Martha Montie 1913 - 2008

Yesterday evening, my last remaining grandparent, Grandma Martha Montie, passed away. There is no doubt in my mind that she is in a better place now, free of her 94-year-old body and into her new, younger one, no doubt still wearing dresses with floral patterns and matching broaches. She was a woman of baking, a caring woman who always offered food to you when you appeared at her door, a woman with the biggest heart around. She was the best kind of grandma - the one that was big and soft to squeeze with many hugs, the one that took care of me when I was sick as a child, the one who made me homemade chicken noodle soup, the one who put an extra blanket on me when I was sleeping, the one who was quiet but with a sparkle in her eyes that no one could deny. She was a collector of salt and pepper shakers, of photographs of British Royalty and those of her grandchildren, of things pretty, of things old, of things new, and even the little candies given away with the bill at restaurants (she cleverly tucked these into her purse when she thought no one was looking, but I always saw her and smiled). She could make something crafty and beautiful out of scraps. She liked Bingo. She made the best perogies in the world - see for yourself: As I'm writing this, I'm listening to Jack Johnson's album, In Between Dreams, and the song "If I Could" brings to me thoughts of new life and passing... The lyrics below intertwine my thoughts of Grandma's death and how it seems appropriate that there are so many new babies being born into my friend circles right now giving life to death. And how I believe a piece of Grandma's soul now lives in all of us, so she will always be right here with me. Down the middle, drops one more grain of sand. They say that new life makes losing life easier to understand. Words are kind, they ease the mind. I miss my old friend. And though we gotta go, we'll keep a piece of your soul. One goes out, one comes in. Grandma Montie was warm and wonderful and loved very much, and she will be missed by her entire family.

if love was visible

Jasmine, a lovely and amazingly beautiful friend, has been in a car accident in Halifax. To send my healing love her way, I've written a little poem for her, with no capital letters, just like her emails of witty prose..... if love was visible you'd be swarmed in luxurious red waves and swirls all the time but especially now. all i can do from this place far away is pretend like i am right beside you. i am here. i love you. and in that, add depth to the love surrounding you. swim freely in this warm energy lovely friend.

My muscles thank you, Brian

For Christmas this year, Brian got me two gift certificates for massages from a local R.M.T, Michael Kirby. His office looks like a hippie yoga hang out - yes, I even spotted a big lava lamp in the corner, next to the incense. Michael's a real nice guy; very warm and light in his energy. When you think of a massage, most people think, "I can just lay there in bliss" and then suddenly the hour has flown by and you're booted out the door into the bitterness of the cold snow falling into your jacket as you try to zip up with jelly-hands. In actual fact, I think you can get a lot more out of a massage if you keep your mind in the present and work with it. Michael's only instruction for me at the beginning of my session was to keep with my breath; try to breath into the space he's working on and try to release and relax that space with every exhale. This is not a new concept for me as I do it all the time in my yoga practise, but to do this in a massage is such a treat! It's like getting an extra hour for free! and your breath can be as slow as the red bubbles in that lava lamp. Nothing was too painful, I never held my breath, and I found that time actually slowed down. It's like a meditation massage, I guess, except that your body is getting massaged, not your noggin. So, thank you, Brian, for such an amazing gift. It was lovely... and my muscles still feel all goopy.(Thanks to Woodlands Massage for the photo.)

The Gratitude Rock

Today, I received a gift: a gratitude rock. It is to remain in my pocket, and each time I reach into my pocket and feel it, I'm supposed to think about things I'm grateful for. A client in the occupational rehab program gave this to me. He's a spiritual man, one with a brief history of harsh accidents causing his body to resemble that of one 50 years older. Today, he was in pain and I saw this and sat with him to let him talk it through. Later in the day, he pulled me aside and said he appreciates that I truly care, and is grateful that I'm there working with him and the other clients. He gave me his gratitude rock and told me how it works and said, "It's okay; I have another one I can use."That exchange really warmed my heart. There is true value to listening with compassion. Other clients in the program have also mentioned how they appreciate the personal interactions I give them and how it's nice just to talk, and be listened to. This is something I value too - and I feel it's an important and natural part of healing the body and mind. On a bigger level, volunteering for this rehab program has given me a purpose. I feel useful, helpful, and part of a process to help people be better, healthier, happier. This gives me a good feeling, and I really enjoy it. I'm getting as much out of the interactions as the clients get from me. This is a wonderful step in the right direction for me - something to focus on for the future. Even with all this goodness, sometimes I still feel a little low, a little tired, not altogether content. Will a paid job make this feeling dissolve? Essentially no, not necessarily. That's when I come back to the gratitude rock and think, "Man, I'm with Brian and we're in this beautiful area, we're eating well, paying the rent, and I have five days a week where I can concentrate on my yoga studies, keep looking for meaningful work, and enjoy being here. I'm so extremely lucky and I should be grateful for this time, these opportunities... And, in the end, good things will keep coming." I trust that.

The Frozen Car

I just got back from an hour and a half yoga class in town. The class was great! My teacher focused on relaxing and opening the neck and shoulders, and it seemed like all the stress from the day melted onto my yoga mat. When I got back to my car and tried to enter, the keyhole wouldn't budge. It appears the sudden drop in temperature today created a bit of an extra lock on our car that prevents not only theives from entering, but also me! Rusty, The Frozen Car..... This could be construed as a chicken and egg situation: I was able to remain calm about the issue because I had just come from a long yoga class, but on the other hand, had I not gone to the yoga class, the car would have remained in the safety of our heated garage. Hmm... Anyway, with a clear and calm mind I figured the trunk lock must not be in the same situation, and low-and-behold it was not frozen. So, opening the hatch and crawling into the trunk probably looked just as funny as me crawling past all our recycling bins and up and over the two front seats. I laughed as I thought, "Well, it's a good thing I'm flexible from my yoga class" as I maneuvered my long legs over the gear shifter and under the steering wheel. I had to sit for ten minutes revving the engine a bit to heat up the inside of the car. It seems a bit of moisture (from our recycling?) was the cause for a thin layer of ice on the inside of all the windows. And, guess what? the windows were frozen shut too. Geeze Louise, who'd of thought getting home from yoga was going to be such a chore? I did manage to make it out of the parking lot, eventually, and about half way home, I tugged lightly on the door lock and - click! - left it unlocked so I could exit the car in a normal fashion once safely back in the warm and cozy garage. Anyone looking to buy me a stupid gift can take pleasure in sending me this:

How do you get bruises when curling?

Falling on the ice, that's how. And, twice. Yeeeouch. That's enough reason to go out and get a proper pair of curling shoes instead of using my Keen's and a floppy strap-on slider.... Brian and I got curling brooms and cool-looking curling gloves for Christmas from my mom, so we decided to start going down to the curling club on Friday nights to be spares for the mixed league. Last Friday was our first attempt, and we were lucky enough to find a team in need of two people so Brian and I could play together. I, having taken curling lessons when I was eight years old and having spent copious hours watching The Scott Tournament of Hearts on T.V. with my mom, was the logical skip for our team. We started out pretty weak, giving the opposing team four points on the first end, and we - gulp - had the hammer. It was also during that first end that I appeared to have stepped on a banana peel and in classic fashion took my first tumble on the ice. Most of my body weight landed on my left buttocks and when I got up quickly (in an attempt to shake it off and make like it never happened), I saw stars in my eyes. "I'm okay, yup, I'm okay." During the second end, things didn't really get a whole lot better, except I didn't fall on the ice. The other team got another point, when, once again, sadly, we had the hammer. My excuse is that we were just warming up. And indeed we were! because in the next end we scored two! And then another point after that. It was then and there that I insisted we keep score on the board (I think the other team felt bad for us near the beginning and stopped counting). So, by the end of the fourth end, we were down by two points. The fifth end brought us two points. The sixth end brought our opponent one point, and another bail on the ice by yours truly (a woman in the next lane of ice, whose entire team were wearing cheesy housecoats, said that I am now an official member of her 'Team Fall'). I tripped over the black foot-placement things - is that the hack? - on my way to sweeping the opposing team's rock past the latter half of the rings. That fall hurt more than the first. I managed to whack my knee and my elbow, and some stars appeared one more time. Gawd, I felt like such a goober. "Yup, I'm okay, Yup." The seventh end brought us two more points - which meant we were winning by one! It was exciting! "We don't suck!" In the eighth end (the last end in the mixed league rules), our opponent had the hammer, and ended the game with one point making it a tie game. We suggested drawing to the button for a winner, but we then found out that on the major scoring for the season, a tie game means that each team gets one point. I'll take that point, thank you. After the game, we all went up to the seedy pub area upstairs. Why is it that in every single curling rink, there's a seedy little pub upstairs with dark walls, seventies wooden chairs, tables with notches, photos on the wall of silly curling folks dressed up as the opposite sex, and a small bar containing cheap liquor? I dunno why this is, but I love it. Our team for the evening did so well together that we've decided to enter the Valentine's Day bonspeil. Apparently, every year there's a dress up theme, and this year is "Celebrity Dead People". It may be easy to add an ice axe and some hiking boots and a climbing helmet to turn one of us into the recently deceased, Sir Edmund Hillary. In any case, I should really consider wearing a helmet when I curl to prevent brain damage when I fall. Sheesh. Two days later, I still feel like I've been hit by a zamboni...

Job Shadowing Uncle Ron

No, I don't have a job yet - I'm just job shadowing for a few days at a rehab clinic. The folks we were working with today are pretty funny, especially this one big, fat guy named Doug. He tells jokes just like my Uncle Ron: bad, perhaps even worse, and usually quite racial. Here's the only partially-clean joke I can remember: A fairy god mother is hanging out in London, and stops for a rest by two statues. One's a female and the other a male. They are stuck in eternity staring at each other longingly. The fairy god mother waves her wand and -shwoom! - the statues come alive. She says to them, "I'm having a really good day, so I've brought you to life to do what you want for 30 minutes!" The statues are in disbelief, but race off into the bushes.... Funny sounds are made, rustling of bushes occurs, and 15 minutes later they emerge from the bushes to the astonishment of the fairy god mother who says, "You've still got 15 minutes left, don't you want to do that again?" The statues look at each other and one says, "Okay, this time I'll pin down the pigeon and you can shit on it's head." Uncle Ron, this one's on me.