In 2011 I went back to Canada for the summer.
The two months prior I ran one mile four days out of the week and allowed myself a cup of coffee every now and then for breakfast. I cut out all sugar ( save for the coffee ) and nibbled on nothing but veggies and fruit. I usually ended up eating a mango for dinner. And drank 5 litres of water a day.
Every other day I danced in my bedroom for 20 minutes and did 30 situps and 20 pushups. I lost 10 pounds in this amount of time and didn’t know it. I was nearly the smallest I’d been since highschool.
No, it is not the most healthiest way to go about it, but this way works for me. Because I’ve done it multiple times and each time, I am down at least 5 pounds and I feel fit and glorious.
I know I will gain this five pounds back when I am in Canada. But I want to show up smaller than what I am now.
Currently I am sitting at 122. Goal is 117 by August 14th. Two weeks.
Here we Go!
I have photos dating back to 2003 on my harddrive. And I am going through them. And my heart is aching. Actually aching. It hurts. So many memories. So many beautiful ones. It is almost astounding. These pictures of the pieces of my life. They flash in and out so vividly. Like I am reliving. This is what my past was like. I want to cry. I am in love with every single one. Pictures that are blurry, that are from the old film. Film you handed over to Walmart staff in a plastic little capsule. And an envelope of photos you would pick up an hour later in return. These feelings knock me off the earth a bit. I am in love with my past but I wasn’t while it was my present. Is that going to happen when I look back on these days I am living right now?
After being on the Ipad or my computer for awhile life feels vivid when it is the iPhone I use instead.
It feels like the world is smaller this way. That everything is more tangible.
It’s the end of the week.
Start of the week.
They do keep going dont they.
Sometimes, not often, I do feel that I’m in a barrel and I’m rolling and rolling and seeing the same blade of grass or the same beetle with grit between its teeth and that the clouds are just the same.
I love clouds. I want to be a carebear just to sit in them.
Mise well paint rainbows too.
Chalk on sidewalks. I like that.
I sometimes, not often, imagine the chalk dust to be that of the fairy world. And if sprinkled just so, will bring weeds their coloured strength and myself some chocolate milk.
I’m thinking about making a trip back home.
I was just back there for the holidays six months ago…
And husband and I agreed we wouldn’t go in the winter again.
I was excited for the snow and chill and igloos, but bundling up a three month old ( at the time ) and worrying about keeping him warm every hour minute sure made that miss dissipate quickly.
So we won’t be going back this winter. Which means Summer would be the next Season to greet us in my country.
My dude turned nine months old yesterday which as I read, is the month that stranger anxiety peaks. My entire family is a stranger to him.
And a 12 hour flight on top of a six hour one.
I’ve done it before. Alone even too. But baby didn’t need six noisy toys to distract, baby hadn’t discovered the top of his vocal chords, baby didn’t even care about me all that much.
the grass gets a hair cut and the leaves that change colour and fall off.. is like us getting older and getting greys and thinner hair.
the rain that lands on the tarps and slides down to the bottom, are like children in a waterpark, gurgling up smiles that launch themselves full throttle into the ground floor pool.
the apps that buzz on our phone are the distractions we sometimes relish, taking us into a thoughtless colour coated virtuality and away from whatever needs to be done.
the gang of dogs down the road tempt us into making a dog suit and joining them on their evening adventures. what DO they do.
the clock ticks like a beat to the song of our life and the hum of the fridge coasts along the bass.
we make our melody.
we are the ones deciding, the ones paving our way for us.
There is a point in marriage I think.
Well, there are a lot of points. But this one I’m talking about, it involves the decision of commitment. You take the vow on the day, for certain.
But it comes back numerous times throughout the marriage and you must make that conscious decision of ‘yes, i’m sticking with this’.
Maybe it doesn’t happen with everyone. Maybe some don’t really acknowledge the choice; that there isn’t one because of that first vow. But to me, a sign of love is making the choice continously. Because love is work. Love takes so much effort and it has more substance when it is something you choose to be in, rather than in because of a vow you made 6 years ago.
It can be a good thing to be aware that you can get out. And that you won’t, because of love.
Of course, in instances of abuse and the like- I would argue changes need to be made.
And if not, the commitment should end.
When we realise the power we have, the decisions we make are more valuable.
When we realise we are staying together, whether it is a question or not- we can be proud of that decision.
Let us feel bits of happiness for making a promise to be with someone for the rest of our life-and
The divorce rates are scary high and we know that marriage is work. It will almost be the hardest thing we do.
So let’s give ourselves some credit and acknowledge the fact that love has brought us here and it is love that will carry us through.