Before you do anything, click on this ...
http://www.npr.org/2010/12/13/97778347/jingle-jams-a-holiday-mix-from-npr-music
and set loose a mix of 10 top radio stations 10 top Christmas tunes from one end of the entertainment spectrum to the other that plays an endless loop of awesome tunes, many of which you likely have never heard.
Now on to the blog...
This recent spate of murders of women in New Jersey that came up in the news today comes at a time when I had just seen the movie 'The girl with the dragon tattoo' and although the topic of serial murders is a serious one, and I am aware that every large metropolis at one time or another attracts its own version of 'Kali the Destroyer' in the form of these sick psychopaths, but of course, my brain takes another whole tack on the story and fixates on the female protagonist's awesome haircut. Go figure. Does that make me shallow?
She is very cold and very quick and also very beautiful in a boyish sort of way. The cut makes her look tough and beautifully tousled. Combined with her piercings, she denotes a strength that superheros wish they had. And then she straps on a helmet and rides her motorcycle. (Swoon) Women like that bring out the closet lesbian in me and I'm starting to think that I am attracted to this because this is some aspect of me that I have not realized is a part of me... and if I cut my hair like this, and see that boyish sexy feminine strength looking back at me from my mirror, I will be ritualizing an acceptance of this side of my nature... sort of embracing my inner masculine just like men are being encouraged to embrace their inner feminine nature.
But then, I remember a wise friend who is now the mother-in-law of my daughter, once telling me instead of putting myself through the trials and tribulations just to have something to write about, just skip the middleman and simply write about it as though I'd done it... save myself the grief. Then I shake out my shaggy mane that is now fully grown out and past my shoulders, a big sexy mop that looks great up or down, and turn to my blog to share this with my dear readers. *chuckles* So that's what I just did.
Another pondering.
Why don't churches put up Christmas lights and decorations like everyone else around the neighbourhood?
As the season is upon us, the lighting up of christmas lights becomes a viral neighbourhood change from the perspective of my eagle aerie home on the 4th floor. The Armed Forces base here in the harbour has a contest every year and raises thousands by putting on tours for civilians. People come and learn about the base, enjoy the lights, donate food and also vote for their favourite light installation. My hubby is down there in the Dockyard and the building his office is in is whimsically decorated with sledding hills and a Santa in a tank and assorted other xmas frippery as is every other building. But there at the gates of the base sits the pretty little white church that Ron attends, St.Paul's... not a light in the place. Dead windows watching thousands of cars pass by to and from the base, every day.
I am not a parishioner as Ron is and I believe that to keep our relationship from getting completely caught up in the drama of the church because of his heavy involvement in the running of it, its best I give it a wide berth, but I pay attention and help here and there from behind the scenes. Because of this, I hear about all the dramas and foibles of running a church at a time when the papal economy is not just bad but being mishandled by a botched bunch of interesting egos. When the congregation is constantly verbally diminished and abused by neglect at a time when the church needs to attract more bodies, not repell them, here is a golden opportunity for a church that spent the better part of $100,000 on a stained glass window just months before it started threatening to be closed for good, to attract some attention of the positive kind for themselves and give people a reason to put their bums in those pews.
The beautiful seasonal lights that go on for kilometers, just a block away and all the private homes in the area that have also contributed to the display for the holidays could be joined by a church lit up with a few tasteful strands from the belltower to say 'Look at how we celebrate the birth of the Saviour!' ... there is a beautiful garden and a creche could be erected, lighting tastefully on the scene of the manger. Perhaps do something in the parking lot that invites participants of the tour bus adventure to stop in and partake, carolling or something. But no. Instead, the little church sits dead in the dark, a shadow on the edge of all that colour and dazzle. What is wrong with this picture?
Another pondering...
My boy cat, Ciao recently had a bout of dealing with uric crystals in his urine irritating his urethra to the point of my having to take him to the vet. The billing of this incidence is another story... ($887!!! for one night and no surgery!!) but in the course of his treatment they gave him a little snack pocket that I was shown how to break these little pain pills in half and tuck inside to give the cat. I asked my vet for some painkillers for my cats of the over the counter variety, like the aspirins/tylenol/acetominophen that is available for humans and there isn't anything like that out there.
Why not? He had no answer and told me painkillers for cats are only available by prescription.
I think thats just a scam to support the veterinarian economy.
On the topic of cats, have you ever heard of 'barnyard medicine'? Facebook friend Savannah's mom Chrissy showed me how to tend to cat's various ailments a few years ago and thats what she called it. She fed her cats an inch of moldy bread when they had a need for penicillin, and she cleared the abcesses cats get from their fights under a faucet with practiced hands explaining that a farm with barn cats can't afford to take the cats to the vet for every little affliction and that she had to learn how to recognize what needed to be done, herself. Another strong woman... When I asked him about 'Barnyard Medicine', the vet had never heard of such a thing.
Ciao is fine now. I learned that male cat urethras are the length of a pencil lead's width and that its very easy for stuff to get up there and to prohibit this collecting of crystals that can potentially lead to complete blockage there are a couple of things one can do besides just keeping fresh water on hand. One is feed the cat wet food that you have stirred a couple of tablespoons of water into, another is use the vet recommended food that specifically addresses getting boycats who need to drink more water to seek it out, by being very salty. Lastly, look at the ingredients on the packaging for the ash content of dry cat food. The cheaper brands are like junk food, my vet says. I will have to look up his name to give him a total high five here... he's as awesome with animals as I wish I could find a Dr. for humans to treat me... lol
One last ponderance as the phone startles me, ringing this early in the morning. Its only 8:15 and I am jarred out of my serenity by the insistent ringing. We have taken our voice mail off and have call display so I can see that the phone number is not a local area code, plus, its a number I don't recognize and an unknown caller is what the display reads as.
With my technology at my fingertips, I put the phone number into my google search field twice yesterday and one of the numbers that kept calling was the Canada Conservative Party and the other was a phishing marketing company from China.... Go figure. Googling those phone numbers you don't recognize is brilliant and really helps keep us from having to deal with telemarketers who want to sell us crap we don't want or need all while rudely intruding in our serenity.
I was joking with a facebook friend yesterday about Ron being Anglican contrasted by my being shamanic and the mention of Jesus came up when she said that the most sacred place for her was in nature. I shared that being in nature is where I felt closest to the Divine Feminine, and that we all came to the spiritual fount of inspiration at the same place, just by different means and ways... I said that how we got there doesn't matter as much as that we wound up at the same conclusion... I called it 'All roads lead to roam' I think that's a great title for Ron and my combined autobiography...
:)
Every little step.
That's today's ponderance.
fine print: My little netbook is still compromised and that forces me to do my internet bidding on the tiny lime slice so I am likely making a mess of the typoing of this, but oh well. We all get over it.
Hey, if I make you think... leave a comment!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Saturday, December 11, 2010
The NEW, the NOW me.
The following blog entry contains the usual mishmash of unrelated photography that I have captured a 'now' and 'then' moment as well as my evolutionary ponderings. As I sit by the crackling of the fireplace/tv (Channel 165 this year), come join me as we venture into the 'NOW'.
There have been a lot of changes in my life lately. In the past two years, I left a 6 year educational process and a 20 year child rearing journey behind. In the midst of this, I loved people, and my path has led me to places that they couldn't abide with, and I've lost people. It's been a hard lesson, being abandoned repeatedly by the very people I had in my life, not to replace the family I never had, but it was an impromptu collection who looked out for my brood as we looked out for them as a sort of a family until one day they decided, one by one, to cut me loose.
Looking back and trying to take ownership as the cause for all the alienation is akin to assigning blame. Where does one start when the negativity that is generated starts self perpetuating. I find myself morose and surrounded by obstacles every time I try to go there.
Recently, I've been dealt a friendship blow by another dear friend who has decided that my brand of negativity and my abusive relationship ( sigh ) are too much for her at this delicate time in her life. I wish her the best and bear no resentment, but it leaves me wondering, what the hell is in this life for me that this kind of brick keeps nailing me over the head again and again?
Out of this, I am realizing that I am changing, I no longer identify as many things I used to and that's left a void in me, what do I identify as? Who am I? Who am I now?
And that's the rub, right there. This now business. It's all that really matters. Its all we can control, the now... we can try to plan but life is what happens when we do, so now is a very zen and grounding concept for me these days. Get me from this lily pad to the next and let me have the faith to know with confidence that the universe finds me worthy of there being another something to step onto when I swing my weight forward.
Ron and I have a lot going on these days, and I pray every day for the strength, patience and courage needed to help him as much as he helps me. I identify as his partner, so thank Goddess that there is that stability and support.
I identify as the mature mother of adult children. I'm a 50-something woman with a BA degree in 2010 who is having a difficult time finding a way of making a living and who keeps honing her manifesting skills to connect her with that ideal position. (The equivalent or better.) Multi talented, I'm a jack of all trades yet Mistress of none. At 54, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up, and then, in the meantime, I am aging, I have mobility issues as arthritis starts to become a part of daily life, so that makes me a fragile person physically.
My identity is no longer connected to running a global women's collective as I had in the 80's and 90's, and I'm toying with the idea of just picking up my sewing machines and identifying as a woman of cloth for a while...
If no one wants to hire me, perhaps I just have to hire myself? Maybe that's what my destiny is waiting for?
These and many other questions will be undoubtedly be answered in the coming days as I persevere in my efforts to being at the right place at the right time. I anticipate that I will get to fall into the perfect opportunity at any moment, so I remain prepared to be spontaneous. (And checking Craigslist's Part Time jobs section)
That means 'being in the moment'. That means being in the Now. The now me. I don't really know who this woman is anymore who stands here looking ahead, through these eyes of mine. She's got a new retinue of friends and associates, she's got adult children, she's got an amazingly supportive partner. She's even got a new name, having changed from Chris to the last half of Christina...
Two years of 'now' have passed since I became Tina. Two years since I broke down a 3 bedroom home and watched as the world came by my alley and took my possessions away. Its a long story, but it was a dramatic shift to go from a three bedroom home full of teens to a one bedroom with no children. My degree wrapped up, my kids lives took them elsewhere, perched on the edge of adulthood and I learned about the now.
So hello, my new life, my new friends. How refreshing to learn your stories as I share mine.
I want to learn about the 'thenyou' and the nowyou too.
This is the 'now' me. New and improved.
There have been a lot of changes in my life lately. In the past two years, I left a 6 year educational process and a 20 year child rearing journey behind. In the midst of this, I loved people, and my path has led me to places that they couldn't abide with, and I've lost people. It's been a hard lesson, being abandoned repeatedly by the very people I had in my life, not to replace the family I never had, but it was an impromptu collection who looked out for my brood as we looked out for them as a sort of a family until one day they decided, one by one, to cut me loose.
Looking back and trying to take ownership as the cause for all the alienation is akin to assigning blame. Where does one start when the negativity that is generated starts self perpetuating. I find myself morose and surrounded by obstacles every time I try to go there.
Recently, I've been dealt a friendship blow by another dear friend who has decided that my brand of negativity and my abusive relationship ( sigh ) are too much for her at this delicate time in her life. I wish her the best and bear no resentment, but it leaves me wondering, what the hell is in this life for me that this kind of brick keeps nailing me over the head again and again?
Out of this, I am realizing that I am changing, I no longer identify as many things I used to and that's left a void in me, what do I identify as? Who am I? Who am I now?
 |
| Lights up in time for the Light Up Parade |
And that's the rub, right there. This now business. It's all that really matters. Its all we can control, the now... we can try to plan but life is what happens when we do, so now is a very zen and grounding concept for me these days. Get me from this lily pad to the next and let me have the faith to know with confidence that the universe finds me worthy of there being another something to step onto when I swing my weight forward.
 |
| Made a jolly altar out of a few things and a photo of my handsome love a few years back. |
Ron and I have a lot going on these days, and I pray every day for the strength, patience and courage needed to help him as much as he helps me. I identify as his partner, so thank Goddess that there is that stability and support.
 |
| Yule altar to time and the sacred word |
I identify as the mature mother of adult children. I'm a 50-something woman with a BA degree in 2010 who is having a difficult time finding a way of making a living and who keeps honing her manifesting skills to connect her with that ideal position. (The equivalent or better.) Multi talented, I'm a jack of all trades yet Mistress of none. At 54, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do when I grow up, and then, in the meantime, I am aging, I have mobility issues as arthritis starts to become a part of daily life, so that makes me a fragile person physically.
 |
| symettry so easy to see, so hard to understand |
My identity is no longer connected to running a global women's collective as I had in the 80's and 90's, and I'm toying with the idea of just picking up my sewing machines and identifying as a woman of cloth for a while...
 |
| Random Festivus Shot |
If no one wants to hire me, perhaps I just have to hire myself? Maybe that's what my destiny is waiting for?
 |
| This reminds me of how the house was decorated when I was a little girl in Germany. |
These and many other questions will be undoubtedly be answered in the coming days as I persevere in my efforts to being at the right place at the right time. I anticipate that I will get to fall into the perfect opportunity at any moment, so I remain prepared to be spontaneous. (And checking Craigslist's Part Time jobs section)
 |
| Speaking of now, this is Ciao, our boy cat who is in the pet hospital overnight tonite, so whoever reads this, send him some healing love. He has his orange pompom and the doc called at dinner to say that so far, the prognosis is good, and if he is passing crystal-less water in the morning, he comes home . Ciao can even say the word 'now', which he does often, having spied the sack of treats. |
That means 'being in the moment'. That means being in the Now. The now me. I don't really know who this woman is anymore who stands here looking ahead, through these eyes of mine. She's got a new retinue of friends and associates, she's got adult children, she's got an amazingly supportive partner. She's even got a new name, having changed from Chris to the last half of Christina...
Two years of 'now' have passed since I became Tina. Two years since I broke down a 3 bedroom home and watched as the world came by my alley and took my possessions away. Its a long story, but it was a dramatic shift to go from a three bedroom home full of teens to a one bedroom with no children. My degree wrapped up, my kids lives took them elsewhere, perched on the edge of adulthood and I learned about the now.
So hello, my new life, my new friends. How refreshing to learn your stories as I share mine.
I want to learn about the 'thenyou' and the nowyou too.
This is the 'now' me. New and improved.
What now?
Bonus Content Below
For those of you who are loyal viewers and who actually read all the way down to here, here is a funny little vid I took as the lights were done being hung and the storm started to kick in full gear. Woohoo... BONUS content!!!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Dec 8 2010 - Solitary adventurings and prepping for the Light Up. Best photos of the day
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| Bamberton across the way |
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| Saanich Inlet depth of field... |
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| Grass and water |
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| A lush female arbutus dressed in emerald finery |
 |
| The Tsarlip Boatramp |
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| Our Yule tree on the balcony |
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| Macro dazzle |
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| .Whats the opposite of macro? |
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| The last of the Esquimalt Winter Lightup Parade 2010 |
Monday, November 29, 2010
Where Have I Been All My Life
Hold onto your hats, girls and boys, because there's a lot to talk about today. It might go on for a few days, who knows... all I know is that a very long stasis has shifted and I have seen a new light, a new direction and am invigorated by this influx of new creativity that has resulted from it.
Hence... hang on and follow me through the murky depths of my mind over the past little while. You'll be glad you did.
Oh... first... listen to this to get into the mood... CLICK HERE for a sweet snaky groove to set you into the right frame of righteous mind.
It all started a few days ago when one of my wise sistren suggested that my tears be tears I weep as my mother's tears. That really set the grey matter reeling as I am always trying to come up with ways of helping myself get past some rough familial shortcomings back when I was a little girl. I've come a long way and healed a lot, but having an abusive mother who is still alive and still abusive, and basically out of my life for my own sanity is nothing easy to just put behind oneself, so when the words 'cry my mother's tears' crossed my retinas, I had a HUGE AHA that saw the sense in it immediately. AHA! is right. My mom was so fucked up by the time she was the age of my girls, at a horrible time in history, right in the middle of war torn Poland/Germany that she never had the luxury of tears. She never knew how to not be cruel because she was so turned off and tuned out to compassion.
Through my flu days, I had weak moments, I cried now and then, and I would think 'I'm crying my Mother's tears'... I would then start thinking about celebrating the years my mother didn't dare show weakness, didn't dare cry, and I would let 'er rip. Flooding my cheeks as I sat there silently gulping and marvelling at the power in it.
Flash forward to yesterday, as I found an incredible book at the local thrift store I introduced Shirley to, the book, 'Women, Food and God' by Geneen Roth ... When I find books at thrift stores that are still available on the bookstacks at Chapters, for full price, and the universe lands that book in my clutches for $2.25, I know its a pretty good hint to read it. I listen to those hints.
My former employer, Michelle Morand, wrote a book in a similar vein, entitled 'Food is NOT the Problem: Deal with what is', which I got quite a bit out of, and have found it pivotal in my healing, not from having a food disorder, but in general, coping with the tragedies of my life...
On one hand, I bought the book because at over 300lbs, I need to lose weight, but I am wise enough to know that dieting is not an option. And since I tore my knee in '04, menopause has hit, changing my metabolism, as well as the kids leaving home and my larder full with a lovely man intent on pampering me, I have much to blame for the fact that I've put on over 40 lbs a year over the past few years, what I have is psychological damage to overcome for sure, but its not an eating disorder. If I ate junk, I would be twice the size I am, but I eat discerningly, food doesn't control me, nor do I use it to cope, but I know that there is more that I'm missing, hence I bring home the book.
This morning, I read the first half. Holy moly, does she strike home again and again. Simply written and easy to cruise through, following first the author's story and then the wisdom from her experience, I had aha after aha moment, but then the big AHA hit.
Michelle, over the past two years, alway says that we have deep seated issues that cause the disordered responses and until we deal with those issues, no diet in the world is going to keep our weight down... Geneen takes it one step further in Women, Food and God when she says that we who have been badly hurt as children tend to never get over it and the phenomena of that is, we shut down, and all our lives, when we find ourselves in scary situations, we revert to that shutting down mode instead of sticking it out to experience whatever it is. She calls it 'bolting'.
Like I said. Holy Motherlovin' Moly.
Not one month ago, Ron and I had a misunderstanding and grouchfest that left me feeling like I had nothing left to do but to leave. Ron had stormed out and I took a few grocery bags, randomly packed a few days worth of clothing I loved and headed out in there car, fully intending to catch the last ferry to Saltspring, to lick my wounds with my daughter Grace at her home there with her father.
I got about halfway to the highway when I was driving down a rainy street, in the dark, in the cold, with my bags crammed angrily in the seat behind me, when I realized that this wasn't ME the grownup, running away, but the hurt little girl in me was shuttin' 'er down, I remember thinking that I was BOLTING, to protect myself from having folks who I loved abandon me again.
Another example arose just last week when I took an email from my former employer to mean something that she certainly didn't intend, and I found I was unable to go to my old office to get my belongings, to clear out. I shut down. I mailed in the keys and I just couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to the place that had been so dear to my heart these past two years. The two women I worked with, counselors both, were wonderful loving role models who I will miss a lot and I just lost it. I shut 'er down and used my anger as a shield to keep from feeling the disconnect, something my hurt little girl takes as reenactment of all my former abandonment.
And there I sat in my bed, the duvet tucked under my chin, tears rolling down my face, crying my mother's tears, marvelling at how I was turning a corner that helped me to run to the roar, to face my demons and to not shut down when I feel like bolting.
Geneen Roth says that when you stop bolting, and you stick it out, you rage, you cry, you hurt and then you move through it. And then you grow to appreciate life that much more because you DON'T have to be that hurt little girl any more.
That's when another truck with AHA on the grill hit my forehead, as I realized that part of my hurt from how my mom was to me, left me reenacting her behaviours that I admired because I certainly wasnt going to reenact the behaviours I abhored... the image of her sitting in the living room with her knitting needles, her cup of coffee and her smokes brings up good feelings and minus the smokes, that is my iconic position on most days. I am realizing that I have tried to stay 'safe' and 'protected' by repeating a dynamic that is foolproof safe to me, and hence, I tied my ass to the couch, becoming that memory of my mother, in order to heal, to find comfort that was independent of the rest of my life.
Well.
Life is coming at me pretty intensely by this point, wouldn't you say? But wait... there's more...
As I mull over the words that my retinas have seared into my frontal lobes in the background of my day, I decide that it would be a perfect time to see the new movie Burlesque, with Cher and Christina Aguellera (sic). Here's a little back story. In the early 70's, I spent a few years travelling a circuit between Nevada, California and Hawaii, as a Burlesque artist in a dying trade, with a few costumes, some bump and grind routines and a 3 piece band. In the 80's, I dressed the peelers that evolved from burlesque clubs in the new 'strip joints' in Alaska as well as a few other bar related jobs. I thought that the movie would be a trip down memory lane.
Hoo... boy...
'Where have I been all my life' is a line from the movie, and as I sat there with my mothers tears just streaming down my cheeks from the emotional punch of the film and the talent of the performers and the beauty of the music and the memories, oh my memories, that line just burst into brilliance in my mind... and I asked myself... just WHERE have I been all these years that I didn't cry my mother's tears, that I kept myself small and hidden away, being the 'good version' of my mother instead of being myself...
Hard to figure out on the drive home if there was more water inside the car than on the outside as I cried and cried and cried when I realized that my time in that frozen prison was over.
All my life, I have been larger than life. At almost 6 feet, and certainly well over 6 feet in the 4 inch heels I used to wear, I was 'Big Bird' and 'Christine Towers ~ The Amazing Amazon'. Now, I'm 6 feet tall and 6 feet around as well, bigger than ever. And I am thinking that it is time to figure out where I've been all my life... and most of all, to find out who and what I am. Maybe dare I say, it's time to throw my 'weight' around a bit...
My love, Ron sees more potential in me than I have been seeing and no wonder all the jobs I applied for have been dead ends with no responses. I'm meant to do a particular thing well, not any old random minimum wage thing, but something that I've spent years at. Something that utilizes all my skills and has me at the helm. I realize that with the exponential growth of human intellect and technology, there are developments in the education of women around our changes that allow for a much more effective distribution of the kind of skillsets that are critical to healthy womanhood. I see a web of sisterhood on my facebook developing, and I'm suddenly so invigorated to have their kinship support me as I figure out what it is I am meant to be doing. I do know it relates to all of it somehow.
It's time to take my walking papers in hand and move out of this self imposed prison, one of flesh as well, and get off the couch, too. I'm not my mom, nor can I ever be. I'm just now realizing that I am me. It's ironic that I'm the one that says we do no favours to anyone by making ourselves appear small, yet here that's just what I was doing all these years.
And then in the blink of an eye, when all the factors come together, at 54, I'm finally free.
And that's where that song comes in... here... have another listen...
Snake woman, beginning again...shaping, changing, renewing again... Snake woman shedding her skin... to everything there is a season, for every change, there is a reason...
The spiral of life bends and turns~ rearranging...
There's a new woman on the scene... maybe she's scaly, maybe she's green, she might not be sure where she's going, but she knows where she's been... and look out now. She's not reining it in any more.
Hence... hang on and follow me through the murky depths of my mind over the past little while. You'll be glad you did.
Oh... first... listen to this to get into the mood... CLICK HERE for a sweet snaky groove to set you into the right frame of righteous mind.
It all started a few days ago when one of my wise sistren suggested that my tears be tears I weep as my mother's tears. That really set the grey matter reeling as I am always trying to come up with ways of helping myself get past some rough familial shortcomings back when I was a little girl. I've come a long way and healed a lot, but having an abusive mother who is still alive and still abusive, and basically out of my life for my own sanity is nothing easy to just put behind oneself, so when the words 'cry my mother's tears' crossed my retinas, I had a HUGE AHA that saw the sense in it immediately. AHA! is right. My mom was so fucked up by the time she was the age of my girls, at a horrible time in history, right in the middle of war torn Poland/Germany that she never had the luxury of tears. She never knew how to not be cruel because she was so turned off and tuned out to compassion.
 |
| Other than this photo where Mom is showing love to her oldest daughter , I have one letter written in the rare moment when she was in her right mind, in which she stated that she 'loved me'. Her love was highly conditional. |
Through my flu days, I had weak moments, I cried now and then, and I would think 'I'm crying my Mother's tears'... I would then start thinking about celebrating the years my mother didn't dare show weakness, didn't dare cry, and I would let 'er rip. Flooding my cheeks as I sat there silently gulping and marvelling at the power in it.
Flash forward to yesterday, as I found an incredible book at the local thrift store I introduced Shirley to, the book, 'Women, Food and God' by Geneen Roth ... When I find books at thrift stores that are still available on the bookstacks at Chapters, for full price, and the universe lands that book in my clutches for $2.25, I know its a pretty good hint to read it. I listen to those hints.
My former employer, Michelle Morand, wrote a book in a similar vein, entitled 'Food is NOT the Problem: Deal with what is', which I got quite a bit out of, and have found it pivotal in my healing, not from having a food disorder, but in general, coping with the tragedies of my life...
On one hand, I bought the book because at over 300lbs, I need to lose weight, but I am wise enough to know that dieting is not an option. And since I tore my knee in '04, menopause has hit, changing my metabolism, as well as the kids leaving home and my larder full with a lovely man intent on pampering me, I have much to blame for the fact that I've put on over 40 lbs a year over the past few years, what I have is psychological damage to overcome for sure, but its not an eating disorder. If I ate junk, I would be twice the size I am, but I eat discerningly, food doesn't control me, nor do I use it to cope, but I know that there is more that I'm missing, hence I bring home the book.
This morning, I read the first half. Holy moly, does she strike home again and again. Simply written and easy to cruise through, following first the author's story and then the wisdom from her experience, I had aha after aha moment, but then the big AHA hit.
Michelle, over the past two years, alway says that we have deep seated issues that cause the disordered responses and until we deal with those issues, no diet in the world is going to keep our weight down... Geneen takes it one step further in Women, Food and God when she says that we who have been badly hurt as children tend to never get over it and the phenomena of that is, we shut down, and all our lives, when we find ourselves in scary situations, we revert to that shutting down mode instead of sticking it out to experience whatever it is. She calls it 'bolting'.
Like I said. Holy Motherlovin' Moly.
Not one month ago, Ron and I had a misunderstanding and grouchfest that left me feeling like I had nothing left to do but to leave. Ron had stormed out and I took a few grocery bags, randomly packed a few days worth of clothing I loved and headed out in there car, fully intending to catch the last ferry to Saltspring, to lick my wounds with my daughter Grace at her home there with her father.
I got about halfway to the highway when I was driving down a rainy street, in the dark, in the cold, with my bags crammed angrily in the seat behind me, when I realized that this wasn't ME the grownup, running away, but the hurt little girl in me was shuttin' 'er down, I remember thinking that I was BOLTING, to protect myself from having folks who I loved abandon me again.
Another example arose just last week when I took an email from my former employer to mean something that she certainly didn't intend, and I found I was unable to go to my old office to get my belongings, to clear out. I shut down. I mailed in the keys and I just couldn't bring myself to say goodbye to the place that had been so dear to my heart these past two years. The two women I worked with, counselors both, were wonderful loving role models who I will miss a lot and I just lost it. I shut 'er down and used my anger as a shield to keep from feeling the disconnect, something my hurt little girl takes as reenactment of all my former abandonment.
And there I sat in my bed, the duvet tucked under my chin, tears rolling down my face, crying my mother's tears, marvelling at how I was turning a corner that helped me to run to the roar, to face my demons and to not shut down when I feel like bolting.
Geneen Roth says that when you stop bolting, and you stick it out, you rage, you cry, you hurt and then you move through it. And then you grow to appreciate life that much more because you DON'T have to be that hurt little girl any more.
That's when another truck with AHA on the grill hit my forehead, as I realized that part of my hurt from how my mom was to me, left me reenacting her behaviours that I admired because I certainly wasnt going to reenact the behaviours I abhored... the image of her sitting in the living room with her knitting needles, her cup of coffee and her smokes brings up good feelings and minus the smokes, that is my iconic position on most days. I am realizing that I have tried to stay 'safe' and 'protected' by repeating a dynamic that is foolproof safe to me, and hence, I tied my ass to the couch, becoming that memory of my mother, in order to heal, to find comfort that was independent of the rest of my life.
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| Giselle Annaliese Budeweit. 5'10 of seething hostility and defensiveness. My birth mother. Born June 15, 1933 |
Well.
Life is coming at me pretty intensely by this point, wouldn't you say? But wait... there's more...
As I mull over the words that my retinas have seared into my frontal lobes in the background of my day, I decide that it would be a perfect time to see the new movie Burlesque, with Cher and Christina Aguellera (sic). Here's a little back story. In the early 70's, I spent a few years travelling a circuit between Nevada, California and Hawaii, as a Burlesque artist in a dying trade, with a few costumes, some bump and grind routines and a 3 piece band. In the 80's, I dressed the peelers that evolved from burlesque clubs in the new 'strip joints' in Alaska as well as a few other bar related jobs. I thought that the movie would be a trip down memory lane.
Hoo... boy...
'Where have I been all my life' is a line from the movie, and as I sat there with my mothers tears just streaming down my cheeks from the emotional punch of the film and the talent of the performers and the beauty of the music and the memories, oh my memories, that line just burst into brilliance in my mind... and I asked myself... just WHERE have I been all these years that I didn't cry my mother's tears, that I kept myself small and hidden away, being the 'good version' of my mother instead of being myself...
Hard to figure out on the drive home if there was more water inside the car than on the outside as I cried and cried and cried when I realized that my time in that frozen prison was over.
All my life, I have been larger than life. At almost 6 feet, and certainly well over 6 feet in the 4 inch heels I used to wear, I was 'Big Bird' and 'Christine Towers ~ The Amazing Amazon'. Now, I'm 6 feet tall and 6 feet around as well, bigger than ever. And I am thinking that it is time to figure out where I've been all my life... and most of all, to find out who and what I am. Maybe dare I say, it's time to throw my 'weight' around a bit...
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| Christine Towers, Reigning Rampaging Amazon of the Burlesque Circuit Circa 1971 Compton California |
My love, Ron sees more potential in me than I have been seeing and no wonder all the jobs I applied for have been dead ends with no responses. I'm meant to do a particular thing well, not any old random minimum wage thing, but something that I've spent years at. Something that utilizes all my skills and has me at the helm. I realize that with the exponential growth of human intellect and technology, there are developments in the education of women around our changes that allow for a much more effective distribution of the kind of skillsets that are critical to healthy womanhood. I see a web of sisterhood on my facebook developing, and I'm suddenly so invigorated to have their kinship support me as I figure out what it is I am meant to be doing. I do know it relates to all of it somehow.
It's time to take my walking papers in hand and move out of this self imposed prison, one of flesh as well, and get off the couch, too. I'm not my mom, nor can I ever be. I'm just now realizing that I am me. It's ironic that I'm the one that says we do no favours to anyone by making ourselves appear small, yet here that's just what I was doing all these years.
And then in the blink of an eye, when all the factors come together, at 54, I'm finally free.
And that's where that song comes in... here... have another listen...
Snake woman, beginning again...shaping, changing, renewing again... Snake woman shedding her skin... to everything there is a season, for every change, there is a reason...
The spiral of life bends and turns~ rearranging...
There's a new woman on the scene... maybe she's scaly, maybe she's green, she might not be sure where she's going, but she knows where she's been... and look out now. She's not reining it in any more.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Thirteen Crows at the Fir Buffet- A winter poetic diversion
13 crows,
sitting in my tree,
p-e-c-k-i-n-g,
dancing on branches for the kitty crunchies,
first comes one,
then comes three,
now 13 crows are sitting in my tree.
Usually they caw,
they flap and prance,
and do their little 'feed us!' dance,
but now that they know I've heard and obey,
they pipe down to keep the seagulls away.
Lacy snowflakes drifting past,
streets below slick as glass,
13 crows, heads bowed, shuffling fast
silently saying Kitty Crunchy Mass.
Winter has come to roost at last.
Suzanne Ballard has sent us this wonderful url about crow lore. CLICK HERE for all you ever want to know about the mystical, hilarious crow...
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tina's Crow Snow Buffet - Winter's here!
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| Murgatroyd joined the banquet |
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| I know that catfood lurks under this snow, Hymie. |
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| We heard the dinner bell... |
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| Beautiful feathers aren't afraid of no snow. Not when full bellies are involved. |
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| Bella is not sure about the white stuff but she's good now she found cat crunchies hiding under it. |
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| Look! A delicate spider web catches no flies today... just diamonds aplenty. |
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| And here's a REAL sojer. All the trucks lined up idling in the traffic jam and here's one guy jogging home. |
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| Noon on Monday and the Mujahadeen can move in now. The Armed Forces are running scared from 3 cm of the white stuff. Note the emergency vehicles that have arrived at the Chief and PO's Mess to pick some poor slippery footed sap off the asphalt. |
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| Creepin' convoy of escapees. Whoda thunk that the new Iraq secret weapon in Canada would be SNOW!!?! Even the snowplow is stuck in it... |
Sunday, November 7, 2010
A West Coast Natural Church of the Open Mind
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| I found a new beach you can literally drive up to for choice parking for ponderin in any sort of weather. Treat me nice and I might take you there when you come here to visit. Note the backscratcher in the window. Prerequisite car app. And this is looking out over Victoria. Esquimalt to the left. |
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| Looking back towards the Esquimalt Lagoon |
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| A nest of vipers? Nope. Kelp. |
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| Kelp root under macro lens |
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| Sparkles |
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| Looking towards the Albert Head Penitentiary |
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| Millions of Christians in church onna Sunday and the pagan shamanic wench type goes to her idea of church and witnesses a woman who walks on water. Love it. She could just walk that little dealie over to where we live, the blue and yellow cranes are at the shipyards by our house. |
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| Weathered roots |
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| love the chaotic tangle of wildness |
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| A cute little lagoon |
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| Love me some dew |
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| Late Autumn ergot on the wheat. LSD anyone? |
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| In the grasses too... |
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| from the dark looking to the light |
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| A pretty landscape |
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| Next summer's on the horizon, looking ahead to the new year... Happy New Year to all my fine friends... |
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| Renoir wishes he had swans like we do here on the west coast |
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| The pond is a community... |
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| Time to go home, the clouds have moved in... Bye Seagull! |
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