Back from Vacation

We're back online! I spent a wonderful, whirlwind week at my parent's house in Bethany, Ontario. I always seem to plan more things then I can get done when we travel out that way, as I have so many friends and family that I'm dying to see.

I grew up in Toronto, and although I can honestly say that I miss nothing about living there, I do sometimes feel far removed from all the friends I made growing up. While I finally feel "settled" here in Ottawa, part of me does miss the easy comradery I shared with my closest friends. I have made many great friends here in Ottawa as well, but maybe not the type that I can call at 10pm when I am exhausted and need someone to confide in.

It's also been hard having a baby without my family and friends around the corner. They can't just drop what they're doing and drive 4 hours to come help me out. It makes me a little nervous about planning a second baby, as who will I turn to for help if I'm feeling overwhelmed?

Perhaps I need to swallow my pride, and call someone who I may not know very well, but who would be more than happy to help. I have trouble showing my disorganized self to other people, and I put a lot of effort into appearing "together." But with a toddler and a newborn, I maybe be forced to let it all hang out.

This is "Where Everybody Knows Your Name" by Gary Portnoy and Judy Hart Angelo, and was the theme song for the TV show Cheers. The lyrics that never aired on TV make me laugh...

Making your way in the world today
Takes everything you've got;
Taking a break from all your worries
Sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?

All those night when you've got no lights,
The check is in the mail;
And your little angel
Hung the cat up by it's tail;
And your third fiance didn't show;

Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
You want to be where you can see,
Our troubles are all the same;
You want to be where everybody knows your name.

Roll out of bed, Mr. Coffee's dead;
The morning's looking bright;
And your shrink ran off to Europe,
And didn't even write;
And your husband wants to be a girl;

Be glad there's one place in the world
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
You want to go where people know,
People are all the same;
You want to go where everybody knows your name.

Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came;
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came...

Moooo

We had a lovely visit on Sunday to a farm just outside of Eganville, Ontario. This is where we get our fresh milk every week - from four lovely Jersey cows! The milk is not pasteurized, but we get around the law (sort of) by purchasing a "cow share." So essentially, we own part of the cow. My Dad has told me experts say we're playing Russian Roulette by drinking raw milk, but I happen to disagree [note: the following paragraph is MY opinion!].

Certainly, raw milk does have some risks, as harmful bacteria can grow and nasty things can be passed from the cow into her milk. But on a well-run farm, where sick cows are excluded from the milking, and where conditions are clean and sterile, chances are you are benefiting from the micro organisms in the milk that are killed off during pasteurization.

But unfortunately, the jury is out on the raw/pasteurized milk debate. I think there are good arguments on both sides, but I also believe that we should have the right to choose whether we want to drink raw milk or not. Most parts of Europe have laws and regulations in place for the production and sale of raw milk.

Tom and I have been enjoying our milk for several months now, with no problems to speak of. When A is able to eat dairy products (she is currently allergic), will I give her the raw milk? I'm still not too sure about that one, as well as whether I will drink raw milk when I am pregnant again. There certainly are greater risks for pregnant women and children.

But don't we put ourselves at risk every day by puchasing industrial-made products at the grocery store? Who remembers the listeria outbreak from a little while ago? How about all of the recalls on meats, packaged veggies and even juice? My cousin (who will go unnamed!) works for Health Canada, testing food and supporting recall efforts. She has often warned me against eating certain foods (cream cheese), as bacteria counts are very high, although not high enough to warrant a recall.

So in essence, we are all playing russian roulette in the current environment of industrial food. It's when we get back to the land, back to the producer, and find out where our food is coming from, that we can begin to rebuild our relationship to the things we eat.

This is Tim McGraw with "Down on the Farm"

Every Friday night there's a steady cloud of dust
That leads back to a field filled with pickup trucks
Got old Hank cranking way up loud
Got coolers in the back
Tailgates down
There's a big fire burnin' but don't be alarmed
It's just country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm

Ed's been on the tractor ain't seen Becky all week
Somebody said they seen 'em heading down to the creek
Farmer Johnson's daughters just pulled up in a jeep
Man he knows how to grow 'em if ya know what I mean
Old Dave's gettin' loud but he don't mean no harm
We're just country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm

You can have a lot of fun in a New York minute
But there's some things you can't do inside those city limits
Ain't no closing time
Ain't no cover charge
Just country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm

Well you can come as you are
There ain't no dress code
Just some rural route rules that you need to know
Don't mess with the bull
He can get real mean
Don't forget to shut the gate
Stay out of the beans
If it starts to rainin' will just head to the barn
We're country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm

You can have a lot of fun in a New York minute
But there's some things you can't do inside those city limits
Ain't no closing time
Ain't no cover charge
Just country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm
Ain't no closing time
Ain't no cover charge
Just country boys and girls gettin' down on the farm

Oh let's get down y'all
Stay out of that hay

Coming to you live...

Do you ever dream up an alter ego? Someone fantabulously better, sweeter, fresher and more exciting than you'll ever be?

This blog has got me conjuring up a fantastic alter ego. Given that very few people read me (hey, I've got a few more followers now!) I sometimes imagine I'm a late night radio host. In my fantasy, I have funky straight hair, black as night, and cut to different lengths around my face. I have a nose ring, and wear dark eyeliner and blue eyeshadow. I have fat, sultry lips licked in a juicy pink gloss. My voice is very sexy - deep and comanding. When I talk, people tend to listen.

But, alas, I've been demoted to the late night spot on CKLU, the local rock radio station, for making inappropriate comments about a nitwit listener who called in to request Nickleback.

And so, I ramble into the night, speaking to the shift workers wiling away the hours 'till morn'. I get to play anything I want, and my comments are rarely scrutinized by radio execs...who would be listening anyway? My miniscule, but devoted, group of listeners call in regularly to request songs, which they dedicate to their dearly departed (lovers, that is). These are the loners in life, the ones sipping from the bottle of whiskey, smoke in hand as they slurr their way onto the radio. I hear them all, hear their pain, and play them a song that will get them through the night.

Here's a smooth song to help that whiskey go down..."Fallin and Flyin" by Stephen Bruton:

I was goin’ where I shouldn’t go
seein’ who I shouldn’t see
doin’ what I shouldn’t do
and bein’ who I shouldn’t be

a little voice told me it’s all wrong
another voice told me it’s alright
I used to think I was strong
but lately I just lost the fight

funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’
for a little while
funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’
for a little while

I got tired of bein’ good
started missing that old feeling free
stop actin’ like I thought I should
and went on back to bein’ me

I never meant to hurt no one
I just had to have my way
if there is such a thing as too much fun
this must be the price you pay

funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’
for a little while
funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’
for a little while

you never see it comin’ till it’s gone
it all happens for a reason
even when it’s wrong
especially when it’s wrong

funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’
for a little while
funny how fallin’ feels like flyin’
for a little while

I was goin’ where I shouldn’t go
seein’ who I shouldn’t see
doin’ what I shouldn’t do
and bein’ who I shouldn’t be

Slacking Off

I have SO much to do. Our house is still a chaotic mess since moving in one month and a half ago. Tom is currently working on redoing the master bedroom, and will shortly begin the destruction (and reconstruction) of our upstairs bathroom. Until that time, all of our master bedroom stuff is in the office, and all of our office stuff is in our guest room, and all of our guest room stuff is...well, it's not really anywhere. It's just sitting downstairs in big pile.

In the next month we have many guests coming to stay to check out our new digs. Friends are coming for a weekend getaway, and we've got a big party planned for A's first birthday on the labour day long weekend.

So....I have SO MUCH TO DO.

And yet, when my nanny showed up today to take A away for a few hours, instead of tackling all of that stuff, I instead poured myself a glass of wine (hey, it was 4:30...a little early, but still legal!), got in the bath, and read the latest book by William Deverell.

Yes, I have a nanny. Three days a week, for three hours a day. I somehow feel that I need to explain why I have a nanny, given that I'm on maternity leave and only have one child. It's simply that I am very tired from having to parent little A all night long, and hired a nanny to give me a chance to take a nap during the day (A does nap, but still wakes up every 45 minutes...it never fails!)

Having to write a post to explain why I needed a bath and glass of wine, or why I need a nanny, is so typically "North American" of me. As a society, we judge ourselves by how hard we've worked, and how little time we've spent just doing nothing. The longer the hours we spend at the office (or at our various jobs), the happier we are with ourselves. "I'm so productive today," I think to myself.

Take some time today to contemplate the meaning of productivity in your own life. Can we begin to redefine its meaning? And while you are so busy in contemplation, play a little Sarah Harmer for me. This is "The Hideout":

Look at that green
Out through the screen
After a quick rain came
So fast that
There wasn't time
To roll up the windows
And pull the clothes down off the line
But i don't care
It was so dry
And the grass is happy
And i think 'so am i'
'Cause i'm through thinking about you

For now i'm out at the hideout
Far enough outside of town
You can come
You can stay
If there's something you need
To get away from

Look at the day dropping away
Hear the traffic pass along
A distant sideroad down the way
I think the dust has settled on me
But i don't care, it was so calm
I knew i wouldn't stay forever
Knew i'd get some things together
And move on

But for now i'm out at the hideout
Far enough outside of town
You can come, you can stay
If there's something you need
To get away from

I just thought of you
And what you said
Laid out on the pullout
Did you forget
You said you wouldn't forget

Look at that green
Out through the screen
After a quick rain came
So fast that
There wasn't time to roll up the window
And pull the clothes down off the line
But i don't care
It was so dry
The grass is happy and i think 'so am i'
'Cause i'm through thinking about you

And for now i'm out at the hideout
Far enough outside of town
You can come out
You can come out
When there is no one around
All out at the hideout
Far enough from being found
You can come, you can stay
If there's something you need
To get away from

Moving On

It's a done deal. I am changing careers.

It was a hard decision to make. But alas, we must pay our mortgage and eat, so I had to find something that could pay the bills (and allow me to stay at home part-time with A).

So in today's post, I would like to make mention of the work I have done these past few years, and talk about something that usually gets pushed under the rug in our society. In doing so, I realize I am "outing" myself in this blog. I had intended to keep The Chickadee Tweet completely anonymous, as I felt I might be creatively contained if I was attempting to write posts that would be read by family or friends. However, I've decided that this blogging stuff is just so much fun, that I would like to share it with the people in my little world!

Hopewell is an eating disorders support centre (www.hopewell.ca). They don't provide treatment, but information, support and resources for all individuals affected by eating disorders. This means the sufferers themselves, and their family and friends can all turn to Hopewell for support.

It continues to amaze me how many people struggle with eating issues. And I'm not just talking about serious illnesses such as anorexia and bulimia, but other eating issues such as compulsive eating, overeating, and an obsession with organic and "pure" food. Even individuals who wouldn't say that they had an "issue" with food still spend an inordinate amount of time worrying about their weight and body image.

The sad part of it is, all of these behaviours are getting passed down to our children, and are affecting girls and boys as young as nine years of age. I don't want to be one of those people who says "now, in my day..." but it is a fact that the number of people affected by these issues is on the rise. Is it our culture's preoccupation with a thin body type? Is it the overabundance of food? Is it the advertising for fast and processed food? Or perhaps our new found obsession with local, organic and "natural" food? (I can't tell you how many eating disorder sufferers I've met who claim to be vegan and/or raw food purists). It's probably a combination of all these things, as well as individual factors such as temperament and family history of mental illness.

I sometimes get asked the question "is obesity considered an eating disorder?" The short answer is "no." There are too many social and biological factors that determine obesity to label it an eating disorder. But, we can see many links bewteen eating disorder sufferers and obesity, and we can also see how our media's claims that obesity is reaching "epidemic proportions!" can have an impact on young people. All of this focus on healthy eating and physical activity - heck, even the Wii measures children's BMI - may be pressuring some young people to take dangerous measures to lose weight.

My work at Hopewell was simple, but deeply meaningful to me. I provided one-on-one peer support to people affected by eating disorders, organized programs and services for our community, and helped to raise money for such an important organization. Every day I went home knowing that I had made a difference in someone's life, or had given a worried mother/father a sense of hope for their child's wellbeing. I will miss the quirky staff in our building, my manager and co-worker, and all the wonderful volunteers who have donated so many hours to Hopewell.

To honour the organization and my time working there, I have chosen a special song (well, special to me!). Although this has nothing to do with eating disorders, I love the lyrics and the idea that someone is there to help when you "just can't go on." This is "Sisters of Mercy" by Leonard Cohen. Serena Ryder sings a beautiful version of this song.

Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone.
They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can't go on.
And they brought me their comfort and later they brought me their song.
Oh I hope you run into them, you who've been travelling so long.

Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control.
It begins with your family, but soon it comes around to your soul.
Well I've been where you're hanging, I think I can see how you're pinned:
When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned.

They lay down beside me, I made my confession to them.
They touched both my eyes and I touched the dew on their hem.
If your life is a leaf that the seasons tear off and condemn
they will bind you with love that is graceful and green as a stem.

When I left they were sleeping, I hope you run into them soon.
Don't turn on the lights, you can read their address by the moon.
And you won't make me jealous if I hear that they sweetened your night:
We weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right,
We weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right.

The Littlest Bird

I was sitting down on my living room couch the other night reading "My Life in France" by Julia Child, when I heard a loud smack against the window. I went outside to investigate, and found a tiny bird taking its last breath on the garden below the windowsill. I gently picked him up. He was still so warm, and I instantly felt a deep sadness for the poor little guy. Who decided to put a big window there anyway??

I brought him over to my husband, who was cutting the lawn, big fat tears rolling down my cheeks. "He's dead!" I blubbered. Tom looked at me with a mixture of amusement and sympathy on his face. He's used to this kind of behaviour with me when it comes to any living creature (except earwigs...I hate those things). Tom kindly offered to bury the bird in the backyard.

I've always been so emotional when it comes to animals, birds, reptiles, you name it. I was the kid that spent the whole time in the pool scooping out ants and bugs and yelling "you're saved, little bug!!" One time driving along a two-lane highway up north, I spotted a huge turtle attempting to cross the road. Big transport trucks were driving right over him, and he'd duck his little head into his shell, and then attempt to soldier on. I screamed at my husband to pull over, and looking both ways, I ran over to the turtle, picked him up and carried him across the road.

I'm not naive enough to think that I can "save" every creature who might be in trouble, but I certainly try. Could it be that I want to help them because I perceive them to be innocent? Because they can't talk or communicate with us? Because we humans have encroached so much on their way of life that I feel bad about that?

I don't really have the answers, and to be honest, I'm sometimes embarrased by my strong reactions. My mother could never understand why I'd sob through a movie where an animal had perished, but could watch the most vicious scene of human violence without batting an eye. She took this to mean that I care more about animals than humans, but I don't think that's true. At least I certainly hope not, because I know I love my husband and daughter more than anything.

So in tribute to that little bird, and to all creatures great and small, this is "The Littlest Bird Sings the Prettiest Song" by the Be Good Tanyas:

Well, I feel like an old hobo
I'm sad, lonesome and blue
I was fair as a summer's day
Now the summer days are through
You pass through places
And places pass through you
But you carry them with you
On the soles of your travelling shoes

Well, I love you so dearly
I love you so clearly
I wake you up in the morning
So early just to tell you
I got the wandering blues
I got the wandering blues
And I'm going to quit
These rambling ways one of these days soon

And I sing
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
And the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

Well it's times like these I feel so small
And wild like the rambling footsteps
Of a wandering child
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill
Singing these blues with a warble and a trill
But I'm not too blue to fly
No I'm not too blue to fly

'Cause the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
And the littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

But I love you so dearly
I love you so fearlessly
I wake you up in the morning so early
Just to tell you
I've got the wandering blues
I've got the wandering blues
And I don't want to leave you
I love you through and through

Well I left my baby on a pretty blue train
And I sang my songs to the cold and the rain
And I had the wandering blues
And I sang those wandering blues
And I'm gonna quit these rambling ways one of these days soon

And I sing
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs
The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs

Well I don't care if the sun don't shine
And I don't care if nothing is mine
And I don't care if I'm nervous with you
I'll do my loving in the wintertime.

Create or Bust

I read a wonderful quote today by Lawrence Hill, the author of Some Great Thing and The Book of Negroes. He says "for those who struggle to make it in the creative field, my wish is that you find enough work to live with dignity and enough space to give yourself over to your artistic drive. It's a risky way to live, I know. But for those who were born with a "loose chromosome" (as my father used to say) and who simply have to dance or sing or make music, or paint, or sculpt, or write, it's the only way to live."

How many of us creative folks are suffering from lack of time/money to actually create? Oh the courage it must take to leap into the unknown, just to do what you love best. Lawrence Hill certainly didn't know if he was a good enough novelist to "make it," but he took the plunge, living off what he could get at the time.

I envy him, and then I don't. My sensible voice wonders how many of us can actually make a living off our one true love. And my life at the moment holds no space for me to drop everything to follow my passion. But my creative voice, my manic-induced energy, calls out to me at different points in the day. It worries that I will one day find myself suffocated by the mediocre and the sensible. It wants to do something great...great in the sense of personal accomplishment combined with public acknowledgement (and the ego perhaps desires the latter more than the former).

One of my all-time favourite artists is Martha Wainwright. I love her boldness, and her lack of inhibition in song writing. The following may offend some due to the language, but so many times I have wished that I, too, could express the anger and frustration in this song. To create something so powerful must be the greatest release! This is BMFA...

Poetry has no place for a heart that's a whore
And I'm young and I'm strong
But I feel old and tired
Overfired

And I've been poked and stoked
It's all smoke, there's no more fire
Only desire
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are

You say my time here has been some sort of joke
That I've been messing around
Some sort of incubating period
For when I really come around
I'm cracking up
And you have no idea

No idea how it feels to be on your own
In your own home
with the fucking phone
And the mother of gloom
In your bedroom
Standing over your head
With her hand in your head
With her hand in your head

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right for you
When all I wanted was to be good
To do everything in truth
To do everything in truth

Oh I wish I wish I wish I was born a man
So I could learn how to stand up for myself
Like those guys with guitars
I've been watching in bars
Who've been stamping their feet to a different beat
To a different beat
To a different beat

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right for you
When all I wanted was to be good
To do everything in truth
To do everything in truth

You bloody mother fucking asshole
Oh you bloody mother fucking asshole
Oh you bloody mother fucking asshole
Oh you bloody mother fucking asshole
Oh you bloody mother fucking asshole
Oh you bloody...

I will not pretend
I will not put on a smile
I will not say I'm all right for you
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are
For you, whoever you are

Animal Speaks

Do you believe in spirit guides? I think I do...

The black bear has always held a significant place in my life, more so as an adult than as a child. It is quite rare to spot a black bear, but I have had the priviledge many times in recent years. I have seen a beautiful young bear swimming across a lake, a gigantic bear lumbering across the road, and a mamma and her cubs crossing a path up ahead. Bears visit me in my dreams, and during guided meditations, I will often see one as I listen to the CD leading me deeper into relaxation.

The funny thing is, I'm terrified of bears. The times that my husband drags me out into the wilderness (and trust me, it is truly wilderness where he likes to camp), I have serious panic attacks while lying in the tent at night. I have visions of a hungry black bear lumbering over to our tent and making mincemeat out of us. And no, it doesn't help when people tell me that bear attacks on humans are rare, because I only remember the stories about the ones that have happened, and I spend much time imagining what it must be like to be pawed to death.

I have been told by a friend of mine who has studied in Aboriginal spirituality for many years that the bear can point to a need for introspection in our lives, or for stregth or courage. This exerpt from a website describes the symbology of the bear:

"Bears hibernate in the winter, which may explain their association with "dreaming the Great Spirit" or retrospection. The symbolism of the Bear's cave reflects returning to the womb of Mother Earth. [A cave is an archetype for the mind, sleep, returning/flying/spiraling to higher consciousness.] This also suggests a strong feminine aspect, one of nurturing and protection. Bear cubs, born in the early spring, can spend as many as seven years with their mother before reaching maturity. People with Bear Medicine are considered by many as self-sufficient, and would rather stand on their own two feet than rely on others. They are sometimes considered dreamers. Many have developed the skill of visualizing new things, but as a result can get caught up in the dreaming, making little progress in waking reality. Bear's medicine includes introspection, healing, solitude, wisdom, change, communication with Spirit, death and rebirth, transformation, astral travel, creature of dreams, shamans and mystics."

And so I make every effort to welcome the bear into my life, and to continually question why I might be feeling fearful. It often points me to underlying issues in my life that need to be dealt with.

This is a song by the Wilderbeats, an east coast duo that sings children's songs (you should definitely check them out, their songs are so catchy and teach children SO much about the outdoors, www.wilderbeats.com):

Hey there, Big Black Bear
In the hood, please beware
'Cause people round these parts
They don't all have Big Bear hearts

Big Black Bear, I don't find you frightening
'Cause it's so rare to have a black bear sighting
What makes me shiver and shake with worry
Is that you're not at all afraid of me

So confused, misunderstood
Is a Black bear in the hood.

Yes I know, it's a big bad world
Loneliness and hunger swirls
Through your deep, sacred rest
Winter sleep, you awake famished

I never meant to be so inviting
You caught a scent you found so delighting
Cold, wet spring did impede
The food source you naturally eat

So confused, misunderstood
Is a Black bear in the hood.

Big Black Bear, you gotta heed my warning
Run away, 'cause I don't want to be mourning
Another senseless bear deceased
On the fine, fine line between man and beast