Tag Archives: Friendship

June 15, 2013 · 13:52

Hey, Jules

Life.

It never ceases to amaze me, never fails to continually cement my belief that we are all interconnected. Happenstance, coincidence, fortune, serendipity; call it what you will, but I call it bunk. I firmly believe that all of those weird little things that happen to us were always meant to be, and luck ain’t got nuthin’ to do with it.

Last evening, I’d planned to head in to my hometown to see a friend’s band, Ugly Dog. Unfortunately, I’d had an awful headache since early yesterday morning, and was questioning if a night out – guaranteed to finish late – was a wise move. However, once Don, lead guitarist for Ugly Dog (and my neighbor and buddy) called to say he’d be over at 8:15 to pick me up, I decided to throw caution to the wind and go.

The headache persisted, but I was seated with a fine group of people, enjoying the conversation. Started chatting with a guy named Dave, and we discovered we both grew up in Burlington. I went to Central High School, he went to Nelson. Casually he mentioned that his sister is a secretary at BCHS. I wondered aloud if she were working there waaaaay back when I was attending and asked how long she’d been there. “Oh, a very long time” he responded. And so I asked for her name.

Now, I’ve only ever known the name of one secretary who’d worked for the school. She was a lovely individual, always had a sweet smile on her face, and I’d met her back in ’78, when she’d been the Brown Owl of my brownie pack. I adored her.

“Lynn Gray,” he said. And sure enough, that was the name I’d had on the tip of my tongue. Thus a happy chat ensued about what a small world it was. Made me forget my aching noggin for a bit.

…

What I just shared with you, dear readers, was a mere tidbit, a preamble for the big story. Now, my friends, is where it gets a bit bizarre. Thinking retrospectively, perhaps my conversation with Dave happened so that what came next didn’t completely short-circuit my brain.

The band was just finishing their first set when a lovely, tall, 20-something blonde approached them to request a song. The moment I saw her, I was struck with a feeling of familiarity and an emotion so strong that I was momentarily stunned. I knew I had to find out her name, to confirm what I intuitively knew was true. As I approached, I heard Tony, lead singer for the band, ask her her name.

“Julia.” She said. “Julia Shrive.”

A little while back, as some of you may recall, I posted a birthday message for Scott, a dear friend who had suddenly passed away on February 14th of this year. I’d known Scott since we were in grade 9, and he’d been one of my best friends, despite a 15-odd year period we were out of touch (brought about by youth, pride and folly). When I reconnected with him several years ago, we both apologized for past assholishness, and were instantly friends again. Scott was my go-to guy for irreverent and immediate cheering up, and he never once failed to get me smiling again. In fact, at one point during his funeral service, the emotion of the day and of those around me began to wear down the thin veneer of composure I was trying desperately to maintain. I started to panic, because I had been asked to read a poem, and the last thing I wanted was to lose my cool beforehand and become a weeping, soggy mess at the podium. So I did what felt natural. “Scott,” I addressed him in my head, “Say something. Say anything. I need to keep it together, if only for today. Be a pal. Get me through this.” Immediately, he responded, “C’mon, you big pussy! Suck it up!”

It was exactly what I needed, and I proceeded through the reading and the rest of the service with a grin on my face.

…

Returning to last night. Julia Shrive is Scott’s eldest daughter (he has two other beautiful children, Elizabeth and Sammy). While I have always known all about Scott’s kids (because if he wasn’t talking about his awesome wife, Steph, he was bragging about them), she and I had never actually met.

I tapped Julia on the shoulder and she turned, a pleasant and inquisitive look on her face. I stammered out something about having seen her and thinking I’d recognized her, and then introduced myself. Her face registered the same stunned shock I’d felt moments earlier. Without a word, she grabbed my hand and led me through the crowd, searching, presumably, for a spot we could sit. (I’d like to mention at this point that we must have been quite a sight. Julia is a good head taller than me, with legs up-to-here. I was scampering behind her like a wiener dog, just trying to keep up while avoiding falling over my own feet.)

I can’t speak for Julia’s impression of the next forty-five minutes, but for me it was one of the more wondrous moments of my life thus far, looking into Scott’s daughter’s eyes, talking to this articulate young adult about someone we both knew so well, yet in wholly different ways. It was like finally getting the complete picture of him; me telling stories about he and I as goofy 16-year-olds (and maturing into goofy 40-somethings), she relating love-infused tales of the man who was her father, his formative and enduring influence on her, his adult roles as soul-mate to Steph, and adored dad of three remarkable young people.
…

I have many reasons in my life to feel grateful, but every once in a while something unexpected happens that makes you realize what pure gratitude feels like.

Scott, my dear friend…I knew well before yesterday that you were beloved by those around you. You drew people to you because you’d always had that something, that undefined and yet tangible quality that made you who you were. I don’t know exactly what forces were in play that put Julia in my path, but that connection has made me that much more certain that you are right here with us, participating in every moment. I am so much better for having known you as I did, and for being given this most recent gift that allowed me to see a side of you hitherto unknown to me.
…

With that, I will leave you with The Wailin’ Jennys‘ ‘Away, But Never Gone.’ It encapsulates everything I want to convey at this moment; that despite physical absence, the soul remains ubiquitous and eternal.

Scott and Julia, 2012

The moon’s on its way to its nightly shift
The frogs fill the creek below
The tall grass waves a farewell to the day
The wind moans sweet and low
The heron tucks his head in his wing
The fish in the lake float along
The sun sinks from sight
Away but never gone

The dawn brings the dew like a thousand jewels
A nest rustles high on a bough
A blue egg stays warm in the cool of the morn
Under a red breast of down
The clouds turn and stretch, the moon checks its wrist
gathers itself with a yawn
And winks to the sun
Away but never gone

And all o’er the world as it turns and it turns
the stars twinkle off and on
And we come and go
Away but never gone

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Tagged as Away But Never Gone, Brown Owl, Brownies, Burlington Central High School, Burlington Ontario, coincidence, Friendship, gratitude, life moments, live music, luck, meant to be, Nelson High School, old friends, permanence, Scott Shrive, scottidog, serendipity, the soul, Ugly Dog, Wailin' Jennys

April 25, 2013 · 14:40

Suburban Soul Fillin’

“Envy is the art of counting the other fellow’s blessings instead of your own.”
― Harold G. Coffin

Recently I have been exploring the differences between envy and jealousy. I was always pretty clear on the latter, but have found more than one meaning of the former.

One says that envy consists of “a feeling of discontent and resentment aroused by and in conjunction with desire for the possessions or qualities of another.” Okay. Got it. However, the second maintains that envy is “best defined as a resentful emotion that “occurs when a person lacks another’s (perceived) superior quality, achievement or possession and wishes that the other lacked it.”

Now, see, all this time, I’ve avoided using the word jealousy, because it alludes to a fear of personal loss. I used envy instead, because in most cases, I simply coveted some thing or quality possessed by someone else. That said, I don’t recall ever crossing the line and wishing the other person didn’t have it…just that I wanted it, too.

This is all blather until I put it in some kind of context. I should do that, now.

In this past year and a half, my self-esteem has taken a severe beating, for the most part self-inflicted. Due to a back injury, I was unable to work out and had to abandon a career path with a strong physical component. That was the one part I wasn’t responsible for. Then I got depressed. I mean, really depressed. The kind of depression that allows you to only be productive enough to piggle your toenails all day, drink too much and slop together a meagre meal for the fam. I stopped writing. My hair got stringy. Yoga pants became an essential part of the uniform. And thus began a vicious cycle.

In the meanwhile, though, life was toodling merrily along without my input or presence. Solipsistic Erin was first amazed, then quickly crestfallen. How can So-And-So still write so well? How can So-And-So be so clean all the time? How can So-And-So avoid drinking for a whole month? How can So-And-So be going on vacay? How can So-And-So go jogging, eat Paleo, talk professionally, meet cool people, get a job, be out in the world so confidently?

I really got envious of So-And-So, lemme tellya.

Thing is, I never wanted So-And-So to lose what she or he had to start with, I just found myself fantasizing about how lovely it would be to have those things/qualities, too. Lord knows I had intentions toward getting ’em, but I’ve been hearing bad things about intentions and now avoid them when at all possible…like corn oil or Nestlé products.

One of the only rays of sunshine in being a directionless, unemployable SAHM is that you’re available to yak to other like-situationed pals during they day, because hey, no job. One friend of mine in particular has been trying to find his groove for years. Our circumstances are quite different, however our mutual feelings about the whole mess bear a striking resemblance. Generally we commiserate and hate on the world for a bit, however this morning we really got into the guts of it. After indulging each others’ need to rant, he sent me this:

I for one have learned something about myself since 2002:

Number one: you must be honest with yourself. Life altering self-initiated changes don’t make a lot of sense when you know deep down that you’re denying yourself the opportunity be happy; it almost always ends in tears and regret.

Number two: position yourself to include all the things that you really enjoy. Denying yourself these opportunities will leave you unhappy and second-guessing your decisions. Surround yourself with what fills your soul.

Though I had come to these conclusions myself at one time or another, I think I must have thrown them in a drawer somewhere, or on top of a bookshelf, because when I went looking for them, I found them all dusty and giving off a kind of mildewy smell. Dusted them, sprayed them with Lysol, and now they’re looking – if not totally shiny and new – definitely passable.

So I’m back here, for better or worse, and have picked up an old W.P. Kinsella I haven’t read in a while. Not a bad start. In any case, today it fills my soul.

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Filed under Books, Ephemera, Health and Wellness, Rants

Tagged as depression, envy, Friendship, jealousy, Matisse, Nestle, reading, SAHM, soul, unemployment, W.P. Kinsella, wellness, writing

September 6, 2011 · 17:23

All my (Girl)friends are superheroes

Friends can be said to “fall in like” with as profound a thud as romantic partners fall in love. ~Letty Cottin Pogrebin

Like, schmike. I love my girlfriends. I have the distinct privilege of knowing some of the most awesome, funny, considerate, knowledgeable, kind, creative and funky chicks this planet has to offer.

My gratitude for these women stems from the fact that I haven’t always had a stable full of dance partners, sob shoulders, conspirators, lunch mates, cocktail lovers, confidants, shrinks, inspiration-lenders, distress centre counselors, mama commiserators and crazed fellow mischief-makers. Truth be told, I lived through many a year without more than one good female friend, and thank Vishnu for her. Now that my cup overfloweth, it’s high time to pay homage to these mistresses of happiness.

Let’s flip back about, erm, ahem, 30 years, to whitebread middle school. Me and the rest of the pubescent crew were corralled in the gym, and our overly-made up and green body-suited excuse for a phys-ed teacher (she’ll have to have a future blog dedicated to her) instructed us to grab a partner. In a giggling flurry that only 11-year-old girls hepped up on Lik-M-Aid and Judy Blume can produce, no less than five of my buddies hollered my name at the same time to pair up with them. Now, I should point out that in no time of my life have I fit into the “popular girl” standard. I got along, is all. But at that moment I experienced such a surge of pure joy, I’ve never forgotten it. Such affection coming my way, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my killer badminton overhand or spazzy tetherball technique that lured them; they simply liked me. They really liked me.

Norma Rae moment aside, I didn’t have many female friends throughout my teens and twenties. I can’t say exactly how it came about, but these Life things do. No doubt I was partially to blame, because my erstwhile pal-potential hadn’t developed with the rest of me, and suddenly boys seemed so much more interesting somehow. Harry Burns ~~famously~~ notoriously said, “Men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.” Yeah, well. That may not stand true throughout our lives, but during our hormone-driven years it’s a pretty watertight theory. Live and learn, live and learn.

By the time I hit thirty, I’d begun to rebuild. Met new girlfriends, got back in touch with vintage ones. Little by little, I began to reacquaint myself with the joys of female friendship, and you know what? It was wonderful. It was better than before, actually, because we had way more life experience to yak about over wine. Then, at forty, a miraculous thing happened. One of my friends whom I’d known since those gym days threw me a surprise Big 4-0 shindig. My first-ever surprise birthday party. It had all the elements: conspiracy, awesome food, buckets of booze, a beautiful memory book she’d made just for me that brought on the boo-hoos something fierce, and the most awesome houseful of women to celebrate with. Several were old friends, of course, but some I hadn’t seen in over twenty years; one had even driven for two hours to attend. And they’d all come for my party, with good wishes and gifts. I was transported. I was liked. I was a beaming eleven-year-old, hearing my friends call out my name.

To all my superhero girlfriends, I’ll sign off with this quote from the film Norma Rae (Ritt, 1979):

“Thanks are in order. Thank you for your companionship, for your stamina, your horse sense, and a hundred and one laughs….what I’ve had from you has been sumptuous.”