Goodbye 2015, and Thank You!

It’s Christmas Eve here, although you might be forgiven for thinking we are about to celebrate Easter in Toronto. It’s a balmy 15C (that’s 60 F in those funny American degrees) and my backyard lawn is still green and lush and producing herbs. Tonight, we will do our traditional dinner with family, which for the first time in over 30 years, will include my mother at the table, and tomorrow we will fly out to finish what has been an interesting year under Caribbean skies.

Whiskey and Creemore are confused by the balmy weather but delighted to romp in the lush grass of our yard.

An interesting year indeed, and one that is ending on a positive note full of changes that I cannot help but be grateful for. Despite giving me conflicts and strife I didn’t anticipate or want in my life, there is something to be said for storms not lasting forever and the sun shining eventually. They don’t and it did, and the rest of my experiences more than made up for that little bit of misery. 

So, as I write my last blog post of the year, I want to thank 2015 for being kind to me in a multitude of ways. It allowed me to wander abroad and enjoy beautiful places and meet up with new and older friends both in America and in Scotland. I climbed my first mountain, and experienced a bit of magic crossing (or not crossing?) the bridge to Skye. My travels also reconnected me to some people I’d drifted away from, and cemented some friendships that are very dear to me.

The Grey Mare's Tail in the Southern Uplands of Scotland. Mountain climbing for the first time.

The magnificent and magical Isle of Skye.

On the career front, despite long and difficult labour negotiations at work that were just settled two weeks ago after 16 months, the past school term reminded me that I am very fortunate to have a great job that I still love to do after 26 years. I’ve been lucky in that I am surrounded by a warm and generous staff which includes my sister. As we edge towards 2016, I am grateful that her knee has been dealt with successfully and that she will soon be bouncing around again. Her injury frightened me enough at the end of August to consider a major lifestyle change, and I am quite proud of myself for sticking to the exercise and food plan for the past four months. I am lighter than I’ve been in almost two decades, and though I’m only a third of the way through the process of ridding myself of excess weight, I feel stronger and fitter than I can ever remember being. I can’t wait for her to join me in the pool once she strengthens her knee again.

It's been a great year for concerts, records, books, and theatre. The list is far too long to do the entertainment calendar justice, but meeting Ian Rankin and Billy Connolly were two of the highlights among many. Thank you Passenger, Ed Sheeran, Frank Turner, Chvrches, and Paul McCartney for giving me a year of amazing live music.

Enjoying a moment at TURF with Austin before seeing Passenger.

Emotionally, I am grateful that my menopausal madness seems to be waning and likely ending. I have endured a couple of years during which I sometimes didn’t recognize myself or my behaviour, where I made choices that were ill-advised or detrimental to me and to those around me; I hurt some good people, and I didn’t always think things through properly. Menopause affects each person differently, but I can see through the rear-view mirror of my hormonal life that in my case it amplified both my best qualities and my worst flaws. I am awash with a calm and peacefulness that has eluded me for too long, and although the memory truly isn’t what it used to be, my head is clear and I feel focussed and creative again. My iPad is packed for the sunny vacation and there will be editing of a novel on the beach!

I am grateful that my difficulties helped me sort through the clutter of my personal life: when you go through conflict and stress, you realize who stays by your side to support you and who can’t be bothered. That kind of revelation is an eye opener, sometimes, but ultimately a great gift. I found out who my true friends were, and consequently who I want to hang out with more in the future and I can let go of without regret. That is my old self coming back, and for this, I am quite pleased. I’ve missed the old me.

Finally, as we come to the end of 2015, I am grateful that my family and good friends are healthy. To the many of you both near and far who filled my year with joy, laughter, and good company, I wish you a Merry Christmas and all the best for a happy and healthy 2016. I look forward to seeing some of you around my table or in my travels in the coming months and wish you nothing but the best until we meet again.

Ian Rankin Comes to Town

I have been a massive fan of Ian's Rankin Rebus series since the publication of its first appearance on the literary landscape back in 1987 with the debut novel "Knots and Crosses". Rankin was my contemporary, and along with the equally prolific Dennis Lehane, he convinced me that our generation could achieve great things in the world of books and storytelling. He is also, like me, a huge fan of music and of the city of Edinburgh.

Last Wednesday, I had the great fortune of listening to him speak at our central library's Bluma Appel Salon, which was then followed by a book signing to celebrate the release of the 20th Rebus novel, "Even Dogs in the Wild."

I wrote a review of the evening, which appears in full on my other website. You can enjoy reading it by clicking on the link just above my photo with Ian.

Ian Rankin review

Paul McCartney in Toronto as Legend Week Comes to a Close

Busy rock and roll weekend here. Friday night, I went to see The Wholigans deliver a Quadrophenia and Who's Next inspired set at a local club called The Duke. I am reviewing it for a Rocktober blog and will link to that once it is published at the end of the week. Last night, it was Paul McCartney rolling into the Air Canada Centre for a marathon three-hour show.

My review is posted here.

Another One Crossed Off the Bucket List.

Last night, the whole city went crazy as the local baseball team, The Toronto Blue Jays, advanced to the next playoff round after a 23 year drought. The deciding game was filled with tension and controversy, not the least of which was the fear of a full-blown riot and uncharacteristically rude behaviour by many fans. For me, as exciting as the game was, the real magic of the evening was going to be to finally see and hear Billy Connolly perform at Massey Hall.

I wrote a review of the evening, which you can read here. It was, for me, another bucket list item crossed off. It ended with the chance to say hello to one of the funniest men in the world, and to share a laugh with him. He was gracious, patient, and very kind to the small group that waited for him at the stage door. It's an evening I won't soon forget. Thank you, Billy, for all your years of entertaining us, and for making yesterday such a special one.

Secrets and Lies

We all have secrets. Some of them are kept because we are ashamed or embarrassed about an episode in our own lives or in the distant past, while others are like tiny treasures we hold close to the chest because they belong to no one else. Having them, I believe, is a normal, healthy part of being human, and the universality of this need to keep certain parts of our identities and experiences private is evident by the success of PostSecret, for example.

Likewise, we all lie. At times, they are omissions or stretched stories to protect ourselves or those we care about, while others do so to seek, gain, and maintain advantages. I don’t believe humans can completely avoid lying, although making it a regular practice likely creates more problems than it solves and demands a high level of concentration, dedication, and memory to maintain over a long period of time. I have no such skills, frankly, and it’s a large reason I don’t bother to make a habit of it.

It has been a year of lies and secrets around me, and at its core, one despicable human being appropriated the photos of another person and created an identity through which she caused a lot of emotional damage to a small circle of friends. The ripple effects of her horrendous actions have been great, and some friendships are in tatters as a result of her choice to invade and destroy lives; a few have cooled, been altered, while others still have been strengthened.  I can’t speak to the reasons for her behaviour because there were so many lies piled one on top of the other in everything she did and said, right down to the explanations and excuses that were offered after she was caught and unmasked. All I can surmise is that she is surely mentally unwell to have derived pleasure from convincing others that she was real, and engaging them socially and romantically, creating tight bonds in a few cases. It takes a special kind of sadist to reel people in with imaginary illnesses and stories of abuse; to include four unsuspecting random children to the fairytale brings the level of sociopathy to heights I can’t even fathom. The best thing I ever did, last November, was to dig into the matter like a determined detective and expose the identity fraud for  the sick game it was.

Except, I didn’t actually do that. Instead of sharing my findings with the affected circle of friends, I lied to protect the one she had hurt the most. I only shared my information with him, worried about how embarrassed or ashamed he might be feeling despite my own rage and hurt and my strong sense that she was dangerous, unstable, and might possibly harm any one of us further. At some point in the spring, my fear of her future behaviour overtook my wanting to protect him, and anger that I was holding a secret for someone who not only didn’t appreciate the gesture of loyalty but also felt no need to warn our circle of the risk she posed bubbled under the surface until I blew up. I told some of our friends though not all of them; with one in particular, I gave that task to his other trusted pal because I just couldn’t find the words or way to do it. Predictably, my friendship with the biggest victim of this fraudulent friend ended by his choice to move on and put it behind him. While I regretted the falling out, I thought the story would end there and that life would just carry on as before: awkwardly at first, as we all figured out how to interact in a civil manner, but eventually cordial. That’s what moving on means to me, and I accepted how it had unfolded. 

This concept of fully moving on is not possible, sadly, when secrets and lies converge and someone has a pressing need to silence you and discredit you to protect themselves and the carefully constructed secret life they have led. In the past two months, from the periphery of our mutual circle, I’ve watched the results of his manipulation skills escalate the negative behaviour of someone I once considered a fairly good friend; not super tight or with the long history they have shared together, but certainly close enough that we sometimes socialized and shared some stories and confidences. Close enough that he helped me with creative endeavours and that I returned the favour in any way I could. Close enough that we could email and text each other if there was a need. Close enough that I consulted him for details of my current novel because of his specialized knowledge. Suddenly, in two short months, I was slowly ostracized, then teased and obliquely referred to in derogatory terms that baffled me as much as they hurt me. My reaction to the final round of insults was to leave the toxic situation behind and reluctantly remove him from my circle. Certain friends watched as it happened and, disgusted and horrified to an even greater degree than I was, walked away with me. It was the healthiest decision I have made this year for my emotional health, and I’m honestly relieved to no longer be in the middle of the barbed comments and veiled insinuations. 

Why am I writing this, then, if I’ve moved on? Fair question and one I can easily answer. I want to put this dog to bed and give myself closure, and I can’t do that if I honour the lies and sick innuendoes with my continued silence. I can keep the secrets, and have done so to a greater degree than anyone involved in the toxic banter can appreciate. I forgive easily and it is not in my nature to willfully hurt others, and despite being given ample reasons to exact the most cruel and devastating revenge, I’ve not seriously considered it for more than a few seconds before dismissing the notion. It’s not just that innocent people would be destroyed along with those who have treated me so shabbily; unlike the liars in question, I don’t have the same issues of mental instability and sociopathic or narcissistic tendencies and don’t equate a falling out with a need to become aggressive towards those who are no longer friends. That level of hate and bile is beyond my scope of emotions, frankly.  That said, I refuse to accept the lies and the bullying that has gone on, and call it out right here and right now for what it was. How people can live with themselves for perpetuating such harm on others, I will never understand, because I am not capable of that kind of cruelty, and I’ll leave that for their therapists to uncover and dissect with them. I don’t expect this to change the relationships in question because unlike Game of Thrones, the dead don’t come back. I just wanted to add my own voice to the chorus of voices that have spoken truly or falsely for me.

Time to close the door now. After all, winter is coming.

Summer's End...

It’s the last day of holidays and they are ending like they began for me, in hot, sunny weather and an abundance of humidity. It’s been a glorious summer from start to finish, and the little bumps along the way have turned out to be necessary eye-openers. All in all, one of the best summers in recent memory.

Poolside in Georgia.

Bookended by holidays abroad, my break started with a week in Atlanta and ended with 16 days in Scotland, both completely different and yet wonderful: the visit to Georgia was mostly spent poolside and in the company of my husband’s family, while our trip to the land of unicorns was about reunions and adventures with good friends and explorations of its landscape and man-made treasures. In between these vacations, I developed a consistent fitness routine and completed the first draft of the last novel in my rock fiction series.

The Quaraing on the Isle of Skye, Scotland.

The Kelpies at the Helix, Grangemouth, Scotland.

Blackness Castle, Bo'ness, Scotland.

As I head back to the classroom tomorrow after a long absence, I am relaxed about starting my twenty-sixth year as a teacher. There are no butterflies and no worries, except maybe how to manage in the melting heat in proper clothes. The time away taught me much, from letting go of fear to learning to have confidence in the right people and to walk away when trust is breached. I lost that ability after my dad died in 2001 for some strange reason, and seem to have captured it back. To borrow a crude phrase that works perfectly well for me at the moment, “no more fucks will be given.” I came home with a better perspective on how and why to get rid of negative people and situations in my life, and find myself in a very positive headspace as a result of a summer spent well.

I wanted my free time over the next few weeks to be about editing my manuscript, decluttering the house, and resuming my fitness regime, but an injury has thrown a glitch into those plans: I am awaiting results of tests to determine whether I have a stress fracture to the foot or ankle, or a weakness in the knee. Apparently, climbing Scottish mountains and traipsing through its cities in chunky-heeled sandals had its risks. I’ve been ordered to avoid exercise until I know what I’m dealing with, but I am hopeless at stillness and patience and will admit that I walked to and from the pool the last few days to cool off and strengthen unaffected muscles. It may not have been the smartest move I made this weekend, but it gave me a good indication of how much bandage wrap support and rest I am going to need as I head back to work tomorrow. Thank God we bought an abundance of ibuprofen gel during the UK trip!

Nectar of the knee gods.

We found photos from our first trip to Scotland in 2001, where three months of dealing with my father’s terminal illness to the neglect of everything else left me in the worst physical shape of my life. On the same computer drive, six years of working towards a healthier frame showed me with a slimmer, more toned body (and a less severe haircut!). Then, horrendously, all that effort fell apart in 2009 as I suffered one shoulder tear after another, which curtailed my involvement in sports and depressed me deeply enough to send me overeating for comfort and drinking to self-medicate. With my mobility and full range of movement restored last January, I hit the gym and pool and have been rather pleased with the changes in my body. I am stronger and fitter, and I am a bit worried that I might be stopped in my tracks again to recover from this latest injury. The book editing and household clean-up will no doubt hum along just fine, especially if I get sidelined and workouts are forbidden or reduced in intensity.

In the last day or so, I realized that regardless of the outcome of the tests, it’s time for me to seriously focus on losing weight again. One of my problems, which is actually a ridiculous word for what stops me staying focussed, is that I have healthy self-esteem and am surrounded by lovely people who rightfully don’t care whether I am thin or fat. Vanity doesn’t work as a motivator, and never has because despite being large most of my life yet never, I’ve never lacked boyfriends or had any of the health issues that seem to plague overweight people. Truth be told, I was only ever thin for a few brief months in 1984, when I foolishly indulged in a diet of gin and tonics and yellow-jackets (amphetamines that promised rapid weight loss and worked all too well). My body is naturally curvy and fleshy, but I do need to bring my frame down a few sizes: if my knees or my foot or ankle are indeed compromised, it is essential to relieve them of added physical stress. I started yesterday, measuring certain contours and entering stats into a meal and exercise app that will allow me to track my progress in a slow but sure manner. Anything drastic will undoubtedly fail, as I do believe one should enjoy life’s pleasures in moderation, including good food and drink.

Young and temporary thin in my clubbing days.

I am setting targets for immediate future, aiming to have the novel fully edited and ready for publication in a few months. Hopefully, by early December, I will have knocked off about 25 lbs. and helped myself heal from whatever diagnosis is coming, leaving the Christmas holidays as the perfect time to pack up the last of the redundant items in this house. With determination and focus, I’m confident I can reach my goals. Go me!

Mountains

You can grow a lot in two weeks, even when you just want to be surrounded by some of the most spectacular scenery on Earth and plan nothing more complicated than enjoying road trips and evenings eating and drinking with your pals. And so, as I gallivanted across Scotland for the third time in twelve months, the visit once again proved to be more than I bargained for.

Our time was divided among friends, and some of my favourite evenings were those where our different circles overlapped; I loved seeing friends meet up and enjoy themselves among new faces, because to bring together good people to your table makes the conversation richer and often results in the most delightful banter. I will never understand those who are threatened by this natural step; this kind of possessive, exclusive view of relationships is unhealthy in my opinion, and the result of insecurities and fear that are detrimental to good mental health. On this trip, I feel like I truly let both those things go.

It happened on a mountain, as I climbed between my husband and a dear friend I call ‘little brother.’ My Scottish sibling towers over me by almost a foot, but we have a natural affection that is best described as playful and sometimes brattish. We are siblings in the true sense of the word, connected by a love of literature, music, and our love of the natural landscape of Scotland. Being in his company brings out the best in me, and quite possibly has a similar effect on him, for we both have a spontaneous, dog-like joy and the same wondrous reaction to seeing beauty around us. “It’s magical”. Indeed.

He took us through the break-taking scenery of the Isle of Skye, and then to the Southern Uplands of Dumfries and Galloway, where we climbed our first mountain together, the Grey Mare’s Tail. He is experienced, and while it was our first time at it, the 2000 foot climb was feasible given our decent fitness levels.

It was not exertion that concerned me as we quickly ascended the first quarter of the distance to the summit, but rather the cliff edge that was just inches away from our scree path. I knew I could turn around at any point, that my brother would support my decision if I grew adamant and vocal enough, but I willed myself not to give in to the terror that gripped me as the field of heather on my right contrasted with the vertical drop on my left. I took deep breaths and believed him when he gently said there was something magical waiting for us at the top.

There was beauty all around us, from a rushing waterfall whose shape surely gave the mountain its name to leaping sheep and feral goats; as we moved ever higher, the cliff face disappeared, and the flatter ground almost convinced me that we were in rolling grass fields. My fear had now been replaced with joy as we approached the summit and the promise of a magical treat. An hour and forty-five minutes after we took our first unsteady steps at the base, we turned our last curve and saw it: I had expected a stunning, “every shade of green” valley between the few mountain tops that surrounded us, but instead we were greeted by Loch Skeen. Magical indeed, an unexpected lake that had been worth every step towards the sky.

The descent, though it barely took an hour, proved to be a repeated test of mental fortitude. The sight of the patches of heather once again caused my stomach to churn, because I am fully aware that going down a mountain is generally more dangerous than its initial climb. Again, deep breaths, a lean to the left this time, and eyes steadied as I remembered my brother’s sage advice: “one careful step at a time.”

There was, at the end of the day, immense satisfaction in conquering my fears, and the three of us (four actually, since we had taken a dog with us) bonded as a result of the journey, which was duly celebrated in Glasgow a few hours later over some of the best curry the city offers at a restaurant called The Village.

Fear. It’s been a recurring feeling these last few months as conflicts and negativity darkened a small part of my social circle, which included friends we would meet up with in Scotland during the trip. The mountain climb cleared my mind in a way that was unexpected yet absolute—it was an epiphany of sorts, the realization that fear and negativity can cloud matters and convince you that nothing can be accomplished. You overcome your fear by facing it, accepting that it’s real but ultimately respecting that your abilities are greater. Once you put it in a box off to the side, it loses its power over you and you can reach your goal.

And so I decided the time had come to let some tense and conflicted friendships go. They served a great purpose at one time, introducing me to people, places, and music that are now wonderful additions to my life, and I will always be grateful that our paths crossed because of that. It was by rethinking their role as conduits that I was able to be thankful and let them go. I don’t know what the future holds for any of us but it matters not at this point whether there is a possibility of reconciliation. What matters is that I can move forward in peace, surrounded by those friends who are kind and generous in my company, with the full realization that connections with people sometimes shift and that it’s okay to adjust your footing on the path when it happens.

“One careful step at a time.” Sage advice. I’m still working on the careful part.

Ghost Rider: Travels On The Healing Road

Sometimes a book comes along just when you need it to. You turn the first few pages and it grips you, refusing to let go.

More than eight weeks ago, Neil Peart’s “Ghost Rider: Travels On the Healing Road” finally arrived from the library’s city-wide hold shelf. I’d been meaning to pick it up for many years, but for whatever reason, never followed through. It was mid-June, a crazy time at school like no other in the calendar, and I already sensed there would be at least one renewal before I got through the thick memoir. I was optimistic as it turned out, and it has taken me up until this morning to finish my reading.

None of the sluggish pace is any fault of the book, in fact, quite the opposite is true: I didn’t want my journey with Neil to end, and I know I deliberately slowed my pace to savour it, to carefully read every word, going over some of the descriptions of landscapes more than once because they were so evocative and vividly portrayed. Sometimes I stayed away to absorb the ideas and reflections he put across, and at other times I got too involved in my own work-in-progress to give it the proper attention it deserved. Even so, it stayed with me these last two months in a way a book hasn’t managed to do in a long time.

I’ve not suffered the loss this man has endured, although like everyone else, I have lost family dear to me in years gone by and I could thoroughly identify with his feelings of helplessness and intense grief. It took me a long time to “get over” my father’s death, and reading this account reminded me of that emotional journey in many ways. I have always found that each death in one’s circle brings back all the previous ones, making one relive what we think of as long-settled grief back to the surface in unsettling ways. As I read the book, it brought me back to 2001, and my own healing road, which was a two-week holiday in Scotland after my father had passed away. Much like Neil, I found peace and acceptance in the midst of stunning landscapes and the company of someone I cared for deeply. His advice to “keep moving” is certainly sound, and I also nodded at his other four directives for coping with grief: kicking one’s own ass gently, avoiding replay syndrome, making peace with others where you could, and allowing others the pleasure of helping you. All of these tips are remarkably simple as statements, much harder to implement in actuality, but likely instrumental in getting whole again. 

These last few months, my loss has been one of a friendship I valued, a big nothing when compared to the death of two family members, but difficult in its own way. It is perhaps with this on my mind that reading this book was so personal to me, but time and place are often what attaches you to a song, a piece of art, or some writing. And so it has been with me, and I am a better person for having turned the last page, as I suspected I would be midway through.  His words leapt off the page, so raw and brutally honest, so eloquently written and framed with dry humour and hilarious anecdotes, especially those in the letters he wrote to a dear friend who was in prison for a good part of his riding days. He helped me to put things in perspective, which has allowed me to put the ghost to bed and genuinely accept that life, though often unfair, is what it is and there's no sense in fighting against what has already happened. Again, though he phrased it very differently, I am reminded that 'things will be some way', and that this may not be ideal, but it's certainly okay. So thank you, Neil, for reaffirming that notion, which I hope to carry with me through any other difficult days that may lie ahead.

One thing that freaked me out a little, as these things often do, is that the journey he undertook was eerily similar to that of one of my novel series’ characters, who was actually modelled after Neil as a band lyricist (though I made him a bass player and not a drummer). What made the connection give me goosebumps was that I wrote the parallel scenes in 1979, long before they happened in Neil’s actual life. As I told a friend yesterday, meeting my first husband after I’d written my first book gave me the first goosebumps because his young life mirrored my main character’s difficult childhood right down to the same timeline of horrific trauma, and my recent trips to Scotland have rekindled those bizarre feelings because Edinburgh was long established in pivotal scenes of my current work-in-progress long before I fell in love with the city last summer and last spring. Life is indeed stranger than fiction sometimes.

As I get ready to return this library copy back, I am overwhelmed with a strange sense of gratitude for having read it at the right time. I’ve got a personal copy that will follow me to Scotland in a few weeks’ time, not because I want to reread it, but because I know just the person who will appreciate it and maybe get out of it as much as I did and because, to quote my favourite lyric from the book, 

We are islands to each other

Building hopeful bridges on the troubled sea.

Summer Days

The summer doesn’t properly start for me until I feel the monumental crash that follows the end of the school year. It usually comes the very day after I stop working, and involves a full weekend of long afternoon naps that seem to let all the tension and stress escape from my body and prepare me to face whatever plans or goals I’ve chosen for the holidays. This time around, we left for the American south just hours after I waved goodbye to my colleagues and closed the door to my classroom for two months, a new tradition I started by escaping to New York City last year the very same way.

Yesterday and today, after a week spent enjoying concerts by Imagine Dragons and U2 and doing a lot of household chores and running errands, the beginning of letting go happened. The weather had climbed into the high 20s to give two perfect afternoons in a row to indulge in the decadence of napping and emerge with mental clarity.

I had a need yesterday to communicate with a few specific people first, just to relay my thanks to them for their support over the last few months. It was important for me that they know how much I appreciated their simple act of kindness in just listening to me, and then believing and acknowledging what I was going through emotionally. Because of their actions, I've made peace with the past and realized it can't hurt me anymore because it's come and gone. This is a powerful idea that takes time to settle in, but once it does, it frees your heart and your mind.

So, what are the summer plans for the next five weeks before we head off on another holiday? They are beautifully simple and will hopefully be successful. One the health front, I’ve designed a six day a week fitness regime that will see me taking two different types of water classes and a pair of gym ones. Saturday’s aquafit hour will be the earliest one, which will then lead to taking the rest of the weekend off. I’m already in a good groove with the gym I belong to, but just want to kick things into a higher gear while I don’t have work commitments to cut into my time and energy levels. My massage therapist yesterday complimented me on my “changing shape”, so I am optimistic that I can push myself to greater fitness, strength, and flexibility.

I am also looking to reducing the amount of possessions in the house by doing a bit of a systematic purge: clothing will be donated to charity, and I’m looking ahead to retirement in a few years by choosing to recycle or pass along some educational material I’ve not used in many years. With that goal in mind, there will be time devoted to going into many closets and storage spaces to get rid of items that no longer serve a purpose in my life. If I get ambitious, I may do the same in my cyber house.

I’ve also taken to trying my hand at growing vegetables this year for the first time. So far, I think I over-planted in the elevated containers and will see my beans destroy everything around them. Strawberries and a variety of herbs have done really well with the beautiful sunshine and warmth they’ve been given, and the front garden is a bouquet of wonderful colours. The only annoyance is that the plentiful rain has almost encouraged the weeds, and a counter-attack is imminent.

Socially, I am looking to reconnect with local friends, many of them busy teachers like me, to have catch-up lunches, dinners, or drinks. The phone calls and pencilling in of dates have already begun.

Finally, having developed a timeline of major events for the problematic middle chapters of my work in progress and placed them on a calendar of specific dates, I’m feeling more and more confident that I can get this book written and largely edited before we leave for Scotland in mid August. With that in mind, it’s time to disappear down a creative rabbit hole and try not to spend so much time online perusing social media. That will be the real challenge. Wish me luck!

Things Will Be Some Way

“Things will be some way.”

This is my favourite phrase at the moment. It was gently relayed to me by a valued friend who is a natural teacher and whose wisdom has helped me get through recent turmoil with more grace than I felt myself capable of having. It is a beautiful expression, because it implies an acceptance of whatever fate has in store for us, a gradual letting go of things we cannot control. And so, as she promised it would be, my conflict has resolved itself, perhaps not in the way I might have preferred, but I accept the outcome and sincerely wish my former friend all the best in his healing journey.

“Things will be some way.”

Truthfully, things are quite good. The month has quickly gone by, and an overall calm has washed over me. With the last of my major conflicts well behind me now, I feel very optimistic about the future because there is much to look forward to.

The school year is ending on a high note: I am surrounded by colleagues who are as kind as the best ones I left behind at my last one, and my principal has threatened to kill me should I make any move to leave. Isn’t that just the loveliest pronouncement on her part? My knees are thankful that the school only has one floor, and I am grateful that I have found a work environment that is civilized and in which I am fitting in gradually but surely.

Physically, I’ve never felt stronger or more fit. The aquafit and aerobic classes are beginning to make a difference in how I look, but much more important is how I am feeling. I have more energy, and seem to have developed muscles that didn’t exist a mere five months ago. The next step is to be just a bit more conscious and careful with my eating habits, and a transformation may yet occur. Seriously, I am hoping for better health above all else, and seem to be heading in the right direction. Go me!

Ed Sheeran performing "I See Fire", June 6th, 2015.

On a musical note, having just seen Ed Sheeran blow the roof off the Air Canada Centre last night, there are plenty of great live shows coming our way in the next few months: Mumford and Sons next week, hopefully a chance to see Rush two days later if last-minute tickets open up, then Imagine Dragons in July. Once September rolls around, we will see Robert Plant, Ed Sheeran, Passenger, and Frank Turner all in the same week. My ears and my heart will be in heaven.

A wonderful evening being entertained by Foy Vance and Ed Sheeran.

On a social level, I am looking forward to the summer holidays so that I can catch up with friends, family, and the most important person in my life, my long-neglected husband. We are planning a lot of get togethers and meet-ups with people we care about, and I look forward to many gatherings filled with great food and drink, and excellent company. One of our weeks, starting on the last day of school, involves a trip down to the U.S. to visit with my in-laws in Atlanta, as well as a planned detour southward to meet two online friends we've never met: I am excited about the very real possibility of shenanigans with this pair.

Creatively, I am longing for the summer because it will bring with it warm, sunny days  that I hope to spend on the deck getting back to my great loves of reading and writing. The ability to finish the last novel in my four-part series has eluded me for two years now, but I now have all the information and details to give it my best effort. I have always felt that things come in their own time, and while I regret so much of the pain and conflict that brought me to where I am today, at least it will be cathartic to throw some of the insights into the story and eventually publish the final instalment.

The land of the unicorns awaits!

Loch Lomond.

The spectacular pass at Glencoe.

And to close the book on wonderful things to look forward to, the summer will end with a return trip to my beloved Scotland. Once again, majestic landscapes will take my breath away at every turn, and I will have adventures and gatherings with good friends I love like family. I’ve stopped wondering why I feel such mad love for the land of the unicorns and have decided to just accept that it too is part of those things which “will be some way.”