Raise Your Hopeful Voice You Have a Choice

It started like any other Wednesday.  I walked Amrita to the community centre for Breakfast Club, and I hugged her and said, “Have an awesome birthday!” We both giggled because I had meant “Have an awesome day, not birthday, but her approaching birthday and party were on my mind.

 Later in my office, I wondered why I didn’t hear the sirens.  My window faces Elgin Street.  I would have been able to see the War Memorial had I been a couple of floors higher up in our new building.  I guess I was engrossed in something.  Around 10:00, I heard a couple of our managers coming around to all the offices telling people not to leave the building.  My manager looked at me and understood that I had heard her speak to the others, though she did not say anything to me.  A few minutes later, my Director came to my office to look out the window.  I asked him what had happened.  “A soldier has been killed,” he said.  I was grateful for his presence in my office for a few minutes.

I went to the Globe and Mail site.  Breaking news.  A gunman had shot a soldier at the War Memorial and was tearing through Parliament.

What?

I stepped into the hall, hoping to make human contact, to make sense of what was happening and what we were to do.  People were scurrying but not gathering.  I called Jaime.  He hadn’t heard anything.  Hearing nervousness in my voice, he said, “You’re okay.”

An e-mail soon came, instructing us not to leave the building.  We were on lock-down.

Should I call my parents, I wondered.  They might hear the news and worry.  I decided to call them.  They, of course, had heard the news.  I told them we were on lockdown.  I told them not to leave their building in the Market either.  For some reason, I wasn’t convinced that they wouldn’t step out.  They didn’t say, “OF COURSE NOT!”

Then I remembered that Aveen was allowed “off property” from his centretown school, so I called the school, and made them reassure me that they would not be allowed off property today.  “We’re dealing with a very serious situation today,” they said, a bit grumpily.  “Yes, that’s why I’m calling,” I said.

I tried to work a bit but I couldn't concentrate.  I felt disconcerted.  I tried to chat with people, but others seemed to be working.  Only later would I find out that everyone was feeling the same way I was.

Although I knew Amrita would be safe in her school, I decided to call anyway.  I think I just wanted to be with my family.  After a couple of tries, I got through, and the office assured me that they were fine and in secure school mode.  Hearing the warm voice of Amrita's school made me feel better.

I got an e-mail from my friend asking if I was in lock down. She was too. We started e-mailing back and forth.

I started to hear people saying that we should stay away from windows.  Then we got an e-mail instructing us to stay away from them.  Right.  That made sense, but where would I go and what would I do? We had laptops but I had not been able to connect online with mine.  Nonetheless, I took my iPhone and my laptop and went to a boardroom.  I expected all my other colleagues who also had window offices to join me, but I remained there, alone and cold, the whole day. 

We had no food.  It would have been a good day to bring my lunch.  But I wasn't hungry.  I was feeling stressed.  I was worried about my children.  What were they doing?  Were they scared?  Stressed?  What would happen at the end of the day?  I was also scared that the gunman would come into our building. 9/11 was on all our minds.  It was in the realm of the possible. 

I didn't dwell on it, though.  I was anxious, but I was conscious of the fact that it was a different anxiety than what I felt at the depth of my illness and ever since.  I was able to acknowledge that we would most likely all be okay.  And even though I was alone in the boardroom for most of the time, I knew I wasn't alone.  We were all in the same boat.  (In the same building.)  With cancer, I feel alone.  

Still, I wondered what would happen.  How this would end.  It wasn't until later that my thoughts turned to Corporal Nathan Cirillo, the soldier who had been gunned down at the War Memorial.  That would come later.

A lot of friends e-mailed and texted to ask if I was okay.  I passed most of the day e-mailing and texting, even though at some point we were instructed not to.  Communication seemed important, and I had not much else to keep my mind occupied, since it was not possible to work with the tools I had available in the boardroom.  Sometimes, people in the office came together and talked, but not very much.  

Mostly, I wondered who would pick up my kids if Jaime and I were still in lockdown and they were released.  The schools had no answer.  Then, my friend, whose kids and mine are the best of friends, texted me that she was working from home that day, and would pick up the kids if they were released.  Relief flooded through me.  An angel. 

Eventually, the kids were released and my friend picked everyone up and took them to her house.  They were safe!  But I still wondered how long I would be in the building. Aveen texted me, "Are you still in lockdown?"  I think he was worried.

At some point, I wasn't scared anymore.  I just really wanted to get out of there.  At 4:30, we were suddenly told that we could leave, using the south side entrance only.  We were all happy, but at the same time, scared to leave.  Was it safe?  After all, what had suddenly changed that made it safe now?  

We decided to leave in pairs, using what we knew from kindergarten, the buddy system.  It made us feel better. It seemed a grand ceremony to leave the building, gathering our things, making sure everyone was paired up.  We squinted when we finally reached the outdoors.  It had been a nice day!  Sunny for  a change.  It felt strange to be outside, almost surreal.  Everyone was regarding each other suspiciously.

I met Jaime along the way and we picked up the kids and walked home together, happily reunited, chatting away about the day.  We made a good dinner, and stayed inside, huddled together, squished together in bed, not wanting to separate.  I let them stay up later than usual, feeling certain that we wouldn't be going back to work the next day.

But early in the morning, we got the message that it was business as usual.  What?  How could it be business as usual?  How could we go back there to the building next to the War Memorial after we had been locked in there for so long?  I was still scared something would happen again.  It wasn't clear if there had been more than one gunman.  At the very least, I needed a little break from the building. 

But we are professionals (another phrase I hate).  I reluctantly let my kids go for the day and I hauled myself back to work.  Back to duty.  Hardly an acknowledgement of what had happened the day before.

The following day, one of the managers at work arranged a discussion session so that we could talk about what had happened.  A small group of us went and we talked and shared our thoughts and feelings.  We were not alone.  We went home for the weekend, feeling better having talked and connected. 

That weekend, Jaime and I had tickets to see Once, a beautiful Irish story about love and music, at the NAC. It was a wonderful performance.  At the end, the actors talked about the shooting, and dedicated the performance to Corporal Nathan Cirillo.  They said that they would be taking up a donation to set up a trust for the Corporal's young son.

In the crowds, as we were leaving, I spotted the main actor.  I had only seen him and the other actors from a distance, their faces fuzzy.  Up close, I saw how handsome he was.  I dropped some money into his box.  Jaime said, in a clear and commanding voice, "Excellent performance."   The actor's face turned and found Jaime, like a moth turns to the sun.  He beamed with appreciation, as though he had never heard such a compliment before.  "Thank you, Sir."  I wish his attention had been to me.

I walked out of the NAC feeling good.  The words of the powerful main song in the performance stayed with me long afterwards.

Raise your hopeful voice.  You have a choice.

Falling Slowly

by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

I don't know you, but I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can't react

And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black

Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing it loud

Stillness

In the last couple of years, I have been in search of stillness.  Stillness of my mind.  I have been searching for it for many reasons – so that I may have peace of mind, so that I may sleep soundly through the night, so that I may understand.

 

I have been getting better at it.  Finding ways to still my mind, though I have a long way to go.

 

In the very early days, I could still my mind by focusing on the sweet sound of the singing bowl that Jaime gave me and its vibration.  It is difficult to quiet the mind from the noise and the chatter of daily life and anxieties.  It is hard to meditate.  But to have a sound to concentrate on helps enormously.  I played the singing bowl often in those early days to calm and sooth myself.  I let myself believe that the sound would heal me, cure me, protect me.  When I felt most alone, I went to the singing bowl.  When I felt most scared, I turned to it.  I even slept with it sometimes.  

 

I still believe in its magical properties.  I go to it for peace and balm, still.  To still my mind.

 

Other things also still my mind.  Nature is a wonderful way to do this.  That is why my fall walk in the Gatineaus is so treasured.  I treasured it even before all this happened.  I didn’t quite know why it was so important, but I listened and did it.  Now it is almost sacred to me.  Hearing the rustle of leaves beneath our feet.  Breathing the crisp, fresh air.  Taking in the burst of fall colour. All this, within minutes of my home.  

 

Swimming in a lake is also my temple.  Being immersed in tranquil waters cannot but still one’s mind.  Reset the body.  If not a lake, an outdoor pool will do.  This summer, I discovered swimming on my back.  With the perfect view of the sky.  And my hearing muffled by the water to block out the noise and clutter of the world.

 

Motion also stills the mind.  I turn to yoga, which is all about stilling the mind.  And even my dance class is a different kind of stillness as my mind focuses on learning the moves and their sequence and does not wander to other things.  And I am filled with endorphins leaving the class.

 

Gardening stills my mind.  I am an amateur.  But feeling the soil in my bare hands makes me feel close to the earth.

 

There are other ways to still the mind in an ordinary day, being lost in honest work, caring for your children, cooking a wholesome meal, reading a book.  

 

Nonetheless, I struggle with achieving stillness.  I have trouble sleeping.  I am still anxious.  I sometimes don’t understand.  There are many things that make me waver.  Any kind of conflict or misunderstanding throws me off my kilter and makes me unhappy.  Worry about my family, especially my parents.  Different symptoms in my body, sometimes fleeting, sometimes lasting.  The screens that surround me all day – my two computer screens at work plus the little screen of my iPhone that demands attention, leaving us just a little bereft.

 

I try to go back to the basics.  Eat, pray, love.  Still my mind.  Open my heart.  Try again tomorrow.      

 

 

 

 

The Thing About Luck

In Paris, I started to read a book to Aveen and Amrita – The Thing About Luck by Cynthia Kadohata.  The book is about a 12 year old Asian American girl named Summer who comes from a harvesting family.  Every summer, the family goes to work at wheat fields to harvest the crop.  Summer’s job is to assist her grandmother cook meals for the harvesters.  

 

The book is set during one particular summer when Summer’s family just isn’t having any “Kouun” (good luck in Japanese).  Her parents have gone to Japan to take caring of ailing relatives, her grandmother has unexplained and excrutiating back pain, Summer had contracted (but has recovered from) a fluke case of malaria from being bitten by a rogue mosquito in Florida, and her brother’s best friend moved away, leaving him alone and, furthermore, somehow “invisible” (even his cousins seemed to just not see him).     

 

When I started to read the book to them, Aveen and Amrita found it hilarious.  They roared with laughter with each sentence.  

 

“We got seven flat tires in six weeks.”  Gales of laughter.

 

“I got malaria, one of 1500 cases in the United Sates that year.” Gales of laughter.

 

“Random bad smells emanated from we knew not where.”  Gales of laughter.

 

“And my brother Jaz became cursed with invisibility.  No one noticed him but us.”  Gales of laughter.

 

Aveen said, “I don’t think the book is supposed to actually be so funny.  I think we are just tired and need to laugh.”  It was true.  It was our first bedtime in Paris and we hadn’t slept on the overnight plane.  The kids were drunk with fatigue.  But we were so cozy and I was so content to be in bed reading a book that both my children were enjoying and we didn’t have to worry about anything just then.

 

The next night when I read, Aveen and Amrita did not find the book as hilarious and Amrita was finding the harvesting details a bit boring, but I had fallen in love with the book.  I felt I could relate to Summer and Jaz on so many levels.  They were second generation kids in an immigrant family.  That was me growing up.  And the grandparents in the story (Jichan and Obachaan) were just like my own parents, even though they were Japanese rather than Indian.  Obachann talked in short practical sentences, leaving out articles and prepositions.  Jichaan told stories of his childhood that seemed unrelated to anything.

 

I could also relate to just not having any Kouun for a long time.  I could write a my own narrative. 

 

“My bad luck started a few days before Christmas in 2012. Before I had time to finish my shopping and Christmas preparations, I got the flu and had to spend the days leading up to Christmas in bed.  Just as I was recovering, I started feeling this terrible pain in my abdomen which I ignored for a few days, thinking it was related to the flu. After I could ignore it no longer, I went to the Emergency Room and they told me not to freak out but I had a very large fibroid.  A week later, I had any ultrasound, and they told me not to freak out but it could be cancer....Went to a yoga retreat to learn how to meditate but fell off my bed and hurt my back...."  

 

What I really related to in the book was the effect that having had malaria and almost dying had had on Summer.  It had left her obsessed with mosquitoes.  She studied them and drew the various kinds in her spare time.  She had a special notebook for them.  She found summers especially terrifying with mosquitoes coming out at night.  She applied DEET continuously, like a tick (no pun intended), even though she realized that so much DEET was bad for her health.  She felt terror rush through her if a mosquito landed on her. One evening while on harvest, she realizes that she had forgotten to apply DEET.  It made her feel like she would throw up.  

 

The book wasn’t about this.  It was about the summer on harvest and the people that her family worked for and the challenges faced with having to do the work and a boy that she had a crush on and how he kisses her and then moves on to another girl.  But the after-effects of the malaria were interspersed throughout the book and made Summer who she was.  

 

I saw myself in Summer.  I had contracted and recovered from a fluke cancer.  I am generally high functioning.  I go to work every day.  I take care of my family.  I help out my neighbours.  I feel happy when someone is nice to me and hurt when someone is not nice. Just like everyone else.  I feel and want the same kinds of things that most people do.  But I feel the way Summer feels when she sees a mosquito when I feel I have some sort of “symptom”.  I feel a terror go through me lie a lightning bolt but longer lasting.  Sometimes, I feel like I will throw up too.      

 

I was so grateful to meet Summer, someone who felt the same way I did and whose mind I could enter.  I felt that she understood me and I took comfort in that.  Even though she is a 12 year old fictional character.

 

Jichan told Summer that the malaria had made her body sick and though her body had recovered, her mind had not.  I think that is the same way with me.  It sometimes takes longer for the mind to heal.  Jichan told her that the only way to make her mind recover was through yoga and meditation.  That resonates with me too.  And I too will heal my mind through yoga and meditation.

 

Oouch, by back….  

 

 

 

Green Paella

 

This evening, I made paella, which I ate almost every day for my mid-day meal in Barcelona, in memory of our recent trip.  Piping hot saffron rice with salty lobster and other seafood.  I decided to make a slight variation of it, using what was in my fridge.  I decided on a green theme - green onions, celery, green tomatillos, peas, fresh basil and green chillies.  I still used saffron (of course) and jumbo shrimp and a taste of chicken.  

 

There was something for all of us in Barcelona.  

 

The Train

 

The train from Paris to Barcelona was an experience in itself.  The taxi took us from our hotel to Gard du Lyon, giving us a little tour of the city, where I wondered if Paris was the most beautiful city in the world (though I decided that that was a little bit like wondering who is the most beautiful person in the world).  The train station was confusing.  We didn’t know where to go.  When we finally found the boards listing the trains, it didn’t tell us which track to go to.  The board didn’t give this information until minutes before the train was scheduled to depart and we had to then quickly find the right track and walk the entire length of the train (and they are long) to get to our car.  We had to walk fast, each of us pulling suitcase.  Thank goodness, Amrita is old enough that she can do this now!  There was no time for hesitation or children’s meltdowns!  We finally boarded the high speed train.  I was worried that the high speed would make me motion sick, but it turned out that I barely noticed the speed and thought the train could go faster!  It was a long journey, six hours, through the French and then the Spanish country side.  We passed the time reading and listening to music (fighting over the good headphones) and ordering food in the food car.  I wanted a romantic encounter like in the movie Before Sunrise, but that is not so much possible when you are travelling with your husband and children.  Our biggest excitement was watch two young girls, clearly backpacking through Europe, get interrogated by security as they had not purchased train tickets and then had no money.  (They were escorted off the train at the next stop and taken to the police station.)  The conversation was very calm and educational for Aveen (note to self:  Do not get on a train without having purchased a ticket!)  

 

Futbol Club Barca -  Més que un club (More than a Club)

 

We had agreed to hide from Aveen that there would be a Barca soccer match while we were there, since the tickets were so expensive.  Of course, the cab driver blew that within minutes of our arriving.  Aveen wanted to arrive wearing his Barca shirt.

 

"Oh, you like futbol?  You like Barca?" the delighted cab driver said to Aveen.  "Match tomorrow!"

 

"Really???"  Aveen said to the cab driver and then to us.  "There's a game!!!  We HAVE to go."

 

During our walk that evening, Aveen spotted the Official Barca store (the first of many official Barca stores) and was enchanted by all the Barca merchandise.  And of course, they were selling game tickets.  

 

"No," Jaime said.

 

"Well, we came all this way.  We might as well spend just a little bit more and take him to the game.  He'll never forget it."

 

It turned out that the game was a late one, starting at 9:00 p.m.  Too late for Amrita.  Which worked out well, since buying two tickets was more affordable than four, and much easier to find two good seats than four.  So Jaime and Aveen went to see the Sunday night match, while Amrita and I had a girls' night at home in our Barca apartment.  We did full beauty regimes and chatted about girl stuff while Jaime and Aveen watch Messi play and the Barca team win 3:0.

 

We also had to take a tour of Camp Nou, the Barcelona stadium.  It was both really cool and really boring for me and Amrita.  Aveen loved it, of course.  An obligatory stop.  Aveen also just loved seeing boys in little squares or school yards playing their own games of football.  (I found there to be a lot of boys in Barcelona, with soccer everywhere.  Where are the little girls?)  The interesting thing about Camp Nou and football in Barcelona, though was that was  more than sport, but the heart and identity of the city.  And footwall was the way that political activism was expressed, the only form that it could take.

 

Architecture

 

If Aveen was in soccer heaven, Jaime was in architecture heaven.  The Gaudi architecture was also interesting for the kids - funny shapes and sizes - buildings and churches and parks and trees and random objects were all subject to the Gaudi curves, no corners.  It reminded us of Dr. Seuss.  We hid in the trees at Guell Park to keep cool.  I kept expecting to see monkeys and parakeets in the gardens and structures – Doric columns, the famous Gaudi lizard,  a serpentine bench, tiled mosaic ceilings, panoramic views and musicians but no exotic monkeys or birds.  We wandered through the beautiful Sagrada Familia, our faces illuminated by the light streaming through the stain glass.  We went up the elevator to the Nativity Tower and to our surprise was told we had to walk down.  Through steep, narrow, spiral steps, down 65 metres.  At places, we could stop and view the city through windows with nothing barring us from plunging to our deaths.  Not for the elderly or for those with claustrophobia or vertigo or heart conditions.  How had I missed all those warnings?  Fortunately, I had none of those conditions. Still, I walked down slowly, thankful I had not worn my sandals with heals, and my knees shaking by the time we reached the bottom.

 

The Mediterranean

 

After two days of looking at architecture, we decided to hit the beach for Amrita.  We found the beach equipped with umbrellas that you could rent to sit under (6 euros).  They were even serving "Fresh mojita.  Sangria." The Mediterranean was blue and picture perfect, like the cover of the book Tender is the Night.  But the waves were strong and the beach was rocky.  Not really a swimming beach.  The kids were a bit disappointed, but was still amazing to be by the sea, so close to the city.  And, yes, it was a topless beach.  But only about 1 in 10 were actually topless.  And it was very discreet.  The kids didn't even notice it.  Many of the topless were just doing it for a few minutes to say they had done it.  A couple of giggling girls beside us took topless selfies and then put their tops back immediately.  We finished with a lovely tapas lunch of potatoes with spicy sauce, garlic shrimp, and beer at the beach restaurant.

 

Food

 

The food in Barcelona was always amazing and it suited me well to eat a bigger meal for lunch.  Usually, a late and leisurely lunch in an outdoor terrace after a several hours of sight seeing.  Paella or tapas. Every single lunch was fabulous!  Usually, we had to ensure that the restaurant we chose would pass the “Amrita test”, offering something that our sweet but fussy 8 year old could eat.  But by the end of the week, even Amrita was eating tapas – squid, tentacles and all.  The only food I objected to was breakfast, which was hard to find, with most cafes offering only super sweet baked goods.  Even the croissants were covered in an unidentifiable, sticky syrup.  Entirely unnecessary.  I finally made peace with having multi-grain croissants, sipped with small cups of expresso (which is just called coffee in Europe). 

 

Walks

 

Our long lunches were followed by a few hours back in the apartment to avoid the hottest part of day, which would make sightseeing intolerable.  Then we would make a light evening supper of sandwiches and salad, not bothering to learn how to use the stove.  Around 7:00, we would emerge for our evening stroll, sometimes to the Ramblas to see the spill of humanity, the city centre for some shopping at the Zara’s multi-level store, or  the narrow, winding streets of the Old City with stores and restaurants, churches, Picasso art galleries, and street musicians playing Ava Maria.   I watched an American architecture student doing a sketch of a beautiful church.

 

My Hair Cut

 

Somewhere in Barcelona, I decided I needed a hair cut.  Especially because I knew that I would not have time to get my hair cut back in Ottawa before going back to work, and I decided that I could not go back to work, after three weeks of holidays, needing a hair cut.  This was going to be interesting, but I also thought it would be a good way to experience something “local”, if a little risky.  But it was only hair.  So, we scoped out a  couple of hair salon studios, and there seemed to be a good option near our apartment.  There was the problem that I didn’t speak Spanish, so Jaime would have to be my interpreter.  This was true throughout our trip, and towards the end of the week, I was starting to get a bit tired with having Jaime speak for me on everything.  Not knowing the language meant relinquishing control.  Not a big deal for ordering food and seeing sights.  But getting a hair cut was more complex, more personal.  First, in Barcelona, when you make an appointment, you get an “estimate” on how much it will cost.  There seemed to a rather long conversation about this when all I wanted was a trim.  After what seemed like 15 minutes of a lot of talking, Jaime looked at me and said, “Do you want a perm?”  A perm?  Have I ever got a perm?  What is this, the 80s?  Who gets perms anymore?  Why would I choose to get my first perm in Barcelona? Wouldn’t I have mentioned that before?  Anyway, I quickly said, “No.”  Firm, succinct.  Followed by another several minutes of conversation.  How long does it take to say, “No, thank you.  Only a trim, please.”  Anyway, this continued throughout the appointment-making process and during the hair cut itself.  I did get a lovely and long scalp massage, and the hair cut turned  out to be fine.  But having your husband as interpreter for your hair?  Depends on your husband, of course, but not necessarily recommended, unless you are willing to come out with a perm. 

 

Home Sickness

 

Barcelona was a curious and wonderful blend of Paris meeting Latin America meeting the United States meeting India.  The city was huge and densely populated, with everything that you could want, yet the streets were not that always very clean, it wasn’t advisable to drink tap water, and you could get killed on the sidewalk, being run over by a bike or motor bike or bitten by a dog.  Some afternoons, back in the apartment, I would get pangs of homesickness and long for my familiar bed and kitchen.  I usually called home when I was feeling sad, hearing my mother’s voice and hoped for an e-mail to come in.  At the same time, I loved the intesne time we spent together, just the four of us.  No work or school or camps.  No soccer practice or dance lesson.  No playdates to organize or obligations to fulfill.  We were just there together.  Playing cards or Uno.  Before bed, I read to them (a wonderful book called the Think About Luck – more on that in another post).  They were more willing to hear the same book and snuggle together while were on vacation.  Our family vacations are so much more than seeing new places and getting away.  They are a time for us to be together.       

 

Magic Fountain

 

On our last day, we wandered through the city park and took a last ramble through the Old City, buying little gifts for our family and friends back home.  During our afternoon rest, we packed our bags.  There was one more adventure we wanted to have, but were nervous about undertaking something late at night, the night before we needed to catch a plane back home.  But everything was done, and we had read about a “Magic Fountain” which offered a spectacular light and water show, starting at 9:00.  It would mean another ride on the Metro and getting back late.  After being indecisive, we decided to go and what a treat we had!  The Magic Fountain was in front of the National Art Gallery in Barcelona, which, like many of the structures, in Barcelona, looked like a palace.  We arrived around 8:20, when the sun was just starting to fade.  There were crowds of people camped on the steps of the Gallery in order to secure their view of the Magic Fountain when the show started.   We found our own spot and we watched the crowd and the buskers and the city beyond fade into the dusk.  At 9:00, when it was finally dark, the fountain, including all the fountains in front of the Gallery and those lining the wide boulevard in front, started to turn on, one by one, until there was water everywhere.  Teenagers standing closet to the fountains squealed in delight, as they got sprayed and then drenched by the fountains.  Then began an amazing light show, the fountain springing water in pinks and purples and blues and greens.  Different types of sprays with different pressures.  And music!  Contemporary songs and classical music.  It was a show, dazzling like fireworks and music like Cirque du Soleil.  We watched, transfixed, mesmorized, taking everything in.  The show went on and on, and we could have stayed all night.  Eventually, tired, we reluctantly started making our way back, stopping to buy an ice cream cone, then back along the boulevard, looking back at the fountain, back to the metro station, crowded and lively at night, back to our neighbourhood, back to our apartment, and into bed, in anticipation of the journey back home, tired but happy and satisfied that we had fit in one last adventure, which was the most magical of all.

 

For 6 euros, fresh squeezed juice and a song

We are in Europe now. We arrived in Paris, bleary-eyed from the night plane, last Wednesday morning. The day was cloudy with some sun, warm and cold at the same time. We tried to accustom our jet lagged bodies by walking through the Tuilleries, casually looking at the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe as if we saw these structures everyday and that it was no big deal to have them as our backdrop.

Paris was as stunningly beautiful as I remembered it from our trip five years ago. Almost too much beauty to take in all at once. Too many croissants and crepes. I wish that I could spread it out in my life.

We walked back to our old neighbourhood, our apartment on Rue Vavin, the Luxembourg Gardens, the place where we would get gelato. 

Then we tried to fit in as many new experiences as we could. We had dinner in St. Germaine, we went shopping on Rue Coomerce, we visited Sacre Coeur in Monmartre, and we strolled the streets of Canal St. Martin.  Everything is expensive in Paris, but our best 6 euros spent was for a bottle of fresh squeezed juice in Monmartre where the vendor sang while he made juice for us. "Chante," he said to Aveen.

 Our trip was completely different than the one five years ago because this time the kids can walk a lot. So we walked and walked and soaked Paris up as much as we could in less than three says. It was too short. I could definitely live in Paris. Maybe one day, we will stay for a month.

A Letter to Robin Williams

Dear Robin,

I have been thinking a lot about you this week, as has everyone else.  Like everyone else, I was surprised that you had suffered severe depression and took your life last Monday. 

Surprised and not surprised. I had not really given much thought to whether you had been depressed or not, but if I had, I might have guessed that you were.  After all, you have, at various points in your life, abused drugs and alcohol (I would never characterize you as a drug addict or an alcoholic as that would debase you to only the negative parts of you and why do that when there were so many wonderful parts to you?), and generally people do those things when they are unhappy and want to escape something.

So I wasn't really surprised, but I was sad.  I was sad that you felt such despair that you would take your life.  I am sad that you did not have someone you felt you could turn to or that you saw no way out.  I was sad that even someone so funny could be so depressed.  You had a kind face.  You must have had people who loved you.  And yet you took your life.

I can't say that I don't understand that.  I mean, I have people who love me, and yet, I have been depressed at various times in my life, especially in the last two years.  I have had good reason, I think, at times in the last two years to be depressed from time to time.  I don't even think it is considered depression if you have a good reason to be.  I think that is called being normal.  Then, again, maybe it isn't.  After all, I had good reason to be anxious, yet my psychologist said I had an anxiety disorder.  (Yes, I know it probably has to do with the degree to which you are anxious or depressed about difficult things in life.)

Today, I felt a bit down.  It was the 5th day of cold, rainy, gloomy weather.  Oh, and it's not October.  It's the middle of August.  The weather network is calling it Augtober.

And we have been going through a difficult time with my father.  Not in the cancer sense.  But still, we are waiting for results of imaging.  And I so love doing that.  (Read this last line in a sarcastic or ironic.)

It rained and rained today. And there was nothing to do all day.  And I felt so lonely.  I wanted to call a friend to go for coffee.  But I didn't.

Did you call a friend to go for coffee, Robin?  I bet you didn't either.  Because people often don't reach out when they need to.  I wish I had been your friend.  I wish I could have gone for coffee with you.  Not that I am narcicistic and delusional and think that I could have saved you from killing yourself.  (No, I'm just a bad speller and can't figure out where the spell check is on this blogger.)  But I just think we might have had a good talk.  In fact, I could have used a coffee with you today.  I'm sure you would have made me laugh.

Don't worry about me. The forecast is for sun tomorrow.  I'm sure I will feel better as soon as I can get out for a bike ride or a swim. 

It's just that it's too late for you.

If it rains again, tomorrow, I'll ask someone to go for coffee.

Rest in peace.

Sunset Salads

It is the middle of August.  The summer is slipping past me, too fast.  I can't hold on to it.  It's over before it's over.  A particularly cold and wet week - the week I am OFF work - gives us a preview of fall.  It gives us time to be cozy, to sleep late, clean the house, bake cookies.  We even went shopping for school supplies and fall clothes, before November this year!  But really, I would take a messy house and be ill-prepared for back-to-school for cheerful, sunny days. 

I can`t say that we haven`t had our share of sunny days this summer.  We have been swimming and eating our dinners outside.  Almost every evening, we take our salad to the second floor balcony and eat watching the sunset.  Every night, we go to bed too late.

Despite summer slipping by fast, the world seems to tilt slowly on its axis.  My father`s torn leg muscle has covered our summer in a blanket of slowness, reflecting the slowness of his movement and his progress. So slow that he wonders what is going on and has asked his doctor to do an x-ray.  The results are slow to come in.  We have spent slow-moving visits at my parents` apartment, talking and arguing, providing company and not much help.  Hoping to see improvement.  Then being happy to leave.

My father`s leg has taken my mind off, ever so slightly, of my own health.  Yet, I notice subtle differences in myself.  I feel ... changed.  I have difficulty relating to the world.  I have lost interest in certain things, it seems, permanently.  I sometimes feel impatient.  I sometimes don't understand and feel that others don`t understand.  How can they?  It doesn`t mean anything, except that I sometimes feel alone. 

I have been less scared.  Though I still replay the events over and over in my head, it is less often.  Though I still have he same symptoms repeating, they are less severe.  The experience is fading, somewhat, in my memory.

Yet, sometimes, I will react to things in a way people don`t understand.  The cleaning lady comes at a different hour than the one that we agreed on, and I realize that Aveen has been at home, enveloped in the fumes of cleaning supplies, for over an hour.  I am panicked and angry and get Aveen out of the house urgently. 

No one understands why.

I am kept waiting for dinner.  And I don't eat until late.  And it makes me too full, and I can`t sleep that night.  I lie awake, and everything hits me.  And I wonder how I could have spent the day not scared.  At dawn, I finally sleep for a couple of hours.  And when the sun comes up, things are less dramatic and I wish I could have just let myself sleep.

But.  The memory is fading.  Ever so slowly.  But fading.  Like the sunset.  The memory is fading into darkness. 

Moving on is a slow and gradual process.  Little by little, new experiences replace older ones.

And I have sunrise to look forward to.  And a new day.