

i knew people i thought would never die.
my child's mind could not accept this kind of leaving.
by the time they did, they had left so much
i feel like i am 'me' because of the accumulation of all the
things they might not have thought much about.
things i might not have really appreciated at the time -but do now.
memories
feelings

i want to be more intentional about what i leave.
yes, i'm ashamed of all the bad stuff i've left. .
angry words
bad responses
knee-jerk reactions
selfish choices
things i can't change
*only human? yes.
still, there's a higher calling.*

i can't leave what isn't fit to leave
no matter if someone else did.
i can't allow this to colour what i leave.
its hard to break cycles like this,
but not impossible.

i want to live my days being conscious of what i leave for others
i can't leave what i don't have.
love is the only thing that makes everything all right.
its not often easy to receive,
or give. . .
but its the only thing worth leaving.

in your love, my salvation lies in your love
my salvation lies in your love . . - Alexi Murdoch "Orange Sky"


Lets stop just saying we love each other, lets really show it by our actions- its by our actions that we know we are living in the Truth. portions of 1 John 3: 18 - 19

sacred

i'm sensing the presence of the sacred now in my mind, my heart.
i'm thinking about what sacred means, feels like, looks like.

i just watched a beautiful reminding video of the very sacredness i too often skirt around, inch back from -- maybe because its so intense i don't know if i can handle its unsettling purity? i need reminders, i'm so forgetful and blithe.

i'm so profane.

i don't choose to be that way. its just programmed - i'm fallen and i can't get up.
really though this kind of falling isn't a joke.
i know, i always know - i live with the intimate knowledge of what it is to be fallen. . selfish, bad.
I despise this core nature of mine.

I find it so easy to dip my toe in the pool of God's mercy, walk around the periphery of his grace, afraid, afraid to commit to the plunge. . for that would demand my surrender, giving up the damaging ways i've grown accustomed to, the world's bent is my bent. . humanity's crookedness is my own. I don't need to stay there. . in fact i should not.

my feelings seem to govern me. one moment i feel a wellspring of love within, love for God, love for people. . .

the next i feel removed from this love, deaf to its voice, somehow beyond its reach, yet i'm not really.

my spirit gasps, i fade and faint
so i live in the shallows of myself, afraid of the depth of the sacred, of him.

feeling too shabby for his perfection.

when will i understand his heart? why do i try to humanize him? he's beyond parameters, he bursts them wide open.
i'm learning how to live with him.
relationships are never easy.

some might think that i'm not in my right mind with this talk of God, of sacred. .

some might think i'm weak, in need of a crutch, an opiate, a 'false' system of belief to prop up or medicate myself. .
I know this isn't the case. I can't tell you how i know.

How i can believe in someone invisible, mysterious?
I'm no flake.
I'm not deluded.

I just do.
I have felt within myself the sacred imprint of his spirit on mine.

I have 'heard' within my heart, his voice.
I have felt the power of all that he is, restoring my spirit's wounds.
I am flawed.
I am unworthy, but his willing-to-die love gives me worth, though this does baffle me and does make me feel unable to thank him properly.
tends to make me want to avert my eyes.
too bright, this light.
Still i am drawn by and to this love which is beyond my capacity to understand.
I am drawn.

I have felt and i do feel what it is to be in the presence of someone from whom nothing about me is hidden or covered up. .

from whom i can lay down the burden of the risk of such transparency and not count it as risk, with no guarding --knowing i am safe from rejection and disdain.

How can such absolute acceptance not attract me?
but why do i still shrink back?
i don't understand myself.

I cling to this faith i have and i don't want to let go.

Dawkins would scoff and bandy points, pierce my 'ignorance' expose my irrationality to the world. Hitchens would have a similar field day with my 'pathetic' state.
sacred? what does that even mean if i won't risk knowing what it means?
if i don't feel it, don't see it.
I can't measure it.
There are no pie charts.
No proof.

I do feel it.
I risk it, this intangible, beautiful force hooks my heart and pulls me in.
In to the mystery of the sacred.
In to the love unique. In to life.
In to relationship.
In to the sacred, to stay. . . . . .

to live

brain-off, men v. women

i've always been fascinated by the brain.
i wanted to be a neurosurgeon waaaay back in the day. . . . it wasn't meant to be, though my interest has never waned.
Several years back, Rob and i watched a docu on the human brain. I watched with rapt attention, Rob's eyes often struggled to remain open and he occasionally dozed off. *he does that during documentaries - i guess cuz there aren't any car chases or commercials?* (don't tell him i told you!)

During this documentary they showed thermal imaging scans of two brains. 1 female, 1 male.
The female brain at rest was lit up twice as much as the man's active brain!!! WOOT! I love that moment in medical documentary history. I'll remember it always. Its like a mental trophy i like to take off the shelf, with which to periodically tease Rob *whisper voice - i don't think he likes it!*

Anyway, here are some brainy facts: --taken from "The Female Brain - How It Really Works" in November 07 issue of Canadian Living (abridgements and paraphrasings, my own) This is kind of unusual for me to blog like this. .i'm usually on about my feelings and i don't usually go 'factoid' on you. . but you have to change it up sometimes, eh?!

*the hippocampus (hub of emotion and memory formation) is larger in the female brain. The brain circuitry for language and observing emotions is more highly developed in females.

According to a 2004 Cdn study, a 3 month-old girl 's ability to read facial expressions jumps 400% above that of a boy's. . thanks to the amygdala, hippocampus and insula - which rule memory and gut feelings. Men are guided by testosterone which means they can instantly read anger, threat or extremes like crying, but are less capable of interpreting subtleties.

*females have 11% more neurons governing language and hearing than men do.

*the brain is divided into 2 hemispheres. Males use specialized regions in one side or the other to complete tasks sequentially. Females use both hemispheres equally to complete multiple jobs simulatneously. Females have an 8-lane super highway for processing emotion, males have a small country road. Males have an "O'Hare Intnl Airport" as a hub for processing their thoughts about sex. Women have a small airfield nearby that lands small and private planes.

*intelligence remains the same between the sexes, however there are gender-related variations.

*females possess a great number of 'mirror' neurons, which have been linked to the female's ability to empathize strongly. A British study had researchers adminstering weak & strong electric shocks to female subjects, using MRI to measure the brain's response to pain. Later their male partners received the same treatment. The women were told how strong the men's shocks were. MRI results showed the women's reactions to this knowledge of their partner's pain as strong as if the pain was their own. (i think that's almost mystical if you ask me. .)

*female "talk fests" *men say 'gossiping', women call it 'connecting'* release dopamine (the feel good hormone) and oxytocin (the 'bonding' hormone). A 20-second hug floods the female brain with oxytocin. Oxytocin is released in males through affection and tenderness, but the male brain is more apt to link this to sex.

*the amygdala and hypothalmus in the female brain are 50% smaller than the male brain. (these portions of the brain govern sexual pursuit)

*spatial awareness - testosterone is linked to increased spatial ability - directional tasks , map reading. Female brains navigate using landmarks, women have better visual memory and verbal skills and fine motor coordination.

*aggression - threatening situations ? men react with aggression because their hormones take a short, direct pathway through the brain. Women respond with fear and feelings about protection

*stress - men's heart rate and blood pressure skyrocket, with a strong fight or flight response. women feel the same stresses with the exception of the high-hormone phase of their cycle.. . in stress, women 'tend and befriend'. . become protective or talk through issues with their friends, which releases oxytocin and lowers blood pressure and stress hormone levels - making them less susceptible to hypertension and cardiac disease.

I find these clinical facts interesting but i do think that lists of such things can seem a bit arid. When i'm not annoyed by the differences between me and my husband, i can try to bust my thoughts out of stereotype and appreciate what i don't understand. I think men will always think that women are "a riddle, wrapped in mystery, inside an enigma' and women will always think that men are from Mars. Can't see this changing. No matter how many studies the ubiquitous 'they' do, no matter how many self'-help books promise to guide us through the intricacies of the each other's beings, i think we'll always be on this parallel, yet entwined journey together. . never quite understanding but always intersecting in love, respect and even awe.

life without stories?

who would we be without stories?
has there ever been a time without them?
in the beginning. . .
once upon a time. . . .

act one
scene one
page one
chapter one

someone's always telling a story.
someone's always listening.

and nothing is new under the sun --

love
good
evil
revenge
greed
ruination
temptation
adversity
tragedy
loss
forgiveness
redemption

time is a portal
step through, drop in, go back, advance
you will find yourself no matter where you stop
ancient,
modern,
spoken,
written. . nothing changes
we don't change.
all this telling does not diminish our
infinite appetite for more
new ones are always joining
they need to hear
they need to tell

'the end' is a ruse
there is none.
if the story ends,
we do.

pumpkins

pumpkins in the patch are so cute, i can't describe how happy i feel when i see them lying there in the earth, like they're napping. . adorable. I know this isn't quite 'normal'. . . but what constitutes 'normality' anyway? Nor can i resist gushing over cattle. I love to watch them. They seem so calm. * i don't eat beef, so i really do love them just for the way they look* Their big eyes. In the green fields, chewing slowly, so serene. I like that about them.

i made 2 pumpkin pies today. also roasted some squash with maple syrup and a bit of butter and s&p. . lots of beta carotene - yum.

feeling very thanksgivingy and fallish, despite my puzzlement with this strangely hot weather. I prefer my falls crisp and cool, thanx very much. . i want to wear corduroy. I want to bundle up. I want to walk and have rosy cheeks, see my breath turn to little clouds. I want to smell bonfires.

It is nice though not to turn on the furnace!

These days are fine and golden. So many reasons to have a full heart.

don't phunk with my heart

we listened to "Elephunk" on the way home tonight. We dropped KK off back in the Hammer and we listened to all the tracks on this B.E.P. CD that the ride home allowed. Hours later, now as i comb my hair and my thoughts settle,* maybe i'm combing them out? *
i think of this plea: "Oh no, no, no, don't phunk with my heart."

isn't this what everyone wants to say to everyone else? really. . .

don't hurt me
handle with care
love me

a distressing invitation. . .

the envelope arrived in the mail on Friday past. . .

GO GIRL - the magazine for women over 40!

It was addressed to ME!
Oh yes. . . i am now being included in the silver-haired demographic and i'm indignant (not to mention hypocritical as i keep covering my ever whitening hair).

The jazzy picture on the flyer showed a fitness-clothed woman with her mouth opened wide in a triumphant shout of "YES! I'M AGING AND I'M ECSTATIC, _________!" (expletive thoughtfully deleted)

I waved the offensive thing in front of Rob, "How can I be getting stuff like this?! I can't believe it!! Why do they call it 'Go Girl?' Why did i get this??!!!" The Master of Understatement said: "Because you're over 40."

pffffftttt. . . . (balloon deflating noise)

yeah. . i've got nothin' - he's absolutely right. I am. But that's not old. 45 is the new 35! *sigh* nothing is the new anything. . . its 21st century age-phobic propaganda. . so why am i wanting to buy into it?!

Today as i sat in the parking lot, waiting for Robbie to come out with our 'we're too lazy to cook' take-out meal, i caught myself watching elderly customers walking to and from their vehicles. They didn't look like the "Go Girl" magazine woman. That didn't make me feel so great. Why is this starting to bother me??? Maybe its my arthritis? Maybe its my grandmotherly status? maybe its because i feel like i'm turning into a "Grandpa Simpson" shaking my fist and yelling out "Shut up!" when loud vehicles pass my house? I felt odd as i contemplated my over reaction to a simple bulk mailing. But it all hit again when i got back home and picked up the local "Activities Guide" and noticed spanish classes. . sounded great, i might take them! I looked up the venue, it was one of the local seniors' centres!!!

it gets worse. . .

for ages 50 and up.
I thought to myself: "In 5 years i'll be able to join !!!!!!!!"

ay carumba!

church - life without it?

what do i really want to say about this? about church?
how can i say anything without it coming out wrong?
can i say anything without the fear of being misunderstood, judged?
no.
can i say anything without further turning people off who are already feeling that way?
that's not my intention. .
so respectfully i simply say that i'm confused and lost.
i can't seem to find my way.
i can say i am afraid to 'sign up' with any church.
i am afraid to trust.
once i had passion for the potential of a true church,
the love of God shared between everyone. . covering over all the imperfections and radiating and attracting people who were lonely, hungry for more that all the 'isms' life could offer.
authentic
genuine
forgiving
but i didn't find this.
or maybe i wasn't living this myself?
too harsh on others?
immature?
not giving God the key to my heart, but locking it up on my own. .
shooting from the lip after taking the hits. . .
was i able to forgive where forgiveness was not offered?
that's hard. no i haven't let myself.
stuck.

i bristle when i even think of routines, rituals, tradition for traditions' sake, 'packaging', regulations - the kinds of things people seem to want to impose on other people.
i was born into 'church' and i have left 'church'.
i'm furious with church but i'm empty for church
i want church , i don't want it
i've looked at church from both sides now. . .i really don't like church at all.
*liberties with Joni Mitchell lyric noted*

am i saying i don't like God?
am i saying i don't like other people?
am i saying i don't like myself?

no
well. . .
maybe this is it?

what gives me this jaundiced view of church?


them?
me?


yes
yes

now what?
and so what?
suck it up, buttercup. . get over yourself .. DO something

can i wear his grace like a garment and know the love of Christ as my foundation?
i want to.
its so simple and so difficult
i don't shun God, but i shun an institution, that whether i like it or not, represents him on this earth?
isn't that the same thing?
But the institution isn't doing a very good job!
But how can i say this if i'm not doing any better?
I am confused and lost.
hurt
wounded
skittish
angry
stuck

help me

the other night

the last few days i've been having trouble with a disc in my lower back on top of the disc issues in my neck. . so yeah, fun. . i've been walking like Quasimodo. . (is that how you spell his name?) It makes me feel old and delicate - hate that.
I can't work out till it it settles down. . . :( waaaaah!
When i don't work out, i can't sleep well.
My mind - i can't seem to shut it off.
Why can men close their eyes and fall into sleep mode right away?
this may not be true of all men. . but i've only ever slept with one. . and he's got this light switch sleep pattern - eyes closed = sleeping in 30 seconds
hmmmpf! i'm madly jealous of his ability!

so the other night, i was lying in bed after taking some Robaxacet. . which is a bit too wussy for me, i think. . . just doesn't seem to do much. *note to self - don't take that stuff any more*
I lie on one side, my back hurts.
i gingerly move to the other side -- hurts.
i decide to lie flat on my back - not good. . ouch.
so i lie there distracted by pain, thoughts going all over the place, listening to Rob sleep. .
glad he wasn't snoring.
A motorcycle drove up the hill. . did it even HAVE a muffler? grrrrr!!!!
My street is NOT every idiot motorcycle owner's personal nocturnal drag strip!!!

I saw the red numbers on the clock radio. . . . 1:40. . . 2:40. . i did lose count eventually but not for long.
4:00 a.m. i'm awake. . . i hear voices -- loud ones.
grrrrrrr. . .
a man and a woman were arguing. I was trying to get a mental fix on where they were.
At first i thought of my neighbours across the street , whose oldest daughter often puts on 'shows' in the dead of night for our benefit. . . nah, it was farther away.
The more i woke up, the more alarmed i became.
I couldn't hear their words, but their rage was scaring me. He seemed to be the aggressor, she seemed to be on the defense.
I really expected to hear a gunshot - it was that heated.
i'm laying there thinking: "What should i do? call the cops? should i? wake up Rob?. . . i don't know which house."
i started to pray for them. . . i didn't know what else to do. I was hoping they would settle down.
Soon the gaps in between the yelling jags got bigger. . . big enough for me to get back to sleep.
6 a.m. . . i'm awake again. . the same woman's voice is now coming closer and closer.
I got out of bed and looked out the window - she was walking briskly down the street, past my house - talking on her cell, her voice high and shaky as she described her ordeal.
I was mad - why couldn't she keep her voice down? People are trying to sleep!
but i felt bad as i heard the emotion in her voice as she described being interrogated by her boyfriend. She was so loud, now Rob was awake, wondering what was all the racket? I told him but I don't even remember what more we said about it - maybe nothing - too sleepy. .

ah, you just don't know, do you? what are people going through? You might hear the odd battle, see one, but mostly we all stay sealed in our individual units. . keeping to ourselves until we become suddenly aware of the presence and plight of others.

some summer pics

thinking of struggle

i've been thinking lately about what struggle means in life. sometimes i write myself notes if i want to capture an idea to write about later. i've had the 'struggle note' on my bedside table for over a month now. I pick it up and look at it and put it down again. I haven't felt able to talk about it for some reason. I still don't, but i feel compelled.


About a week ago Rob and I gave our friend Moni a ride in to work. As she walked to the van, we noticed that she carried with her a couple of containers in which hung 3 Monarch butterflies in their chrysalis/cocoons (one was transparent - it was ready to emerge- the other 2 were turquoise jewels suspended from the top of their plastic container). As we drove, Moni explained that with it being so close to their time, she wanted to share them with everyone in the office. She talked of the process of raising these insects from pin-point eggs on the back of a milkweed leaf to greedy caterpillars to glorious winged creatures. I tell Monika that she missed her calling and that she really should be either a botanist or entomologist - or maybe both!! She knows just about every plant in existence and she knows everything about butterflies! After we parked the van, in the time it took the three of us to walk from the staff lot to the building and to our office, the butterfly was born!!! It happened so fast, Moni was the only witness. I had gone back to my desk when i heard her excited screams from the front of the office: "Everyone! the butterfly!!! COME ON!!!" We all came running to see this exquisite creature hanging there. He was all rumpled, like a shirt that had been left in the dryer overnight. . He remained upside down -- he would remain there for the whole day, stretching and fanning his stained glass wings. As i watched him, i remembered this story i had once read about someone who had felt bad for a butterfly struggling to free itself, so they 'helped' it along by ripping open its casing to make its entry 'painless' and easy. The poor thing didn't gain the wing strength that comes from the struggle of emerging and it soon died as a result. What a story. I don't usually retain many of the stories i read in great detail, but i've always remembered that one. Monika didn't know that this living object lesson of struggle and emergence (of which she personally knows PLENTY) would help to catalyze my resolve to write about it. I didn't want to tell her about my thoughts because i knew that she was lost in her own -- a couple of days after this gorgeous thing and its companions broke free, they were released to commemorate the 5-year mark of the sudden and heart-breaking departure from this earth of Moni and Henri's only child, Nicole. Their struggle has been incredible. Its ongoing and i know always will be. I'm amazed at the extraordinary strength and compassion i see in them. Struggle in the extreme. Pressure makes diamonds.

What in this world isn't borne of struggle? Who isn't? We ourselves struggle to push our way into world and we struggle against leaving it. . . and everything in between those two marking events is variations on that theme and the theme is so big to talk about. . . life's a big thing and its hard to take the weighty matters of living and reduce them into words.

I was sitting here last night with so many things percolating in my mind. It all seemed to settle into flashes, a movie montage in my brain, details, faces, names, circumstances. Very powerful moment. The more i thought of them - their battles and their trials as well as their joys and triumphs (and those were only the things i knew about) - the more i became filled with respect for them with all they'd been through and by how their life experiences had shaped and uniquely marked them. Some of you reading this went through my mind. Sometimes it all seems so brutal, pain, trouble, burden, anxiety, uncertainty . . .but from this kind of stress can come such strength. If life is nothing else, its a paradox. . and because i know God, i know first hand how he is able to work and move in paradox to redeem even oppressive and arduous things and have them turn to yield uncommon perseverence and character in those who will trust him with their lives. He is a mystery. We are. Life is. I like mystery, it gives me something to wonder about. It helps me to know that i can't always know.

I can think of so many strife analogies, but i do get tired of trying to work these sometimes clunky things. I get tired of similes and alliteration and all those devices. I want to go beyond those tricks. I want to be honest, so i'll bring it down to my own thoughts to avoid overgeneralizing or preaching.

Struggle has been a teacher in my life. Because i'm me, i have made a struggle of things which i never should have. I have spent all of my energy and lost any chance to gain endurance. When genuine struggle then came to me, i've unable to respond to it because i'd become all used up in false struggle. I haven't always gotten over the 'its not fair' syndrome. There have been things in my life, relationships, circumstances which have not been easy - they were difficult, up hill, hard things, still are. I have made the mistake of looking at others who had no such strife in these areas, in fact seemed to glide and float and the sun shone upon them and made them golden. .*or so i thought* i turned green. . my heart hardened, my spirit shriveled. I chose all wrong. . my focus was all wrong, my vision too. I compared what i should not have compared. I glanced sideways when i should have looked up. I had not learned. I kicked and raled against learning. I did not rise up above as struggle can help you to do, i sunk down below as misuse of struggle can make you do. Real issues of social justice, equality, righteousness seemed unreal to me. I couldn't seem to care about reality and i fixated on non issues. I'm still working on this. I am now so touched by others, but my actions don't always come forth as easily as my tears. My heart is changing and i am more motivated to struggle with purpose. I feel like i'm now light years from who i used to be. God is with me and always has been. I was just too often too selfish to know this. I have been learning from my mistakes. Struggle can refine or crush. I've had both happen to me so far. Struggle always costs. I don't want to go through anything difficult in vain. I don't want to resent the price of anything that can help me to learn. I've tended to try to protect myself from further damage. . i've tried to make things painless and easy with avoidance and denial. . i've shunned painful situations thinking i would gain strength and i have since learned those situations were serving to strengthen me and by removing myself i have removed my own ability to persevere. I have done to myself what that well-meaning person did to that butterfly.

yeah. . its like that. .

i'm sure i'll think much more about all of this. It still feels too large to tackle all in one go. oh, i want to keep learning. . i want to have perspective and maturity and all the things that only struggle can help me to see!! How can i appreciate the beauty of resting and peace if i have never been opposed? How will i be strong unless i have had resistance to increase my strength?

We are pressed down on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed and broken. We are perplexed but we don't give up and quit. We are hunted down but God never abandons us. We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going.