tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47903963766738191552024-02-19T23:52:15.568-06:00I, MayBFinding my way on a daily basisBronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.comBlogger193125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-47020677885295152332017-10-19T14:06:00.000-06:002017-10-19T14:06:05.581-06:00Self-care is not self-indulgence. Or, at least, not always.Fall is a difficult time for a lot of us with mental health issues. Of course, I don't have stats to back that up, but anecdotally, a lot of my friends have said the same thing. We struggle with the changing of the seasons.<br />
<br />
Now, don't get me wrong, I love fall.<br />
<br />
I can finally wear pants, cardigans, heavy boots, and cute scarves. I'm not inundated with boob sweat or swass. Also, everything is flavoured in pumpkin, and that's just exciting.<br />
<br />
I love the cozy nights by the fire place and the crisp breezes and the colours of the leaves. What I don't like is the crippling depression and dread that sometimes goes with it.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
So, it was fitting that on October 10th, the day set aside to discuss <a href="http://www.who.int/mental_health/world-mental-health-day/2017/en/" target="_blank">World Mental Health</a>, I couldn't get out of bed.<br />
<br />
It is no secret I have depression and anxiety issues. I've joked about them time and time again.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfy8DUvansRhPEIm86SeEuzn8IjnhUc7R7pdvpeJ0DzF5djC1mqEtIAHTcfBvq_P8K-mrvBzpc8JnI5gQ8winJa6DWYlGV5N3RvNjb3jhDF7nqqNDXBNtu2IXfGxvSdXOlRKUMiDt80WA/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-10-12+at+12.12.21+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="594" height="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfy8DUvansRhPEIm86SeEuzn8IjnhUc7R7pdvpeJ0DzF5djC1mqEtIAHTcfBvq_P8K-mrvBzpc8JnI5gQ8winJa6DWYlGV5N3RvNjb3jhDF7nqqNDXBNtu2IXfGxvSdXOlRKUMiDt80WA/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-10-12+at+12.12.21+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkB19Cobg7D6zPtI01iQ5uzKuUv7idUcnqlPKcf7GF5PXvT8UqjwgugaT0pZf2_kGMmxfdrjIRJBuansL8XlTvagyQaeiqwiTeoKh4HNn7vTsfiW9hiNbJRv94XNDX6ZkXf6h4amlwqM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-10-12+at+12.07.14+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="604" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkB19Cobg7D6zPtI01iQ5uzKuUv7idUcnqlPKcf7GF5PXvT8UqjwgugaT0pZf2_kGMmxfdrjIRJBuansL8XlTvagyQaeiqwiTeoKh4HNn7vTsfiW9hiNbJRv94XNDX6ZkXf6h4amlwqM/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-10-12+at+12.07.14+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I have written seriously about them too.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<i><a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2016/03/depression-pain-and-lies-they-tell.html" target="_blank">Depression, pain, and the lies they tell</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/06/when-i-jumped-on-meditation-bandwagon.html" target="_blank">When I jumped on the meditation bandwagon</a></i></blockquote>
</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
With that in mind, I've been thinking a lot about self-care.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgSup7MV8a4vQWLp_SG4gxfy39wCjA8xWkeUlccIfmdU-0BNMaTU513zNUhb7eJQSNhz4_ax0OlWQspgJQIUxzoij8gcMv4yURUB9zh11Qd72grAn2BxpvJ-4B1p1wTLBFC7pmpStfuU/s1600/self-love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgSup7MV8a4vQWLp_SG4gxfy39wCjA8xWkeUlccIfmdU-0BNMaTU513zNUhb7eJQSNhz4_ax0OlWQspgJQIUxzoij8gcMv4yURUB9zh11Qd72grAn2BxpvJ-4B1p1wTLBFC7pmpStfuU/s320/self-love.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c1.staticflickr.com/3/2099/5712669523_300d605eb2_b.jpg" target="_blank">source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Self-care has recently become a bit of a catchphrase that has lost all meaning. (Like saying "tartlet" too many times! <a href="https://youtu.be/WjzyAHKYJ8M" target="_blank">source</a>)<br />
<br />
It seems to me that now it is all lithe blond girls on Instagram who take pictures of themselves with large glasses of wine and a hashtag of <i>#lol #blessed #selfcare!</i><br />
<br />
And, while I'm sure that is also true, that's not always helpful for most of us.<br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
What is self-care?</h3>
Self-care may better be described as <a href="https://www.ted.com/talks/guy_winch_the_case_for_emotional_hygiene" target="_blank">emotional health care</a>.<br />
<br />
It is taking care of one's self so as to be the healthiest, best version of you. It's doing the things to make that happen and to be gentle with yourself when those things aren't an option.<br />
<br />
The trouble we come across, as a society, is that we seem to have gotten lost in the line between being gentle with ourselves and giving in to our every whim in a guise of "self-care".<br />
<br />
Some days, me staying in bed all day is the only thing I can do. In order to take care of what I need to that day, I can stay there and not feel guilty or lazy. I just do it and know that tomorrow will be a different day.<br />
<br />
The problem is when I'm on day 3 of staying in bed all day.<br />
<br />
That is not self-care. That is depression taking over.<br />
<br />
At that point, self-care is bribing myself with pie if I get out of bed and take a shower.<br />
<br />
It's all about balance.<br />
<br />
But again, if I only eat pie for breakfast every day and then get myself that extra-large latte and treat myself to ice cream for lunch - for a week - that isn't self-care. That is over-indulgence and emotional eating.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, self-care is doing things we don't want to do, but that are good for us.<br />
<br />
We have to be the "parents" of our bodies and our health - both physical and mental.<br />
<br />
Just like with real parents, we need boundaries, we need rules, but we also need to shuck those rules sometimes and go to the zoo.<br />
<br />
Be good to yourselves.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-24922959953154007322017-09-04T08:00:00.000-06:002017-09-04T08:00:38.339-06:00The day my father pooped my pants<i>Don't worry, my father has read this prior to it being published. It was so ridiculous we both knew it had to be told.</i><br />
<br />
I have more things to write about our experience in Ukraine with Dad's illness (<a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/i-spent-year-in-ukraine-one-month-part-1.html" target="_blank">Part I</a>, <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/i-spent-year-in-ukraine-one-month-part-2.html" target="_blank">Part II</a>, <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/adventures-in-ukraine-we-learn-to-ask-for-help.html" target="_blank">Part III</a>) and all the things that happened (like <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/trapped-in-ukraine-mini-story.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/lessons-i-learned-in-ukraine.html" target="_blank">here</a>), but I need to jump ahead a bit and tell you a story of the day my Dad pooped <i><b>my</b></i> pants.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QqoBJ8cNo9CSutxtN5AQ8lFLeTmCB6VtQDBsUmyMy15EbSciZ6slrrnpIGtrpwZW6kzdoYh0cvp-qR2D6GKMeaqjStIKtTjcyPymbWD0LUWL5CwUdZarcmFGjd5Q63gYBSYj8ORgC9w/s1600/poop-happens-sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="1600" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0QqoBJ8cNo9CSutxtN5AQ8lFLeTmCB6VtQDBsUmyMy15EbSciZ6slrrnpIGtrpwZW6kzdoYh0cvp-qR2D6GKMeaqjStIKtTjcyPymbWD0LUWL5CwUdZarcmFGjd5Q63gYBSYj8ORgC9w/s320/poop-happens-sign.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/pictures/140000/velka/poop-happens-sign.jpg" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Yes, that is the spoiler, but I feel like you will appreciate the story regardless.<br />
<br />
My father and his wife, Tanya, planned to come back to Canada so that Dad could get the medical attention he needs to get well. Dad had medical approval to travel, but he and Tanya both felt they needed help to make the trip. As we could not get visa approval for anyone in Ukraine on such short notice, so it became necessary for me to make the trip again.<br />
<br />
I do not like travel. I don't like international travel. I do not like international travel while I am alone. I do not like international travel to countries where I do not speak the language.<br />
<br />
Now this was the second time in two months I would be making the trip.<br />
<br />
I will tell the full story another time, but for now I will jump ahead a bit.<br />
<br />
I made the trip and met Dad and Tanya at the airport in Kyiv. We put on a fresh ostomy bag for our travels and hoped it would make it all the way to Canada. There had been some troubles with the bags in the past, but we were hopeful.<br />
<br />
Off we went.<br />
<br />
All went relatively smoothly. We had to empty the bag repeatedly on the planes, but apart from that, it went well. We were almost home -- on our final leg of the trip -- and thought we were home free.<br />
<br />
We should have known. <br />
<br />
It all fell apart mid-air between Toronto and Regina.<br />
<br />
First thing that tipped us off was the smell.<br />
<br />
I don't know if you've smelled the matter of an ostomy bag. It smells remarkably like a <a href="https://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/gremlins/images/e/e1/830px-Gremlin_1_1.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120218054614" target="_blank">Gremlin</a> died inside a <a href="http://cdn.rsvlts.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/04/smell.gif" target="_blank">Tauntaun</a> on a hot August day in Alabama.<br />
<br />
I knew we were in trouble. <br />
<br />
I grabbed as many supplies as I could to do the replacement in mid-air. Usually, Dad is lying or sitting down and we have all the time in the world. We had to make this happen in an airplane bathroom as fast as we could before all the passengers started passing out or throwing themselves from the plane.<br />
<br />
I entered the bathroom first and sat on the toilet. Dad entered the bathroom next and shut the door behind him. It was the only way I could work on the ostomy bag while keeping the smell slightly contained within the confines of one room.<br />
<br />
Our suspicions were confirmed. The bag had detached along one side. <br />
<br />
It needed to be replaced fully.<br />
<br />
I got to work peeling the bag off and disposing of it as best I could. As I was struggling to move around in the smallest bathroom in the world, I looked up at my father in disbelief and said the only thing that came to mind.<br />
<br />
<i>This isn't the mile-high club I thought I would join.</i><br />
<br />
That's our family, if you can't be normal, be inappropriate.<br />
<br />
You would think that would be all. I mean, two fairly large people trapped in an airline bathroom. That is ridiculous enough. Right?<br />
<br />
Nope. Not for us.<br />
<br />
It was at this moment that a clump from the ostomy bag dropped.<br />
<br />
I saw it in slow-motion. And still, I couldn't stop it.<br />
<br />
It landed squarely on my pants.<br />
<br />
Poop. <br />
<br />
I ignored it and finished applying the ostomy bag and getting Dad sorted well enough to return to his seat. I borrowed his large button up shirt (size XXXL) so I sent him away so I could clean the bathroom and myself.<br />
<br />
I bagged and double bagged my clothes. I cleaned the bathroom and sprayed the odor eliminator liberally. Finally, I exited the bathroom in a large blue jean cowboy shirt which I was now wearing as a dress. I grabbed a pair of pyjama short-shorts I had in my carry-on. I pretended everything was all fine.<br />
<br />
The flight attendant took one look at me and brought me Bailey's on ice. She patted my hand and told me I was a good daughter.<br />
<br />
My glass was not empty the rest of the flight.<br />
<br />
But I think we may be on a no-fly list now.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-26816362114338934362017-08-21T22:27:00.002-06:002017-08-21T22:32:42.391-06:00Adventures in Ukraine: Part 3 -- Wherein we learned to ask for helpIn my family, we are not good at asking for help.<br />
<br />
Surprisingly enough, we are not very good at being exposed to other people. (Unless it's like, "Surprise! Here's my butt!")<br />
<br />
I, especially, suffer from the belief that I should be able to be all things for all people and, as a child, my catch phrase (<i>unintentionally, but never forgotten</i>) was, "Fine. I'll do it myself."<br />
<br />
That phrase has served me <strike>dysfunctionally</strike> well over the years.<br />
<br />
My therapist worked very hard with me to combat the feeling that I am responsible for everyone I've ever met and that I am the only one who can fix any problem In fact, most of the time, she would stare at me with one eyebrow raised and ask questions to remind me this is not true.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q: "Who are you in charge of?"<br />
A: Myself (<i>and sometimes the dog</i> </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Q: "Who are you responsible for and to?"<br />
A: Myself, the dog, and Wade. (<i>I'm sure he was thrilled that he's third on that list!</i>)</blockquote>
These boundaries that I took months to set up disintegrated the moment I got the call from Tanya. My Dad was in trouble and I took on the job of fixing it. I started making lists the second I got off the phone.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Best hospital? Check </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Respected doctor? Check </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Me present to enforce healing and effect change? Check </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Acknowledgement that I'm not in charge of whole world? <i>*crickets chirping* </i> </blockquote>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBv4CTtWx5Q4pr8COGYygf3VtGvV1i5aqCZx6KY0gqAEJ04CxjGvrV2zp0pSBs2Y8P5sOCJ2mn9W0x-1ANERaTWRkZ2Xf-S24VPOfyMXKzQSrmUo7fLKl8Wz-8YcM16b_M78qoliH2afE/s1600/Lucy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="500" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBv4CTtWx5Q4pr8COGYygf3VtGvV1i5aqCZx6KY0gqAEJ04CxjGvrV2zp0pSBs2Y8P5sOCJ2mn9W0x-1ANERaTWRkZ2Xf-S24VPOfyMXKzQSrmUo7fLKl8Wz-8YcM16b_M78qoliH2afE/s320/Lucy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I relate a little too hard to Lucy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My Dad and I have a complicated relationship. It was complicated before Mom died and even more so after. I think even he will admit I have often been in the parental role more than he.<br />
<br />
It is easy for me to take over and fix things for Dad. <br />
<br />
It is even easier for him to let me.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
*Ahem*<br />
We interrupt this airing of family laundry to distract you to a different topic. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
LOOK A SQUIRREL!<br />
*Thank you*</blockquote>
Where was I?<br />
<br />
Tanya is also a take charge woman, so we delegated our areas of control to things we could excel in. She took over hospital directing, medical management, making sure everything was going smoothly, and all food preparation. <br />
<br />
She did even more, but I cannot fit it all into one clever sentence.<br />
<br />
I took over keeping Dad from getting evicted from the hospital for being rude, organizing shifts for Dad maintenance, and figuring out how to find the money to pay for everything.<br />
<br />
I had reached out to a relative to borrow a few thousand to pay for all the medical expenses. I assured them that it would certainly cover everything and I could pay it back once I transferred money out of my Dad's savings.<br />
<br />
We ran out of that money after the first week.<br />
<br />
For as inexpensive as things are in Ukraine, it costs a hell of a lot to have someone in hospital. The family was responsible for all medical supplies. Sterile gloves, syringes, medications, bandages, ostomy bags, tape, cleaning wipes for wound management, etc. Every day, supplies cost us between $200-500 USD.<br />
<br />
We also had to rent a flat (<i>look how European I am!</i>) and buy enough groceries to live.<br />
<br />
My sisters and I sat around a computer and Skyped with our brother to talk about our options. There was no money. If we all pooled our resources, we could come up with $17 and a piece of lint. We could try and get a bank loan, but it seemed so insurmountable.<br />
<br />
I mean, we come from the land of free health care. We had never thought this would happen.<br />
<br />
We had to ask for help.<br />
<br />
Ugh.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSyjKk-rDW_Bd0IS5ZWBwup5H9adbrDK9PaPNIovhRFtlgsSF96uZ9YrL5XMUT2_1jzGZPFuDX3fFRRVmeFZSYIzPv-TeuhNk4glMN-LjrDgCX6rSZIs2n-3NZGQy2EUngKEcUYD6ri4/s1600/Stick_figure_drawing_asking_for_cash.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="604" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizSyjKk-rDW_Bd0IS5ZWBwup5H9adbrDK9PaPNIovhRFtlgsSF96uZ9YrL5XMUT2_1jzGZPFuDX3fFRRVmeFZSYIzPv-TeuhNk4glMN-LjrDgCX6rSZIs2n-3NZGQy2EUngKEcUYD6ri4/s320/Stick_figure_drawing_asking_for_cash.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We went to the internet and told our friends the situation. We were mortified and embarrassed and downtrodden. I mentioned to one person how much I felt like a Nigerian prince asking for money to help get my father out of prison.<br />
<br />
But we asked.<br />
<br />
While we originally asked for a few thousand (<i>once again we were hopelessly naive</i>) and the generosity overwhelmed us. Donations came in with positive messages of love and support and prayers.<br />
<br />
It was humbling and amazing and uplifting. We cannot say thank you enough.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I mean, really, we had no idea how many people liked Dad.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-35210835921609982372017-08-17T10:00:00.000-06:002017-08-17T10:00:18.806-06:00Lessons I learned in UkraineFor most people, living in Ukraine is not an easy life.<br />
<br />
As such, many Ukrainians are not happy people. <br />
<br />
I struggled with this as, in my profession, it is my goal to always be polite and courteous and kind (as I can be) even when things are awful. When people come to me their lives are not going well, so it is my goal not to make people's days worse because I'm having a rough day.<br />
<br />
That is not always how it was in Ukraine.<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
Keep in mind, I do not know Ukrainian or Russian. I can count to 13 in Russian. I know "hello", "goodbye", "thank you", "please", and "excuse me". I can say "milk", "apple", and "latte". (Hint: it's latte) But, other than that, I am useless. Without <a href="https://translate.google.ca/" target="_blank">Google Translate</a> on my phone, I would not have survived.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yWWUAXZNVx_-vvqUxiKfa_Rgz3y4E5Yab5YzAmdcRnzMJ4KjS4LGfA28BNwsniTkN7LBUyi3zLe-rt6hZCvliow6S2EAKkKATaOnv1jDNAYgT31-7OEXXwENxkovPALXhRLbhvZDwm0/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="637" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8yWWUAXZNVx_-vvqUxiKfa_Rgz3y4E5Yab5YzAmdcRnzMJ4KjS4LGfA28BNwsniTkN7LBUyi3zLe-rt6hZCvliow6S2EAKkKATaOnv1jDNAYgT31-7OEXXwENxkovPALXhRLbhvZDwm0/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My view from a coffee shop of the bustle below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Many people in shops that I went into were kind and patient and encouraging. But there were some people...<br />
<br />
I struggled with those people.<br />
<br />
One Apteka worker in particular was awful. She would harrumph and roll her eyes. She would mutter and bang her hand on the counter. She treated me as though I was the stupidest human ever to be in her way. There were others who were similar (although there were more that were entirely lovely humans) but this dark haired horrible woman was the worst.<br />
<br />
After 3 weeks of dealing with people like this worker, I learned two things:<br />
<ol>
<li>DO NOT BE A DICK TO PEOPLE WHO DON'T KNOW THE LANGUAGE. <br /><br />It is hard to not understand a damn thing that is going on around you. To be incredibly smart and capable in your own country but to be a raging moron in a different language is incredibly frustrating and disheartening.<br /><br />We have so many new people coming to our countries. Some will know a bit of the local language. Some will know none of it. No matter what, they are likely overwhelmed and exhausted trying to constantly translate things in their heads all day long. Because, for newcomers, nothing is like home and everything is hard.<br /><br />It does not take much to be kind to someone. Be kind.</li>
<br />
<li>EVERY DAY IN UKRAINE FEELS LIKE MONDAY<br /><br />In Ukraine, things there are often harder than they need to be. Every day is the same. People get up, travel a long ways to go to work, work very hard, make very little, do it for a huge part of the day, travel a long way home, make supper, and then go to bed. Then, they do it again the next day. <br /><br />People might say, yeah we do that here too, but it is so much easier for us. We have conveniences they do not. Our systems (while flawed) are not so deeply messed up that everything takes 10x longer to get anything done. <br /><br />For me, after 3 weeks of struggling EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. to do what needed to be done and then doing again the next day, I was grumpy as hell too. It taught me to be a little more understanding of people who might not have had a lot of extra f*cks to give when they were dealing with me. </li>
</ol>
<div>
I am grateful for the lessons Ukraine taught me. The hardness of the Ukrainian life experience humbled me. The kindness people showed uplifted me. The beauty of the land inspired me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But God knows, I was ready to go home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
***************</div>
<div>
Past excerpts from Ukraine</div>
<div>
<a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/i-spent-year-in-ukraine-one-month-part-1.html" target="_blank">Part 1</a> </div>
<div>
<a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/i-spent-year-in-ukraine-one-month-part-2.html" target="_blank">Part 2 </a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/trapped-in-ukraine-mini-story.html" target="_blank">Locked bathroom adventures</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-2094366170139190472017-08-15T09:00:00.000-06:002017-08-15T09:00:29.467-06:00I spent a year in Ukraine one month: Part 2<div>
As part of dealing with the stress of this summer, I have decided to write about it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Part 1 of the story is <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/i-spent-year-in-ukraine-one-month-part-1.html" target="_blank">here</a> and the story of how I locked myself and my sister in the bathroom is <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2017/08/trapped-in-ukraine-mini-story.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVNKUMDxImJqD43LtsgseLj6QaJEUusY63haJbBd2JsEWuyOoGKza6VejpiqBjRkTPCBJuiThFn3eJqvyyPHF8B3ULoFcGXmErImIWTiChtV8xQ1PbFu1Xq6mCzv-NyAYRQ9auLwsuKM/s1600/IMG_0031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVNKUMDxImJqD43LtsgseLj6QaJEUusY63haJbBd2JsEWuyOoGKza6VejpiqBjRkTPCBJuiThFn3eJqvyyPHF8B3ULoFcGXmErImIWTiChtV8xQ1PbFu1Xq6mCzv-NyAYRQ9auLwsuKM/s320/IMG_0031.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the top floor of the hospital in Dnipro</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />I had to start this post with a beautiful picture to remind myself that Ukraine is a lovely country with some really good people. Many of the people I adore are in Ukraine, from Ukraine, and fight for Ukraine. But this month in Ukraine, for me, was very difficult and so I found it hard to separate the stressful from the good at times. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When we made it to the hospital to see Dad for the first time, I was instantly transported to the last month of <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2014/04/ten-years-ago-today.html" target="_blank">my mother's life</a>. My big ol' lumbering Dad did not look the same. He had hoses and pic lines and monitors all over the place. He breathed the rattling sound of the very, very ill. He was lucid-ish when he was awake but slept at the drop of a hat for hours and hours. He was uncomfortable and ill. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The hospital ward (ICU for sepsis patients) reminded me of an old building from the 40s. At our church camp, we have old airforce barracks made of concrete with ad hoc wiring and cracking walls, so in some ways, the building was reassuring and yet not so much because I know what mould and scary things live in them. Most of the nurses were kind, but spoke no English, and were very busy with the other urgent care patients (most of whom were <a href="http://www.jpost.com/International/Why-Ukraines-hidden-conflict-in-Donbass-matters-502119" target="_blank">Ukrainian soldiers from the front line</a>). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was days before we knew if Dad was going to survive. We had connected my brother by phone so he could talk to Dad (my brother has health issues himself, so we refused to let him travel because one of our family members in Ukrainian hospital at a time was enough). When my youngest sister left to go back to London, we wondered if she would get to see Dad again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Until then, we settled into helping provide care for Dad.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ukrainian hospital is very different from Canadian hospital. While I thought I understood, there was no way I could until I was there. I thank God for Tanya who helped us learn the system and walked us through so much. She explained that all supplies had to be provided by the family. The nurses were there to deal with the wounds and the medication, but family did all the rest. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Each day, we had lists of items to purchase including: gloves, syringes, bandages, medications, etc. These items were often written on a scrap piece of paper we would take to the pharmacy (Apteka in Ukraine). We would trundle off to collect things, going from store to store in order to get everything on the list. It never ceased to amaze me that I could get multiple bottles of morphine by just handing a scrap piece of paper to a technician. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tanya spent each morning with Dad and then left the hospital to run errands around the city and buy things Dad would need. She worked from 6 a.m. every morning until well after 9 p.m. every night. My sisters and I spent the afternoon with Dad. One of us running errands while the other two visited with him, fed him yogurt, held his water cup, and held his hand. The only thing that helped any of us get some sleep was that, while Dad was in ICU, we were not allowed in the building after 8pm. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After 5 days, Dad was moved to the surgical unit. He had to have another operation in the days to come, so he would wait on the unit to free up an ICU bed as he had improved enough. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The ward upstairs was quite nice in a lot of ways. The common spaces had beautiful marble (or what looked like it to me) tiles on the walls and floors and dark wood accents. There were more nurses, but there were also many more patients. In fact, there were 4 patients to a room. The beds were tucked up end to end so that two were along each wall with a narrow path up the middle. There was no air conditioner, no fan, and it was 30+ degrees Celcius many days. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was also at the top of 5 very long flights of stairs with no elevator for anyone who wasn't old, needing extra help, or in a wheelchair. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For me, that might have been the worst part. I often had to count the stairs in units of 10 with a "you can do it" in between.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Me and exercise are not good friends. Me and stairs?? We aren't even on speaking terms. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But let me tell you, we spent a lot of time together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
*** to be continued ***</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-65188513336680453362017-08-14T11:39:00.000-06:002017-08-14T11:56:09.395-06:00I spent a year in Ukraine one month: Part 1A few days into July, I received a call from my father. Normally a loud and forceful kind of guy, this time he sounded groggy, elderly, and in pain. <br />
<br />
Dad explained he had a stomach attack of some kind and was in hospital in a city a few hours from where he stays in Ukraine. He said not to worry too much, but that I should tell my siblings (including the brother he had just talked to and forgot to mention this to!!). He said he would have his wife, Tanya, call me with more details when she could.<br />
<br />
My siblings and I have always dreaded the day when we would get a call that something had gone wrong with Dad on the other side of the world. <br />
<br />
After my mom died, Dad remarried Tanya. Tanya is a powerhouse of a woman and just what Dad needed. This was over a decade ago and they have since lived their lives straddling Ukraine and Canada. Dad speaks limited Russian and even more limited Ukrainian and it is only because of his wife's tenacity and dedication to learning English that they have communicated at all.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Lc5oCVi7n0OHKdNF8D-nMG2oh3SsaaEgevj9WGq_19eXdJpIHNe8h-x6ixLZ-QyvjU5_oQ-rpxIUacBSYhnM40TsmdRyPXx5gfYIIsWix93XHm1vsFuq9WvmY5jyBf9tXOFasx6yaAY/s1600/fullsizeoutput_28a6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="604" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Lc5oCVi7n0OHKdNF8D-nMG2oh3SsaaEgevj9WGq_19eXdJpIHNe8h-x6ixLZ-QyvjU5_oQ-rpxIUacBSYhnM40TsmdRyPXx5gfYIIsWix93XHm1vsFuq9WvmY5jyBf9tXOFasx6yaAY/s320/fullsizeoutput_28a6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They really are the cutest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Once the siblings had been informed, we all just waited.<br />
<br />
We didn't panic. Dad's had stomach issues for a long time and we aren't the type to overreact for his health issues. The closest sibling to my father is my youngest sister who lives in London, England. She is only a 3 hour flight away (<i>fixed because she says I'm crazy to think it was 8 hours</i>), but, of course, she has a busy life as a teacher librarian in a large school that doesn't have "summer" break until August. We figured it would fine, but if needed someone could make the trip.<br />
<br />
We may have under-reacted on this one.<br />
<br />
Two days later, Tanya called. She isn't one to cry, so I knew it was serious. Dad had surgery and wasn't doing well. Tanya asked us to come as soon as possible. We agreed someone would be there right away.<br />
<br />
Of course, it wasn't that simple.<br />
<br />
My middle sister was done with her semester (a professor of English) and I had just completed mine (taking my Masters in Social Work). However, she had just flown to England where she was presenting at a conference. She would be there for a few days, carry on to do research at the British library (the only place she can research a specific topic she is working on) and then would head to Boston to speak at another conference. Getting her there meant cancelling trips and moving tickets and cancelling speaking and still getting the paper for someone else to present on her behalf. We arranged to meet each other in London in 2 days and I made my plans.<br />
<br />
I got the call that morning around 8am from Tanya. I talked to The Guy about it and we looked at flights. We couldn't find anything reasonable so decided I would fly to London and my sister's travel agent would make arrangements while I was in the air. (Shout out to <a href="http://www.marlintravel.ca/travel-agencies/saskatoon/saskatoon-midland-plaza-42606/agents/54279" target="_blank">Amanda at Marlin Travel</a> in Saskatoon. She is awesome!) <br />
<br />
We booked my one way ticket to London at 1015am. I was packed by 10:45 a.m., went to the bank at 11:15 a.m., and was in the airport by 12:00 p.m.<br />
<br />
I landed in London at 10:30 a.m. and met both sisters. After supper, we got back on the train to catch our flight to Ukraine. By 9:00 a.m. (Ukraine time) we landed.<br />
<br />
Less than 36 hours from the time I bought my first ticket, we were in Ukraine.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-46980145367708918482017-08-07T17:16:00.000-06:002017-08-07T17:16:03.956-06:00Trapped in Ukraine (a mini story)I am in the process of writing the story of our time in Ukraine and Dad's illness. It is taking me some time to process, so I thought I would publish this in the meantime.<br />
<br />
***************<br />
<br />
The first few hours in Ukraine did not go very well. <br />
<br />
We needed to freshen up after our flights before we made it to see Dad. It had been 36 hours in the same clothes and we all needed a moment. We went to the hostel where Dad's wife and daughter-in-law, Leina, were staying. I had to wash my face and hands while my sister was showering, so I snuck in to the bathroom behind her and closed the door behind me.<br />
<br />
It stuck.<br />
<br />
Solidly.<br />
<br />
True to form, we had been in Ukraine for less than 2 hours and some how I had trapped us in the bathroom of a hostel. <br />
<br />
We tried to pry the door open. We pulled, we banged, we cursed. We got a hold of our sister-in-law and tried to communicate that we were stuck. <br />
<br />
However, she does not speak English and we do not speak Russian or Ukrainian. <br />
<br />
We had no phones for translations or help. <br />
<br />
We had no way out.<br />
<br />
I was sure I had been able to communicate with our SiL and she was going to get help. I was content to wait while my sister got more and more agitated. She attempted to climb the 3/4 wall to no avail.<br />
<br />
Finally, our SiL realized we were not just taking an inordinate amount of time to get dressed and came to rescue us.<br />
<br />
With a kick that would make a SWAT team member proud, Leina opened the door.<br />
<br />
Leina promptly told the story to every one we saw after that and we all laughed ourselves sick.<br />
<br />
Welcome to Ukraine.<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-81550929448936170442017-06-21T03:41:00.000-06:002017-06-21T03:44:24.042-06:00When I jumped on the meditation bandwagonI am a fairly high-strung person. <br />
<br />
I look calm and collected, but inside my head I am freaking the @#*& out. <br />
<br />
I come by it honestly. My mother was this kind of person too. It was said she could put her head on one chair and her feet on another without sagging in the middle.<br />
<br />
I resemble that remark.<br />
<br />
My shoulders are never relaxed. My jaw is always clenched. My head is always aching. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4KZmcRyipOdWWl64znDy3Ne3pZnuw96ayNri_hRB4vM2twjhdZBKp9mGZwCGcRfFkQb9iIJaQnB9oEd5CDziXwm5GH-bqLJ8oSVJFl4HgKR9m5F35hPwvHqg8rHHptrMF7kTtkA_gTk/s1600/stress-853645_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="960" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC4KZmcRyipOdWWl64znDy3Ne3pZnuw96ayNri_hRB4vM2twjhdZBKp9mGZwCGcRfFkQb9iIJaQnB9oEd5CDziXwm5GH-bqLJ8oSVJFl4HgKR9m5F35hPwvHqg8rHHptrMF7kTtkA_gTk/s320/stress-853645_960_720.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pixabay.com/p-853645/?no_redirect" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My mind never stops considering the options of disaster and woe that lay ahead of me. I go over every conversation that didn't go as planned, every thing I wish I had done differently, and every thing that I might have to do or say in the coming months.<br />
<br />
It makes sleeping rather difficult.<br />
<br />
Actually, it also makes being awake rather difficult as I can get so ramped up that my resting heart rate is 100 on a regular basis. <br />
<br />
When the "mindfulness" trend started many years ago, people started telling me about it. It was presented as a perfect solution to settle my disquieted mind and really focus on the present.<br />
<br />
Pardon me while I hurl.<br />
<br />
Truthfully, the first few times I tried mindful meditation, it filled me with such uncontrollable rage I had to stop right then. It didn't get better for a long time.<br />
<br />
Then I started yoga. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJBR1Gl925mmRgfvPK1QgrjsUOfrGhc4Wlod8nFYOvkBt-kXE7zRnufapuTuZAavMhs_Ru-PcP6LNRXR3TB2z_TLaFw5PRgtY_5NuLThRE2LCr96GBosziBMCzh-47vhahOHIeDpik3c/s1600/warrior-pose-241611_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJBR1Gl925mmRgfvPK1QgrjsUOfrGhc4Wlod8nFYOvkBt-kXE7zRnufapuTuZAavMhs_Ru-PcP6LNRXR3TB2z_TLaFw5PRgtY_5NuLThRE2LCr96GBosziBMCzh-47vhahOHIeDpik3c/s320/warrior-pose-241611_960_720.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://cde.peru.com/ima/0/1/0/2/1/1021642/611x458/pymes.jpg" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Everyone who knows me, knows I'm a huge yoga fan (you have to check out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/yogawithadriene" target="_blank">Yoga with Adriene</a>, she is the greatest!). I have taken classes in a picturesque brick room with the city bustling beneath me while I settle into the mat and am at peace for the first time in a long time. I have taken busy active yoga with a crammed room of 50 other people while the sweat pours down my face. I have settled into a nice mix of both in my living room while I get ready for the day.<br />
<br />
Finally, I understood what meditation is about. But I had to learn it while DOING something.<br />
<br />
Once I had that, I realized I could move into exploring what meditation could do beyond the mat.<br />
<br />
I started listening to a guided meditation on <a href="https://www.calm.com/" target="_blank">Calm.com o</a>n my iPhone. I found I didn't hate the voice of the woman so I could sit through it without being all ragey. This is an important first step.<br />
<br />
Second step was working my way up from 2 to 10 and finally 25 minutes. <br />
<br />
Just sitting and being is really hard when you're a doer and a worrier. It feels weird.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTV8T93FMPfopz9Rw5dYzWXakb7PV6TdI7Anmb9GqFWITsC3MvzvQqz5mOAN70wS2-mJO29VjeOnsmz6G56MCsNlRDyru2cl6c2BLyXjGdaPB7z9bYohTDKtOcHAu5_-96Z_KZiBl-TQ/s1600/Yoga-Freedom-Sports-Girl-Lying-On-The-Grass-Pants-1741487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="539" data-original-width="960" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWTV8T93FMPfopz9Rw5dYzWXakb7PV6TdI7Anmb9GqFWITsC3MvzvQqz5mOAN70wS2-mJO29VjeOnsmz6G56MCsNlRDyru2cl6c2BLyXjGdaPB7z9bYohTDKtOcHAu5_-96Z_KZiBl-TQ/s320/Yoga-Freedom-Sports-Girl-Lying-On-The-Grass-Pants-1741487.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://maxpixel.freegreatpicture.com/Yoga-Freedom-Sports-Girl-Lying-On-The-Grass-Pants-1741487" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'm not solved. I still have anxiety filled nights of insomnia, but they are fewer than they were. I still have rock hard shoulder and neck muscles (and not the kind that are enviable) but I have ways to work them out.<br />
<br />
Now, I try and do yoga three times a week and I do nightly meditation to fall asleep.<br />
<br />
I'm still awake at 4 in the morning, but I am taking deep breaths while I am.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-15522067526074630882017-06-08T05:41:00.001-06:002017-06-13T23:16:48.708-06:00Drowning in academic hopelessnessWhy I thought taking a short 8 week class (during May and June) would be a good idea, I will never know. I'm working full time. I have contract work on the side. I volunteer. I have a family, friends, my niece (who likely thinks I no longer exist), and responsibilities. <br />
<br />
I wanted this class. It combines all the things I want to do with my degree and my career. Canadian social policy, critical Indigenous thinking, and domestic violence intervention.<br />
<br />
In 8 weeks.<br />
<br />
What was I thinking?<br />
<br />
Each week, I have slogged through hundreds and hundreds of pages of reading, cramming my mind full of information and new ways of thinking. Learning the things I should have known and expanding on some that I did. <br />
<br />
What have I learned most?<br />
<br />
The Canadian government has been A-HOLES to Indigenous people. For hundreds and hundreds of years. <br />
<br />
I always knew this on some level. I was taught about Residential Schools and treaties and oppressive government workers and systems (Thanks, Mrs. Gellner!). I watched mini-series and read books and listened to adults talk. My heart ached as a child for the people who I thought were so lovely that nothing bad should ever have happened to them.<br />
<br />
But I didn't actually know the bad. Not all of it. Not even most of it. After all, I was only a kid and they try not to scar you that early.<br />
<br />
Now I am in a quagmire of despair and pain and confusion. Not only has the Canadian government been horrible, but the profession that I love has been an instrument of further oppression and pain and condescension. How can I, with my trusty Human Justice and Social Work degrees and great plans to "help people", continue on?<br />
<br />
How am I going to write a paper for this class now that everything seems hopeless?<br />
<br />
I mean, the Government over the last 50+ years has issued study after study, commission after commission, paper after paper. It has spent thousands (though cumulatively now likely millions and millions) of dollars "studying the problem" and getting recommendations.<br />
<br />
Hundreds and hundreds of recommendations. All saying almost entirely the same thing. <br />
<br />
They are all saying and/or have all said, "Hey Canada, you're a dick to the Indigenous people. Here's how you can be better."<br />
<br />
But guess what?<br />
<br />
Canada NEVER EVER DECIDES TO BE BETTER.<br />
<br />
Okay, that may be a little over-generalizing, but it's not far from the truth. The Canadian government gets these great recommendations - ones that will make a real difference - and then they (it?) decide they don't want to do most of them. Then the government puts a couple of paltry recommendations into place and are shocked - SHOCKED - when things aren't fixed. <br />
<br />
What?? How are you not all better now?<br />
<br />
Here are the main things I've learned (or relearned):<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Many of those who signed treaties and moved to reserves did so because the White people killed all the game in the area and people were starving. The government made it a policy to ONLY FEED THE PEOPLE WHO SIGNED AND MOVED. And, at that, they only fed them every other day to make sure they remained compliant. (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17890839-clearing-the-plains?from_search=true" target="_blank">Clearing the Plains</a>, 2013)</li>
<li>The government worried that Indigenous people being self-sufficient would mean they would interfere with Canadian settlements and so made sure they were not allowed to or able to do any work. (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17890839-clearing-the-plains?from_search=true" target="_blank">Clearing the Plains</a>, 2013)</li>
<li>The government decided who actually belonged to Indigenous culture. Can you imagine if the government got to decide who was allowed to go to your church or come to your family reunions or live on your street? (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indian_Act" target="_blank">The Indian Act</a>, 1885)</li>
<li>Then, if someone did not comply with the government rules of who was Indigenous (i.e.: marrying "your own kind" or living on the reserves) the government made them sign their rights away. (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2122959.Accounting_for_Genocide?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Accounting for Genocide</a>, 2004)</li>
<li>Children were taken away from their parents as young as 3 -5 years old and did not see their family for up to 8 or more years. These children were put in schools and not allowed to talk to their own siblings. (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/467398.The_Circle_Game?from_search=true" target="_blank">The Circle Game</a>, 2006)</li>
<li>Children were beaten and raped and killed and starved by religious groups "educating" them. Anyone who spoke out against what was happening was fired or transferred. (<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/467398.The_Circle_Game?from_search=true" target="_blank">The Circle Game</a>, 2006)</li>
<li>Full self-government was encouraged in a report in the 1960s, but Indigenous people were not even allowed to run their own farms until 1990s. (<a href="http://www.collectionscanada.gc.ca/webarchives/20071120104036/http://www.ainc-inac.gc.ca/pr/pub/srvy/sci_e.html" target="_blank">Hawthorn Report</a>, 1966)</li>
<li>There was a commission that encouraged special status and full self-government and instead the government planned to delete all status and have severely micromanaged involvement in government. (<a href="http://www.collectionscanada.gc.ca/webarchives/20071120104036/http://www.ainc-inac.gc.ca/pr/pub/srvy/sci_e.html" target="_blank">Hawthorn Report</a>, 1966; <a href="http://www.aadnc-aandc.gc.ca/eng/1100100010189/1100100010191" target="_blank">The White Paper</a>, 1969)</li>
<li>Children en masse were removed from reserves in the 60s and given to White families. In some cases, up to 90% of children on the reserve were removed from their families. (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sixties_Scoop" target="_blank">The 60s Scoop</a>)</li>
<li>Indigenous women are at risk of violence at least 3 times that of any other woman in Canada. They are 5 times more likely to die. And!! More often by the hand of strangers than other women. (<a href="https://nwac.ca/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/Fact_Sheet_Missing_and_Murdered_Aboriginal_Women_and_Girls" target="_blank">Missing and Murdered Aboriginal Women</a>)</li>
</ol>
<div>
There is more. SO MUCH MORE. I am exhausted by it all. Now I have 18 days to write a paper about domestic violence and social policy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every time I think I have a research question, my mind comes up with some reason there is NO POINT TO ANY OF THIS. My mind has a completely valid point. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My question is this: how, after all that has happened, can I make a difference in the lives of anyone who is suffering not only from domestic violence, but also societal violence, racism, sexism, poverty, addictions, trauma, and a country who regularly makes the WORST decisions for you and your communities?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How can you help one thing without addressing all the other inequalities? The answer is that you can't.<br />
<br />
Here is the problem. <br />
<br />
Our government, past and present and likely future (and the people who voted them in), do not want to address all of the inequalities. Instead, they implement limited recourse with limited funds and then blame the individual for something that has been centuries in the making.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-84819022242822675932017-05-24T23:37:00.000-06:002017-05-25T16:46:07.493-06:00TryPod: my "must-listen" podcastsA couple of years ago I was looking for a new way to learn. I needed to expand my knowledge, my mind, and my experiences, all from the comfort of my own home. Books are great, yes, but I have made it a policy never to read anything that will teach me things on purpose*. <br />
<br />
I also needed something I could do while walking, driving, and knitting.<br />
<br />
Enter the podcast -- a short radio-type downloadable episode (**see technical definition below!)<br />
<br />
My sisters and numerous other friends had been listening to podcasts for years by this point, but I am woefully behind the times. I mean, I still haven't fully figured out Snapchat.<br />
<br />
Now, I am so entrenched in the podcast world, I often start my sentences with, "I was listening to this thing yesterday..." It has given me endless pieces of useless facts. <br />
<br />
And you thought I had too many already!<br />
<br />
I decided to share my favourites in hope I can spark someone else to expand their world. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://mikerowe.com/podcast/" target="_blank">The Way I Heard It</a></h3>
<br />
Host: Mike Rowe<br />
<br />
I have watched Mike Rowe on Dirty Jobs and listened to him narrate The Deadliest Catch. I liked his sense of humour and his calming voice. So, when I found out there was a short podcast (usually 10 minutes max) where he tells you a clever story in a way you've never heard it before, I had to sign up.<br />
<br />
You listen to his stories with rapt curiosity and then, at the end, he reveals the name of the person he is talking about. It is clever and mind-blowing and I learn all sorts of things.<br />
<br />
My favourite episodes are: The one where a songwriter bases his most famous song off the Morse Code for "dead" and the one of the most feared sniper in WWII.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/4976814/height/90/width/640/theme/custom/autonext/no/thumbnail/yes/autoplay/no/preload/no/no_addthis/no/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe>
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" height="90" mozallowfullscreen="" msallowfullscreen="" oallowfullscreen="" scrolling="no" src="//html5-player.libsyn.com/embed/episode/id/4236504/height/90/width/640/theme/custom/autonext/no/thumbnail/yes/autoplay/no/preload/no/no_addthis/no/direction/backward/render-playlist/no/custom-color/87A93A/" style="border: none;" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="640"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://thehistorychicks.com/" target="_blank">History Chicks</a></h3>
Hosts: Beckett Graham and Susan Vollenweider<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rUebmzRxWlJzRFtCsLjGbs65tkl9avG9Q0eKZ8xUG9kT6Cc4I0sMyMa_5OUG5KD9EBWZ_mXuEB2_eOhlBeS_62dxxVShLpENBUZxX42l2gwA8CxlFhZ4FMQOl4ST0-VVufCXzFMtqSI/s1600/The-History-Chicks-Logo-200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rUebmzRxWlJzRFtCsLjGbs65tkl9avG9Q0eKZ8xUG9kT6Cc4I0sMyMa_5OUG5KD9EBWZ_mXuEB2_eOhlBeS_62dxxVShLpENBUZxX42l2gwA8CxlFhZ4FMQOl4ST0-VVufCXzFMtqSI/s200/The-History-Chicks-Logo-200.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
This was the first podcast I binged listened. <br />
<br />
Friends and family will attest that for months, I talked of nothing else but these two women and the women they discussed. I learned so much! <br />
<br />
Listening, I really felt like I was sitting back with a glass of wine chatting with two friends about their fascination with amazing women of history. Their tag line says it all for me: "Any resemblance to a boring old history lesson is purely coincidental."<br />
<br />
<br />
My favourite episodes are so many I can hardly write them all down. But I loved the one about <a href="http://thehistorychicks.com/episode-45-hatshepsut/" target="_blank">Hatshepsut</a>, the Egyptian Queen who decided she was a King; <a href="http://thehistorychicks.com/episode-23-margaret-molly-brown/" target="_blank">Molly Brown</a>, the powerhouse woman who survived the Titanic sinking; and Dorothy Parker (<a href="http://thehistorychicks.com/episode-55-dorothy-parker-part-one/" target="_blank">Part I</a> and <a href="http://thehistorychicks.com/episode-56-dorothy-parker-part-two/" target="_blank">Part II</a>). There are so many more, you will not be disappointed. They even did a series on all the women who have run for President of the USA. <br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://thisiscriminal.com/" target="_blank">Criminal</a></h3>
Creators: Phoebe Judge (also the host) and Lauren Spohrer<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFa9wKZy-ZNG3OkP-7UQ4sUKkdG2VTmZrnn9t7MDLAk16MDaIDDiRpIx_tZFbVJRqIEL-Tv9t8SP8vuGpmJPKZrU12Lg8FBWUyD-DzIoDcAmcvbiKb8LhzhYuf81cqs5SzZpXly6L8Q-E/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-05-24+at+3.30.58+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="156" data-original-width="271" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFa9wKZy-ZNG3OkP-7UQ4sUKkdG2VTmZrnn9t7MDLAk16MDaIDDiRpIx_tZFbVJRqIEL-Tv9t8SP8vuGpmJPKZrU12Lg8FBWUyD-DzIoDcAmcvbiKb8LhzhYuf81cqs5SzZpXly6L8Q-E/s200/Screen+Shot+2017-05-24+at+3.30.58+PM.png" width="200" /></a></div>
I fell in love with two things about Criminal right off the bat: the soothing voice of host, Phoebe, and the completely different take on stories of crime.<br />
<br />
In a world that is all about sensationalizing crime and the glamour or horror behind it, Criminal is thoughtfully done and respectful of the people involved as perpetrators and as victims. It is the story of how crime occurs and the people it effects.<br />
<br />
As for favourite episodes? There's the one about a couple who put a <a href="http://thisiscriminal.com/episode-15-hes-neutral/" target="_blank">Buddha in an empty lot</a> to discourage garbage dumping and ended up turning around their neighbourhood. There's the story of the police dog, <a href="http://thisiscriminal.com/episode-29-officer-talon-10-30-2015/" target="_blank">Talon</a>, who had to retire. For a third, there is a story about a woman who spent years searching for the <a href="http://thisiscriminal.com/episode-60-finding-sarah-and-philip-2-3-2017/" target="_blank">bodies of two children </a>she had never met.<br />
<br />
It's not always easy to listen to, but there hasn't been a thing I've heard that wasn't fascinating and didn't change the way I see the world, so I think that's a pretty good thing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
<a href="http://www.curvygirlmedia.com/girlsgirlspodcast/" target="_blank">Girls Girls</a></h3>
Hosts: Brittany Gibbons and Meredith Soleau<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTH59-HYW5rL3rMvF4KnyZFEJGwpxxmDfrOlI11uxNQ2QS2ou6tlftkcE5hLuvy-gwa7GBaO7qW8XuWv3qrcwV3mR4PjhblFtXJI_1B9BjgDFp7LydSso53kTcKLV0yQZ9mgUOj1JxPY/s1600/1477526798920.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTH59-HYW5rL3rMvF4KnyZFEJGwpxxmDfrOlI11uxNQ2QS2ou6tlftkcE5hLuvy-gwa7GBaO7qW8XuWv3qrcwV3mR4PjhblFtXJI_1B9BjgDFp7LydSso53kTcKLV0yQZ9mgUOj1JxPY/s1600/1477526798920.png" /></a></div>
Warning: THIS IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. You will hear more cuss words and talk about sex things than you will ever need to hear in your life.<br />
<br />
However. If you ever want to hold your stomach and laugh so hard you pee a little, these are the girls for you. They will talk about anything and everything with such openness you will forget to be shocked... and then you'll remember again.<br />
<br />
As for favourite episodes, I don't think there is one that hasn't made me laugh so hard I snorted. Sometimes, listening to Meredith's reaction to things has me wheezing in pain and laughter.<br />
<br />
Again, this is not for my nice aunties or conservative friends. If you listen and are horrified at the fact this is one of my favourite things on earth, I will just stare at you until you go away.<br />
<br />
Episodes I love: <a href="http://www.curvygirlmedia.com/girlsgirlspodcast/2016/11/16/episode-4-were-all-mad-here" target="_blank">We're all mad here</a> -- the one about mental illness. <a href="http://www.curvygirlmedia.com/girlsgirlspodcast/2017/1/4/episode-10-panty-sniffers" target="_blank">Panty Sniffers </a>-- the one about people who sell their dirty underwear (honestly, I died at this one. I still laugh thinking about it.) <a href="http://www.curvygirlmedia.com/girlsgirlspodcast/2017/2/1/episode-14-alternative-sex-facts" target="_blank">Alternative sex facts </a>-- the one where they discuss sex. (That's every episode).<br />
<br />
They have more. Some I get weepy, some I am touched, and some I am so happy that someone is talking about things no one will talk about. I like them a lot.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Now, this is a small list of the podcasts I must listen to as soon as they hit the internet. Maybe I will share some more I love later on. Maybe not. But here is a start for you.<br />
<br />
You can listen to them on their webpages or you can subscribe to them via an app on your phone. I started out using Podcast (the iPhone app) and now am happy with Overcast. Check them out. You won't regret it.<br />
MayB<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Sadly, taking my Masters has done away with this policy.<br />
** "<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Podcasts are similar to </span>radio programs<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, but they are audio files. Listeners can play them at their convenience, using devices that have become more common than portable broadcast receivers." (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Podcast" target="_blank">Source</a>) </span></span>Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-48278829134359906752017-02-22T02:12:00.001-06:002017-02-22T02:12:31.286-06:00Imposter syndrome settling in fast: a tale of Masters woeIt is late at night and I should be awake in a few hours so I can get back to work. Since I know it will take longer to get to morning if I am awake for it, I have chosen to wait it out.<br />
<br />
I have entered the realm of "completing my Masters" panic where I have a paper due soon and I have no idea what I'm doing or how long it will take to do it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuT4Sy1OshLDtoSsL8AuuUZsfKUCG7rtTt70qanEMjgSPjLwyngKCNRXJ8sQPbscM7DiZ3jlMdriVp_2FvTc9LtU3fE6SBWal-b_1kI0o3QDbCmnEgED3HCVGj4xQCA5qiIsgm7mt7uE/s1600/IMG_4037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="notes, organized, studying" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyuT4Sy1OshLDtoSsL8AuuUZsfKUCG7rtTt70qanEMjgSPjLwyngKCNRXJ8sQPbscM7DiZ3jlMdriVp_2FvTc9LtU3fE6SBWal-b_1kI0o3QDbCmnEgED3HCVGj4xQCA5qiIsgm7mt7uE/s320/IMG_4037.JPG" title="studying for my Masters" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I have often heard my family members (sisters and cousin) and friends complain about the workload of doing a Masters. I heard them bemoan the sleepless nights, looming deadlines, and set-in of panic, but I thought it couldn't be that bad. Tough yes, but not paralyzing.<br />
<br />
I would like to apologize.<br />
<br />
Now of course I am working full time, heavily involved in my union, working as a consultant a few times a month, and volunteering in my free time. Add to that my social life (occasional wing nights and suppers with my husband) with my copious amounts of recorded TV shows and trashy romance novels I want to read and I am having a bit of time management issues.<br />
<br />
I assume everyone else also responds to this by napping and/or playing games on their phone.<br />
<br />
<br />
Part of my lack of confidence lies in the significant time that has passed since I have been in the world of academia. When I last wrote a term paper, I had to research using card catalogues. I painstakingly jotted quotes and ideas on recipe cards so I could tape them together in as an outline before I wrote. I used a shared computer in a lab where I stood in line for 45 minutes so I could work for 2 hours.<br />
<br />
I also walked uphill both ways.<br />
<br />
I am lucky in a few ways. I have written case reports, agency evaluations, project proposals, and more in the over 15 years since I last exited the hallowed halls of school and swore on my mother that I would never return. I am lucky to have written anything resembling intelligent thought in the time between.<br />
<br />
I am also lucky as I have my father's gift of bullshit where if one speaks confidently and without pause one sounds like they know much more than they do. (I'm not speaking out of school here, it's one of his favour things.)<br />
<br />
However, as I sit here in front of the computer, I don't actually want to do these things. I want to eat ice cream in the pantry with a large spoon while the dog sits outside the door and wonders why I won't share.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, we're out of ice cream.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-62907995949169267812017-01-27T16:04:00.000-06:002018-01-18T09:47:43.389-06:00What to buy for people who are hard to buy for: a tutorialIt's coming up to the 10th anniversary of the first date that The Guy and I ever went on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7iGvKZOvQackrN_uleTHwxyEKd8cHqLsMh7Ih9vjeHYQfWYCGRT7Im3XLRbxcIMNZd51p8qMoEjPligRe7iRJPc44Mu3wyKCK1xr5T1Yq4kQTa0Vj1GbX_pOmtUO7B9-ysRodsDWwBo/s1600/2007+12+Wade+and+Bron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7iGvKZOvQackrN_uleTHwxyEKd8cHqLsMh7Ih9vjeHYQfWYCGRT7Im3XLRbxcIMNZd51p8qMoEjPligRe7iRJPc44Mu3wyKCK1xr5T1Yq4kQTa0Vj1GbX_pOmtUO7B9-ysRodsDWwBo/s320/2007+12+Wade+and+Bron.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So cute and young.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Ten years. That seems like a long time and yet not long enough. I feel like we've been together for a long time and also not that long.<br />
<br />
Time is weird. Also, now I have to get a gift for him.<br />
<br />
I've got a dilemma.<br />
<br />
<h3>
What do I get the guy who doesn't need or want anything?</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Guy's answer? "Truck parts"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm not buying trucks parts. Maybe for our "chrome" anniversary. Wait... I just realized <a href="http://ideas.hallmark.com/articles/anniversary-ideas/anniversary-gifts-by-year/" target="_blank">10 years is the tin/aluminum year.</a> Ugh. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I've been thinking about our date-iversary and what I want to get The Guy. So, when UncommonGoods contacted me and offered me a chance to review their site and get a bit of money for it so I can buy something, I jumped at the chance. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
What's so good about UncommonGoods?</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, my favourite thing is in their <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/static/mission.jsp" rel=”nofollow” target="_blank">mission statement</a>. UncommonGoods are "making sustainability a part of every decision we make" and are "working to make UncommonGoods more environmentally friendly, [and] socially responsible."<br />
<br />
Honestly, with all the things going on in the world today, I have been trying to make better decisions about my purchase choices. Sustainability, environmentally friendly, and socially responsibility is where I've been focusing.<br />
<br />
I'm serious. Read the mission statement.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Presents for the guy who has it all</h3>
<br />
I got lost in the rabbit hole of awesome gifts for everyone I know, but I focused on <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/for-him/gifts-for-husbands/gifts-for-husbands" rel=”nofollow” target="_blank">gifts that are good for guys</a> and <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/anniversary-gifts/anniversary-gifts" target="_blank" rel=”nofollow”>gifts to commemorate anniversaries of all kinds</a>. (I also looked at things for the dog... Monty's been in this relationship too!!)<br />
<br />
<h4>
Alcohol Options</h4>
<br />
The Guy likes a good beer. He's a bit of a beer aficionado and so I always know that <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/fun/wine-dine/beer-gifts" target="_blank" rel=”nofollow”>beer is always a good gift for him</a>. When I saw I could narrow down my recommendations to beer related, I was pretty stoked.<br />
<br />
I figured I could take one of everything, but these were my two favourites. The Guy has always loved Guinness beer so this kit would be a neat way to explore that. The glass set is a perfect co-gift. Wade likes beer and I like wine!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHN92ovwBRkeWnUDRU6aZ3lx4tdNusEZEoWTjUzJELhZdBRjyoIQZ2AKoFxVobmj8LNcWL4KsN9dVe3bnOtsyDcFYEBNYaZnJh2aiSLz7lugrUDjQAPuTlYBGPQ7neDalQjywOxJk3Xi4/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-01-27+at+3.22.57+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="beer wine beer making glasses" border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHN92ovwBRkeWnUDRU6aZ3lx4tdNusEZEoWTjUzJELhZdBRjyoIQZ2AKoFxVobmj8LNcWL4KsN9dVe3bnOtsyDcFYEBNYaZnJh2aiSLz7lugrUDjQAPuTlYBGPQ7neDalQjywOxJk3Xi4/s400/Screen+Shot+2017-01-27+at+3.22.57+PM.png" title="beer related gifts from UncommonGoods" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/irish-stout-beer-brewing-kit" rel=”nofollow”>Irish Stout Beer Brewing Kit</a> and <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/personalized-tree-trunk-glassware-duo" rel=”nofollow”>Personalized Tree Trunk Glassware Duo</a><br />
All photos source <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/" rel=”nofollow” target="_blank">UncommonGoods</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h4>
Travel related gifts</h4>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2014/01/cubavacationpictures.html" target="_blank">love to travel </a>all over the place. I swear, if we had all the money in the world, we would never come home. UncommonGoods has some <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/fun/by-interest/travel-gifts" rel=”nofollow” target="_blank">awesome travel themed presents</a> for everyone.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsd7qnKeBhTK8ADk4hMsyEDmUQUkle9ORqS2WsW__D9cpcC_DfpkZPEo2xWj3n69K3RwVrAopT-3OxLmR0kwS2_S0qVdOHNqmKQntvhESADqcPay7_KKersvSjjNohkPhyuQePnCP2O0/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-01-27+at+3.39.00+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="personalized map pillow frame" border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsd7qnKeBhTK8ADk4hMsyEDmUQUkle9ORqS2WsW__D9cpcC_DfpkZPEo2xWj3n69K3RwVrAopT-3OxLmR0kwS2_S0qVdOHNqmKQntvhESADqcPay7_KKersvSjjNohkPhyuQePnCP2O0/s400/Screen+Shot+2017-01-27+at+3.39.00+PM.png" title="travel gifts from Uncommongoods" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/personalized-anniversary-pushpin-world-map" rel=”nofollow”>Personalized Anniversary Pushpin World Map</a> and <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/hand-embroidered-city-pillows" rel=”nofollow”>Hand Embroidered City Pillows</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'd love to have a map where we could keep track of all the places we have been and where we want to go. I've also started buying pillow covers respresenting each of our travel destinations, so the hand-made cover would be perfect!<br />
<br />
<h4>
Home decor options</h4>
<br />
I am always on the lookout for home decor stuff. So, with the <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/home-garden/home-decor" rel=”nofollow” target="_blank">great decor options for the home </a>from UncommonGoods, I couldn't resist.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCM9ponErCBBp_Gbcly747-rg8VO3XUk3PiqAyf4H4xvF85lZ3skvWEC-HerDjFFfUjpOjuQ2-mA1tp8ZQaC5GU-VNWS8m_bdaz_UOWki3vnbWz5Vg3FVbkmDsmGMTtPhj8vn0qOtPrY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-01-27+at+3.52.38+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="statues lamps gifts home decor" border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCM9ponErCBBp_Gbcly747-rg8VO3XUk3PiqAyf4H4xvF85lZ3skvWEC-HerDjFFfUjpOjuQ2-mA1tp8ZQaC5GU-VNWS8m_bdaz_UOWki3vnbWz5Vg3FVbkmDsmGMTtPhj8vn0qOtPrY/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-01-27+at+3.52.38+PM.png" title="home decor UncommonGoods" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/handmade-rock-and-vine-lamp" rel=”nofollow”>Handmade Rock and Vine Lamp</a> and <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/product/kissing-lovers-sculpture" rel=”nofollow”>Kissing Lovers Sculpture</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I cannot stand the lamp that is in The Guy's office, so I love the idea of replacing it with this awesome handmade lamp. And what can I say about the statue. It is so beautiful and I can think of all the places it would look perfect in our house.<br />
<br />
Now, I will link The Guy to options for me! <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/anniversary-gifts/anniversary-gifts-for-her" rel=”nofollow” target="_blank">Anniversary gifts that a woman in your life would love.</a><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-38397611511805905592016-12-31T13:16:00.002-06:002016-12-31T13:17:27.033-06:00Please. Don't. Suck.<h3>
The new year is coming.</h3>
<br />
This, of course, means that everyone and their dog has a New Years post with something to say. I am no different. I have been quiet the last few months, but today I had a need to write.<br />
<br />
This last year, that of 2016, has been a rough one. I have to admit that it has nearly defeated me on more than one occasion and I am not sad to see it go.<br />
<br />
2016 has taken countless people from the Earth who have made extraordinary differences and many others who seemed ordinary but made differences just the same.<br />
<br />
2016 has seen the uprising of bigotry, misogyny, and other various kids of hatred. It has lead me to fear for the world in general and its people in specific.<br />
<br />
Yes, there have been good things about 2016. If you look at my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/bronwynmayb" target="_blank">Instagram</a>, you will see all the good things about my year personally. It was full of puppies, school, friends, food, knitting, and football.<br />
<br />
Love and beauty and art and simplicity that have seemed like brief, shining, fleeting moments of glitter amongst the refuse.<br />
<br />
Even with it, it feels as though the refuse is winning.<br />
<br />
So I have this to say:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dear 2016, don't let the door hit you on your way out.</span></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzP-Vv1xh4iVG2Hw6UFF0-VbAw8vLdGB42PuipeUcPiDSErLUk_KWi9zxttBLTI3ZlXNWa6hulaInO1FnT9l36bPCNY0YI1icdTRDgYMGdEZ8PsGIAPuHKyeKzrD0FDRlxAqkPvMa3_oQ/s1600/Way_out.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzP-Vv1xh4iVG2Hw6UFF0-VbAw8vLdGB42PuipeUcPiDSErLUk_KWi9zxttBLTI3ZlXNWa6hulaInO1FnT9l36bPCNY0YI1icdTRDgYMGdEZ8PsGIAPuHKyeKzrD0FDRlxAqkPvMa3_oQ/s320/Way_out.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c2/Way_out.jpg" target="_blank">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
</h3>
<h3>
Looking to the future</h3>
<br />
But I also have something to say to and about 2017.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dear 2017, </span><span style="font-size: large;">Please. Don't. Suck.</span></blockquote>
<br />
That is my phrase for this year. Some people pick uplifting things for their yearly plan, but I don't have it in me. All I have is a plea to the coming year as it struggles to push 2016 out of the way so we can finally be done with it. Please, 2017, don't suck.<br />
<br />
Now, this is my intention for the year 2017 and the things that happen in it, but also it is my intention for me personally.<br />
<br />
Don't. Suck.<br />
<br />
I plan to wake up every day and think to myself that this year, I should not suck. I should be as good as I can be at things, sure. But what I'm looking for is a little deeper.<br />
<br />
Don't. Suck.<br />
<br />
As a human being, in the world of all people, DO NOT SUCK. Don't be the one that others look at and think "Wow, you suck at being a people."<br />
<br />
Be kinder.<br />
<br />
Be more helpful.<br />
<br />
Be patient.<br />
<br />
Be strong.<br />
<br />
Be knowledgeable.<br />
<br />
Protect the innocent and the weak.<br />
<br />
Give of your time or body to others in a way that is respectful to them and yourself.<br />
<br />
DON'T. SUCK.<br />
<br />
That is all I ask of 2017, the things that are to come, myself, and the world around me.<br />
<br />
I don't know if it is too much to ask. Some of the things I've seen and heard in the last year make me wonder. All I can do is try myself to suck less at being a person on this Earth filled with millions of other people who may or may not suck.<br />
<br />
I will treat people with kindness more often. I will protect the innocent and the weak without being a dick about it. I will not save the world, but I will be a better part in it than I have been before.<br />
<br />
I will not end misogyny or bigotry or other hateful things, but I will point it out when I see it (even in myself) and I will make noise about it. I will be less programmed and I will be better.<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-73105961531161605412016-10-13T10:15:00.001-06:002016-10-13T13:00:31.260-06:00How to overcome the smell of rotting broccoli in two easy stepsI am not a good cook.<br />
<br />
This is not a surprise for most people who know me as it has been a running family joke for most my life. The<a href="http://buggeringcrapmonkies.blogspot.ca/2009/10/dinner-disaster-piece.html" target="_blank"> tale of the hamburger soup</a> I made to impress my step-mother but actually forgot to turn on is something that I still get teased about.<br />
<br />
It's nice to know I'm consistent.<br />
<br />
This week, I made a pretty decent Thanksgiving dinner. The turkey turned out great, the potatoes were creamy, the veggies were roasted, and we all ate like kings. So, revelling in my success, I thought I would make turkey soup to keep the party going.<br />
<br />
I had good intentions.<br />
<br />
But then...<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" data-lang="en">
<div dir="ltr" lang="en">
My cooking in 4 sentences: Made turkey soup. Forgot soup on stove. Threw out turkey soup. Dang it.</div>
— Bronwyn (@Bronwyn_MayB) <a href="https://twitter.com/Bronwyn_MayB/status/785939404279812096">October 11, 2016</a></blockquote>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js"></script><br />
This brought on a great deal of conversation on my FaceBook page about other people's mishaps and reminders that it could be worse. My cousin jokingly reminded me it was no worse than the time I forgot broccoli in the microwave for 2 weeks.<br />
<br />
That brought up many questions for friends and family, so I thought I would regale you with the story. It may be the perfect example of all my cooking experiences.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcN70YZihyphenhyphenZ_TXdNgbAIpiO25Ico8sNOTW7BRf0FQp_DCfghfy92mt-hYi7W5NbbVUF3puSSgtUl_IsQwqDKcDhketYGl8YZ79mUaqhw7hC0ECW3Cp9FlJKopjQaSDn-hkCi_HE4Y7i8/s1600/1024px-Broccoli_and_cheese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMcN70YZihyphenhyphenZ_TXdNgbAIpiO25Ico8sNOTW7BRf0FQp_DCfghfy92mt-hYi7W5NbbVUF3puSSgtUl_IsQwqDKcDhketYGl8YZ79mUaqhw7hC0ECW3Cp9FlJKopjQaSDn-hkCi_HE4Y7i8/s320/1024px-Broccoli_and_cheese.jpg" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broccoli clip art for emphasis. <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7d/Broccoli_and_cheese.jpg/1024px-Broccoli_and_cheese.jpg">Source here</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Once upon a time, my soon to be sister-in-law, Mel, and I lived together in an apartment. It was a cute little apartment with 60s style room dividers and a teeny kitchen off the living area. This was good as it was rare we ever cooked with any consistency.<br />
<br />
One day, we were trying to be healthy and made supper. Pork chops in the oven, pasta on the stove, and broccoli steamed in the microwave. I'm sure it was lovely, but I have no memory of the meal itself.<br />
<br />
What I have is memory of the aftermath.<br />
<br />
A couple of weeks went by and we were overwhelmed with the smell of rotting vegetation. We cleaned the kitchen top to bottom. We moved the stove, cleaned out the fridge, and washed the floors.<br />
<br />
Still the smell remained.<br />
<br />
We didn't locate the source for many days.<br />
<br />
Now, you would think with the extreme clean that we did that one of us would have remembered to open the microwave. You would think that someone would have used the microwave in those weeks, but then you would not understand how much we truly hated cooking.<br />
<br />
Finally we opened the microwave.<br />
<br />
There it was.<br />
<br />
A small bowl of broccoli was sitting there in the middle of the appliance. It was green, but not in the way that broccoli is green, but that green that has taken over once-living vegetation.<br />
<br />
The smell that wafted forth from the open door was somewhat sweet, but mostly decaying, and caused an immediate retching from each of us in the room.<br />
<br />
We threw out the broccoli and cleaned the microwave. Like my other cousin pointed out on FaceBook, there is not enough vinegar in the world to stop that smell. But, we gave it the college try.<br />
<br />
Eventually we admitted defeat. We were going to live with that smell forever and that was how it would be.<br />
<br />
A possible solution came to us. Popcorn!!<br />
<br />
Have you ever cooked popcorn and had the smell take over an entire room? Maybe this would do it for us.<br />
<br />
Plus, we would get to eat popcorn. Double win!<br />
<br />
We threw the popcorn into the microwave and settled down to watch American Idol.<br />
<br />
I would like to remind you of two things here. First, this was long ago enough that watching American Idol was awesome. Not weird and sad. Second, this was long ago enough that the microwave did not have a popcorn setting. You put it in for numerous minutes and waited for the sound of popping to slow to one pop a second.<br />
<br />
American Idol got very exciting. Mel's favourite singer knocked out my favourite singer in the last round. Mel was whooping and jumping around in victory while I felt small and insignificant.<br />
<br />
Suddenly... "What is that smell?" and... "The popcorn!!!"<br />
<br />
The microwave door opened to reveal the popcorn bag on fire. Panic ensued. Flaming bag was dumped in sink and doused. Popcorn was mourned.<br />
<br />
Once the excitement finished, we noticed something important.<br />
<br />
The smell of rotting broccoli was gone.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-59961919305411813832016-08-17T16:41:00.001-06:002016-08-17T16:49:18.454-06:00Ode to my hatred of gardening<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTy5KCS58uqg_-Il4IWu1yuwAV7M32gmQjLJylk9wStRuvru3PH7vK_BmazVjhIRH2ZRrC4sSkikDSCf9atiJE-TFfTpeQp87KKYn696VrR9VoQjDB8FD96gMXZo8XlqjkY232tBXVs8/s1600/IMG_3454.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="i hate gardening" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSTy5KCS58uqg_-Il4IWu1yuwAV7M32gmQjLJylk9wStRuvru3PH7vK_BmazVjhIRH2ZRrC4sSkikDSCf9atiJE-TFfTpeQp87KKYn696VrR9VoQjDB8FD96gMXZo8XlqjkY232tBXVs8/s320/IMG_3454.JPG" title="garden vegetables" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<h3>
Oh, how I hate you, Garden.</h3>
<br />
You lure me with your promise of food and stress relief.<br />
You speak to the blood of my farming ancestors<br />
and stir up memories of abilities once used.<br />
<br />
You fool me with picturesque images.<br />
Of over-sized hats and flowered gloves<br />
and simple salads made with love and sunlight.<br />
<br />
The reality is much less romantic.<br />
It is the presence of dirt that cannot be removed<br />
and mosquito bites I cannot reach to scratch.<br />
<br />
It is of aggressive and ever-present weeds.<br />
They cannot be thwarted nor can they be tamed<br />
and often are larger than the plants they accompany.<br />
<br />
O, Garden, you are a menace.<br />
After weeks of producing little, you develop overnight<br />
with amounts that cannot be handled by one woman.<br />
<br />
You grow with ferociousness that shows your true nature.<br />
You do not want to feed, but overcome<br />
and take back the earth from civilization.<br />
<br />
Harvest comes quickly and needs constant vigilance.<br />
Those with employment cannot manage<br />
and require days of rest to be abandoned for labour.<br />
<br />
I curse you, dear Garden, and all your fruits.<br />
I loathe the carrots that will not be plucked easily<br />
and the onions that grow 4 feet tall with no bulb.<br />
<br />
I despise your zucchini the size of small dogs.<br />
The spinach that flowers too quickly to be picked<br />
and lettuce that overwhelms the bed.<br />
<br />
One cannot eat this much salad!<br />
I have grievously injured myself on a carrot<br />
and my back aches from wrestling with beets.<br />
<br />
There is nothing I love about you, Garden.<br />
I loathe you with the hatred of a thousand suns<br />
and expect I will do it again next season.<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-86389427741565790922016-06-07T13:30:00.000-06:002016-06-07T13:30:12.462-06:00Monty's grand adventure: The great escapeIt was Monty's 11th birthday on May the 29th. I thought, in celebration of this troublemaker, I would tell the story of Monty's grand adventure.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26818060025/in/album-72157642278617064/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Regal in the sun"><img alt="dog escape adventure" height="240" src="https://c2.staticflickr.com/8/7430/26818060025_bd7e5ca763.jpg" title="dog escape adventure" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Letting freedom wash over him</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
<br />
<div>
In October this past year, Monty went for a sleepover. When The Guy and I have the privilege of travelling the globe, Monty sleeps over at our friend's place. <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.com/2013/10/instructions-for-dog-sitter-post-from.html" target="_blank">He has been there many times.</a> She even used to watch him as a brand new puppy, so she has been his "other mom" for years now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We dropped Monty off at his home-away-from-home with our friend's lovely housemate (who has also cared for dear Mont in the past.) We left with full confidence that all would be well and Monty would behave.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Spoiler alert: Montel did not behave.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Guy and I jumped on a plane and headed on our way. We were going to Hawaii for the first time and we were pretty thrilled. I had just resigned from a position causing me a great deal of stress and The Guy was happy to be getting me somewhere I wasn't crazy. Also, beach.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Many layovers later, we were about to board the plane for our 7 hour oceanic flight when I got a message.<br />
<br />
Monty had gone missing.<br />
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/27442251701" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="How can you be unhappy looking at that face?"><img alt="dog, run, escape, adventure" height="320" src="https://c6.staticflickr.com/8/7394/27442251701_ea8dc0a7f8.jpg" title="dog, run, escape, adventure" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FREEEEDOM!!!!!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script><br />
<div>
I talked to his caregiver who told me that Monty, a dog who has literally NEVER run away, had snuck out under the fence gate and made a break for it. She had tried to lure him back to the yard, but he'd had a taste of freedom and he liked it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now Monty has never been an active dog. He likes his walks, but after about 20 minutes, he just wants his couch and a long nap. He does not even like being outdoors that much. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He's a bit of a princess.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But now that he was on the road like the wild animal he descended from, he was going to enjoy it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While his sitter first chased him down the street and then frantically called everyone on our emergency list, Monty made his first of many stops. The reason we know where he went is because sightings of this little black dog were posted all over FaceBook. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25056303512/in/album-72157642278617064/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title=" "><img alt="missing dog found" height="320" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/2/1517/25056303512_fb1f8e2405.jpg" title="missing dog found" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This face was everywhere online.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div>
<br />
He headed south until he reached the hospital grounds. This was only a few blocks away, but was directly across a very busy street. Being that I've seen Monty scared by a plastic bag rustling, I'm not sure how he managed to cross with that much traffic and still remain functional.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Monty then veered left toward the <a href="http://www.newmosaicstadium.com/" target="_blank">new stadium build</a>. I figure he knew his dad is a huge Rider fan, so he should visit the site to make sure it was all going well. He said hello to a few construction workers, but when they tried to pick him up, he ran away.<br />
<br />
He crossed another busy road to go to the Aquatic centre and visit a few people in the parking lot there. However, we all know that Monty is not a fan of water, so he carried on like the <a href="https://youtu.be/tnCyMpl4dhk" target="_blank">Littlest Hobo</a>.<br />
<br />
From there, he crossed a railway track and another major road. This time Monty hit up the Dairy Queen knowing that is his mom's favourite spot. He also knows that the drive-through is where food comes from, so I imagine he thought a treat might be in his future.<br />
<br />
Finally, Monty was getting tired. He had travelled just over 1.3km in just over 2 hours. For a little dog, that was a long way.<br />
<br />
He walked south a few more blocks (across yet another busy street) and stopped in the middle of an intersection. He blocked traffic from moving and appeared to be pretty freaked out.<br />
<br />
A kind woman, who once had dogs of her own, stopped her car and approached him. She didn't try to grab him, but instead said one of his favourite sentences, "Do you want to go for a car ride?"<br />
<br />
He did.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/259316504/in/album-72157642278617064/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Road trip."><img alt="Road trip." height="240" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/92/259316504_72f7d14415.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did you say "car ride"?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Now keep in mind, none of us knew this is what happened. We were on a flight to Hawaii frantically checking FB every few hours for updates. We had friends, family, coworkers, and even kind strangers searching for our dopey mutt into the wee hours.<br />
<br />
We were fearful of him alone in the dark and thankful for unseasonably warm weather.<br />
<br />
It was a long night.<br />
<br />
The next morning, I had a message from our vets office. The emergency numbers on Monty's collar were only during office hours, so the kind lady had kept Monty overnight. I called her and made arrangements for our friend to pick him up and take him home.<br />
<br />
The lady told me she had given Monty some toast with peanut butter and then he crawled into bed with her. She paused.<br />
<br />
"That was weird," she said.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/27416439752" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="dog bed my bed" height="320" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/8/7138/27416439752_3662bf0a13.jpg" title="dog bed my bed" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my spot now. Sleep on the couch.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-34627903080239514212016-05-12T15:02:00.005-06:002016-05-12T15:02:47.340-06:00My first attempt at designing a knitting patternI bought a new dress awhile ago and looked everywhere for a little shrug to go with it. The dress is a super cute striped dress with an Empire waist. I need a sweater with it just for comfort sake but all I had were regular sweaters that hit mid-hip. Super cute in my regular life, but not so much in fancy life.<br />
<br />
I searched for a shrug that would work, but couldn't find anything in the colours I wanted. I'm a knitter, so I thought "I'll just make one!" I looked for yarn I thought would work and ordered.<br />
<br />
When it arrived, I loved it and thought that it would be close enough to work. I couldn't find any pattern that fit exactly what I needed, so I thought "I'll just make one!" <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26370819904/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_4417"><img alt="tardis notebook doctor who" height="320" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7600/26370819904_93541c20ff.jpg" title="knitting shrug design raglan" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I even used my fancy Tardis notebook!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="https://embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>
I drew up what was in my imagination of the perfect little shrug and then looked for ideas on how to bring it into life.<br />
<br />
I should be stopped.<br />
<br />
I went to the magical internet, and found a <a href="http://www.woolworks.org/patterns/raglan.html" target="_blank">lovely site</a> with all the math needed to make the sweater I wanted. I wrote all the instructions down (for posterity) and then set about measuring myself and doing math.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26371000924" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="IMG_4418"><img alt="tardis notebook doctor who" height="320" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7609/26371000924_e961eabbc1.jpg" title="knitting gage raglan pattern instructions" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The one spelling correction still bothers me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
There was a lot of cursing and crying. That was just while I did the math!!<br />
<br />
Once it was all ready, I went to town. I started it hoping I would be able to wear it while we were in Hawaii (that was November). However, I never thought about the fact I was using a 3.75mm needle (that's pretty small for non-knitter-folk) and it would end up being over 200 stitches per row.<br />
<br />
So, after I threw a fit and didn't want to look at it for a few months, I picked it up again. I had 4 days of meetings to go to and figured I should have something to do so I didn't fall asleep.<br />
<br />
I finished it in record time.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26817933675/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="teal knitted shrug knitting raglan pattern" height="320" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7211/26817933675_7201d8b813.jpg" title="teal knitted shrug knitting raglan pattern" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty, pretty.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
There was just one small problem.<br />
<br />
It didn't fit.<br />
<br />
It was okay right up until the band under my boobs.<br />
<br />
You know, the most important part. The part that holds everything in place and makes sure the sweater does not end up under my armpits.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26817946785/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Untitled" height="240" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7113/26817946785_da14d1b544.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That band. Right there.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
So, I ripped it out.<br />
<br />
I had a co-worker once who banned me from knitting in front of her because she could not bear to see me work for 4 hours and then rip it all out to the beginning. I thought of her as I ripped out over 700 stitches.<br />
<br />
I redid the math of measurements and stitches and all that noise and started over. I decreased the sweater band down to what I thought was a perfect size.<br />
<br />
I finished it. I put the buttons on it. I thought I had it.<br />
<br />
I know better.<br />
<br />
It didn't fit.<br />
<br />
So, rather than cry and burn the entire thing, I calmly set it down on a chair for a few days. I thought about it, grabbed some sewing elastic I had on hand and set myself down to tack it on.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26921114206/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="" height="320" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7078/26921114206_d16544d671.jpg" title="hand sewing stitch stretchy fabric" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ALL. HAND. STITCHED.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
It is all complete now and I can wear it.<br />
<br />
It just doesn't match the dress.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-84087990255836424882016-05-01T21:26:00.001-06:002016-05-01T21:26:35.753-06:00What is your why? Striving for purposeI have no "why". I discovered this when I was working on an assignment for a leadership challenge. When asked "why" I do the things I do, I have no answer.<br />
<br />
The shoulder shrug I normally give doesn't count.<br />
<br />
I mean, even the question "Why do I get out of bed?" is tough to answer. Usually, it is because I have to pee or eat. Sometimes, it is because the dog has to pee or eat. <br />
<br />
I'm not a complicated woman.<br />
<br />
<h3>
Who am I?</h3>
<br />
Despite being so much clearer about who I am than I was in my 20s, I find that (on the fine edge of the end of my 30s) I am still not entirely sure. I am more comfortable in my own skin, but when asked to describe myself I still stand dumbfounded and mute.<br />
<br />
I read the book <a href="http://www.jobhuntersbible.com/" target="_blank">What color is your parachute?</a> by Dick Bolles and, though I'm not looking for work, he had a lot of good ideas for self-inventory. I completed his "Who am I" challenge where you write that question on the top of 10 pieces of paper and answer one word on each page. You then describe why that one word describes you and organize the pages in order of importance to you.<br />
<br />
I imagine I can do this exercise 35 times and come up with that many answers, but it helped me get a handle on who I am right now.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26301803112/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Reading a new book and working on where I want to go in my life. #whatcolorisyourparachute #passionplanner #whoiam"><img alt="what colour is your parachute passion planner who i am" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1505/26301803112_bc880aeb70_z.jpg" title="what colour is your parachute passion planner who i am" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nearly 40 and just learning who I really am</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Disconnecting and reconnecting</h3>
<br />
After I stepped down from my supervisory role at work, I had a time of real disconnect. (I may still be having it, it seems.) I had been so focused on my work, my office, training new staff, encouraging long-term staff, the negative politics, the injustice, the lack of communication, and the every day ups and downs that I needed to step back for my own physical and mental health.<br />
<br />
But I found that, after taking that step back and disconnecting from my over-involvement, I was and am a little lost. I finally had time to knit cool things and read trashy books, but I was adrift on an ocean of "What now?"<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
So what, now what?</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anyone who knows me knows I have been a little crazy about my <a href="http://www.passionplanner.com/" target="_blank">Passion Planner </a>for the last few months. If you don't know what a passion planner is, it is like a big day planner, but it encourages you to have goals and be mindful of your time. (Go there and look at them. I heart them so much.)<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The main task they have you complete before you start your planner is to map out your passions.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
If you could have anything you want, be anything you want, do anything you want, what would you do?</blockquote>
</div>
<div>
<br />
My first attempt at "passion" for my life consisted of chores I thought I should get done before I died. I wish I had saved it to show you. My friends and I teasingly called it my "Meh" map.<br />
<br />
It took me a few months of no responsibilities and no direction to be able to answer those questions with any semblance of enthusiasm. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25911062933/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Passion plan roadmap"><img alt="Passion plan roadmap" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1666/25911062933_97591f7505_z.jpg" title="Passion plan roadmap" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Second attempt at a roadmap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br />
I have a better idea where I would like to see my life go, but I don't know if that is the path I will take. I tend to live my life in a way that is accidentally better than I had intended and I kind of like it that way.<br />
<br />
I will go where I think I will do the most good and I will see what the world has in store for me. If I have a goal or two that I accomplish along the way? I'm cool with that. I've been so focused on accomplishing things that I have forgotten to experience them. My goal now is to find a balance in that.<br />
<br />
<h3>
My why</h3>
<br />
I am still not sure how to answer this question. This is part of my learning process where I have to delve deeper into the motivations behind my basic answers.<br />
<br />
My go-to answer for why I do the things I do is this: I want to help people.<br />
<br />
However, this can be flawed in itself. For me, when those closest to me are in turmoil, my world feels out of whack, so I go out of my way to fix that turmoil and thus settle my life. I am learning that my "helping" in the way that works best for me is sometimes unneeded and unwanted. <br />
<br />
I know people who are not helpers don't necessarily understand that. They firmly believe that helpers are heroes and benevolent.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I am, sure. But sometimes, not.<br />
<br />
As long as I am aware of that contradiction and balance my motivation with what is helpful for those I can help, I can usually amend my why to be "to help people be the best version of themselves -- whatever that means to them."<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
My daily reasons</h3>
<br />
But, to answer the question "why do I get out of bed?" I really don't have to search very hard. My real why is in the form of a lanky German and a small furry creature. I am glad to be part of my little family. </div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/21528554475/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="These two are my favourites."><img alt="man and dog" height="320" src="https://farm6.staticflickr.com/5753/21528554475_3c93e2c89e_z.jpg" title="man and dog" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These two are my why</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<script async="" charset="utf-8" src="//embedr.flickr.com/assets/client-code.js"></script>Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-56515149552560797202016-04-01T14:55:00.000-06:002016-04-07T13:06:41.911-06:00Spirit, self-care, and reunited friends - my grateful listWhile working on being present in my life, I have been much more aware of <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2016/02/grateful-experience.html" target="_blank">the things around me</a> and the things that make my life special. It has been imperative for me to acknowledge those things, how they influence my life, and how I feel about them.<br />
<br />
March has been an encouraging month. Here are just a sample of why:<br />
<br />
<h3>
The farewell tour of Spirit of the West</h3>
<br />
When <a href="http://sotw.ca/" target="_blank">Spirit of the West</a> announced their farewell tour, it was on the heels of the news that their lead singer/guitar player had early onset Alzheimer's and he would no longer be able to tour. Having listened to this band for over 30 years and having seen them a handful of times, it was important to all of us to go bid them goodbye.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26105303071/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Spirit of the West final tour" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1508/26105303071_8a70ffbf86_z.jpg" title="Spirit of the West final tour" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spirit of the West - final tour</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The concert was beautiful, heartbreaking, and a testament to true friendship. To watch the members of the band rally around their friend, to guide him when he needed it, to encourage him, to step in when he couldn't quite get there, and to cry for him while he sang, it was an incredibly moving sight.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When they sang Not Just a Train (you can see the video <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/sotwcanada" target="_blank">here</a>), as a way to say goodbye, I admit I cried. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Best friends, best spouses</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At the end of the month, The Guy and I celebrated the <a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2016/03/the-best-friends-make-best-marriages.html" target="_blank">anniversary of our first date</a>. I continue to be grateful every day that I have this incredible man in my life. </div>
<div>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25143438956/in/album-72157643115414283/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="best friends best marriages" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1511/25143438956_b4e1765f0e_z.jpg" title="best friends best marriages" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">9 years together!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<h3>
Self-Care and my Passion Planner</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When I ordered my <a href="http://www.passionplanner.com/" target="_blank">Passion Planner</a> for this year, I knew it would be a great help with productivity and reaching my full potential. I have been extremely pleased with my planner and am thrilled to see how many others are finding such joy and help from it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In cooperation with my counsellor, the planner is helping me remember what is important to me and what I need to do to ensure I don't forget those things. Now, I can clearly see if I'm ignoring my husband, my dog, or my friends. Most importantly, it has helped me to remember to take care of myself. </div>
<br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26079194242/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Passion Planner self care" height="244" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1566/26079194242_6256f74960_z.jpg" title="Passion Planner self care" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-care plan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
I know that this coming month is going to be crazy, so my focus is on the things that keep me sane, keep me balanced, and keep me productive. I need to make sure I'm practicing these skills so I am on my game.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<h3>
Monty's new dog tags</h3>
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<br />
Since Monty took a little vacation from his babysitters in October (full story to be told soon, I'm sure), I've been a little more paranoid about how to make sure he can be returned to us if he decides he needs his freedom again. </div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25569006743/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="identification tags for dogs" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1711/25569006743_87222ddab8_z.jpg" title="identification tags for dogs" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monty's new tags</td></tr>
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<div>
<br /></div>
This month, I decided to spring for a new tag with his name and both our phone numbers. It won't help for the next time we're in Vancouver airport boarding our plan for Hawaii, but it will be a bit easier.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<h3>
Senior dogs</h3>
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Monty's mom, Maddy is now 15 years and reaching the end of her time with us. This Easter, I got to spend some time with her again. She was a great dog for me when I needed her and she has had a great life with my SiL who has cared for her for the last 7 or so years. I am thankful for this spunky little dog and we will be heartbroken when she goes. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/26009462676/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="senior dogs" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1607/26009462676_e5f6b02f3b_z.jpg" title="senior dogs" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maddy - the senior dogs</td></tr>
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<div>
<br /></div>
No matter what, this face will bring memories of unending games of fetch, stolen chap stick, and foraging for beans in the garden. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Reunited: renewed friendships</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
March has been a great month for friends. A great friend from the states came up to visit me. It had been years since we were together and it was like we'd never been apart. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had a coffee date with another friend and we realized her child who had been new born the last time I saw her was now almost 2 years old. Again, we had an exciting conversation that gave me so much to think about afterward I cannot wait to do it again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We then had another couple from the states come up for a quick stop and, though it was short, it was so good to see them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These are my favourite types of friends. Friends who challenge me and encourage me and who pick up right where we left off in the conversation regardless if it has been days or years.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Monty too was reunited with his bestie.</div>
<div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25669524542/in/datetaken/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Best friends reunited."><img alt="Best friends reunited." height="284" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1453/25669524542_6ce3a6cf6e_z.jpg" title="children and dogs as best friends" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lil E and Monty reunited</td></tr>
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<div>
In December, my cousin and her family bought their own home. We have been so excited for them to have their first real home, but we definitely have noticed their absence. None so much as Monty, who spent weeks staring into their empty suite with sadness and confusion. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We went to visit one day and he and Lil E spent ages running the basement, hopping on and off things, playing fetch and tag and colouring. Finally, we were able to slow them down for a brief moment of lunch and TV. Monty slept for 2 full days once we got home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<h3>
Gratefulness</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
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I am so thankful for these experiences. Though not every day was a great day, it has made for a great life.</div>
Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-75408067706077832792016-03-29T11:29:00.001-06:002016-03-29T11:30:02.727-06:00The best friends make the best marriagesMarch 29th -- 9 years ago today, I nervously waited in a local coffee shop to meet a guy I had been chatting with for a few weeks. He had a great sense of humour online, but I was worried that I would be so awkward in our first meeting that things wouldn't go well.<br />
<br />
Instead, this incredibly tall man came into my view with a giant grin on his face and we talked like we had been friends for years.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/13490087375/in/album-72157643115414283/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="2007 12 Wade and Bron"><img alt="2007 12 Wade and Bron" height="220" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3782/13490087375_6ed14e6b1b_z.jpg" title="Young love " width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I believe I was a tad infatuated. (Dec 2007. We were so young!)</td></tr>
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<br />
That was what I was struck by those first months. Not just the excitement of a new relationship, but that we developed a strong friendship so quickly. I didn't want to live a life without his friendship in it. That's how I knew he was it for me.<br />
<br />
We have built a life on that friendship. Inside jokes and quick wit, grandiose plans and down to earth futures. We have laughed hard, cried hard, fought hard, and worked hard. (Him more than me on that working thing.)<br />
<br />
I think we have become better people because of each other and we continue to challenge each other to the best versions of ourselves.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/24879789110/in/album-72157665110787500/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Best friends make the best marriages" height="320" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1543/24879789110_5924da4259_z.jpg" title="Best friends make the best marriages" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our way to The Hip concert. (2015)</td></tr>
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Here is to another 9 years and another after that and after that. I am grateful for the richness The Guy has brought into my life. He has been beside me through everything and has met it all with patience and quick wit.<br />
<br />
You can't ask for more.<br />
<br />
\\<br />
<br />
We went back into that coffee shop a few months ago and I ordered my usual "the largest hot chocolate with the most whipped cream". He turned to me and said "You've been ordering that the exact same way since the moment I met you."<br />
<br />
I hadn't noticed, but he did.<br />
<br />
You gotta love that.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-90911930246212014692016-03-09T16:33:00.001-06:002016-03-09T16:33:43.978-06:00Depression, pain, and the lies they tell.Before I stopped writing almost two years ago, I wrote a small piece that I never published. I thought, on the second anniversary of the day my body betrayed me, I would show you where I've been.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I am absent.</i><br />
<i>I am woefully and deeply lacking. I am empty and echoing. I have nothing to offer you.</i><br />
<i>In the past, I have <span id="goog_237771491"></span><a href="http://imaybshe.blogspot.ca/2013/09/squirrels-and-sunshine-things-about-me.html" target="_blank">talked about depression</a> <span id="goog_237771492"></span>but I have never delved into the cavernous emptiness that houses depression in a person's mind. Well, not any person, I don't know your body.</i><br />
<i>Mix depression and chronic pain and you have another ball game altogether. That is where I have been for 6 months or so. That is what I have to talk about.</i><br />
<i>So here it goes.</i></blockquote>
<br />
I never finished the post. That's where I was. I didn't have it in me. All I had was pain and depression.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25627871826" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="Pain, depression, and the lies they tell" height="400" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1597/25627871826_f3054a524b_z.jpg" title="Pain, depression, and the lies they tell" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My life felt black and white</td></tr>
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Two years ago, I was cocky and assumed that every dumb thing I put my body through would be okay. Sure, I had aches and pains here and there, but it always bounced back. I lifted things I shouldn't, carried too much at a time, hauled children all over the place, and did nothing to make sure my body could handle it.<br />
<br />
Then, I got injured at work. I turned too far one way while the rest of me stayed the other way. WCB claim went in and my life for the next year was doctor's appointments, pain, and still going to work because I was <strike>stupid</strike> stubborn.<br />
<br />
Pain controlled my life for almost 2 years.<br />
<br />
I could not sit for more than 15 minutes, stand for more than 10, lay down for more than 45. I had to prop myself on pillows to gain any sort of relief. Ice and heat became my best friends. I went to physio and chiro each twice a week. Massage helped, but WCB will only pay for 5 sessions and I ran out of money in my health benefits within 2 months.<br />
<br />
I couldn't lift anything over 10lbs. I couldn't even pick up my dog. Or my purse!<br />
<br />
After 6 months, I was still in pain and not getting better. I started into tertiary physio treatments -- intensive treatments on a daily basis which included an exercise routine. 3 hours a day plus working 10 hours. No one suggested I stop working even though I wasn't getting better. Finally, in my second week, they took me off work so I could concentrate on getting better.<br />
<br />
I got a lot stronger during this time. 9 weeks of working out 3 hours a day meant I was developing muscles I hadn't seen since I was 20. I had abs and shoulders. (Sadly, having to return to work means I got lazy and no longer have this. Boo!)<br />
<br />
But the pain was still there. I mean, it went from an 8.5 to a 6, but it was still way higher than it was supposed to be. I finished the program with all the professionals confused about why I had pain. Not once did anyone suggest any medications stronger than ibuprofen.<br />
<br />
I pushed for more tests to find out why I was still hurting, but apart from repeated X-rays (which they all admitted would show them nothing) I got nothing. No MRI, no CT scan, no trust that something was going on.<br />
<br />
I was miserable.<br />
<br />
I couldn't go out with friends for longer than an hour because I could hardly walk if we'd been sitting for any length of time. I didn't want to leave the house because I knew I would be in pain and not have any fun. I had to cart around a back pillow with me anywhere I went just so I could sit for 45 minutes even though I knew I shouldn't be.<br />
<br />
This is where the depression came in. I started to hide from my life because the pain was always present. The more I hid, the more depressed I became. The more depressed I was, the more I hurt.<br />
<br />
Turn, turn, turn.<br />
<br />
Added to this we moved into our new house during this time. I couldn't help with the move because of my weight lifting limitations. We didn't have a usable bedroom for 3 months after we moved in, so we were sleeping on an air mattress. There was more stress than I knew what to do with and I made sure everyone around me felt it.<br />
<br />
I got to a basic level of functioning. I returned to work because I could finally lift 50 lbs (the weight of a baby in a car seat) and could pull and push while crouching (trying to get a toddler ready to leave). I took a heating pad to work (thank God for my mother-in-law who suggested this life saver) and that is how I spent most of my evenings.<br />
<br />
I moved on as best I could.<br />
<br />
18 months later, I got an appointment with a rheumatologist to discuss my pain levels, how to control them, and what might be the cause. She was furious no one had thought to give me anti-inflammatories during the last year and a half and immediately prescribed them. She advised that, if they worked, it was likely I had a spot of arthritis in my spine that had been brought on by the injury. If they didn't, it was likely I had chronic pain that would need to be handled in another way.<br />
<br />
They worked.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/25535609482" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Untitled"><img alt="light at the end of the tunnel" height="400" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1615/25535609482_00d1874f86_z.jpg" title="light at the end of the tunnel" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My world is in colour. I can't forget that.</td></tr>
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<br />
I had forgotten what it was like to not be in pain. You get so used to it. Your mind tells you this is all there is and you get mired down in the weight of knowing this is your new life. You move trying to avoid more pain and, as such, insulate yourself from so many things. If you try and reach out beyond your limitations, your body suffers.<br />
<br />
It's a horrible way to live.<br />
<br />
Since December, I have had pain free days. Not just days, but weeks!! It was heady. The Guy noticed a change in both my behaviour and my mood. I felt great. It was like I had been given a new lease on life! I could make it through an entire set of shifts at work and not need two days to recuperate. I was on fire.<br />
<br />
I might have gotten a little too crazy, because I immediately forgot to follow up with my chiro and massage and threw my back out two months later, but it was such a wonderful reprieve.<br />
<br />
What it taught me is that my mind had lied to me. Yes, I have to live my life a little differently now than I did before. I have to be careful and listen to my body and acknowledge it's fragile. I still have aches and pains -- some worse, some better -- but those do not define my life.<br />
<br />
Even in pain, there were things I could do that made it better. Yoga was a life saver for me. Pacing myself was another. I had to learn to be kind to myself and patient with what I could and could not do. I had to be thankful for things that I had and am and hold dear to me.<br />
<br />
Because pain could come back.<br />
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But if it does, I am ready for it. It is not the boss of me.<br />
<br />
Not any more.<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-20655462059179009242016-03-03T06:37:00.002-06:002016-03-03T06:37:44.323-06:00Not in the mood It is hard to be grateful or mindful when you're angry.<br />
<br />
I've been angry a lot, in all honesty, and not just this week. However, this week has been particularly stressful when it comes to things annoying or infuriating me.<br />
<br />
I am thankful that I am becoming more aware of something things I have been ignoring for a long time. It is good that I am coming to understand things from an adult perspective.<br />
<br />
As for the thing annoying me right now? Well, I guess I'm thankful that it's completely ridiculous and it likely doesn't matter in the long run. I'm thankful that I can control my own behaviour and, as long as it does not fall into the category that is currently annoying me, I am fine.<br />
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I am thankful that I am a conscientious worker and (hopefully) person for the most part. I am thankful that I am given the opportunity to look at my behaviour and make sure I am where I need to be. I'm thankful I will most likely try and adjust things to get closer to my vision of who I am. At least, I hope I will.<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-4072474957534796502016-02-26T11:02:00.002-06:002016-02-26T23:30:33.267-06:00Accidental momentsAs I sit here in the sunroom of a coffee shop, listening to the hustle and bustle of the employees and the mumbled conversations of the patrons, I am left with a moment to myself. I often enjoy moments alone best among strangers. There is something so peaceful about being alone together.<br />
<br />
Even though I thought I was to meet a friend for coffee today (it's actually next week), I am grateful for the accidental moment of peace. I find these the most rejuvenating because I had all intentions to be productive and I get to stop and just breathe instead.<br />
<br />
I'm enjoying my iced tea, writing a knitting pattern I have been meaning to do, deconstructing my last week, and just sitting.<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-63398655257478136772016-02-24T14:18:00.000-06:002016-02-24T14:18:52.199-06:00Making it personal<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYJI5AyLGwTiF-0UjNG22J9aW2mbCjx1qlN8XsEZK37zE-bMZMXbBgc1_eIF4OFhn3YRMaCexxEAKxHAPpWcaZ8yKmXTasCZ90nkT7em7x0yXKg1e-BFslFB2kxipnek34024VjgiXCw/s1600/thankful-1081614_960_720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKYJI5AyLGwTiF-0UjNG22J9aW2mbCjx1qlN8XsEZK37zE-bMZMXbBgc1_eIF4OFhn3YRMaCexxEAKxHAPpWcaZ8yKmXTasCZ90nkT7em7x0yXKg1e-BFslFB2kxipnek34024VjgiXCw/s320/thankful-1081614_960_720.jpg" width="247" /></a>Ever since Oprah starting talking about gratitude, it has been the go-to for many people. If only we appreciate the things around us, we will be happy.<br />
<br />
I have watched numerous TED talks on this point and all the studies seem to say the same. If you are grateful in all things, you are a happier person.<br />
<br />
This seems simple. Be thankful for what is around you and you will be happy. Step 1. Step 2. Done.<br />
<br />
I'm a huge fan of steps. I love them. Give me a list and I will merrily make my way through it in order to have a sense of achievement so I can show myself and others that I have a purpose. "Look! I did the thing!"<br />
<br />
I can do all things... as long as I have a list.<br />
<br />
Here is the thing. While I can appreciate all the things around me, it does not always translate into me being anything else than me appreciating things around me. At what point do I have to make it personal? Where it becomes more than just noticing stuff?<br />
<br />
I have been challenged, along with being grateful for things, to be grateful for things inside me. Things I can do, things I am, things I think, things I have the capability to process.<br />
<br />
That's a lot tougher.<br />
<br />
I am thankful I have the ability to write. Not just to put words down in a "See Jane run." way, but to make them flow and tell a story. I am thankful that I have the ability to tell a story, whether it be in my contact notes for work, or a letter to a friend (which I haven't done in a long time), or a blog post or short story. I am grateful for the ability to make words slide and sway and dance into a picture.<br />
<br />
<i>I should tell you about the time I made a cup of coffee sound erotic. It was accidental, but quite effective. Considering I was trying to be very serious at the time, my coworkers found it very amusing. Children!</i><br />
<br />
I am grateful for the love of people. Not just that people love me, though that is rather fantastic, but also that I love people. Even when I hate them (which is very, very often) I still love them. I want to do good for people. I do strive for that. I'm not always good at it, but I am grateful it is in me to try and put people first.<br />
<br />
I will have to keep thinking on this one. It's a lot tougher than being thankful for sunshine.<br />
<br />
<br />Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4790396376673819155.post-41890798322582443582016-02-23T13:31:00.000-06:002016-02-23T13:44:22.552-06:00Grateful experience In an effort to be more present, I am returning to a semi-regular grateful journal. After a year of not posting for personal and other reasons, this is just the best place I can think of to keep track of things.<br />
<br />
Here it goes.<br />
<br />
It had been pointed out to me that I do things in order to avoid experiencing things. I like to keep busy, but recognize it is often so I do not have to be alone in my own thoughts. This means, I often have my head in a book, my ears filled with music, my eyes filled with TV, and my hands filled with knitting -- often all at the same time -- to avoid. It's very true. When faced with a moment of just me and nothing else, I am bored and impatient for it to be over - likely for fear that, in those three minutes, my emotions may climb out of the neatly sealed box I have in my brain and come to choke the life out of me.<br />
<br />
Today I am grateful for the foolish idea that I can still change myself or at least experience something in the moment I am there rather than believing if it didn't go on Facebook it didn't happen.<br />
<br />
I am grateful for the chance to sit in my front entry and enjoy the warmth of the morning sun with my dog who is equally bored doing nothing for 4 seconds while I drink my coffee and contemplate the list of things I should do, but don't want to.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Light through yonder railing breaks</td></tr>
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I am grateful for texts with my husband, especially knowing it will be 3 more days before I see him for more than the moment in the middle of the night when I wake him up climbing into bed after my shift is done.<br />
<br />
I am thankful for my dopey dog who gave me a scare this week by collapsing on the floor only to embarrass me by running and jumping the second the vet looked at him to see if he was dying. I'm grateful he wasn't dying so I could be embarrassed by him doing that thing your car does when it makes noises right up until the moment you take it to the garage.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/may-b/24589989163/in/dateposted-public/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Monty in green"><img alt="Monty in green" height="330" src="https://farm2.staticflickr.com/1708/24589989163_c1f5a7e181_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dog in green</td></tr>
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I am grateful for a counsellor that I'm never sure I'm connecting with until the moment she says something to make me reconsider my existence and realize I'm not doing as well pretending to adult as I think I am, but I might - just might - learn how to be better.<br />
<br />
I am grateful for a chance to write again. Maybe I will explore why this last year and a bit was so painful I couldn't put words to the page. However, I am also grateful that I don't necessarily have to.<br />
<br />
Welcome back, Bronwyn.Bronwynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18386091994745153450noreply@blogger.com5