Scottish Scapes

I know Scotland has been in the news for the past week, but I promise this will be free of politics and all about the stunning landscapes that make this small country so magnificent to travel in. I hope you enjoy this small selection of photographs that attempt to capture but cannot do justice to what must be experienced by the naked eye.

The beautiful shores at Portpatrick, in the south-west area of Dumfries and Galloway. This beautiful town was once an important ferry port for travel between Ireland and Scotland, but due to many shipwrecks, was abandoned in favour of Stranraer, situated in the calmer waters of Loch Ryan in the peninsula to the north.

Ailsa Craig, the fairy rock in Ayrshire, captured from the shore as we made our way towards Glasgow on the coastal route from Stranraer.

The isle of Arran, taken from the boat as we made our way back across the Firth of Clyde  to Ardrossan.

Along the hiking trail just beyond the village of Glencoe in the Highlands, we found this beautiful lake with trees imported from Canada. It was the only time during our visit that we felt the landscape reminded us of home. And yet, the soft purples of heather on the hills and mountains definitely told us otherwise.

Photos taken along the road at Glencoe Pass. Absolutely the most majestic views we encountered on this trip and a highlight in terms of natural landscapes.

Loch Lomond from the western side as we returned from our day in Glencoe.

The views to the north from the boat cruise on Loch Lomond.

Loch Lomond as seen from the eastern side, during a nature hike.

 Looking westward over Loch Lomond from the top of a hill during a nature hike.

Bass Rock in the Firth of Forth, as seen from the shore at North Berwick in the East Lothian area just south of Edinburgh.

Stirling is often referred to as the 'gateway to the Highlands'. Stirling Castle offers visitors a magnificent view of the nearby Ochil Hills.

As our trip came to an end, we went to visit friends in the town of Tillicoultry, and were even more delighted to find that the Ochil Hills were in their backyard. Literally. I was quite green with envy, and would be thrilled and grateful if they would adopt me for a few months a year.

Scotland: A Healing Trip

Part One: #Realfriends

I flew home Sunday night just in time for the summer weather to begin. Hit by jet lag and a wall of humidity I didn't experience once in July, not to mention a new school, grade, and teaching language (all French, all day!), it has been a trying week. That said, I have to admit that as I sit out on the deck enjoying the late afternoon sun and warmth, I feel nothing but great joy in my heart. The school year is shaping up to be challenging but very rewarding, and I am confident I have shaken off the ghosts that haunted me for the first half of this year.

The end of June was not dissimilar to June 2001, when I was numbed by my father's terminal illness and in need of a healing break; this year, it was a horrid work environment that threatened to do me in. The remedy 13 years ago was running away to Scotland, a trip that deepened the strong bond with my now husband and healed the pain of watching a beloved parent die. Last February, as I was sinking into despair and demoralized, I set my sights on recapturing the magic and joy of that distant summer, hoping lightning could strike twice.

Fast-forward to August 2014 in Scotland. The weather was not especially warm, it wasn't always dry, and it was expensive to live for three weeks using the British pound. I sometimes missed the availability of fresh fruits and vegetables, my diet relied too heavily on starchy foods, and I may have had too much to drink. That said, Scotland was the most magnificent trip I've had since...well, since Scotland 2001.

The view from Elcho Castle on the Tay. Beautifully typical of this wonderful wee country that we fell in love with.

There were three sides to our stay: tourist traps of the finest order (castles, whisky, and tours), escapes of the more natural kind (hiking in the spectacularly scenic national parks), and meeting online friends face-to-face for banter and chats. The blend is what made this trip so memorable and perfectly balanced. I remember saying to my husband as we consulted travel guides: "We didn't know a soul when we went there in 2001 and we fell in love with it. How much more awesome is it going to be now that we have friends waiting for us?"

The love of my life and I enjoying a drink at the Cowshed after a Fringe show in Edinburgh.

And awesome it was. I'll save the natural wonders and tourist stops for my next blog entry, and gush instead about the people we met during our stay. They were our hosts in so many different ways, and I want to tell them again how much we appreciated their kindness and generosity. Every step of the way, they made an effort to meet up with us and share a drink or a meal, and engage us in conversation. We had assistance with hotels, tours, and rides to and from the airport, giving the #realfriends gag more mileage than I ever thought possible. We were also blessed by great company over good food and drinks, including invitations to their homes for meals and lodging. Were that not enough, we were also driven to stunning sites with them as our local guides. We were humbled by the warmth of their response to our visit, and I especially wanted to give them my deep thanks for making our trip so exceptional.

Dipping my feet into the waters at St. Andrews.

Dipping my feet into the waters at Loch Lomond.

There is a lot of cynicism about social media and online friendships, but my experience has largely been a positive one for the last 18 years. Perhaps it's because I met my husband on a Usenet board way back in 1996, but I've never felt nervous about making the leap to real life with virtual friends. The folks in Scotland were exactly who I thought they would be, no less funny or sweet than they had been on the sites where we had first "met", and I think the affection we had for them was very mutual in return. I can admit that I wept a little bit on the shores of Loch Lomond a few days before flying home because I knew that I would miss them deeply once we left, and just wanted to stay in their company a while longer.

The Central Cafe in Stranraer, where I had the best fish supper ever and spent time with someone who  will hopefully be a lifelong friend. 2016 awaits, bello.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to all the friends we spent time with during our stay. It is in no small part thanks to you that Scotland was once again magical, each in your own special way. You all lifted my spirits, and gave me so many reasons to laugh and smile again. I love you all dearly, and you will always have a special place in my heart for being part of such a healing trip.

A Midsummer Night's Dream

It's the halfway point of the summer school holidays. Right about now, back to school ads start creeping in over the airwaves, and the panic that the fall is only four weeks away starts looming. Not me, not this year. We are four days away from a much anticipated three-week trip to Scotland, and I've just come off the best weekend of the summer since I disappeared to New York City at the end of June.

Yesterday, we hosted a BBQ that was at once a reunion of old friends and the making of new ones. There were adults and children we had not seen in over a year, and the little ones quickly won over the resident cats with their caresses and attention. The dog was enchanted by his very own Scottish 'whisperer,' and another Scotsman managed to inadvertently feed him real meat as he passed by; for the lucky pooch, it was a banner day near the food table.

 It was one of those gatherings where a small group came together and clicked socially right from the start; the time passed all too quickly because of the banter and chatter between these newly-made friends, as well as the usual catching-up and short bursts of storytelling. We were surrounded by laughter, cold drinks, and generous plates of food, as is always the case with good company, but there were also moments of seriousness when difficulties and struggles were shared.

Into the late evening, as I went over some of the events and conversations of the day, it hit me how hard the last few months have been in and around parts of this circle. There have been dark times for a few of them and in some cases, those situations are still unfolding and not yet resolved. It made me thankful that we were surrounded by kindness yesterday, and that we were able to offer encouragement and understanding. There was a gentle ambience among the people sitting around the table, and a show of support for those facing harsh realities. It reaffirmed my belief that we must try to be kind whenever possible, and that no effort to help is ever wasted even if it appears to be futile. I was touched by a private conversation I had with one of our guests, and her immediate empathy moved me partly because it came after a year's separation. It reminded me to try to be more like her: open-hearted, calm, and full of compassion. She is at once gracious and graceful in a way I have never managed, and it would likely surprise her to know her words and manner had such a profound effect on me. It made me sit back later and think about something I had read many months ago:

A few walls came down yesterday, and I am sure the efforts to reach out made a difference to those who were hurting. It certainly did to me, and that was unexpected. Maybe it's not such a bad thing to keep knocking every now and then, if only to remind ourselves and others that friendship is valuable, that no gesture of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted, and that it's important to let people know you care about them. 

Tomorrow Is a Promise to No One

I found out late Sunday night that a former student of mine had died. It was a sudden cycling accident, the third to hit our school community in less than four years, this one occurring far from Toronto as the young man in question was undertaking a journey of self-discovery to the US south. Beyond the usual shock at reading that a 23 year-old has been killed in a senseless, tragic manner, it feels surreal and I think back 13 years to when he was just a boy in my class. It is not difficult for me to remember details about students I have taught, and I can often recall specific passions about many of them: in this particular case, he loved rock music and Glasgow Celtic, and I can still remember how often and proudly he wore his Henrik Larsson jersey, and that he brought to school a 45 of a Led Zeppelin single that belonged to his mother and had been signed by Robert Plant. If you’d like to read his story, you can find it here. You can even read his travel journal here.

I don’t know if others feels this way, but for me every death brings back previous losses, and I find myself grieving for many people at once. I get flashbacks of friends and family who are no longer here, and details come to me in a strange string of remembrances—sights, sounds, and sometimes smells that remind me that I will never enjoy their company again. Is it weird? Perhaps, but it seems to be how I process loss, and there’s little I can or want to do to change that. There is something sweet in remembering those who crossed my path, for it means they added something to my time here.

Thinking about this subject brings me to another reaffirmation of something I realized in my early thirties, when I lost three young friends in less than three years: the only thing that is finite in life is time, and it is not in endless supply. Where I once scoffed at my mother for suggesting that it went by faster as we got older, I am often alarmed at how quickly it’s all zipping by. That said, this is not the only important notion here. Beyond that cliché, and the statement that “life is too short”, is a deeper thought: if only time is finite, does that make everything else in life infinite, and if that’s the case, what of it?

For me, declaring and then believing this notion of ‘infinites’ shifted my headspace and allowed me to realize that I could live my life in a more fearless manner. This doesn’t mean I’ve taken up dangerous hobbies or have stopped being observant of my surroundings to keep myself safe. Instead, I’ve opened myself up to the possibilities that arise from diverse experiences and in meeting new people. I feel quite strongly as I get older that it is by reaching out to others that we allow ourselves to receive these infinite gifts free for the taking: there is love, friendship, affection, laughter, joy, and excitement just waiting to be grabbed up, and all we need to do is open ourselves up. Yes, yes, the world is full of hatred, bullshit, and meanness too, but to refuse to experience the goodness that is out there for fear of the evil is to waste those finite days we are given. I've lost count of the number of times I've gotten quizzical looks when I go off to meet online pals in foreign locations, but you will perhaps understand my decisions to do so better if I tell you that I met this guy online almost 18 years ago. He lived in America then, and we ended up meeting, falling in love, and have been happily together ever since. Fearlessness leads to wonderful results sometimes, and I've experienced this over and over again and think I will continue to do so.

I was reminded on Sunday night that, to quote a favourite song lyric, “tomorrow is a promise to no one.” Make it count, people. You don’t always get another chance.

Giving Up Authors

I've done something in the last few weeks that I'd not managed for months now: I've read books, yes, in the plural. It may come as a shock to some people, but trying to write often means you have to give up reading because the editing of your own work in progress leave you little time or desire to read anything else. With the school year ending and summer vacation started, as well as with circumstances forcing me to halt further progress on my own novel, I renewed my commitment to return to reading, and went off to seek books I'd been wanting to start for a long time.

Gillian Flynn received much acclaim for Gone Girl, and I'd heard from many that it was excellent. My husband, who heard it in audio version, warned me that I would not figure out until the end whether or not I would like it, and said he still hadn't made up his mind. That added to the intrigue and so off I went. It turns out he was completely right on both counts, and I found myself deeply dissatisfied afterwards. Still, her writing style impressed me greatly and I took out her debut, Sharp Objects, from the local library. That reading was one of the most disturbing ones for me since We Need to Talk About Kevin, and for similar reasons. Granted, Flynn and Shriver are both gifted writers, and tackled their subjects masterfully. That said, I don't think I can read either author again because my head just doesn't want or even need to go to any more emotionally dark places. I can find misery and overthinking neurotic behaviour all by myself, no assistance needed at all, thank you. The mental frailties, chronic abuse, and self-loathing that embodies Flynn's twisted characters were too much for me, and so as much as I appreciated the author's craft and clever plots, I'm going to give her up for a good long time.

The last time I felt so discouraged by someone so talented was when I attempted to follow Stuart McBride's Aberdeen-based, Logan McRae detective series. I started with book four, Flesh House, and quickly lost my stomach at the plot, which involved a murderer sending human flesh into the food chain. McBride's strong, witty writing kept me in to the end, but upon finding out that the killer had escaped justice and would be making a reappearance, I decided that the series of books that had been given to me by a good friend would remain on the shelf for the day I ran out of every other book I want to read. I love mysteries, detective thrillers, anything of that genre, and I was so disappointed in myself that I won't be able to follow this series. Brilliant writer, but again, as a vegetarian who cannot stand to think about meat at the best of times, the physical violence in this book just overwhelmed me. Has this ever happened to any of you? Have you walked away from a talented author because you couldn't deal with the topic or plot?

Right now, I'm about 50 pages in with The Silkworm, the new Robert Galbraith (really, JK Rowling) detective novel. There will be death, there will be emotional scars, but judging by the debut of the series, it will not cause me the same level of distress as Flynn and McBride managed. Next up with be Mo Hayder, who broke my heart with her Birdman debut and continued to do so with the Jack Caffery series. I just hope she too will not send me to darker places than she has already...

Letting Go

I'm back from a four-day weekend in NYC and entering a month of needing to get a lot of things done before leaving for a three and a half week vacation in early August. The to-do list is huge, with the completion of my novel being, perhaps strangely, at the bottom of the pile. Professionally, I have a new classroom and programs to set up, and every last detail must be in place before we leave for Scotland because of our very late return to Toronto (one day before school begins—is anyone surprised?)  On the home front, we've had minor but time-consuming renovations and improvements to all three levels of the house, some to repair damage from last year's summer flood (the new basement floor), some cosmetic (painting, removal of carpets, and installation of new flooring), some to create a more functional space (new wrap-around shelving in the basement and storage room) and some to add beauty and ambience to the garden. With all these changes has come the need to declutter, reorganize, and purge unneeded items. It's a major, on-going job that demands a systematic sweep of each room and a lot of patience. It will also take a lot of time and effort, and seems rather overwhelming at the moment.

The sun going down as we made our final approach into Toronto last night. Beautiful, isn't it?



On the personal front, I've got a similar theme for the month of July. It's been a year of amazing highs and devastating lows, of relationships and friendships made, lost, and stalled. I've decided to stop punishing myself for what I may have done wrong or what I should have approached differently. Regret is a waste of energy that only eats you up and clouds your hope for the future. More importantly, I've realized that I need to let go of what I can't control: the destructive jealousy, envy, and fearfulness of a few people have hurt me these past few months, but all I can do is acknowledge that it happened, forgive, and move on. For the worry that has come with not knowing what is going on in other people's lives because they've withdrawn to regroup or recover, I need to step back and just hope that they are all happy or working towards that goal, and that everything will work itself out in the end. It is a difficult lesson to learn, this art of letting go, but at the heart of it is the essential truth that nothing stays the same and that we must accept change as the only constant in our lives and make peace with it. As I said, I'm working on it and hope my hiccups will be few.

My time in NYC, busy and light and fun (well, except for the visit to the 9/11 Memorial, which gives you a whole other perspective and helps get your head out of your ass) and healing, allowed me to shake the heavy dust of my emotional end to the school year before it settled on my skin. I'm excited about my new position for September, and though I will miss some people I really love, the change will be good for me. If nothing else, it's going to force me to control my potty mouth because I will be with younger children.  I'm also looking forward to our August vacation, and the construction of our itinerary is going to begin with a trip to the bookstore to purchase a tourist guide in the next few days. At the pace I've set for myself these next 5 and a half weeks, I have a feeling the unfinished manuscript is going into my carry-on. And that's totally fine. In fact, it's exactly how I want it.

Sanctuaries

It's officially summer today, and I celebrated by sleeping in after another fun Friday night of social tennis at our local club. I also decided to treat myself to a low-key, do-little weekend, and am enjoying coffee on the deck while my better half is behind me at the patio grill, starting what will surely be a delicious brunch. The local birds are making a racket around me, no doubt excited by the suet dangling from the bar area a few feet away, while my cats plot their demise and the dog just rests at my feet. We've been in this house five years now, a very average, older Toronto home that sits a few streets from the lake and far enough away from the city centre to boast a fairly large yard. I've spent the better part of five springs designing an outdoor space to be a refuge from the outer world, and I've finally succeeded in surrounding myself with greenery and natural beauty.

There are no fancy deck chairs or expensive plants, and I suspect most people would find it completely ordinary, but it was built to be simple and calming. For the next few months, this will be my main sanctuary as I soak in the warmth of the sun, and settle in to finishing the final book in my rock fiction series. The completion of this novel has eluded me for a year and a half, and the move to a new job for September has finally put all the demons to bed in that regard: my head is clear, my heart is happy, and my pen is once again flowing.

In less than a week, the school year will be over and I will be in New York City. I'm excited because it's one of my favourite places in the world, I'm going to meet a lovely online friend and get to spend some time with my brother and sister-in-law, and because the rescheduled trip (I was grounded in March by the 763rd snowstorm of the winter!) will frame the start of the summer in the same manner as our time in Scotland will mark the end of it. Travelling for me is also a sanctuary of sorts, and there is something soothing for me to be away from home, surrounded by different landscapes, meeting new people, and experiencing history and geography so unlike what I know here in Canada.

My departure gate at Pearson in March...



I'm looking forward to these two particular trips because they will both allow me to meet new friends, friends I've not met in person but who were instrumental in keeping me sane over the last ten months as I went through an impossible school year under difficult circumstances. If it weren't for their good humour and silly banter, their kindness, and their willingness to listen and give advice, I know that I would not be in such a good place today. Along with my family and close friends here, they often made me forget the despair that engulfed me at work, and I look forward to meeting up and having some laughs and good chats with them.

When my husband and I attended the world premiere of 'Sunshine on Leith' last September, the blue skies of Edinburgh filled the screen and we jokingly whispered to each other that it was time to go back to Scotland.

We've only been there once, in the summer of 2001, shortly after I lost my father to cancer; I was emotionally devastated and exhausted from the three-month ordeal of caring for him, and our 1600 km driving trip from one end of the country to the other brought me out of a deep melancholy: the capital city was beautiful and welcoming, and as we moved north to the Highlands, the castles were great fun to explore and the landscape was starkly majestic. By the time we had come down Loch Ness and crossed over to Skye, I was in love with the country and its generous, kind inhabitants. It didn't hurt that we fell upon two weeks of glorious sunshine and temperatures hovering around 24C. All in all, a perfect vacation that allowed me to heal my broken heart.

As this school year progressed and I found myself sinking under what can most kindly be described as a micromanaging, soul-destroying, pettily vindictive administration, our joke began to morph into a plan for the summer. We loved our time there when we knew no one, I reasoned, so how much better would it be to go again now that we have friends there? My husband agreed, and so I am now in my middle of perusing travel guides to make sure we catch all the touristy things we missed on the first pass as I design an itinerary that will allow us to meet our friends in the east, west, and northern corners along the way.

As for the healing, I have a feeling lightning will strike twice: once in New York City, and again in August.

Toronto Hosts the FIFA World Cup!

No, that's not a typo or a mistake in the title. As Canada's largest city and the most multicultural metropolitan area on Earth, Toronto enjoys a special atmosphere every two years: the FIFA World Cup and Euro Cup are a month-long party during which we embrace our immigrant roots and celebrate the achievements of the national team from the "old country." We have to because, quite frankly, Canada has only ever sent a team to the WC finals once, in 1986, and results were less than stellar: we hold the embarrassing distinction of being the only team to exit from the first round without a single goal scored, I believe.

 Toronto is a city of historically ethnic neighbourhoods, and the culture of these traditional areas has been preserved even though many of its original inhabitants have prospered and moved out to the suburbs. There are well-known spots such as Little Italy and Little Portugal in the west end, Greektown in the east, and French bistros and English pubs in the downtown core.  Bars of various heritage groups exist across the wider city, and are well-known to the fans who flock to watch the live games of their favourite teams. The Musket is where you go cheer for Germany, El Rancho will shout Olé for Spain, and the Café Diplomatico will be painted blue and shouting 'Forza Azzurri'. In fact, the local papers often publish a thorough list of where one can go to follow any team. Quite often, when a country has won a game or moved on to the next round, celebrations involve streaming into its traditional ethnic neighbourhood with flags to party and make a lot of noise. In 2002, when Korea and Japan hosted, the time difference made it impossible to record games to watch later in certain enclaves: Little Italy often erupted into cheers in the early hours, to the annoyance of residents trying to sleep.

Spanish supporters after the last Euro Cup.

The other local custom during the World Cup involves the proliferation of national flags on cars, and much like the pubs, there is an etiquette to follow: you can display a small flag on the window of your car, but if your team is eliminated, it must come down immediately. This year, there are also decorations for the rear view mirrors, adding to the colour bursts in the busy city traffic. Tomorrow, my German and French colours will each rest on one window side, and my personal prediction is that the bleu-blanc-rouge tricolour will fall first. Thank God for the dual heritage, I say.

There is also good-natured ribbing between friends during this month-long sport celebration. As my passionate Italian colleague Frank repeats every four years, "the Portuguese cheer for Portugal until they get eliminated, then for Brazil, and if they fall, they become Argentinian or Spanish. The Italians only have one team." I always remind him of the beautiful results of the 2000 Euro Cup, when the ridiculous added time gave France the goal it needed to force extra time and then triumph over the Azzurri. As you can see, soccer fans have long memories in this city.

There have sometimes been taunts and displays of aggressive fan behaviour in past years, but overall, the World Cup in Toronto is a chance to enjoy the beautiful summer weather and to socialize in public spots around the city. It is a global game well-suited to this global city, and seems to bring us closer together as we cheer on our teams and celebrate each advance of our favourite one. It is Toronto at its best, and this time, we're in the same time zone as the other host nation, Brazil. This means we can watch in prime time, get plenty of sleep after we've had plenty of drinks.  Good luck to all the teams, although if I could have my way, it would be a French-German final!

Monday Blogs: My Writing Process

Today is May 19th, which marks the birthday of two people who have been influential in my life. The first is Pete Townshend, who inspired me with his song Behind Blue Eyes to write my rock novel series of the same name. He shares his birthday with my lovely friend and fellow writer Val Poore, who invited me to contribute to Monday Blogs by answering four “simple” questions about my writing process, so here goes!

What am I working on at the moment?


I am working on the final novel of my Behind Blue Eyes rock fiction series. The four-part series, which starts the story of musician Ian Harrington in 1978 with the book Love Reign o’er Me will end in 1994 with Empty Glass.

How does my work differ from others in the same genre?

I’ve not read a lot of rock fiction so this is a hard one for me to answer. I think my series differs from others because it is based on the Who song of the same title and builds its narrative around a blue-eyed sad man. The books are about him and his band, but it is also a family saga, a love story, and a nostalgic look back at the 70s of Toronto and London through to the 90s, and so can also be classified in many other sub-genres. I think my lead singer is also rather different from those in other rock fiction bands in that he is not a confident frontman, but rather someone whose doubts and fear overwhelm him all too often.

Why do I write what I do?

I started writing the series in 1979; I was 16, loved music and books, and was frustrated by the lack of mainstream novels with settings in the music industry or featuring rock musicians as main characters. I solved my problem by writing the first book for myself to read, and then continued to develop the series because I enjoyed the result of my initial efforts.

How does my writing process work?

My writing process for the book series has been unorthodox in many ways. I wrote Love Reign o’er Me and Love Ain’t for Keeping (books one and two, respectively) in 1979 and then shelved the first drafts to pursue my studies at university and then begin a teaching career. I forgot all about them until 1997, when I found and picked up my original manuscripts and began to read them again. The 18 year gap had given me insight into some of the characters and conflicts in the books, and I decided to rewrite them to add the nuances and character depths my younger self had been unable to understand at the time. As I rediscovered my books, I began to write again and finished a third book as well as about 85% of the final instalment of the series. It took another 14 years and a decision to take a sabbatical year away from teaching before I finished many rounds of editing and revising and self-published the first three books. Books one and two were released in January and May of 2012, respectively, after which I got to work on the editing of the third one, Let My Love Open the Door, which came out in January 2013. The last one, Empty Glass, is still not completely written nor edited, though I am hoping to have it out by August 2014. Ambitious, I know!


I would like to thank Val Poore for the opportunity to share my process with readers, and am tagging Ian Gordon Craig to continue the link by giving us his insights on next week’s #MondayBlogs. 

I Wish I Wish I Wish...

I could hit rewind and got back to the fall of 2012. Knowing now that I would end up losing more than 8 close friends and family in the 18 months ahead, I would spend more time with them and treasure every second.


I'd seen menopause coming. Perhaps if I'd known what I was in for, I might have made a greater effort to fight it or at least contain some of its effects. I ended up with higher highs, lower lows, and a level of manic, frantic energy that often made me say and do impulsive, foolish things. If I's been able to prevent some of them, I would not have hurt a few important people as much as I ended up doing.


I had patience and could handle unfinished business. But I don't, and I can't. It's my most frustrating flaw, and I've yet to figure out how to silence the voice that nags at me to hurry up and resolve things when they aren't ready for it. It's the same voice that makes it hard for me to let things go, to let them unfold, and I hate it more than anything else about myself.


I could just disappear for another year like I did for the 2011-2012. I'm not sure I have it in me anymore to keep doing what I do for a living in current conditions. Another year away would perhaps give me answers in that regard.

I had handled certain relationships differently in the last year and a half. I know I didn't balance most of them properly, and that my attentions were sometimes too intense towards some of them, and too flippant with others.


I could still my mind. It never stops thinking, doubting, dreaming, asking, wanting. No wonder I have so many headaches.


I could adequately convey to my husband how much he has saved me from myself and from my own despair this year. He is the best thing in the world, and I hope I tell him enough times for him to realize how much I adore him and would be lost without him.



For everyone to be happy. Including me.

We Are All Beautiful

There seems to be a growing realization that we as a society need to start taking mental health issues more seriously. My own school board is beginning to discuss the issue, to think about getting people with 'mental health first aid' skills into our schools to talk to both staff and students. About time, I say. For too long, people suffering with mental health problems have been dismissed, marginalized, or shamed.

For the first time since I was a rebellious, moody, and unhappy teenager, depression hit me this last winter. I have a long list of suspects for why this happened: the coldest and longest Toronto winter in memory, the onset of menopause, the lingering effects of work stress brought about by legislative changes to my profession and my board's recent obsession with standardized testing, and finally, the collapse of a close friendship that had lasted more than ten years until I helped destroy it.

It's now six months later, and the beginning of spring. We've still kept our winter car tires because we can't quite believe that Mother Nature doesn't have one final dumping reserved for us, but the tulips and crocuses are peeking out of the soil and the days are slowly getting warmer. In a couple of weeks, I might be convinced that the snow and ice will have disappeared permanently. The return of the sun and relative warmth (today's high of 9C is downright balmy compared to the -25s we saw for most of January and a good part of February) have lifted my mood, I've been given a placement for September that will keep me out of the testing grades, and I'm mending fences with the dear friend I hurt so horribly over the last year. As for the menopause, I'm not much for medicinal solutions, so I'm letting nature take its course, and looking for holistic remedies and strategies to keep myself from getting too defeated by the endless hot flashes, bouts of insomnia, and hyper mood kicks.

I solidly believe that my darkest days are behind me. I've resumed working on my novel in a serious way that has eluded me since last July, and I am pleased with my efforts so far, although the manuscript itself is rather a mess that will need many run-throughs. Strangely enough, I feel very positive that I will have it completed by the start of August, which is the current target. I've also made my physical well-being a priority, and can see and feel the difference in my body. Lastly, I know my mind is much stilled from the roller-coaster ride of highs and lows that alarmed a lot of close family and friends for the last few months. I am happier, calmer, and I am laughing more than I am crying or despairing these days.

I'd like to share what I've learned or observed in the hopes that I can pass something positive or meaningful forward to anyone else who is currently suffering with depression or who might face this issue in the future.


1. Try to be good to yourself: Eat well, get regular exercise, and allow yourself physical treats like a massage, or even a drop-in yoga class. Having a strong, healthy body helps you keep some energy when you feel deflated or drained.

2. Get outside as much as you can: Winter was brutally cold, but the best week I remember was the one I spent at an outdoor school camp with my class. We were dressed for the weather, the sun shone the entire week, and being "off the grid" and out in the glorious, bright snow was invigorating. This also brings me to #3.

3. Turn off or limit the electronics: It's easy to get caught in a cycle of constantly checking emails, Facebook, Twitter, and other social media, or chatting for long periods of time with online friends. There is nothing wrong with maintaining online friendships, indeed I have many dear people I've never met in person that I consider to be real and true friends. That said, there has to be a balance between sitting in front of a screen and enjoying the world around you, and it's a difficult one to establish and maintain. I took a vacation from social media at the end of March, and it made me feel much better. I was able to spend more time outside. Which brings me back to #2.

2. Get outside and stay out: The best advice I was given for fighting my insomnia was not the taking of herbal remedies, but to take daily walks outside in the early evening with my dog. Winter killed that habit because the salting of sidewalks made it too difficult for my shepherd's sensitive paw pads, but I've now got him back in the habit after I get home from school and it's been wonderful. We walk in the sun, enjoy the fresh air, and the exercise has been good for us. We both have nice legs as a result. It's also given me the chance to listen to a host of new musical discoveries as we take our nightly excursions around the neighbourhood. Which brings me to #4.

4. Listen to music you love: Music is life. I believe it is as essential as breathing to your well-being. Find a genre or two or three that you love, and let its magic surround you. There are few things more beautiful in the world than the sound of music, in my opinion.

5. Do the things you love: Reconnect with the things you are passionate about, whether it's writing, painting, sports, gardening, or cooking. Doing things you love will lift your mood, and keep you busy, which will stop you from letting your mind go to dark places. I spent the last two weekends getting my hands dirty in the soil of my back garden, and the smells, sights, and sounds of the natural world waking after the winter did wonders for my mood. I am slowing my pace so that I can stretch the preparation season a bit.

6. Surround yourself with wonderful people: As much as it is tempting to hide from the world, I found that doing that made things worse for me. It gave my mind the room to expand and concoct too many negative scenarios, and the isolation magnified my worries and my sadness. I know that many times I felt that I was a burden to others and that I didn't want to "bring them down" with my problems or issues, but what I learned from the people who cared about me is that they wanted to help. In hindsight, I appreciate that they kept knocking at my door to make sure I was alright. I also learned that often those who shared the tendency to be in the same dark places were often the first to recognize my sadness and then to offer help. Which brings me to #7.

7. Reach out to people who need you: It's been proven that reaching out and helping others is a factor in our own happiness. I know that for me, being able to listen and try to help others made me feel useful, wanted, and also helped lift me out of my sad moods because the focus on helping made me less self-indulgent. It also made me grateful for having a purpose and for not feeling so alone or unique in the world. I learned that you can never be too kind, even when others don't seem to want your attentions, because I also appreciated the kindness of others despite insisting I wanted solitude.

I'm sure I've forgotten items, but this is a good list for me to have started. Please feel free to add to it with any insights you might have. I know we are all different, and that my solutions are just my own experience and may not suit others. What I do hope is that they continue a dialogue between people on how we can all support each other and cheer each other on. We need more kindness in the world, I firmly believe.


I leave you with this. As Florence famously sang, it is always darkest before the dawn.

Rebirth

I'm not terribly religious, although I was raised in the Catholic faith and have a special place in my heart for the ritual and spectacle of the church and mass. I know that spring is by definition about rebirth and renewal, and that all the signs are around us now that it's started to happen after what can only be described as a long, brutal winter.

For me, the past six months have been harsh, not only because of the weather, but also because of changes in my life. Some of them were positive, some negative, and some managed to be both at once. I'm not the person I was when the summer ended and the school year started, but I'm okay with that. I'm not perfect by any means, I've made my share of mistakes along this path we call life, but I am settling back into my skin and feeling comfortable again. I am beginning to feel settled once again, more grounded, and this can only be a good thing.

Yesterday, three unrelated things happened to convince me that all will be well in my world. The first was a short but direct conversation with my husband about my work in progress, which is the fourth and last novel in a four-part series that I first published in 2012. It is no small understatement to state that finishing this current piece has been a massive challenge. One of the angles I am struggling with is making sure I am not in the least bit tempted to go back to this series for another kick at the narrative can, and so I am focussed on closing all the doors and putting locks on them. In his amazing way, he managed to make me feel positive about my manuscript being a complete mess at the moment. He has a way with me that allows me to take criticism without feeling attacked or hurt, because I know he has our best interest at heart and that any critique is meant with love and good intentions. I took his suggestions seriously, and the editing phase (more like a slash and burn) seems to have benefitted from the discussion. All good so far.

The second event was a surprise, one that had me burst into very happy tears. Three weeks ago, I was looking to find someone to go with me to see Biffy Clyro (I refer you to my recent post about musical obsessions) in Belfast in August, and no one who would be overseas was able to make the commitment. My husband, to put it mildly, is not a fan of this band. When he presented me with the pair of tickets he secretly purchased for us, I threw my arms around him, gave him 1,500, 000 bonus husband points on the spot, and started crying. He is very intuitive and generous, and sensed that I needed something to push me forward to believe that better days are ahead. There are no adequate words for me to describe just how special he is to me. I wish he could love this band like I do, because it pains me to think he will suffer through a long headlining set just to make me happy.

The third smile of the day came from my friend Romano, who walked me through a new texting app called Whatsapp. In less than five minutes, he'd taught me how to send text and video, and then encouraged me to quietly (code for disregarding the wonderful husband's suggestions to surrender my contacts lists) go find my other friends so that we can all be addicted together. The app will hopefully prove very useful during our trip to Scotland in August, though it may well take me until then to figure out how to use its many features.

Happy Easter to all, and wishing everyone a great spring.

25 Years Ago...

My cousin Andrew was at Hillsborough on this day in 1989. He was luckier than the 96 Liverpool fans who were there and never came home. I hope there will be justice soon for the families who lost their loved ones, and then fought tirelessly and with dignity on their behalf.

Photo of the Hillsborough Memorial Service at Anfield Stadium

 from The Telegraph, April 15, 2014

Patience

Perhaps I should have named this entry "Impatience" because I possess that quality in greater abundance than its counterpart. I am not what you would call a 'wait-and-see' person when there are loose ends that need to be tied, or situations that aren't fully developed, worked out, or revealed to me. Instead, I tend to overthink things, worry, imagine a dozen of the worst scenarios possible, and generally work myself into a lather until the truth is revealed and things unfold as they should. This process doesn't change, whether we're talking about conflicts, puzzles, or problems. Nor does it matter whether or not I am directly involved in the matter at hand: I am a failure at waiting for anything longer than a day or two at best, although I will add that the yoga and breathing exercises I am leading my class of 10 and 11 year-olds through is making me learn a bit more tolerance for the things I cannot push. A bit. But only just.

Unsurprisingly, I am not much different when I have wonderful things to look forward to, which in the next four months, includes three out-of-country trips. The first two are quick getaways, one in late May to Cleveland for a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame girlie weekend with two recently-made, music-mad, middle-aged ladies who love their tunes, drinks, and food like I do. It promises to be a great road trip across the border and back.

My last visit to the RRHoF in Cleveland, summer of 2002. My tongue is ready to hang out again.



On the last day of school in June, I've optimistically booked an evening flight to New york City, to make up the visit that the 768th snowstorm (I stopped counting after that) of the winter season cancelled for me. I'll be meeting another rock music lover, this time from the Who family, and I'm excited to be going back. I have a great, ongoing love affair with NYC, and eight years is too long for such a close destination.

New York City, which I haven't seen since 2006.

In August, my husband and I will travel to Scotland for the second time. Our first visit in 2001 was magical, but I'll save talking about it for a future post. At the moment, I'm sorting out the tourist parts of it so we can then work in the more personal visits to meet new friends. The planning, which is necessary in order to connect all the destinations and people we want to see, only makes me more excited and therefore wishing for the time to speed up.

On the must-see list for Scotland: the Kelpies at the Helix.


Back to my impatience. This winter has been brutal and long, with no signs of letting up. Only in Canada can you go from 21 C to 3 C in a twenty-four hour period, as we will find out in a couple of days' time. The endless cold is the last of my reasons for wanting to hurry the seasons along. In my ideal world, we would rush past spring and go right to summer in our sandals, shorts, and skirts just in time for Easter, and then it would be a matter of weeks to start all the trips. It's a shame I can't just say 'Make it so' and have it happen.

Storytellers

I'm obsessive about things. Everyone who knows me would attest to that without hesitation. When I embrace something, I tend to do it in a rather maniacal fashion, leaving no stone unturned until I've discovered every last fact or piece of work related to the object of my fixation.

Music is no different. When I fall for an artist, I go off on a mad expedition, looking for every recording, every performance, until I've breathed them so deeply I can then let go and repeat the process with another one. Sometimes, I obsess in clumps.  For the last few weeks, I've been on a triple kick of Ed Sheeran, Passenger, and Biffy Clyro: they take turns in the car, at school, at home, and even when I'm out with the dog. For some strange reason, Ed Sheeran's A+ is my go-to album when I take Whiskey for his longer walks, but the last three recordings of these musicians have been on constant replay on the classroom and home computer, and from the car's USB stick.

Just before we broke for spring break in the middle of March, we had our annual drumming workshop at school, and this year, my musical learning curve was the development of my instrumental ear, and it coincided with my obsession with Biffy Clyro's magnificent double-album, Opposites. More precisely, I began to perfect my ability to deconstruct songs and pick out the subtleties and layers of instruments and vocals that made them so rich. With this Biffy recording, it was like winning the musical lottery, because Opposites is a treasure of overlapping harmonies and quirky arrangements that are essential to the song but not always evident unless you pay close attention. There are interesting effects and counter-beats in unusual places (Trumpet or Tap), bagpipes where you don't expect them (The Stinging Belle), and a mariachi band that transforms 'Spanish Radio' into a wistful, haunting piece that I could listen to over and over just to hear the trumpet for a single lyrical overlap. Yes, for just one phrase in the whole song—the effect for me is that powerful. Have a listen and see if you can find the line of which I speak.

This past week, I've returned to my work in progress, Behind Blue Eyes: Empty Glass, and started a brutal edit. I love chopping superfluous words, and tightening my scenes, and the process for the first three novels included listening to a local deejay who has since moved from the evening slot on a classic rock station to a morning show on an alternative station. I need music to write with, and so I took advantage of Youtube to keep me company. Following my obsessive state, I tuned in to live performances of two of my current favourites. I found Ed Sheeran at the 2012 iTunes Festival (and then hunted down his last week's Teenager Cancer Trust at the Royal Albert Hall), and Passenger at Pinkpop 2013, and off I went.

I managed a lot of editing. Two to three hundred words slaughtered mercilessly over three chapters that became two. I also dropped my jaw a few times watching Ed: he is 23, and plays in front of an audience like he has been doing it for decades. Confident but not arrogant, enthusiastic and yet relaxed, he is able to sway a crowd to rise up and to calm down. I was impressed that someone so young wrote most of his debut album material at 17 and 18, songs so lyrically mature, often tender, and poignant that I can identify with them despite the huge age gap between us. I was fascinated by his use of the loop pedals to create layered tracks to make his own band, and then to engage the spectators to become his back-up choir. I can already see that every live show uploaded to Youtube is going to be on my list this week as I continue to write.

Passenger is a gentler, more humble performer, a folksy singer without Ed's hip hop influences and with less natural confidence on the huge stages he has graced with his breakout success. He is endearing because he is nervous, but also possesses the same kindness that one senses from his ginger contemporary. The most riveting thing about Passenger is that his performance of 'Let Her Go' is never the same twice, which one could only know by having watched about a dozen of live renditions (that obsessive thing again). I'm excited to have found out from all my viewing these past few days that both of them have new releases coming soon. Meantime, here's a duet from these two ridiculously talented storytellers. The original recording is available on Youtube, as well as their most recent performance from last week at the Royal Albert Hall's TCT shows (yeah, the obsessive thing again). As Pete Townshend once said, the kids are alright.  Enjoy.

Spring Forward

It's officially spring. Or so they say. Frankly, I'm not convinced, given that it's -8 C outside at the moment, with a windchill that makes it feel like -16 C. It's been a long, cold, snowy winter here in Toronto that started in November, and never let up. Even with a vacation to the Dominican Republic over the Christmas break that allowed us to avoid the big ice storm, I've found it difficult to get through this endless cold. I've struggled with bouts of depression for the first time since I was a moody teenager, and am self-aware enough to know that the chill has gone hand in hand with the hot flashes of middle age to make me an alternating hot and cold mess.

But this week, the tables are turning. I can feel it in my bones. The move to Daylight Saving Times in early March has made the sun stay out just a little longer at night, and we seem to be enjoying bright days. I'm even prepared to ignore the bitter cold that accompanies them because at least it's sunny out and the ground is relatively dry.

Yesterday, I made the decision to temporarily pull the plug on social media; more specifically, I am deactivating my Facebook account for spring as my own rite of renewal. Anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that I spend too much time there; I am a social creature, I love trivia, snarky memes, and quirky articles, and could probably spend the rest of my life poking around friends' pages looking at all their links and updates, commenting on and liking what they've chosen to share. The entertainment and amusement factor is high for me, mostly because I am surrounded by witty, intelligent, and charming friends. However, I've recognized in the last few weeks that I need to recharge the energy that winter and menopause have stripped away. I have a dog itching to get back to long, daily walks, and a body with two healed shoulders that is screaming for a higher level of physical activity. I need to rediscover yoga, continue the power walking and water jogging regimes so beneficial to my fitness and mental health, incorporate some strength and muscle training, and most importantly, pick up a racket and fall in love with tennis all over again.

                                     The song of the cardinals are being heard every day now...


I am also looking forward to digging my hands into the muddy, snow-softened soil of my gardens. For me, the flowers and shrubs that surround the house are a meditation with nature, a purely sensual joy that the long winter kept at bay for too long. I've heard the birds chirping for the last week and a half, and I want to join in their singing and poke around the wild English garden that was once my front lawn, clipping and pruning as green replaces grey and white.

                                                The June lawn...

                                         announces the full blooms of the coneflowers and daisies of early July....

                                         and gets replaced by the rich September colours...

Finally, I have a novel I promised to deliver last August to complete the rock fiction series first published in January 2012. Last year was difficult in so many ways: the return to a world of clocks and bells after a sabbatical leave was a challenging adjustment, made worse by so much personal loss (9 deaths in less than 10 months) and a draconian, government-imposed contract that destroyed working conditions and morale in the educational community. The physical changes of menopause turned me into a giddy, hyper teenager, and all semblance of focus and direction went out the open window (I was hot much of the time). I will admit sheepishly that being in this state of unrest was fun for me at times, but perhaps less so for the poor friends and family who had to interact with me on a regular basis. I still melt at the strangest moments, but my psyche has recovered its emotional stability, and I'm ready to tackle my writing project.

Will I twitch because my fingers are no longer checking for updates and messages? Will I miss my social network of bantering goofballs and dear friends? I will certainly have moments where the cravings and longing will be great, where I will be tempted to log in and see what's going on. But I am determined to resist, to persevere, to take my greatest Capricorn asset (my stubbornness, in case you're wondering) and make it work for me. Besides, I'm not giving up all contact with the cyber world: there's still Twitter, email, and texting, which I know I'll use to keep in touch with those nearest and dearest.  More importantly, there's still Word with Friends, where my friend Romano attempts to kick my ass on a daily basis, and as his profile claims, he 'likes to chat.'

Wish me luck.