What is Love -

Sitting here in solitude this early Christmas morning. Rain drizzle outside, soft glow of the tree. Old dog curled up by my side. The years slip by. Memories seem like distant times and yet offer more clarity to the story of the way we are. Where there lacks peace , I find understanding. For my part I should have done patience better.I should have understood love better. In my youth, the present things took me by surprise and reactions were quicker and impulsive. Time is a gift, really. I'm looking ahead to the person I still want to become. More introspective. Life has already given me so much to learn from. People have revealed their own hearts. I can make peace with myself even if they are not peaceable or wiling to look into themselves. I can be patient with those who are still young and don't know about the battle of reactions, of being taken by surprise, and of impulse. I will guard my heart from abuse, manipulation and exploitation. I will not engage with those that slander me. I will shield my children from harmful people and provide safe space for them to grow into clarity of their own value. I can give time and space for others to reflect and come back to me. I can release myself to allow others to own what is theirs and only own what is between me and my Maker. I can extend myself to those who are open to what I have to offer in relationship. I can stand firm in what I believe and let you stand firm in yours , even if that means I will stand without you. I can forgive and let go the repentent and the unrepented. I can set boundaries on how much of my soul I will share and in doing so love,cherish and protect myself. I will give of myself what I am freely willing to part with and I won't resent you for taking what I gave. Through all this I can put on Love - Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. May 2024 be a year where I walk in Love with the kind of boundaries it takes to truly live out its truth.

Reflections Between Mind & Body 16/06/21

I miss you - and I miss us. I miss our team work. The way I would see the things that had to be done, the things that would inspire us and you would catch that spark and leap into action. I dreamed it and you never doubted your abilities to set it in motion. You were strong enough, capable enough and able enough to see it all through. You were a rock , a stubborn and fiercely determined partner. Perhaps too stubborn. You failed me. Or maybe I took advantage of you. But you never put any brakes on my ideas or whims. You relentlessly just kept doing the things and when you couldn't or it hurt you , you bore through it until you broke. And in your breaking you have broken me too. Maybe you are just as angry at me - for pushing when it's my job to know better. So now here we are. What do we do ? I don't have the answers anymore. I've adapted, you've rested and you've pushed. We are shadows of our former self. Unrecognizable if the world were to actually see us as we clumsily fake our way through what's left. I'm embarrassed , disappointed , angry , frustrated and deeply sorrowed. It's far too soon to call the game. I don't want to spend my life playing candy crush, scrolling facebook, pinning things onto boards I'll never do. My reflections cause me pain ; whether I look back, or forward , or even to the here and now. I am trying. You are trying. And we are failing. Falling. Alone. Invisible. I miss you - and I miss us . And I miss the days that we were enough.

Life's not working

 

I don't know if I should feel horrible or if it's just a matter of the years passing quickly. 

I worked , I really worked.  I was a basic Jack-of-All-Trades, Master-of-Nothing type person.  I took every task and threw my all into it.  Maybe from the outside it didn't look like much . I never strived so much for perfection as I did for absolute service. Maybe I just came off as frantic all these years. 

I always struggled with the irritating #noexcuses in direct opposition to #selfcare. It seemed to be "you're only limitations are in your own mind, push yourself" vs  "know your limits, listen to your body". If I worked there were critics, if I rested there they were there too.  So I just loved on everyone I could and raised my personal bar.  

Now I'm in my 40's and the rapid decline to my physical body cannot continue at this pace.  And still the voices are there - catch phrases of advice to keep pushing myself to exercise, lose weight, or eat better, or sleep more, drink more water, take my vitamins , push , push , push....  like somehow my lack of action has caused my pain and suffering or maybe it's too much action that has caused it. Because it always seems to be one or the other but always something I did, or did not, do.  All my fault , a product of my own destruction. A false sense of control projected onto whatever the situation may be.  

struggling with 12 hr shifts

In 2019 I had surgery for Carpal Tunnel - my "recovery" took about nine months. Peppered with the usual advise of "try to move it, my (or my mom's or my neighbour's)  recovery was six weeks, blah , blah"  and "don't push yourself, you are going to have yourself to blame if you wreck your  hand".... 
I still have limited mobility in my right hand.  At my stress test a shocked technician asked if my hand was always completely numb. Yes , it was , I said. 

 

14 days post op and very discouraged 

   My surgeon said my nerve was     almost black -nearly "dead". It       was explained that one of the         pains and the  numbness was       Carpal   Tunnel, but the other  was   Tendonitis , and the other     Arthritis.  So  no, my hand is not better but it was never going   to be. My left  hand is nearly as bad and as I type I can't even   curl my fingers  today , the pain is  piercing. Mostly no one   notices because I use  my forearms to hold things or my palms to brace what my hand is doing. I've become somewhat ambidextrous .  I was unable to return to working as a Chef and moved on to working as a Chef Instructor , teaching at a culinary school. 

Teaching at the College 

In 2020 I had surgery for an Umbilical Hernia.  I had laughed so hard one evening that I literally popped out my bellybutton and went to emerg - yeah... laughter is not always the best medicine. Somehow I felt very punished for joy.   Thanks to the pandemic it was months of waiting for surgery , wearing a special belt to hold me together , frequent visits to ER when I couldn't. They would stuff me back in and send me home. I was unable to continue working as a Chef Instructor.  I sat and tried not to add to my problems for several months.  No laughing , no lifting , no sudden movements or straining of any kind. Trying to embrace the spiritual lesson that might be packed in there.  Wondering why God would give me talents that I couldn't use but trying to accept that just the same. 

Becoming a person I didn't feel I was created to be.  Maybe trying to make space to allow my family to become the people that they were made to be. 

Can't keep me down.  I would volunteer - the youth centre was in need of someone to make a regular meal and I was in need of some place to serve. If my body went bad again it was a low commitment, I would be easily replaced. Look at me being flexible to life's circumstances.  Within the week I was staff and now Kitchen Manager. 

 A couple of months ago the pain in my hands has started to ramp up again. I move my hands like they are just claws , I have not strength. Not a problem , I'm not just a  Chef , I'm also a Manager . I'd been a manager in my early years of marriage.   I'll "manage" the position and I tried to shift my focus towards management, advocacy and mentorship.   But the pandemic had other plans and I am shut out for the foreseeable month.  


Okay - a rest is good.  But the truth is I won't rest - I can't sit (and get fatter and lazier and have imposed opinions on why my house is a mess, or why my kids aren't learning piano , or why my garden is overrun). 
I am trying to do less- and trying to find balance- and trying to  work smarter, not harder - and trying to practice gratitude- and trying to be an encourager - and trying to be in prayer - and trying to stop trying.

I know it was a goal to give my all before departing this world - I guess I didn't think of what that would actually look like mid way through.  My family is freakishly strong for our 5 foot frames - and suddenly I find myself physically weak and incapable.  My nuclear family is probably best known by those that do know us as Get-The-Job-Done people - less fantastic with the interpersonal skills but appreciated for our work ethic and dependability.     

What do you do when you can't be the person you feel you were born to be? 

What do you do when you redefine yourself every six to twelve months to fit the larger, changing, picture ? When you've been flexible, resilient, adaptable?  When your best is the worst thing you can do?  What do you do when the person you are boxed into doesn't fit your value system ? When your body doesn't support your heart and calling ? When you become nothing more than a good intention ? 

Christmas Memories Part 3

 Christmas Young Adult Years 

1995 -2000

In January 1995 I met my eventually husband. Canadian to the core - from Toronto. 
Any cultural gaps I had been missing were about to be filled. 

Even though we had transitioned from a Third World country to a First World one seemingly filled with abundance there were still many things I had yet to experience. 

He came from a world of Christmas movies I had never heard of, Christmas brunches, snow days , mall Santas and trips "up north".  He'd told me his family was French - to my surprise from New Brunswick. 
Catholics.  To this point I honestly thought Quebec was the only way to truly be "French" in Canada ! 

To add to this new experience my man really loves Christmas ! His extravagance would flow from the heart rather than the wallet , a stark contrast between his Irish roots an my own Scottish ones.  

Adding to this was an Italian branch by marriage.

Christmas on his side was very colourful. On one side a flurry of blended families held together by some sort of Christmas magic. On the other, a whirl of English punctuated by French and Italian - fortunately being bilingual well equipped me to keep up as our own home had always blended Portuguese and English from all corners of the missionary world. 

I can remember being very awestruck at the desserts ; cakes, cookies, biscotti, nougat, and panetone. Not even so much at the range of it all but because this was the first time I can recall being encouraged to eat to excess ! Prior to this desserts in my home had been very acutely enjoyed - would you like "this" OR "that" - one cookie, one square of cake , one tablespoon of Christmas pudding I had not recalled multiple items and certainly not seconds and beyond ! 

Also, weirdly in this new world people randomly napped in chairs. IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE ! I cannot remember  my parents ever so much as reclining on the sofa growing up. They were very hard workers and never seemed to really settle down.  

For extra money my husband-to-be would take on seasonal work in the malls as a Santa. His family owned an entertainment business and as such we were also blessed by impromptu magic performances  or new balloon animals and clown acts in the middle of a family visit ! 

For our first married Christmas in 1998 , my husband greatly surprised me with a brand new Christmas tree and now no matter how many needles it sheds is too precious to replace. She is now 22 years old. 

Another great memory I have is gathering around my husband's step mother's table. She was a personal chef and former restauranteur . Her meals were heightened affairs - warm candles, mimosas, and cocktails. Herb crusted roasts and light desserts such as creme brulee.  I vividly recall dainty champagne glasses with fresh raspberries that would be carried up with the bubbles. She taught  me to hold a glass by the stem so to not smudge the glass or warm the drink.  Her conversations were always kind and all inclusive.  Here we talked about celebrity gossip like they were people we knew ! She ignited a strong desire for the culinary arts which I would go on to pursue.  

I do not recall one bad Christmas memory between 1995 and 2000.   

Christmas The Middle Years 
1987 - 1995

The next season of life I'll block off as our return to Canada from Brazil in 1986 until 1995.  Years which marked the second half of my childhood but very much a whole new world. I officially transitioned from being  a Missionary Kid to what I now know to be a "third culture kid". 

Although I do have a lot of memories of this era, I can't really say that they all radiated with comfort and joy. 

Christmases now seemed to arrive with a higher expectation and as it's bound to happen never failed to disappoint. "Things" seemed to be a big focus and so did the comparison game with friends. not that I was ever in true need , or that I even ever felt deprived - but our Christmas haul suddenly seemed to lack luster compared with the abundance of this new First World nation. 

The exception to the rule had to be my father's over the top gifts to my mother, which I can only imagine at the time was intended to impress her greatly ! He overplayed.  One year it was a full drum set - another a very expensive doll house . Bless him, he was a giver but it failed to speak her love language. 

More often than we would probably want to confess the festivities would come to an abrupt halt and be soured by an angry outburst or fight.   Perhaps it was the addition of teenager daughters or just the overwhelming life change for us all. 

Most of the extended family was still in Montreal so although we might venture some visiting through the season , Christmas day itself didn't change for us.  We did however, continue to practice hospitality to friends and even practical strangers who would otherwise have been alone. 

Of course  Nanny and Papa did come spend Christmas with us , or we'd join them. Nanny would bake "melt in your mouth" shortbread. Decorated with barely a twelfth of a maraschino cherry - a nod to our Scottish roots.  From that time on it was always turkey , stuffing, potatoes , and gravy, and sweet jarred pickles. 

My mother seemed to always try some whipped topping and jello type dessert from a magazine - mercifully she eventually settled on a rather "instant " version of trifle.... more whipped topping but at least the jello was now set in the cake layer. 

Another dessert that I found both intriguing and delightful was that Nanny would have a small Christmas pudding. Store bought , however even though she had a microwave (high end technology let me tell you) , this was always steamed . Years later in culinary school I learned that the technique she was using is a "bain marie" - very chic.   
Traditionally this would be served with a rum sauce but they were strict Pentecostals. In fact any liquor that Papa would receive as a gift would be poured immediately down the drain ! Instead, it was served with a warm English custard.  

The rest of our seasonal festivities now included school concerts, church cantadas  and piano recitals. 
This was also the unfortunate era of tacky decor - plastic trees with tinsel and angel hair that would hurt your skin and kill your pets.  Spray snow for windows and all manner of ghastly looking angels ! 

 Christmas Memories
The Early Years
1976-1986

I have a terrible memory that only returns to me in small pieces, often at the worst time. 

I spent my first nine years as a "Missionary Kid" in Brazil between 1977 and 1986. So, even compared to Canada in the same era, it was a different world. 

My memories, if you will, are mostly passed down stories told through my mother's lens and a handful of pictures - my mother was very diligent in taking photos but in that time they were expensive to develop and the concept of digital photography had not yet been imagined. (And let's be honest this was a season where my parents were literally using chickens as currency) 

 I suppose those early Christmas years were happy ones in spite of the fact that we did not spend it with our extended family. Nor did we have much - my sister has memories of receiving balloons for Christmas.   And there was, of course, no snowy -white , Hallmark movie backdrop in the tropics of South America. 

 

I remember one year, perhaps my only authentic  early childhood Christmas memory - I had,... found... a hula hoop hidden under my parent's bed. That , I recall, had been a very exciting thing to receive! 

Of course I faintly recall children's Sunday School Christmas performances with singing - and gifts wrapped not in regular paper but some sort of hard to fold, metallic cellophane-like material. 

We would always unwrap very carefully and fold our paper wrapping - especially the coveted larger pieces for another year and I do not recall doing differently until I was well into my teens.  

Every year we would receive Christmas cards through the mail from our native land, Canada. Full of colour, winter scenes and sparkles. Sometimes the cards were even indented with textures that outlined the pictures.  After Christmas my mother would ceremoniously bring out the good pinking sheers from her sewing box.  Then carefully, and what I perceived to be very skillfully , she would cut out the pictures whose backsides contained no writing and those would saved to be used the following year as the gift tags. 

I can recall singing at least one traditional carol as to this day , from time to time, I'll be humming away "Noite de paz.... noite de amor..... " to the tune of Silent Night. 

 

Doing Hard Things 

I think I come by it naturally to push myself to be better, to do more , to achieve a higher standard.  Growing up I was surrounded by parents who continually did hard things and worked very hard to accomplish good results. My siblings are hard workers. My husband is a hard worker.  We are good stock, you might say.  None of us content to ever just sit still and let life just wander by.
Last summer my family moved, which was a big endeavor as we changed towns and so have had to restructure all life's details. My oldest son lived the weekdays away from home in his first full time seasonal job, a few cities away.  And in the fall I finally returned to school to get my advanced diploma in the culinary arts.  It took me three years to return after the completion of my basic diploma in 2014 - but thanks to the sale of the house it was finally the right time to work that into life.
 

It was a long 15 weeks for me, still adjusting to our new environment whilst settling in our five children and homeschooling gr.11, 9, 6, 3 & 2 - before and after my own classes.  Head to the ground, plow through. Don't look up, don't you take your eyes off the goal. 

My school was located in the heart of Hamilton, above the farmers market.  Walking through street musicians , fresh produce and even the hussle and bussle was all very  hygge- when not overwhelming.

My first sessions were in theory - most dreaded math. Cooking gives me energy but the thought of sitting for hours in front of the text books drained me of almost all I could give. But the smiling faces of the faculty and staff were a great encouragement as was a certificate of recognition. Yup, I got a participation award , but it was enough to see me through the long theory portion. 

Finally in the kitchen I was able to apply myself to the thing that gives me great joy and peace. There is no greater feeling to me than to take "nothing" and shape it into something beautiful , nourishing and satisfying to those who partake. 

 It was not without challenges as I found I had often more enthusiasm than my peers but such is life. This was perhaps my single most disappointment as I had really hoped to enjoy the challenge of younger and perhaps more talented students. But it was worth it to dig within myself and compete against my own standards.

 I was privileged to represent the college at an event at the city hall.  And I passed with Honours - one of the goals I had set for myself going in.
Although I did little to advance my own personal business, I was able to do a few orders over Christmas and a Christmas Treats and Entertaining demo and presentation for a group of 50 women.

 I'm so glad that I took this time to really finish well.  My oldest is just under two years away from his own college days and then I will have a child entering college every two years for the next ten years. My husband will then be retired.  This truly was my last, at least foreseeable, chance for ME. Not a bad run for a 41 year old, wanna be Chef.  Oh, and I received a job offer on my last day of class. The opportunity to do what I love. Serving  and feeding about 50 residents in a private seniors home- once a week and one weekend a month. I can homeschool my children and I can "live the dream". Yes, I am blessed.

Last day of school, a beautiful goodbye to a chapter in my life