Some people go to priests; others to poetry; I to my friends.
— Virginia Woolf
I have come to realise that without my friends and family, I am lost. The words used for me are often “resilient” or “strong” or “capable”…. There is only one way for me to be that. To connect with my friends and family when I need the extra strength to move forward.
I have always been this way, apparently!
My mother likes to tell me a story, of which I have zero recollection by the way, of a punishment she doled out to me when I was, I dunno… 4? 5? 6? I’ll have to ask her. Turns out it was the ultimate, primo, perfect punishment for one such as me. You see, I was a biter. I wasn’t happy with you or what you said or did? I’d bite. Drove my mother batty. She threatened more than once to break my teeth with a hammer… ‘course she didn’t. (And by the way… I STILL bite – so it may have worked only short-term, Mom. If we’re wrestling or I’m being held down and I feel I can’t break free – I’ll bite you! Consider yourself warned…)
Anyway, back to my story. I bit, probably Dougie Dixon, my neighbour, once too many times. My mother decided that my punishment was for me to stay in my yard, no friends could come over, not even cross the line (grass) and I couldn’t go anywhere for THREE DAYS! (She later realised that one and half days probably would have sufficed as it became more of a punishment to her as I moped and whined and complained.) THREE DAYS! It was torture. No friends? None? Not one? Be alone… They came to the house and my mother told them… “No, Dale can’t come and play with you. You see, she is an animal and bites…” Oh, the horror…
Why am I boring you all with this now? Because I was feeling rather “meh” and frankly, lonely, these past two days… It’s amazing how you can share your house with three young adults and still feel like you are all alone.
This afternoon, I went Bob Burrowes’ funeral (my late dad’s girflriend’s baby brother). Like my dad, like Mick, every single picture of Bob in the video they had playing on a loop showed his big-ass grin. This guy, gone too soon via massive heart attack at the age of 67, had a lust for life and people just like Dad and Mick. The number of people who showed up is a testament to this guy.
Many knew both my dad and Mick so there was some reminiscing going on. Moments of sadness mingled with smiles of remembrance.
I left from there to shoot down to Montreal to join friends for Giselle’s birthday supper. And THIS is the point of my going on and on… Jeez… Written diarrhea anyone?
Surrounding myself with people who love me and who I love is what nourishes me. Keeps me from losing my mind. From finding myself going too deeply into sadness. I am blessed. I can’t help wonder if that is what was missing from Anthony Bourdain’s life. From Robin William’s. From so many others who took their own lives.
And, because I can’t always be serious. As I was parked two streets over and two blocks ahead, Dany and Giselle gave me a lift to close to my car. I insisted they not go out of their way. I got out of the car, crossed the two streets and…. promptly walked north instead of south. Three blocks later, I think… jeez… didn’t walk that far to get to the restaurant, did I? Turned around and started worrying that my car had been towed. Dumbass. I was further south than I thought. That’ll learn me to pay attention to, not only the street I am parked on, but the cross street too!
Julie mentioned a fabulous App called “Waze” that tells you where the cops are, the potholes, which streets are suddenly blocked off, which bridges are closed… so I used that and realise that… yay! Despite seeing the tail end of some fireworks (effing annual competition…) my bridge home was NOT closed…
A few of the 10,000 things that make me happy and grateful
61. Finding reasons for getting together
62. Nourishment of friends
63. Finding my car
64. No closed bridges on my way home
65. Great readers who also supply me with love and friendship (yes, Frank, this does include you!)