Waking up

I woke up to a glorious day. The room was so bright, I thought I'd slept in. It was only 7:30; birds chirping, the sound of dh's shower running in the background. It felt like the first day of spring.

I was grinning before my feet hit floor, and I was singing, "Life is just a bowl of cherries . . ." by the time I got to the bathroom. Yup, I know - I'm just too cheerful for my own good. Not that I'm always cheerful, but I'm one of those disgusting people who wake up in a good mood.

Maybe subconsciously, I'm just happy to wake up at all and not to have succumbed to some mysterious ailment overnight - with news articles and headline reading:

"Famous blogger found dead in bed - cause unknown - autopsy report pending."

Ell, best known for her scintillating and popular blog, the pomegranate tiger, was found dead this morning by her housekeeper. Ms Yan suspected something might be wrong when Ell wasn't up by 9 a.m. She knocked on the bedroom door, and entered when there was no answer. "At first, I thought she was sleeping. She looked so peaceful. But then I saw how pale she was. I touched her hand - and I knew. She was icy cold."

She was pronounced dead at the scene by attending paramedics. By all accounts, Ell was active for her age and had been in good health. Foul play is not suspected.

See, I can be morbid.

It's funny about the waking up thing, though - how some people wake up in a good mood and others grumpy? My older son is more like me. He wakes up happy and, more often than not, is humming while brushing his teeth.

My younger son is the opposite. If you speak to him before he's ready, he'll start an argument just for the sake of arguing. He's the proverbial, 'Good morning. What's so good about it!!' guy. We give him a wide berth until he comes 'round. He's rather like a bear coming out of hibernation. Everyone keeps a respectful distance while he waters and feeds himself. We wait for him to make the first overtures of civility.

He's been like this since he was a toddler. No one ever wanted to get him up from his nap or wake him in the morning. We'd go through a ritual of, "no, you go": - You get him. - No, you go. - No, I got him last time. You go. - If I get him this time, you go next time. - Hey, let's get D to get him! We've spoken to him about his morning surliness, but he completely denies it. According to him, he's just misuderstood. Heaven help any future wife or roommate.

The strange thing is that once he's up and going, he's the most mild-mannered, even-tempered guy in the world. I guess he just needs to get the nastiness out of his system first thing in the morning.

Blogger or writer

I write, but am I a writer? I've been mucking around with this question for quite some time. Then, being the good blogger I am - I decided to blog about it. Or is that write about it?

Anyone who knows me can tell you what I did next. – Yep – I Googled it – using the search terms "can I call myself a writer". There were 19,700,000 hits. That's right, over nineteen million. Since this topic has been so thoroughly covered, it seems a bit redundant to go over all the same stuff, so I'll just touch on a few thoughts about my own writing.

I like to write – well, sort of – in a masochistic, therapeutic, self-purging kind of way. Maybe 'like' isn't the right word. Sometimes it's an excruciating, paper-cut-bathed-in-vinegar, wrench-it-from-my gut process; and sometimes it's an intense, pounding-on-the-keyboard-'til-it-smokes race to the last paragraph, sentence and period. Occasionally, the words and ideas flow – the metaphors make sense and precise words conveying exactly what I mean pop into my head without the aid of a thesaurus. The latter doesn't happen all that often – at least for me. Maybe it's because I've been only dabbling at this writing thing on and off and not taking it very seriously; maybe it's because I'm just not very good at it. Whatever the reason, it's not always easy.

So why do it? Because I wake up in the middle of the night with an idea that I'm afraid I'll forget if I don't write it down; because when I haven't written anything for awhile, ideas and topics keep surfacing that beg me to write about them; because it's a way for me to think out loud and analyze my thoughts in critical black and white; because, one day, I'd like my children to read my deepest, inner thoughts; and because I need to get the words and thoughts out or I'll explode. -- So, I write.

Mainly, it's a hobby. Would I like to be published? You bet. I have this fantasy that I'll become the oldest newly published author in Canada – but I'm not holding my breath. Meanwhile, I'll just keep on blogging, doing little writing exercises, journaling, and filing away all my little bits and pieces that I write between midnight and 3 a.m.

Does any of this allow me to call myself a writer? I still don't know. Writer sounds too presumptuous, too professional, too Stephen King, Amy Tan, Kazuo Ishiguro.

Maybe I'm just someone who needs to get the words out and it's why I find blogging so appealing. There are no constraints, no deadlines and almost anything goes.

I think Woody Cavenaugh expressed my confusion most succinctly, "Am I a blogger who writes, or a writer who blogs, or a writer of blogs."

And so ends, another ramble.

Joyous celebration

A quick note before I dash out the door for work this morning:

Dear fellow hockey-mad Canadians,

It's not the end of the world. The men lost at the Olympics and were eliminated from further rounds. They played poorly. They didn't play as a team and they couldn't score. In other words, they deserve to be sent home. It's a game. For all the moaning, teeth-gnashing and talk-show second-guessing, you'd think a major cataclysm had occurred. It's just a game. A game where the playing field has been levelled. What's wrong with that? It's better for the game - remember all the bleating going on about how our Canadian women's team was TOO dominant?

Let's all get over it and move on.

I'd rather celebrate the Canadian women who won four medals yesterday - in particular, Chandra Crawford, who won gold in the women's 1.1 km cross-country sprint. She wasn't a favourite. I'm not sure people thought she'd even qualify, let alone get into the finals and win. But win she did. Her exuberant, joyous attitude was infectious. She made me smile and laugh along with her through all her interviews. Her joy was so genuine, her personality so ebullient that I couldn't help it. She made my day!

Pure joy. It was great to see.

The "R" Word

This blog has been percolating in my brain for awhile now. It finally bubbled over when I read this post on Fat Red Ant's 44x365.

I wasn't sure I'd ever address the issue of racism on my blog. Some of you who've known me from other places on the net may (or may not) know I'm not white.

One of the reasons I like the internet is that I'm perceived by my words and ideas first and foremost – not by the colour of my skin. My writing and recollections sometimes have clear allusions to my ancestry and sometimes, they don't. I don't make a big deal about it, nor do I avoid it. It all depends on what I'm trying to convey.

Anyways, back to FRA's post. It clearly illustrates to me how far we (I'm speaking of the global we) need to go before racism is eradicated. It's hard for people, no matter how caring, liberal-minded and accepting to understand the deep pain and frustration felt by those of colour. I've come to hate that term, "people of colour" – but I guess there's no other term that fits.

I know there are lots of people like FRA who look beyond colour, but there are just as many like her boyfriend. The thing is, if you were to speak to someone like her boyfriend, chances are they'd be the first to say they aren't racist. I've heard all the denials and arguments: I'm not racist, but . . . . My co-worker is (black, yellow, green, purple) – we get along fine, but . . . .

See, you seldom hear racial epithets in polite conversation anymore, unless it's within the confines of a monochromatic gathering. And here, I'm not talking about whites only. Non-whites are just as guilty of racism. The problem with racism these days is that, more often than not – other than at skinhead rallies or drunken brawls - it's hidden, discreet, but nonetheless insidious.

For those of you who think, like FRA did, that it's all in our heads – that we're imagining slights that don't exist – may I offer just a smattering of some personal experiences:

• Standing at a crosswalk with my two young children, waiting for the light to change, a man walks up to me; looks me up and down; and says, "Why don't you people leave. Go home where you belong." - I'm quite certain he didn't mean home to our house, two blocks away.


• I'm in a hurry, rushing to an appointment and bump into a woman. I apologise. She just glares at me and says, "Watch out! You're not back home, you know." - because she's never bumped into anyone by accident.


• I'm standing at a counter, waiting patiently for service. The counter person has seen me, nods acknowledgement – he's with another customer at the moment. A couple comes into the store. The counter guy finishes with the first customer, then turns to serve the newly arrived people first. – What? Have I become invisible? Isn't my money as good as theirs?


• At a sporting event: I'm beaming with pride because the guy in front of me is admiring the play of my son. His friend asks him who he's talking about and the guy answers, "The Chink. Over there . . . "


• And the one memory literally seared on my brain and psyche when I was seven years old: - having rocks thrown at me and being chased home by a bunch of Chink-calling ten, eleven year-old boys; the feeling of humiliation; the feeling there was something wrong with me that they'd hate me so much without even knowing me.
  
  Yes, it was a long time ago, but I often wonder where these boys and their parents are now. Are they still the bigots they were then? Have they changed? Or have they just gone underground?

You know what? I think, overall, we've come a long way from rock-throwing and outright segregation – but there's a lot further to go.

I just had to get that off my chest.

Watching the Olympics

I have mixed feelings when I watch the Olympics.

On the one hand, I don’t particularly like the “rah-rah, my country is better than your country, look at how many medals we have” attitude. Yet, on the other hand, I love the notion that nations can come together in a joint endeavour for peaceful, even idealistic purposes; the notion that athletes can compete just for the purity of their sport.

Naïve? Maybe. But I want to look beyond the doping scandals; beyond the politics; beyond the judge-tampering; beyond the egos. I want to forget about medal predictions and the ensuing mega bucks involved in sponsorship deals. I know all of these exist, but I’d like to look beyond all the negatives just long enough to remind myself that there are nobler reasons for the Olympics.

Instead, I want to see those thousands of athletes who attend the Olympics with no real chance of winning a medal, but are happy just to participate on this particular world stage. I want to see the individuals pushing themselves to their limits, further than they ever thought possible, just to see what they can achieve. It’s like people who enter marathons, with no hope of winning, but with the satisfaction of saying they competed and crossed the finish line.

Sure, I'll be there, in front of my TV, cheering on the Canadian hockey teams and gritting my teeth with anxiety as I watch Emmanuel Sandhu go up for his triple axel, but deep down, I like the stories of athletes from some remote village who decided that it would be cool to try bobsledding or ski jumping or some other unlikely sport and end up at the Olympics. I'm a sucker for the underdog.

Yesterday, in the women's cross-country ski team sprint, Canadian Sara Renner broke a pole mid-way through the race (she later described it as being like canoeing without a paddle). A Norwegian team coach saw what happened and handed her a replacement. Renner and Becky Scott ended up winning a silver medal. The Norwegian didn't have to do what he did, but he did it anyway. When thanked and interviewed about it later, Norwegian officials downplayed it, saying it was the right thing to do and why would anyone think it was unusual? You see, it's things like this that give me hope there is such a thing as true sportsmanship and the Olympic ideal.

I want to think of an international event that gives promise to peace and understanding, if only we’d give it a chance - and dare I say it, echo the words of John Lennon’s “Imagine”, sung at the opening ceremonies.

You may say I’m a dreamer
But I’m not the only one.
I hope someday you’ll join us
And the world will live as one.

Yeah, I know, I’m just an old-school hippie at heart.

Other musings

I've been away a couple of days, but wanted to carry on with my musings of the other day:

One of the reasons I said I don’t believe in absolutes is that we human beings seem to get into trouble when we do.

When I look at pretty much any belief system - when it’s followed dogmatically - it tends to breed contempt, sometimes hatred for others, or at least, a certain holier-than-thou attitude – the patronizing, “oh, poor thing, you just haven’t seen the light” attitude.

Besides which, it seems strange to think one person, no matter how wise, kind or beneficent a teacher is beyond flaw and has figured life out for everyone else. Because I nod my head in agreement with some of Buddha’s or Mohammed’s or Christ’s or Janie-next-door’s words, doesn’t mean I must be wedded to their entire belief system. It comes down to the fact I don’t believe in a ‘one shoe fits all’ school of thought. If it works for others, so be it. It’s just not for me.

Something my grandfather told me: “Beware the man (or woman) who claims to know it all and have the answers to everything.”

I think we’re all on a journey through life, taking different paths. We all may end up in the same place or maybe a different place. What human being knows absolutely and categorically what all this is about? I sure don’t. And sure, I’m content at the moment, but at the same time, I’m aware that I will continue to change depending on life experiences. I will take what comes and do the best I can at the time.

A side note: It’s not contradictory to plan, make choices and still live in the moment. An example: we must eat to survive. Therefore, we can plan, choose to go grocery shopping, choose which store to shop, choose what to buy, choose when to eat AND still be fully present and in the moment at each step. ('Cause I sure as heck hope a surgeon operating on me did some planning, made good choices and is totally present when he cuts me open!)

Conscious and mindful

I like the phrase, “A Conscious and mindful life.”

Please bear with me as I think out loud. After my "Be Here Now" blog, it seems my dormant touchy-feely inner hippie is re-awakening. I haven’t consciously thought about some of this stuff for awhile so maybe it’s time to take stock.

Thinking out loud/ affirming beliefs: In other words, a mishmash of my accumulated life philosophy – or how I try to live my life:

Acceptance
- Accept who I was in the past, both the good and the bad
- Accept who I am in the present, both the good and the bad
- Consider what I could become in the future, both good and bad
- Choose to be better

Appreciation
- Appreciate where I am
- Appreciate what I have
- Appreciate those around me

Change/control
- I only have control over my own actions
- I can’t change others - at most I can influence them by my own actions; what they choose to do is beyond my control
- Make positive changes in my own life

And something I read a long time ago that I recently saw again on another site (sorry, I forgot to bookmark it and can't find it now):

Live in Joy

Live in Joy, In love,
Even among those who hate.
Live in joy, In health,
Even among the afflicted.
Live in joy, In peace,
Even among the troubled.
Look within. Be still.
Free from fear and attachment,
Know the sweet joy of living in the way.
-- from the Dhammapada, Words of the Buddha

Choices

Please hop on over to today's Waiter Rant, Heaven and Hell.

His little vignette embodies so much of what I believe about the world and the people in it. There is both good and bad everywhere.

We can choose to be the four top. Or choose to be the little girl and her father.

Choices. It's all about choices.

Be Here Now

Three words from the seventies that may sound cliché to some. Yet, I come back to them time and again. I was reminded of them by JTL's blog. I've used them while raising my sons and use them to get myself out of a funk and just get on with it.

It's so easy to get caught up in the picayune details of life; to stress over every little detail; to worry about choices and decisions already made; to get distracted from what's actually happening in the here and now. When we do this, we fail to see the beauty around us. When we do this, we ignore or fail to appreciate the people around us. When we do this, we fail to give our entire attention to the task at hand.

When my son was very young, he had a tendency to chase down every curiosity, every minor distraction that crossed his path. - No, he didn't have ADD. - He was just inquisitive and rather obsessive – kind of like his mom. He didn't know how to channel his energy. If we were at the park, he'd be thinking of the latest dinosaurs he looked up. If we were at a restaurant, he'd be wondering what was in the pond at the park. If we were on vacation, he'd be thinking about a restaurant at home. His mind was constantly somewhere else, other than "here". He wasn't present. It took him a while to learn how to set aside the other stuff churning around in his brain and just have fun in the present; and learn that the other stuff would still be there waiting when he was done doing what he was doing.

I think we all have a tendency to be like this. How often are we in a beautiful location, and instead of taking in the view and savouring the moment, we find our minds wandering off to some worry or other. This other might be very important – like an upcoming job interview or exam – but how does worrying about it at that particular moment in time going to help? Wouldn't it be better to immerse ourselves in the beauty of the moment, THEN deal with the other stuff with equal concentration and conviction?

Our lives are made up of brief moments strung together. When our minds are constantly elsewhere, we run the risk of losing some of the most precious ones.

It's not easy - living those three words. I still work at it. But the closer I get to the end rather than the beginning of this particular life, the more importance I place on it.

One of these days

One of these days I’m going to grow up. I’m going to act the way a proper grown-up should.

I’m not going to burst into song when I wake up in a good mood.
I'm not going to hum while brushing my teeth.
I’m not going to skip through the house, just because I feel like it.
I’m not going to make my grown sons roll their eyes when I say something silly.
I’m not going to dance around when I hear an oldie but goodie on the radio.
I'm not going to try the routine on Dancing with the Stars.
I'm not going to dig sand castles at the beach.
I'm not going to sing along at concerts.
I'm not going to yell at hockey games and scream Yee Haw! when a goal is scored by OUR team.

I'm going to be proper and sedate and dignified.

Yup, one of these days I’m going to grow up.
But not today.