Showing posts with label Write Your Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Write Your Life. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

WYL #22a Highs and Lows Continuation of building our house

Raising the Roof

The shaking earth jarred me out of my reverie. Tears welled in my eyes as I watched the first swath of earth being gouged by the shovel’s bucket to reveal where the long envisioned foundation would sit.

The hours wore on, until mid-day when quiet replaced the rumble of the machine and a large flat hole lay where a small hill had once been. As if on cue, a few pickup trucks followed by a large truck full of boards turned into the field and drove down to the gaping hole. Several men jumped out and with stakes and lengths of string mapped out the edges of where the footings would go. The hot day wore on and soon the sweaty men stripped down to jeans, their shirts tossed aside in a pile. I sat to the side and watched, my own Chippendale's show, as the strings were fortified with lumber.

As Nick watched, he checked his watch often. Closing time for the cement plant was quickly nearing and he wanted to get the footing filled before the weekend. The workers hurried. By late afternoon a channel defined the outline of our home. At exactly the right moment a cement mixer, with its rolling belly, turned into the yard and edged its way to the brink of the hole, releasing grey slurry down a track and into the channel. More trucks followed until the space defined by the boards was brimming with cement. Day one was complete and we were on our way to a new house.





Every day for the next 9 weeks we stopped at the house to see its progress. From the footings to a foundation to a floor, walls and then a roof, the house was taking shape. When the outside was sheathed and the windows and doors were in, it was time for an important step: insulation and vapour barrier. Since we wanted an R2000 home, every tiny gap to the outside had to be sealed, and Nick made sure they were - there would be a penalty if the house failed to pass the test.



Unlike most home construction, all the framing was not done at the same time. The interior walls were left until after the vapour barrier was fully in place. This meant that the interior of the house was fully sealed from any cold drafts. Once the walls were raised we saw the bones of the rooms; until then we weren't sure if the plan that had been so carefully laid out on the computer would work out in real life. Electrical and plumbing were installed, drywall went up, hardwood floor and tile was installed, doors and trim were completed, and then finally, it was painted.

Moving day had arrived.

My mom, and Brian, a friend, helped with some of the small stuff, including the 10 parrots, 3 dogs and 2 cats, while a moving company wrestled with everything else. It was a long day but finally all our stuff was inside our new home. We said farewell to our helpers, and then, even though we were exhausted, got to work on placing some of the furniture and setting up the waterbed. It took a few days for everything to find a place. We loved the space and light of our new home. Speaking of space, the first few purchases were: cordless phones (we had to run from the sofa to get to the phone in the kitchen and sometimes missed calls); and a 4' wide mop for our ginormous room. We had a small dust mop, but it was a joke.

Nothing had been done outside the house except laying the gravel laneway. No grass covered the heavy clay mud that surrounded us. We nearly went out of our minds with 3 dogs going in and out of the house, but there was nothing we could do as it was already late September. Thankfully the hay field that skirted the brown mire spread its seeds and by the end of the following spring we could walk without getting 5lbs of muck on our boots.

Designing and then building a house was an amazing undertaking. Seeing some lines on a computer screen morph into a house was an experience like no other. I suppose in a tiny way it was like giving birth (without all the pain) as Carm and my ideas melded into a plan which grew into a solid structure. We felt very lucky to have this wonderful opportunity.




Tuesday, January 26, 2016

WYL #21 On the Lighter Side: On Iron Wings

 On Iron Wings

Spring was in the air that fine April day in 1982. It had niggled its way into my blood and was flooding my brain with fanciful thoughts. We were out for a walk in the Glebe and as we walked past one store I could see my reflection among the motorcycles. I grabbed my boyfriend Steve's sleeve and dragged him inside. Rubber, oil and steel fragrances the air. I was overcome with a dizziness of common sense and started walking among the bikes. Most were giant monstrosities that  would overcome my slight (at the time) frame.

My eye caught sight of a beautiful burgundy bike, the light danced on the chrome muffler - I was drawn to it as a moth is to a flame. My hands caressed the handlebars and slid down onto the seat. I couldn't help myself… I slung my leg over and settled my weight onto it. The handlebars reached back to my hands, meeting at the perfect, most comfortable, location. My feet were firmly on the ground. I swooned. It was meant to be. This motorcycle fit me like a hand-made glove, one that had been made for me and me alone.

I looked at Steve and he saw passion, or was it madness, in my eyes. He likely understood as he had a dirt bike that he liked to ride around his parent's farm. I remember riding it up a 20’ towering mound of dirt and flying off the other side. My heart was in my mouth during the air time and the rush of adrenaline surged through my veins as I successfully hit the dirt on the other side.

The price tag fluttered on the side of the bike bringing me back to earth - I knew it was beyond my paltry salary. My smile turned into a frown. The look of disappointment was written in bold. Steve, also caught up in the magical moment, offered to lend me the money. I lept off my iron steed (I was already saying my) and hugged him, then dragged him over to the sales desk. The deal was made and arrangements were finalized for pickup.

I floated out of the store.

The next day I called my dad to tell him the exciting news. He swore. The day before he had been at a home for the disabled and wondered about all the young men in wheelchairs… motorcycle accidents. I asked him to tell mom. She swore (my mom does not swear - ever).

There was only one small, or perhaps it was major, problem. I didn't have a motorcycle license. That didn't slow me down for long; I practiced on Steve's dirt bike then we picked up my beauty with Steve's dad's truck. As soon as we unloaded it in the dusky, dewy evening I jumped on. And immediately wiped out on the slick grass. Not a good start, but a good lesson.

I practiced and practiced then drove to Smiths Falls for my licence. I got it in the first try and my wings were unfettered. I galloped on my Pegasus (at the speed limit of course) around the  countryside. My iron pony felt like it was a part of me. It was a feeling of freedom unlike any I had ever known.

To appease my parents I took a motorcycle safety course. It was time and money well spent as they taught the finer details of control and staying safe. I loved driving the back roads to practice maneuvers. I loved pulling up to a gas station or corner store and pulling off my helmet so my longish blonde hair could spill onto the shoulders of my leather jacket - that always got a reaction. There weren't very many girls riding their own bike back in 1982.

Mom and dad lived in Toronto, but kept their sailboat near Kingston so that is where I visited them most often. On my first trip to show off my bike, Steve drove with me behind him and my dog Chetta in a milk carton on the back. It was a heavy load for a 400cc bike but it stepped up to the job. Everyone at the yacht club crowded around to see my chromed ride and my dad even took it for a spin.

The second year I had it, my parents let me bring Olaf, my 7 year old brother, from Kingston to Ottawa for a visit. Olaf was a trooper on the back, riding like a pro. Looking back on it I wonder about my parents sanity!

My longest trip was from Ottawa to Niagara Falls with Steve to visit his relatives. It was a long trip, especially the part on the 401 with driving rain and transport trucks pushing us around. That was the sort of freedom that I could do without!

I had my bike for a few years, then circumstances and money made me sell it.

On a side note, my father got a Harley several years later, and my mom got her motorcycle license when she turned 57, along with a little bike of her own.

Finally, in the words of Arlo Guthrie "I don't want a pickle, I just want to ride my motor-cicle"

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

WYL #19 - Time to Brag A Bit

You'll have to excuse the glut of posts today - I just realized that I hadn't posted a few writing projects and want to get them into my 2015 book. I get my blog printed out into a hard-copy book every year as it is fun to refer back - yesterday I looked at the December 29 entry for 2010 - the day we retired! A fun recollection.

          ~

I don't have trophies or certificates to brag about. There was nothing particularly noteworthy in what I did in my job. I don't have hours of volunteer work to feel good about. I live an average life, so when asked to brag about something I could only think of some of my work with animals.

My first mare, Dora. had it all: temperament, looks, conformation. Taking advice from my mentor, Pat Wolfe, I sent her off to be bred. It was a long 11 months of gestation, but it gave me time to study foal training techniques. It also gave me time to to worry about doing it right. When Uvaer finally arrived I was as ready as I could be (and maybe a bit of a basket case!).

The golden mare with a black stripe down her back lay flat (as flat as a beached whale can be) on the bed of straw, her great body shuddering with each contraction. I knelt behind her, ready for the big event. Push, push, push. A foot, still encased in the amniotic sac, emerged from the birth canal. Another contraction and the next hoof was visible. My heart pounded. Would its nose be presented properly or would I have to call the vet? I breathed a sigh of relief when two nostrils, followed by a forehead with eyes emerged onto my trembling lap. I ripped open the thick sac covering its nose, and rejoiced at the first shuddery breath. Dora took a moment to gather her strength and then with a giant push the shoulders were past the narrowest point of the birth canal. Hips and back feet arrived with less of a rush. I slipped my hand down his wet belly to find out his sex. A colt.

After peeling back the birth sac, I rubbed him with a thick towel, then got to work imprinting him. This is a technique where the foal is handled extensively as soon as it is born. My hands, shaking from cold, excitement, and nervousness, started gently rubbing his whole face until he was relaxed. Relaxation is the key for a calm horse. If you stop too soon, you'll sensitize instead of de-sensitize. My fingers slipped into his mouth where a bit would sit, then I rubbed up to his ears and cupped each one, gently rubbing up and down and inside, being careful not to tickle.

Stroking from his head down to his neck was easy, I'd already rubbed there with the towel. I put my hand on one side of his head and gently bent his neck each direction until there was no resistance. Next my hands traversed his body and down each leg, rubbing and flexing as I went. A little tap, tap on each foot readied him for the farrier. I pulled his tail through my hands.  Every inch of him had been stroked, from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail.

After he was comfortable with me touching his body I moved on to the trickier stuff. I rubbed crinkly plastic bags over him, and ran clippers (blade side up of course) over his body. The noise and vibration caused an initial tensing of his muscles, but he relaxed with repetition.

I slipped out from underneath him and stood back. It was time for him to learn how to stand and walk. He floundered and careened about the stall for minutes before he could wobble on unsteady legs to search for Dora's udder, the source of life giving colostrum. Standing close beside his mother, almost underneath her, he pulled on her teat, greedy for the warm nourishment. Dora nuzzled his still damp fur, her eyes half closed and her own body still damp with the exertion of birthing a strong colt.

I gave Uvaer a chance to rest, then started up with the rest of the imprinting. When he was on his feet again I stood by his side and pressed one finger against his side. After a moment he stepped away from the pressure. What a smart boy! We practiced on both sides until stepping sideways (as well as his wobbly legs would allow!) was an automatic response. Leading was next. I slipped a tiny halter over his head and attached a lead rope. His first reaction was to pull back but gentle cohesion showed him that stepping forward would release the pressure. We had to be careful that he didn't pull back too hard or he could injure his spine. A press on his chest sent him backwards. Like a teeter-totter we went - back and forth, ingraining lessons that would last a lifetime.  

There was one more important lesson for this fluffy foal: lifting his feet. I supported his body against mine as I lifted and handled each foot. By this time he was used to handling.

With lessons over he fell into an exhausted sleep. At less than 2 hours old he already knew the basics of leading, giving to pressure (when I press on his side he moves over), backing up, and lifting his feet. This sweet, fluffy foal was well on his way to becoming a trusted partner.

Every day we practiced the initial lessons and added to his skills. He could walk over tarps, drag a bag of cans, have things flapping all around him, have a rope tied around his middle, and stand still to be brushed. I loved the time I spent with him, and he seemed to like spending time with me. At an age when normal foals would be clinging to their mothers, he would leave Dora in the field to visit me at the barn. He was friendly with strangers. He was biddable.

He was also confident, but not pushy, and a bit of a spaz. He would gallop around his mother at breakneck speeds, then screech to a halt for cuddles.

Pat Wolfe came to see him in those early days and was impressed. Not just for his confirmation, which was excellent, but for his desire to please and work with me. Getting a compliment from Pat is high praise as he is a well-respected trainer who has won National titles in driving. By the time Uvaer was ready to wean Pat had purchased him as a stallion prospect.

High praise indeed!

I applied these techniques to six more foals, every time fine-tuning the training as I learned more. Our foals were lovely horses to be around and their new owners appreciated all the work that had gone into them. Towards the end of my time with horses Pat Wolfe again complimented me on my skills with training foals saying that I was the best foal trainer that he knew.

I loved working with baby horses!

Thursday, November 26, 2015

WYL #20 Religion and Spirituality

It was fitting that the sunset drew me outside to take photos tonight. As I turned from the spectacular display another of Nature’s wonders caught my eye. A rainbow, clear from end to end, painted the sky. I didn’t get a very good photo (it was getting to be dusk - hence the sunset) but it struck me with wonder.


                                    ~

Soar, Marvel and Wonder

The ceiling of my church soars into the sky. It is painted in an azure blue and glows with a blazing golden sun. Clouds may sometimes paint details with a cotton batten haze, or night time may cloak the ceiling in midnight blue velvet dotted with silver sequins. I am moved by the vastness.

The floor of my church is the musty dark earth which has been carpeted with a green or white mosaic.

There are no carved statues or painted murals, instead the church is decorated by the bones of the earth that have emerged as great rocky outposts and wild flowers of every hue paint the surface.

The congregation includes colourful butterflies, spotted baby fawns, cheeky chipmunks, every animal imaginable.

Birds, large and small, sing to the heavens, a choir with perfect pitch. The wind whistling through the trees is the pipe organ.

I marvel at everything Nature blesses us with.

And me? I am made of star stuff. My atoms burst forth at the moment of the 'Big Bang' and travelled through space for countless millennia until the earth was created. From there I have been rock, earth, plants and animals, until, in a miracle of epic proportions, those atoms came together to make me.  

When it is my time to leave this life I want to be returned to the stars. Blow my ashes over the open prairie and let them fall where they may. Let my ashes nourish the plants which in turn will strengthen the animals that walk that land.   

Miracles. Everywhere.


Sunday, November 22, 2015

1996 Alberta Cattle Drive



There are holidays and then there are ADVENTURES FROM WHICH YOU NEVER WANT TO RETURN. In 1996 I had the greatest adventure ever - I got to be a cowboy for 7 days. And not just any old where - I got to live in the land of my heart, the grasslands of Southern Alberta.

It all started when my Auntie Jean passed away in January of that year and I travelled to Medicine Hat, Alberta to attend her funeral. While there I heard about a cattle drive that was being organized for the centennial celebration of the Alberta Stock Growers Association. For seven days a group of people would travel through open range land, starting from the edge of my great grandparents homestead, and ending up in Medicine Hat. As soon as I was back home in Ontario I met with my friend Deirdre to see if she wanted to go - it was a clear YES. Then I made a hard phone call to my sister to see if she'd reschedule her wedding. She is a good sport and understood my anguish so said yes. I got on the phone 9w6 (the brand for the association) and reserved two spots.

A dilemma presented itself. This was a cattle drive and to drive cattle you need a horse. Luckily, I was buying my first horse, a Norwegian Fjord, from Helena, a Calgary woman, and she agreed to provide the horses if I paid for her to go. DONE!

There was only one problem left: it wasn't until July - a long 6 months away!

I was excited when the trip was first arranged and by July I could barely sit down, let alone sleep. Concentration was out the window. I was wired. Not only was I getting my first horse, there was this little thing of the cattle drive. I may have been a bit overwrought. (I relived a bit of that excitement when I wrote this)

Anyway, July actually arrived and I got on the plane for the flight to Calgary, which seemed to be the longest flight ever. In fact we might have taken the eastern route and flown over China on our way there - I felt like I could have run to Alberta faster.  When I debarked, there was Helena; I stayed with her for a few nights before we trailered the horses to the starting point. We'd be meeting up with Deirdre there as she was flying in 'on the day' and catching a ride with an unknown cowboy.

As soon as I unloaded my bag from Helena's truck we stepped out to the corral to meet the ponies, including my new horse Justin (soon to be renamed Frey).  Our cow ponies were Jovan, Lars, and Dora, whom I purchased several months later. My sweaty hands gripped a new leather halter that I brought for my new steed. He didn't have it on for 5 minutes before he flew back against his tie and broke it. I wasn't good at foreshadowing, but that's a whole other story.

The next day Helena and I did the final preparations, then I tossed and turned all night in anticipation. Finally the big day arrived! We loaded gear and horses, then headed south to the starting point. A recording of Jeff Foxworthy 'You know you are a redneck' sped us down the road. I don't know if we laughed so hard because he was funny, or if we were punch drunk from excitement.

We arrived. I might have cried.

Organizers met us at the gate and directed us to the black bandana group and showed us where to water and tie our horses. We got the horses settled and our tents up, then Helena drove the trailer down to Medicine Hat, taking the bus back with all the other trailer drivers. Deirdre showed up, and we showed her the ropes.

The drive people were well organized - they had to be with 1500 riders! The riders were divided into groups, and each assigned a bandana colour. Coloured flags on tall poles designated the tenting area for each group. The caterers had transport trucks full of supplies - the food was great with beef on the menu every night - I'm pretty sure there were no vegetarians. Port a-potties were placed at the edge of the tenting area of each group; trailers were assigned to each group to transport our tents, and bags; hay was available; huge water troughs sloshed with clean water; during the week transport trucks fitted with showers visited the site. Everything ran smoothly.


We visited my cousin George who lived nearby, then had supper back at the camp. We met up with my great Uncle Olaf, Uncle Buster, cousins Ed, Wendy and Janet who were also on the adventure.
Another sleepless night and then rodeo time!

Feed horses, water horses, tack horses, mount horses: I rode Jovan. All calm except for shaking hands and butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach. Around us there was a rodeo. Fresh horses bucked and spun. Riders hit the ground. We watched from the comfort of our reliable Fjord horses.

Southward Ho!

Group by group we headed through the gates into the expanse of the 'British Block', aka CFB Suffield, or in my words: home. The land spread out before us, the kingdom of cowboys and long ago Natives. The grasses rippled and the sweep prairie fragrance threatened to make me swoon. Sage brushed at our horses knees, a patch of cactus with their thorny arms brushed their ankles.

When we arrived at the next night's destination, after a 10 - 12 mile ride, we gave the horses a long drink of water, then lifted the saddles from their weary backs. They were happy to take their places on the 'line' and chow down on some hay. We set up our tents and ate the bagged lunch we had been provided with. A sandwich eaten while sitting on the parched prairie ground beats lunch at a 4 star restaurant any day.

The steers, all 2000 of them, were well away from the main group, but everyday a group of riders would travel with the herd. We chose to stay with the riders.

I don't know why, but the land we were traversing touches the deepest part of my soul and I wondered if I was alone in this. Every night a big stage was set up and people from the drive would get up to sing, tell tales and read poetry. The people on this drive were real cowboys, ranchers and farmers. They were people of the land, rough and tough and ready to handle nature's challenges. Craggy faces and worn hands, younger people, skin still smooth, but with determination in their eyes, all got on the stage and sang softly about the beauty of the landscape. Cowboys, more used to being out on the range, read poetry they had written about their feelings for the prairie. One old guy had written a poem about carrying a weak calf in front of him on his horse to the ranch through a blinding blizzard. He spoke of awe for the power of Nature and reverently about the land. I had wondered if people used to living in this utopia would appreciate it as much as I did. Not only on stage, but all around me through the week I heard talk that showed me they did.



Each day found us at the summit of another belvedere and gasping at the beauty. One hill held an ancient t-pee ring; from its centre I could see miles each way and the smell of sage and grass seemed especially sweet. For those of you who think the prairies are flat - they are not, especially in this region of Alberta. One night we camped by the South Saskatchewan river and Deirdre and I put on our bathing suits and went for a swim. We saw pelicans fishing in the river, and a rattlesnake as we were making our way back up the hill. One evening a thunderstorm rolled in - we could see it coming for miles. A quick drench and it was on its way, leaving an end-to-end rainbow as an apology. Everyone stared in awe - the only sound heard for moments was the horses chewing on their hay, and a lonely meadowlark.

The magical days and nights continued much like each other, until… we hit a fence, our first once since we started this fantastic voyage. My heart fell as we waited our turn to squeeze through the hole, back though the looking glass, out of Wonderland. My heart pounded and I looked wildly around me - I couldn't leave this world and return to a life of city and high tech. But there was nothing I could do - I was caught in the flow of 1500 people going in one direction. Looking around I could see my disappointment mirrored in the faces of my fellow riders.

As we rode single file down the ditch of the highway towards Medicine Hat, I could see a speck of a building in the distance. At a horse's pace it grew and grew until it took up half the horizon. The ugly refinery belching smoke on the outskirts of the city jarred me. There was no doubt or hope left - it was over. Tears burned at the backs of my eyes and I felt like I might choke on my disappointment.

We set up camp under the black shadow of civilization. It wasn't just me with a long face, all around me faces were glum. People talked about what a great trip it had been and how they didn't want it to end. There was no mood for entertainment and people went to bed early. Most people. A group of young guys tried to swim the river on their horses to go to a bar in the 'Hat' and one of them drowned.
 
A pall hung over the cattle drive the next morning as the news travelled around the camp, but as everyone knows, the show must go on. Horses were quietly groomed and saddled, we tied our bandanas around our arms in respect of the fallen, and headed out towards the big city lights.

Excitement grew again as we started to travel residential streets. Fifteen hundred riders, a bunch of cows and a hundred chuck-wagons were travelling through the city - it was a sight to see from the back of a horse, and I heard that it was a spectacle from the ground. I sat up taller in the saddle and straightened my cowboy hat and I felt Jovan get a little bit bigger. Everywhere we went crowds of people were lining the roads. On the north side of the city I saw Carm, Mom, Dad, and Uncle Graham in the crowd, waving wildly to get my attention. Reality was another step closer... choke... We paraded through downtown. It seemed like everyone in Medicine Hat were lining the roads. It was my first parade and it could have been the Rose Bowl - it was that fantastic.

And then, all of the sudden, it was over.

Too busy to cry, we started the job of getting back to reality. Horses had to be cared for, tack had to be carried to Helena's truck, people had to be greeted, my bag had to be assigned to Carm. Reality. I could barely stand it. The emptiness in my chest was unbearable, I felt like I might explode into a million pieces and had to concentrate not to cry. But there. Everything has a beginning and an end, and even though the end might not be welcome, it is inevitable.

Ground-in dirt with a coating of dust went down the drain as my clothes spun in the washer and I reluctantly stepped into a much needed shower to complete my transition to reality. A few tears may have mixed with the last of the dirt from my Wonderland.

Clean, and in fresh duds, we went to the cattle auction that afternoon, which was followed by a dinner and dance. I suffered mightily from lunch bag letdown and could only summon up half-hearted participation. I said my good byes to Deirdre and Helena and the ponies the next morning.

Now it was a regular visit to the 'Hat', a regular holiday.





Saturday, November 7, 2015

WYL #17 - Turning Points

This topic turned out to be a bit of a durge, perhaps Leonard Cohen would like to put it to music (of course he’d be more eloquent). It came out sounding like a bit of a whine, but that was not my intent. But we are writing about our lives, and this is certainly a big part of mine…


                                  ~

There are forks in our lives where we chose one direction over another and this choice can dramatically change our path in life. The day I accepted a temporary job with the government changed the course of my life in ways I can only guess at. Who knows what would have happened if I had stayed in school and moved with my parents to Toronto. Maybe I would have gotten a degree in Arts and become a clerk in some big city bank? Or maybe I would have flown to a foreign city and fallen in love. Instead I entered a career in IT that lasted 30 years. Staying in Ottawa also set me up for another turning point. The lonely night I slipped a note under Carm's door to meet me for a coffee set in motion a series of steps that led to building a happy life together. I have no regrets with either choice, my life has been happy and full of love.

Not all turning points are choices though. Sometimes things that are out of your control happen that force a new track. That's what happened to me in 2004. My life was perfect. I was living my dream with a farm in the country, complete with a herd of horses in the backyard. I ignored the ominous signs. Occasionally I'd have a week or two of depression but it would pass and I'd forget the grey misery. Spring and summer were euphoric. The sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, everything was a miracle. There was nothing that I couldn't do. I thought everyone loved life as wildly as I did.

In March of that year everything changed. My depression didn't end and just got worse and worse. Moving one foot in front of the other was the best I could do, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep it up. Life seemed like an empty void. A trip to the doctor got me a prescription of antidepressants. I thought my problems were solved. Summer that year was great. I bought 2 more mares. I bred 4. I didn't sit still. The next spring was going to be busy and I was super excited about it. My brain was on overdrive… until it wasn't. The September fall from hypomania to depression was like landing on a cement sidewalk from one story up. Thoughts about dying haunted me - it seemed the only solution. Another visit to my doctor got me a leave slip, a different antidepressant and a referral to a psychologist.

The new prescription didn't help but, luckily, I only had to wait a week to see the new doctor. I sat in a big blue armchair in his office and answered question after question. Finally, Dr. Beck put his notes down and looked me in the eye. "You have bipolar, a mood disorder that has no cure. You'll be on medication for the rest of your life, without it you have a 20% chance of dying by suicide.".

I sat stunned. This wasn't what I expected, it wasn't what I wanted. What happened to my perfect life? I asked him why it happened so suddenly and he told me that I had had a mild form which can suddenly turn more serious.

Talk about turning points! Everything had changed but it took a while to sink in. I didn't understand how the diagnosis would change nearly every aspect of my life.

My doctor told me that bipolar is a mood disorder where the hypo-manic highs cycle with depressed lows, with some 'normal' thrown into the mix. Instead of experiencing a mood for a few hours or maybe days, it get's stuck at one of the extremes, sometimes for weeks or months before it cycles through the mood spectrum again. It's been my experience that hypomania can be energetically euphoric, which can be fun, until the energy overcomes me so I can't sit down or sleep, and my brain spins with crazy ideas.  The euphoria can suddenly, like flicking a light switch, change to an irrationally irritable rage. Depression is a loss of feeling. My brain doesn't spin, it lies flat without moving. Thoughts are slow and muddled. I feel like I am moving through a thick grey porridge. It isn't just sadness but is often a painful emptiness from which there seems only one escape.

The weeks turned into months which turned into years as medications were adjusted and I worked hard to learn how to manage this illness. One of the first things I learned is that having a calm environment without frenetic levels of activity was crucial. I could no longer manage the schedule of taking care of 11 parrots, and 11 horses.  The horses and birds had to go. My dream life was over. I thought of keeping one horse, but one of the many side effects of the drugs was a loss of balance. I learned the hard way that the ground is hard! There were rivers of tears over these decisions, but I knew that they were the only ones that I could make, I knew that to carry on the way I was going would keep me ill.

If that wasn't enough to deal with, I found that the depression and medications had affected my brain. I couldn't think. My IQ dropped. Simple tasks were (proved) difficult and frustrating. I kept at it though and with more hard work most of my brain has returned. I still have trouble with concentration and memory, especially when tired.

Some people with bipolar enter remission and no longer experience any of its effects. I'm not one of those people. Every single day I have to make choices towards wellness. The odd late night might be okay, but more than that will likely trigger a mood episode, as will too many activities in a day. I keep track of my thinking to make sure I nip any negative thoughts in the bud. The tremor in my hands is just one side effect of the medications I take, but they are a lifesaver to me so I'm careful to take them on schedule. These management techniques help, but sometimes depression or hypomania gets a toe-hold and I'm brought down.

The reminders that my life has changed are harsh at times, but then I realize how lucky I am, for most turning points have a positive side and this one is no different. Please don't feel sorry for me! I live a good and happy life. I have good doctors, I have supportive family and friends, I have experienced the kindness of others, I have a spouse that is my champion. And, sometimes, I even get to experience a little bit of that euphoria!

This is a quote by Albert Camus that is a reminder that I have within myself the power to overcome:

In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”  ~Albert Camus



Wednesday, November 4, 2015

WYL #16a Where were you then - 1998 Ice Storm

Ice Castles

The lights flickered. Head throbbing from a day long headache, I groped my way to the kitchen sink to fill a bucket of water for the toilet and made sure we (humans and dogs) had enough drinking water, then rushed down to the basement to take care of the aviary full of parrots - 5 pairs of birds waited for me to serve up their supper.

Water and food was taken care of, getting the dogs outside for a break and opening the gate was next. I was shocked to find freezing rain bucketing down and every surface already glazed. It was a miracle that I didn't wipe out as I slip my way to the gate.  With a big heave-ho I wrenched the gate free of the ice and looked down the road. It takes a big dip down to the bridge over the creek, then there is a long, fairly steep hill on the other side. On either side of the road is a sharp, car-busting drop-off to the creek. The slick hill was too much for the few cars that tried, leaving them idling in the dip waiting for a salt truck to come along.

I didn't have to wait long for Carm to skid into the laneway from the other direction. As we stepped into the house the lights flickered again, and then went out. Already. We started a fire in the fireplace and wondered when the power would come on.

Thursday morning we woke up to a quiet house. No lights on downstairs in the birdroom. No alarm clock. No humming of the fridge. Dead quiet. Except for the eerie cracking of trees breaking. Oh geeze, surely it won't be long now. I traipsed outside with the dogs and stopped just outside the door. Thick ice cloaked every surface; even tall grasses were ringed with an inch of ice, sticking out of the ground like miniature crystal skyscrapers. Our driveway was impassable - there was no way we were going to work. The dogs slid and fell as they tried to do their business - they didn't linger outside. The birdroom was lit by two small windows, but it was enough light for them to find the food bowls that we had filled with bird seed rather than their normal scrumptious meal.

It was a long day. We had no phone service and no battery operated radio so occasionally we'd sit in the car trying to get news of what was happening. CHEZ 106 didn't have much to say, but Lowell Green on CFRA had reports of gloom and doom. We sat tight and hoped we'd be one of the first to be restored.

Cracking explosions kept up through the day and into the night as the trees surrendered their crowns to the icy queen.

The next day there was no change so we ventured out in the car. We were shocked when we saw long lines of power poles snapped in two. Every road we drove on the north/south poles were shattered.  A few days later we'd be even more shocked to see a line of collapsed metal power towers. Our hearts sunk and we wondered what we'd do. It would surely be weeks before this mess could be cleaned up and we had a basement full of parrots - tropical birds - that had to be kept warm. There was no way we could leave the house.

Thankfully our house was R2000 and we had an efficient woodstove in the living room. That was good for upstairs, but as you know, heat rises. When we built the house we had roughed in for a future wood stove in the basement, but that was no help (we did remedy that as soon as everything was back to normal). We had to find a way to get heat into the bird room and since we couldn't fight the laws of physics we'd need another heat source. My parents had a kerosene heater that we could borrow which would help a bit but we could only run it when we were there and we'd have to be careful about the fumes - we had 10 canaries in this coal mine.

Heat wasn't our only problem - we had no water. None for toilets, none for washing ourselves, none for the dogs. Luckily by the weekend the temperatures outside had risen to above freezing and water was pouring off the roof. I put bowls and buckets under the drain spouts and collected water into a large garbage bin that we brought into the house. A day of effort gave us enough to get by. We got drinking water from the township.

Firewood was also a problem - we had roasted a lamb the previous fall which depleted our reserves. Carm put many miles on the car collecting wood at various depots. Kind people from the city donated some to us, and the rest came from emergency suppliers.

By a fluke we heard about a delivery of generators that was coming into Home Depot - Carm was in line at 5am on Sunday to cinch one. The American manufactured generators were not designed to handle the frigid temperatures that had moved in. We had to carry the heavy, awkward unit up three steps to get it in the house to warm up for an hour before we could coax the engine to start. As if we didn't have enough to worry about. However, the generator could run a space heater in the birdroom - at least while we were home and awake.

The days passed, we were back to work so our heating efforts downstairs were minimal and day by day the room got colder. By Friday it was at 50F and I had made the commitment to stay up with the generator and kerosene heater until we warmed the birds up. I think it was 8pm when we saw the light down the road. Could it be? Carm disconnected the generator and flicked the main switch on the electrical… and voila! Lights.



Sunday, October 25, 2015

WYL #15 - Those Years In Between

lets get this show on the road

I struggled to open my eyes when the rock concert suddenly blared from my alarm clock, the sound of loud Marshall amps jolting me out of my slumber. The clock blinked 4:45 am. My arm flung out, searching for the button to stop the infernal noise and I started to pull the covers back over my head, but I knew that wasn't an option. Swinging my feet out of the covers, they hit the cold floor and I stood up to get my bearings.

In the kitchen, I started emptying the fridge of its horde of fruits and vegetables. The knife sliced dangerously through the air, narrowly missing my finger, as I chopped and shredded. Oatmeal mixed with eggs, beans and pasta warmed in the microwave, a colourful salad of veggies and fruit was on the menu for today, as it was everyday. I piled the food onto glass pie plates and started transporting the colourful offerings, two at a time, to the basement. When I turned on the lights I was greeted by cheerful hellos and squawks from the waking parrots. The morning avian hello always brought a smile to my face. I greeted everyone by name, and carefully observed them for a moment, before moving on to the next pair of parrots. While the birds dug into their breakfast I checked their water supply then dragged myself upstairs to get showered and dressed.

I pulled big warm boots, and a long coat over my office clothes and braced myself. The blast of winter air that hit my face when I opened the door almost sent me back to bed, but I had an appointment with a computer, so I forced myself out into the cold. Wind had drifted the snow over the path, but there was no time to shovel. Pushing through the drifts towards the barn I thought of the day ahead of me - inside, with no windows to the sky - I felt grateful for these few minutes of Nature, even in her fury.

The large bodies of the horses had warmed up the little barn, and low nickers greeted me. Shoeing them all out, I picked up the night's accumulation of manure, then struggled with the huge muck bucket, dragging it out to the manure pile. Next, I spread out several flakes of hay onto the floor, a pile for each horse. Calling them in, each horse chose a pile and started their breakfast. I paused for a moment burying my face in the thick coat of the closest one and listened to the rhythmic chewing. A feeling of peace and contentment washed over me. These few minutes of equine therapy would get me through the busy day.

I trudged again through the deep snow to the waiting car, I was grateful that I had this opportunity to live my dream but it was now time to rush across snow covered roads, through heavy traffic, and into town to the paying job.

After work the process reversed itself. A drive through rush hour, into the house to change and prepare steaming buckets of warm mash, then outside with Carm to clean the barn and feed the horses. If it was warm enough I'd clean their hooves and brush them. A few minutes of training would be shoehorned into the evening. Once back into the house it was time to feed the dogs, and take care of the birds. The parrots would all get a fresh helping of pellets along with a walnut. We'd sweep the floor and say goodnight. If I was lucky Carm and I had a few minutes for supper before we'd go out to the barn again for bedtime hay. My head would sink into the pillow when it was finally time for bed, anxious to get to sleep before the band played again.

Thursday, October 22, 2015

WYL #5 b Eternal Summer

The essence of a sloth descended upon me Wednesday, that with an accompanying headache had me in bed way past a respectable hour. When I finally did emerge from the somnolent cocoon I wasn't exactly leaping like a lemur - the sloth was still with me. It gave me a chance to go through me WYL writings and print what I hadn't printed. I also identified the ones that haven't be posted yet, so hang onto your britches folks, fine literature is on its way :-0

Today was writing group so I read something I wrote in the summer about my summers as a child - minnows, creeks and frogs figure prominently.

                                           ~

Eternal Summer

The train roared by, stirring the tranquil summer air and mixing the acrid smell of tar with sweet clover. Suddenly I was in a time warp, transported to the mid sixties when I was a child. Smell can do that to you. Just ten years old, life was not a tapestry of 'what ifs' - it was the 'here and now', the moment. I had no thoughts of the future, other than the vague idea that I would have a horse someday. And a dog. Otherwise, there were no specifics. Tomorrow was as far ahead as I looked.

My bike tires crunched the gravel surface of that lonely country road. A recently cut hay field waiting to be baled lay on one side of the road; the smell of purple clover and drying grass hung in the air. There must have been the smell of creosote and tar mixed in with the sweetness of the clover, but I don't recall where it came from, perhaps a nearby railway track, or maybe two memories are mixed into one.

A line of barbed wire fence delineated the pasture on the other side of the road. Brown cows grazing peacefully dotted the grass, some were lying down in the shade of a large elm. There were wildflowers of all sorts carpeting the shallow ditches. Butterflies flitted among them. I could hear the music of bees doing their work. A meadowlark sang its distinct song.

A dark brown shape caught my eye. A horse, with a black mane and tail stood slightly apart from the cows. I was already obsessed with horses and had a notebook filled with carefully printed out names. Flash, Jet, and Patches were a few, the rest a faded memory. My stand-in horse, a blue bicycle, was named Fly. I rode this steed everywhere, imagining the pounding of hoofs as I peddled.

Further down the road was a dark forest, shadows obscuring most details. It was cooler here and quieter too, the sounds muffled by the deep carpet of leaves, and tall, strong trunks of the trees. The deep woods never held a quiet peace for me, instead, I always peddled a little faster until I was out into the sunshine again.

My destination was a little creek on the other side of the forest. Slightly out of breath, I lay my bike carefully on the ground. I peeled off my shoes and rolled up my shorts, then slithered down the bank until my toes were deep in the cool mud, revelling in the sensation of it squishing between my toes.  Some dragonflies flitted over the water and into the reeds. I crouched down to catch a little leopard frog that jumped from beneath my feet, grasping its slippery green body in my hands, and held it in front of me, looking into its alien eyes. It gave a little struggle and I let it disappear into the nearby cattails. I chased down some minnows, hoping to catch one to take home to my aquarium, but without a net or jar to put it in, it was a pointless task.

Splattered with mud, I scrabbled up the bank to the grassy area bordering the creek. Lying back on Nature's green velveteen blanket I gazed at the sky. A fluffy white horse raced across blue fields, its tail streaming out behind it. Another one raced nearby. I had to squint my eyes and turn my head just so to see the dog in the other cloud.  

As the morning disappeared into the afternoon the rumbling in my stomach reminded me of the time. Fly galloped down the road and skidded into the driveway, I jumped off and ran into the house as I knew my Mom would be waiting. With a quick wash of my hands, I rushed into the kitchen for a sandwich. Sitting at the table, with my mud splattered legs dangling, I savoured each bite of peanut butter and jelly.

I had no idea that decades later I'd be sitting in a car, in a far away place, reliving that memory, though perhaps it is augmented with others to create a beautiful kaleidoscope of images, smells and tastes. What makes a particular memory of a particular moment have so much impact that decades later it can be rerun and the feeling fleetingly recaptured? Maybe those memories are more indelible because they were lived in the moment and not diluted with all the must do's and worries that normally accompany our thoughts.

                                              ~

Wednesday, October 21, 2015

WYL #13 - Family Life

The First Evidence I Had of Love

The shiny red Camero pulled up in front of our house. Aunty Jean and I rushed out to see my mom, and the newborn baby that was Kirsten, my sister. Being only 5, I couldn't have anticipated the change from beloved only child to responsible older sister, and I certainly couldn't have predicted that the bunting bag would hold a life-long friend. 




I don't remember much of the first few years after her arrival. I was no longer the centre of attention and she was too young to play with but I think I cheerfully accepted this. 

On her first birthday Dad and I were in charge of the icing for her cake. A little of this colour, a little of that, and it was a murky black - not a crisp penguin black, but more like a nasty bruise.  I recall another incident when she was around 3. We were in the bath and I convinced her that the bar of soap was white chocolate. She sunk her teeth into the glistening white bar and then howled, bubbles coming out of her mouth like a rabid dog. I had learned from the best - my father was always pulling some sort of trick on one of us, even the pets didn't escape his wicked sense of humour. Looking back it seems I may have had a mean streak!




You would think that Kirsten would be less trusting of me after that, but she was a sweet soul. When we had ice cream cones, I'd greedily finish mine and then suggest to Kirsten that we play that I was her dog. Of course she'd feed me licks of her melting treat. She had a pink 'blankie' that went to bed with her every night. When she was 5, I convinced her to cut it up to make blankets for the Barbie house we were building out of cardboard boxes. She complied, but at bedtime realized what had been done. This time there were no soap bubbles coming out of her mouth, but she was no less mad! I teamed up with my dad to tease and harass. 'Monkey Bean' and 'Kirsten Jean Jellybean' were favourite taunts. We felt that somehow all this teasing would make her stronger and better able to fare on the playground. I think she'd tell you that it had the opposite effect. 

Those years have long past and as proof of the strength of family bonds we are good friends. The best kind of friend: one that has shared a lifetime of experience.

My next sibling was announced as we sat around the dinner table celebrating my father's birthday. Mom handed him a card signed from his new son or daughter. We sat in stunned silence until the good news sunk in. I was excited about having a baby brother or sister. Olaf arrived in September 1976, 2 days before my 14th birthday. 

We heard about the upcoming arrival of my youngest brother, Graham, while we were sailing on the Ottawa river. After all the diaper changing we had already done Kirsten and I might not have been thrilled to hear the news. He was born 1 1/2 years after Olaf when I was 15 1/2. We loved him instantly. Our family was complete.




Olaf and Graham gave me plenty of practice changing diapers and walking the floor in the middle of the night with a colicky baby, but they soon grew out of that and became charming little boys. I loved to dress them up in cute outfits and take them on outings, sometimes in the stroller and often on the bus. They were adorable, the centre of attention wherever they were. Unfortunately my family moved away when I was 19 so I missed their growing up years. Of course we visited and there were times when they came to visit me in my various apartments, but those times were few and far between. I do recall one time bringing Olaf to Ottawa from Kingston on the back of my motorcycle - he would have been 6 or 7! A few times they had to come to work with me while they were visiting. They'd sit quietly with crayons colouring on the back of computer listings. Co-workers would drop by to entertain them with ascii art and other incredible sights. I still have a crayon drawing of the CN tower drawn by Olaf.




Kirsten, with her husband, Shawn, and daughters, Shenna and Nissa, moved to New Zealand in 2003. We don't get to visit very often - 4 years was the longest stretch (so far). Olaf and his wife, Tammy, followed in 2009. They had a daughter in New Zealand in 2012 - I've only seen Freya a few times. I miss them all terribly. My heart aches from missing the girls' growing up years. Phone calls are good but no substitute for being there. 

Graham has two kids, Erik and Juliette, and lives in Ottawa so we visit frequently. My youngest brother shares a bipolar diagnosis ensuring that we have a special relationship.  

I am lucky to have a warm and loving relationship will all my siblings, thanks in no small part to the influence of my parents. 

                                                                      ~

"People talk about the happy quiet that can exist between two loves, but this, too, was great; sitting between his sister and his brother, saying nothing, eating. Before the world existed, before it was populated, and before there were wars and jobs and colleges and movies and clothes and opinions and foreign travel -- before all of these things there had been only one person, Zora, and only one place: a tent in the living room made from chairs and bed-sheets. After a few years, Levi arrived; space was made for him; it was as if he had always been. Looking at them both now, Jerome found himself in their finger joints and neat conch ears, in their long legs and wild curls. He heard himself in their partial lisps caused by puffy tongues vibrating against slightly noticeable buckteeth. He did not consider if or how or why he loved them. They were just love: they were the first evidence he ever had of love, and they would be the last confirmation of love when everything else fell away." ~Zadie Smith

Friday, May 15, 2015

WYL #31b Perseverance

I used part of a previous post to write this for the writing group. It wasn’t exactly on topic, but since we are writing a memoir of our lives I felt that this was appropriate. I ran it past Carm before I read it to the group, but even with his go-ahead it was a bit tough to read. Thankfully the group is very supportive.

~

Perseverance

A shroud of indifference has lain heavily across my shoulders for the last few weeks. The other day the veil clouding my eyes shifted just enough to reveal tulips in bloom, trees fully leafed, dandelions scattered like suns across the green galaxy, and the apple tree buds emerging from their woolly cloak. I didn't really care. I wanted to, but couldn't. Like a marionette I said all the right things about the miracle of spring, but like that marionette they were just words.

There are two pairs of swallows nesting in the barn. They seem to know one another as they are often together doing their aerial manoeuvres in the sky. Four turkey vultures are hanging around as well - we've seen them on the barn and fence posts, as well as circling lazily in the sky. Robins? They are everywhere. Red-winged blackbirds? Everywhere as well. The Orioles knock themselves against our reflective windows, trying to scare away the mirrored intruder. All these winged creatures welcome the morning with a joyous chorus that lasts through the day. Do they really feel joyous? Or do they feel ordinary or blah and singing is just something they do? An empty laugh to deceive.

People around me hear my morning song, but don't recognize that it is forced. They may not notice that my smile is shallow and my eyes flat. My laugh seems hollow to me, but maybe not to others. I am quiet because words have left me and my mind is dull. I desperately want to be back to normal, to escape the numbness, but even that desire mires me more firmly into the fog. I am a failure.

I can't seem to write lately. My mind is blank. Not a blank canvas waiting to be written upon, that suggests the possibility of something great. It's just blank.

I feel like I am the tinman from the Wizard of Oz and have been left out in the rain to rust. Movement is difficult. It's a bit like walking through water up to your neck, except it isn't as fluid and is more jerky and stiff. I don't stop though, no matter how much I'd rather go back to bed and pull the covers up over my head - stopping is not an option. If I stop I may not start again. A diatribe of negative thoughts has taken up residence in my head. Fat, ugly, stupid, can't, (yes, lots of can'ts) try to anchor themselves in my brain. I have a constant conversation with myself trying to disaffirm the accusations. You'd think it would get easier as the days go by - so much practice - but I feel like I am slowly losing the battle.

Ashamed at my inability to master my emotions, I let my doctor know that I need help. Her kind words remind me that I am not a failure for needing medication and ups my dose. Like a drowning swimmer I grab onto the lifesaver and don't let go.

I keep reminding myself that if I persevere, keep trying, and not give up, I'll get into the sunshine again, just like I have every other time this dreary mood anchors me into the muck. "I can, I can, I can" tries to push out the can'ts. Cheerful mantras like William Shakespeare's "Merrily, merrily shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough." force aside depressing diatribes as I start to heal.

~

20150510_151117-apple-blossom

Friday, May 8, 2015

WYL #14b Jobs and Careers

This is my rewrite of Jobs and Careers. I tried to put more emotion into it, as well as hive off some of the technospeak. I’ve been a bit unfair about some of my dealings with the developers and project managers as there were some that were right on board. Collaborating with these people was fun and saved my sanity (oh wait, I did lose my sanity, perhaps there weren’t enough of them!). Anyway, at the end of the day I loved my job – I must have as I was there for almost 30 years.

~

Structured

As the bus lurched through the traffic, I talked and laughed with my dad pretending that this was a day like any other and that I was used to sitting on the express bus to downtown.  A pounding herd of butterflies crashed in my chest, reminding me that with just a summer job at a boarding kennel I was ill prepared for my first day of work with the government. 

Stepping off the bus and bidding my father adieu, my sweaty hand grasped the slip of paper telling me where to find my new workplace. The instructions seemed strange: get on the west side elevator on the lower floor and press 3. What? West? Lower floor? When I saw that the glass fronted elevators were double-decker the instructions started to make sense and I stepped closer to my future. Checking the paper again, I got off the elevator and turned left.

The tension in my stomach loosened a notch when I saw Mr. Jenkins standing at the end of the hall.  He was my friend June's father. A few weeks earlier June and I had been sitting at her kitchen table sipping tea when her father happened to pass through. I was lamenting my indecision about the next year. I had just turned 19 and had planned a gap year but had no idea what I was going to do. Luckily for me he had sharp ears and an opening for a clerk in the contract he was soon to start with Industry, Trade and Commerce. And so there I was, bewildered in an alien world.

Dressed up in an unfamiliar dress and high heels, I tottered after Mr. Jenkins, trying to figure out what he was saying. The acronyms and technical terms were like Greek to me. But I paid close attention and eventually my pretty little blonde head started to put things together. In fact, I learned this new language remarkably fast, and found what it had to say fascinating. A computer geek was born.

Near the end of the contract I was approached by Jack Drawbridge, the government manager that had initiated the work. He needed someone for a permanent contract and thought I would be good for the job, if I took a typing class. My future was being formed, and the gap year was turning into the first of 30 years. By the way, that typing class has proven to be time well spent as the skills helped me through my whole career, and now, almost more so as I've taken to amusing myself by writing.

Discussions with Jack, pen in hand and any handy scrap of paper between us, schooled me in the principals of data management. I learned how important the data in the application was and that it was crucial to structure it correctly, not doing so might corrupt the application and embarrass the department.  I quickly became a passionate believer and by the time I had a few years under my belt I was an expert in my field. My confidence grew when companies from Toronto and Boston tried to lure me away from Ottawa, providing a warm feeling of validation which boosted my self confidence. It was nice to be valued.

Listening, asking questions, reading and flying by the seat of my pants soon had me engrossed on the software side of the business as well. As the technical environment progressed from COBOL computer programming code on the mainframe to JAVA code on a PC I flourished. I got my kicks from writing programs to input data from an excel file, or creating web pages to dynamically display documentation. It was fun.

While I preferred playing with software, my job ensured that a stream of application developers would darken my office door. They'd sit down and lay out their documentation for me to okay. With a discrete sigh I'd review their half-hearted efforts and point out where changes and improvements were required. I'd had these conversations hundreds of times as the turnstile whirled with new developers, but nothing seemed to change. Fresh out of school they'd think they knew everything and fought with me over every change. They'd be angry when I'd point out that the new field they were adding had already been added on another table, a data corruption waiting to happen. Only by giving meaningful documentation would this be caught, possibly saving the department from a black eye.
I had the same discussions countless times over the years (think blue in the face), but never lost my belief that this was the right thing to do, although at times my shoulders slumped at the weight of conflict.

Sometimes the developer would balk at my changes and escalate our argument up the line. Facing the the project manager, or worse still, the director, I'd stick to my guns, frustrated when forced to concede. More than once those concessions came back to haunt the project, but I'd bite back the "I told you so's".  By the time my retirement rolled around I felt I had done my time and more.

Almost 30 years after sitting at that kitchen table I left my job with mixed feelings: while I was happy that the arguments were over, my blood still rushes when the subject of data management comes up (which it doesn't normally!) and I hope that the people replacing me continue with the same passion that I had.

~

Sunday, April 26, 2015

WYL #14a Jobs and Careers

This is my first shot at this topic. It is okay I guess, but technospeak turned it into a boring list of what I did. It isn’t all that meaningful either if you aren’t a computer person. I’m re-writing it now to put some life in it and hopefully remove some of the technobabble but it is proving difficult. I’m giving myself until Thursday’s writing group meeting to get it done. I’ll read it out loud to the group then to get some feedback.

~

Not a Cowboy

From my first serious boyfriend, through the ups and downs of becoming an adult, my years with Carm, the highs and lows of pursuing my dreams, and dealing with an illness, my job was the backbone of my life.

I had no idea what I wanted to be when I 'grow up'. It was impossible to be a cowboy, my marks weren't good enough to be a vet or an architect and by the time I was through grade 13 I knew I didn't want to work in a kennel. I had no clue. As it happens, fate and good timing got me a job in the federal government documenting master files. If you don't know what that is, have no worries, I didn't either. I was clueless when it came to computers and technology. Home computers were a thing of the future and the Z100 that my engineering boyfriend had was of no interest.

The first day of work I felt like I had landed on an alien planet. Dressed up in an unfamiliar dress and high heels, I tottered after Mr. Jenkins, the head of the project, trying to figure out what he was saying. The acronyms and technical terms were like Greek to me - seriously. But I paid close attention and eventually my pretty little blonde head started to put things together. In fact, I learned this new language remarkably fast, and found what it had to say fascinating. A computer geek was born.

After the first project with the master files we started documenting the applications (we called them systems back then), that the department ran. I entered the data collected into an archaic word processing machine. I don't recall exactly how many there were, but in 1982 it was around 50 (I actually have a print out somewhere). Little did I know at the time that the application inventory would be repeated over and over again, and would became my final focus before retirement.

When that project was over I moved onto what was to become my life's work. At first my job was to load the repository (we called it a data dictionary back then) with data supplied by the project managers. We were documenting the programs and files that made up an application and it was up to us to not only enter the data, but to ensure that it complied with a defined standard. At times this created a conflict between our group and others. As the years went by I became involved with designing the underlying structure of the repository, and then started running the upgrades to the existing technology and programming the system to customize the user experience.

Our department was one of the forerunners of implementing data management theories into real practice. When we moved to a new platform I wrote code that would output database create instructions from the documentation entered into the repository. Changes to the database structure would go through a work request process that ensured a consistent result. Part of this processing involved sitting with the developers to design an efficient schema. It seemed that we were constantly at odds with project managers and developers as we balanced the quick and dirty with meaningful documentation. It was not always a harmonic workplace.

The last few years it seemed that it was all futile. Upper management was no longer interested in the details of an application, they only seemed to care that it was produced quickly (no matter the quality). It looked like they might pull the plug on everything that I had been working for. In my final months of working the pendulum swung once again in favour of data management practices.

I cannot fail to mention the most important part of the job - the people on our team, starting with my first government boss, Jack Drawbridge. The hours we spent discussing theory with a pen and scrap of paper between us are a treasured memory. Blair Stannard made me feel special and part of the group from my very first day with them. He never forgot a birthday. Chris Fleming and Jo Ellen Welsford became close friends - we've known each other since the early 80s, when we were young and fresh and full of passion. Ken Buck let me take on more responsibility as I grew in experience. Roy McSheffrey let me try things on my own and grow in confidence. All of these people, and more, helped me to grow and learn. None of them held my high school education against me.

I'm not sure if I brought a strong desire for orderliness to the job, or if the job built that desire in me - most likely it was both. Once retired I couldn't stand to let disorder reign and needed a daily computer fix so I built databases about my mood, sleep, food, etc. and ran reports. I couldn't quit cold turkey!

I sometimes wonder if I would choose the same course for my life if given the opportunity. I won't say that I would jump at the chance to change because I do believe that I made a difference and I did enjoy many aspects of my work, but at the same time, being in a field where I was not constantly at odds with others might have changed my life in other ways.

~

2009-1211-155_work

Sunday, April 19, 2015

WYL #11b Marriage

Knock 3 Times

I was 24 years old when I met Carm and just out of a relationship that left me in tatters. I was living in the ground floor apartment of a two story house, Carm lived upstairs. My old boyfriend, Ken, was only out of the door for a few days when I knocked on Carm's door for some company. Magic must have been in the air that Saturday night as a spell was wound around us.

I had to go out of town for a few days right after our evening together and thoughts of him made concentrating on the conference difficult; when I got home butterflies writhed in my stomach as I wrote in my diary that I hoped he would knock on my door. He did.

He knocked that night, and the next, and the next. Soon the door was no longer closed between our apartments. Carm had a surety and stability about him that was a salve to my battered self. He didn't play games with my head. His love wasn't demanding and greedy but was open and selfless. Slowly I was able to heal in this shelter. Those heady days where we got to know each other passed in a blur. It seemed that my heart would never slow down its frantic, love struck beats.

Only 6 months had passed when we started looking for a house in the country to make our own. We looked at countless wrecks before finding our Limoges high ranch bungalow. It wasn't my dream farm, but it was a good start. We moved all his furniture downstairs to my smaller, 1 bedroom apartment so we could save some money while we waited for the closing date. For the next few months we squeezed around sofas, stubbed our toes on dressers, and tripped over my 2 cats, and by then 2 dogs. We didn't notice any of it, we were in love.

In March of 1988 we moved into our house.  We had fun painting and wallpapering (without fighting!). We built a deck and bought an above ground pool. We got another dog - a giant Irish Wolfhound.

In 1989 we were married in a lavish Italian style wedding with around 150 people in attendance. I don't remember what we ate, but I do remember swirling around the dance floor in my fancy wedding dress. Starting with ‘What a Wonderful World’ by Louis Armstrong for our first dance,  each song that played was my favourite and I had to be dragged away to talk to our guests. I've never smiled so much, I didn't want the party to end.

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In the years that followed we got first one parrot (an African Grey Congo), then another (a Blue & Gold macaw), then 8 more to start a breeding flock. We still had three dogs (Chetta, Ranger, Max), and two cats. Every moment of every day was filled with activity. But it wasn't enough  - I wanted a horse and a farm to go with it so we started driving around to look at property. Eventually we found what we were looking for (see http://pursuitofidlepleasures.blogspot.ca/2014/11/wyl-32-perspectives-of-life.html).

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We designed our house together and then oversaw the building of it.

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Once we had settled in for a few years, my mind turned to horses and so it began with one Norwegian Fjord horse mare which grew to a herd of 11 purebred Fjords over a few years. Carm and I worked hard together building a barn, erecting fences, and all the activities that come with breeding horses.

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The parrots and horses were my ideas, but Carm embraced my dreams as his own and worked tirelessly by my side. Without his help the dreams may not have come true - there is something very special about fulfilling dreams with someone you love. The joy in every shared moment is magnified.

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The years of parrots and horses sadly had to come to an end and in their place we got a camper to distract ourselves with. It was a good distraction!

Like all fairy tales we did have our share of conflict, but as the years have passed we have learned how to communicate better and be kind to each other even during the rough patches. Together we have partially tamed the wicked witch of bipolar disorder and with Carm's help I have been able to achieve a stability and wellness that I may not have without him.

From that fateful night in 1987 when I knocked three times it has been proven that this was no infatuation but an enduring love that has nourished and at times sheltered me.

Tony Orlando & Dawn ‘Knock Three Times’: https://youtu.be/AUXoFGopZnQ

Louis Armstrong ‘What a Wonderful World’ - https://youtu.be/E2VCwBzGdPM

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