Category Archives: family

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playing hide and seek with happiness

One evening last weekend, Phil and I (and a few others) were helping out our friend, Susan, on her food truck at a big event.  It was a great night – we were kept pretty busy for a few hours, and the truck was really rocking.

Mostly because I was dancing around like the fool that I am.

I was having such a great time - singing and dancing and joking around – that Susan asked me if I had been drinking.  I laughed and told her with mock indignation that I most certainly had not, and then without even thinking I said, “I’m just really, actually happy right now…”

Really, actually happy.

Not pretending to be happy.  Not thinking that I should be happy.  Not wanting so desperately to be happy but not quite getting there.

Really, actually happy.

I honestly don’t remember the last time I felt like that.

I have a lot of good things in my life - good friends, and a wonderful husband who I love with my whole heart; a lot of things that should make me happy.  But remembering what it was like to feel really, actually happy has helped me realize that all those good things are only just taking the edge off the sadness.

Which, don’t get me wrong, is huge.

Taking that edge off makes a massive difference for me - that edge is the difference between me being able to go out and chat and smile and have a good time, and me lying in bed in the middle of the day crying my eyes out and wishing God would strike me down with cancer so I could just die already.

Like I said, that edge is huge.

But now, after that taste of joy, I am ready to be really, actually happy again.

I know its possible, because I used to be happy; despite the stresses and troubles that come along with living, I carried joy with me through everything I did.

It amazes me how unhappiness in one or two aspects of my life can worm its way into the rest of my being and infect every happy thought; how any joy that remains can just fade away until it is barely a vague memory.

And before I even realize what is happening, I am filled with worry and self-doubt and paranoia where all my joy used to be.

I know its around, everyone else seems to find it, I just always seem to miss it.

But I am determined to get that joy back!

My job is a major source of my unhappiness.  It seems easy enough to tell myself that it’s just a job and it’s not my life – but when you spend 8.5 hours/day in such a toxic environment, how can that negativity not spill over and affect the things in your life that really do matter?  But, thankfully, it is nearing its not-soon-enough demise - the constantly threatened lay-offs that everyone else is stressing about could actually be my salvation.

And then there’s my family, which in 37 years I have yet to learn how to process the feelings that seemingly innocuous topic brings up.  I have no idea how to even begin to deal with all the unhappiness* that comes when I think of my family, so I’ve started to see a therapist – something that would have my Mother spinning in her urn at the thought of me talking to some stranger about the defects in my bloodline.

Seeing a therapist is something that I have always pushed to the back of my mind – it was something that other people did.  Something frivolous that self-centred people do so that they can talk about themselves some more.  My Mom was a firm believer that only the weak needed therapy; that if you were strong enough, you could fix yourself.

I thought I was plenty strong enough.

But, I’ve come to realize that going for therapy doesn’t mean I’m weak; it means I am strong enough.  Strong enough to know that I need help and, ultimately, its something I need to do in order for me to be happy.

Really, actually happy.

Because without that, what have you got?

*dread, frustration, desperation, wistfulness, inferiority, fear, mourning, remorse, distress, bitterness, sorrow, picked on, pushed aside, and put upon

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a new shoe savant is born

I haven’t seen my niece, B,  in a while, so when she said she needed help finding shoes to go with her grad dress, of course I jumped at the chance!

Quality time with my niece AND shoe shopping?  Yes, please!

B showed me her dress, and it was stunning – she looked gorgeous.  We just needed to find the perfect accoutrements….

We walked the mall over, stopping in to every shoe store to see if they had anything that matched the deep bronze of her gown.  In one store (that I found to be over-priced without the quality to match), B found a couple of pairs of very pretty pumps that matched her dress perfectly.  Having many pairs of uncomfortable shoes myself, I could recognize that both pairs of those shoes were not going to the best shoes to dance in or run around taking pictures in.

So, being the annoying, know-it-all Aunt that I can be, I made her walk around and around (and around!) the store, quizzing her on any pinching or rubbing, or slipping.  But having discovered the beauty of cute shoes, she couldn’t focus on the height of the heel or the fact that it kept slipping off her foot – she just kept pausing in front of the mirror, grinning, and staring at the pretty peep-toes on her feet.

B is a smart girl though, she agreed to put them aside and keep looking to see if there was anything better (she also did this with the jewellery, the clutch and the sunglasses she liked, just to make sure they were absolutely perfect).  And I’m glad she did, because then we found these:

The bronze matches her dress, the brown matches her belt, and the snake-skin is just too fun to refuse.  She slipped them on, and I showed her the strappy-shoe shimmy (push down with your foot, while wiggling the straps up).  Once they were in place and the zipper was up, she started to walk around the store with a bit of uncertainty.

I really had to bite my tongue – these weren’t what she originally had in mind (but I LOVED them!), they weren’t traditionally “pretty” for a grad dress (but I LOVED them!), and they weren’t that much of a heel (but I LOVED them!).  I really wanted her to love them too, but I tried my hardest not to impose my judgements on this 18-year-old who already had a clear vision of her big day.

But the more she walked, the more she smiled.  She kept saying that it didn’t feel like she was even in heels, and that she could walk in them all day.  She liked the “pop” of the snake-skin and thought they provided a wow-factor in an otherwise traditional event.

I pointed out that she could get also so much more use out of them once grad was over – she could wear them with jeans, or a skirt…or she could lend them to her oh-so-helpful Aunt…

She put them on hold to think about it, checked out another couple of stores and then, deciding that these were THE shoes, she happily handed over her cash.

Then we found a snake-skin clutch to match!

She really is a girl after my own heart.

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alley burgers, food babies and wise words from Wilzie

On Friday night, Wilzie and I lurked around a dark, back alley.  We exchanged money for a mystery item wrapped in a paper sack which we greedily inhaled in that alley surrounded by dirty cement walls.  Then we climbed behind the wheel and drove home in a euphoric state, where we promptly lost consciousness.

We are junkies.

Burger junkies.

And Nirvana has come to Edmonton.

I’m talking about “alley burgers”.

Let me break it down for you – the chef of a local restaurant, 100 Bar + Kitchen, sent out a tweet on Friday that said “Okay everyone time to spread the word. Alleyburgers tonight at 10pm.” – this is only the 2nd time such a tweet has gone out.  There is no set time or specific day of the week – it is completely random, and you have to be on your toes to catch one of these delights.

When I read that tweet, I sent an email to Wilzie to see how he would feel about checking out this new phenomenon.  His reply?  ”We are going!!!”

I should have known.

I heard that, last time, people were sent away without a burger, so Wilzie I rolled up at about 9:15, with plenty of time to spare.  We found a sweet parking spot just around the corner and joined the queue already in place.  By 9:30, the line was to the end of the block.

At 10pm, on the dot, the chef emerged from the alley door – in exchange for your $5, he handed you a poker-type chip.  We were in!

When the staff came out with burger-laden trays, of course Wilzie raced to the hottie in the mini-skirt and traded our chips for 2 of the gourmet burgers, and as we scarfed the greasy perfection down, we were told what we were eating:

Kobe beef, seared in foie gras (delicious duck fat), covered in mushrooms reduced in veal stock and aged white cheddar.

The alley that was, just minutes before, buzzing with anticipation and laughter, was now quiet as everyone gobbled their burgers.

It was a great burger, but an even better experience.  And Wilzie and I are already feverishly checking our tweets for the next announcement.

~~~

I invited my niece and her fella over for dinner on Saturday night and fed them full of Mom’s bacon-macaroni.

After we finished dinner, both the kids were proudly displaying their “food-babies”.

Wilzie astutely pointed out that as these two adorably, fit 20-somethings were pushing their stomachs out, we were sucking ours in with everything we had.

~~~

My wonderful husband, who always claims to have no writing skills, wrote this as his Facebook status yesterday, and I wanted to share it with you all:

“To those that are lucky enough to still have your moms with you – appreciate them the other 364 days a year just as much as today. 

80′s hair band Cinderella said it best – you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

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all grow’d up

I’ve mentioned before in this blog that my familial relations are less than stellar.  Though that may not be solely my fault, I am generally more than willing to cut people out of my life that have wronged me in some perceived way.  I find that’s easier than actually dealing with the problem, and I can carry on as though nothing were wrong (or pretend to, anyway).

So when a very good friend came to me the other day for advice on a family issue, the best thing I could think to tell her was to do exactly the opposite of what I would do.

I told her to connect.  To be there.  To offer your love and support even if you may not be 100% in agreement with the situation.  Because to do what I would do – to cross your arms, and pass judgement, and pull away from the situation (and your family) – doesn’t do anyone any good.  Not you, not your family, not the people who love you.

What the Hell?

Where did that come from?!  Who is this calm and rational person giving sage advice about forgiving and forgetting?  I am the one always up for a good rant.  You need to bitch?  Come to me, and I will lead the charge; always ready with curse-filled support, and a fuck ‘em attitude, you can count on me.  Could it be that I am *gulp* growing up?  Is it possible that through all the trials and tribulations I have endured at the hands of my family that I have finally gained perspective?  Am I…mature?

I don’t know if I would go that far but, maybe, I have learned a thing or two.  What has been a long and painful road for me has turned into a cautionary tale for others, and even though my message of peace and love may not have been what my friend expected to hear when she came to me with her troubles, I only want to spare her the anger/pain/remorse that I have had to deal with.  This is what I told her:

It’s not giving in, it’s letting go.

Wow.  That’s profound.

Maybe I am mature, after all…

…then again…

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fojoy’s Christmas in review

{Via Google}

Christmas Morning

After a fun night with friends on Christmas eve, eating baked ham sandwiches and too many treats, the alarm woke Wilzie and I up at the unGodly hour of 7am on Christmas morning.  I rolled out of bed, turned up the heat, fed and let out the dog, got Wilzie’s stocking ready and went back into the bedroom to lure my husband out of bed with the promise of gifts.

We took our time pulling the sweet nothings out of our stockings, since that was all that we got each other this year.  The big hit with Wilzie was the head massager I picked up for him, and I couldn’t have been happier with the notebook he got me to keep in my purse to jot down blogworthy notes.  He opened his ribbon candy and I popped a Godiva gem, and we got ready to head to my Dad’s for breakfast.  When we walked in to Dad’s condo, we were greeted with my Dad behind  a video camera.  I handed over the basket of coffee and the bottle of Bailey’s that we made for them and hugged our way around the room.  We helped ourselves to a cup of Bailey’s coffee and sat down to breakfast.  Another cup of Bailey’s coffee and we moved on to gifts.

My sister got me and Wilzie a box of Bailey’s chocolates (it seems we have a reputation), and a tin of home-made shortbread cookies.  I gave her a box of my home-made shortbread cookies*, and we shared a laugh.

*Hers were better.

After a nice visit, and a full inventory of everything my Dad spent $10,000 on for his condo, Wilzie and I said our “Goodbye”s and hugged our way out of the room.

Christmas Dinner

Wilzie and I walked into his Dad’s house, arms loaded with our contributions to the night’s pot luck dinner; homemade cornbread muffins, mashed potatoes and candy-cane bark.

After some awkward conversation with the in-laws, everyone got their dishes ready and we sat down for dinner.  It was an interesting experiment – in addition to the regular suspects like turkey and sausage stuffing and gravy, we also had perogies and parsnips and yorkshire parkin for dessert.  We had mixed reviews on our offerings, only 6 people sampled our cornbread, but our mashed potatoes (whipped with sweet potato and cream cheese) and candy-cane bark (duh) were HUGE hits.  After dinner we congregated for some family games – Wilzie and I brought What?, a balderdash-esque guessing game – and the room was filled with laughter.

Until Wilzie’s phone rang.

He was on call for Christmas, and someone was smelling a gas odour outside their house.

He had to go.

I was going to head home, but he told me to stay and have fun, that he would be back as soon as he could.  I went back to the game , and true to his word, Wilzie was back in time to join the last few rounds.  We spent a little while more trying to stay out of the way of Wilzie’s brother-in-law and nephews’ constant wrestling, ate some more baking, thanked everyone for a good night and hugged our way out of house.

Boxing Day

After an emotionally exhausting day, Wilzie and I slept in until 11am!  We hadn’t planned on lining up for any Boxing day sales, but we were meeting  friend for lunch, so we did have to get out of bed eventually.

We ended up waiting almost 40 minutes for our lunch – it seems they lost our order – and got our entire meal comped.

I should have ordered gelato!

After lunch, we decided to try our luck and hit the stores – I needed wanted a new winter jacket, and figured, if I could get a good enough deal, I might get to treat myself.  I ended up with the warmest jacket in store (rated to -40 C) – perfect for waiting for the bus, and Wilzie even got a new Helly Hansen jacket (only rated to a measly -25 C) for the bargain price of $139!

Then we tucked in for the night with the turkey leftovers that were so graciously packed for us, and fell into a tryptophan coma.

And I still have 2 more days off!

One More Thing

Relaxing in front of the TV after it was all over, I mentioned to Wilzie that it felt odd to not be knitting.

His response?  ”I don’t have a blanket yet!”