life is like laundry and it's full of missing socks.
“One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
every christmas i get new socks. and they are always warm and fuzzy. like hugs for my feet. life can be full of hugs. or it can be full of missing; missing someone, or something, or some experience. no matter what we do, loss is inevitable just like all the unmatched socks that come out of the drier.
“When I was young I found out that the big toe always ends up making a hole in a sock.
So I stopped wearing socks.”
― Albert Einstein
one way to deal with the pressures of life is to stop living. to hide away from the world by not dealing with it. dp says that my feet eat through socks. she accuses my toe nails of ripping through the fabric. i think that's how people approach life - they either rend slowly, making holes, or aggressively rip their way through the fabric of their life. i am a slow hole maker. i often sit back and let life pass me by. i often feel like i am the missing sock.
“Granny always said finding justice was as tough as putting socks on a rooster.”
― Jessica Maria Tuccelli, Glow
it feels like justice is lost in this world. so many terrible things are happening and there is nothing i can do to help. the news makes me anxious and sad. all around the world there is violence and loss. not the inevitable loss that comes with the cycle of life, but loss caused by violence. it has reached the point where i can't listen to the news.
“I experience the same level of intense concentration watching a thrilling tennis match as I do hunched over a heaping pile of warm socks diligently searching for exact matches.”
― Gregor Collins, The Accidental Caregiver: How I Met, Loved, and Lost Legendary Holocaust Refugee Maria Altmann
the laundry is not my job. i do the cooking and dp takes care of cleaning our clothes. but i do have the job of folding the socks. folding socks is like searching for the meaning of life. there on the table is a jumble of colours, sizes, textures ... and it's my job to sort them out, match them, and fold them. then put them neatly in the drawer, into baskets sorted by colour and type. life is a jumble of experiences and our brain sorts out those experiences through our senses. life is a jumble and we spend it trying to fit everything into baskets, sorted accordingly. and no matter what we do, there is always an unmatched sock.
be kind to yourself,
xoxo
...
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Sunday, 1 February 2015
Wednesday, 2 July 2014
april
i want to write about april.
april is my pseudonym, but the name comes from a real person. from a young and vibrant woman whom i loved very much.
april could get me to do things that i would never do on my own. things that wouldn't occur to me. this photo was taken at a volunteer appreciation picnic for the sexual assault centre where we both volunteered.
at the picnic, april decided that she wanted to go swimming. we were by the otonabee river, near the water treatment centre. not the cleanest place to swim. there were rumours about how polluted and gross the water was.
but april liked to jump first and look later. and she wanted to swim. she convinced a group of us to go skinny dipping. *shaking my head* i had never done that before and have never done it since. but there i was, 20 years old being dragged skinny dipping with a group of women into the otonabee river.
sometimes april's impulsive decision making scared me. like the time she wanted to jump off a bridge into a river without checking the water to see how deep it was, or if there were any rocks. however, she taught me to let go of many of my fears and to take risks.
april was a force to be reckoned with. there was no stopping her. she was a community organizer at 16. she was amazing.
we worked on a couple of committees together and attended endless meetings. we joined a "lesbian talking group" together where everyone thought we were a couple.
she moved away for a year to work in jasper. she came home so happy. so full of life. so loving. so glad to be with family and friends. she showed up at my house in a yellow sarong ... and nothing else. that's the kind of thing she did: ride the bus with no shoes (or underwear) for no reason other than she felt like it. for no reason other than that she could. she was so beautiful that day. we talked for hours and caught up on each other's lives and crushes.
a week later, we ran into each other in a parking lot. we were on opposite fundraising shifts for the ywca. she was just about to get a ride home and i had just arrived. she was literally bouncing with glee. she was wearing purple cotton overalls and jumping up and down and the last words she ever said to me were "i have so much to tell you!" and she bounced away into the parking lot ...
she was 18 years old.
... a few days later, she was staying over at a friend's house and she and her friends fell asleep leaving a candle burning.
the house caught fire.
she and her friends got out. as did the family who lived in the downstairs apartment. unfortunately, april and her friends thought that there was still someone inside. there wasn't. but they didn't know that, so all 3 went back into the burning building to rescue their friend (their friend who wasn't even there ... jump first, look later ... give ... take care of everyone ... these were april's traits ...). a beam fell and one of them had to turn around and get out. she survived.
april and her other friend were trapped. and both of them died.
april's loss hit me hard. after losing my friend gigi only a few years earlier, i wasn't ready to endure the loss of someone i loved.
the difference for me this time was that i was surrounded by a community of women who were also affected by her loss. and we supported each other.
i turned to my writing. i wrote many poems, journal entries, and songs for and about april. i was also taking a theatre course that year. so i wrote and performed a one woman show about the loss and my grieving, using dance, song, and masks. it was incredibly cathartic.
i still miss april. she was an incredible young woman who touched my life in many ways. she taught me that it's okay to jump.
i look first,
but i can jump.
she taught me how to love with an open heart. she taught me to LIVE life, not to just let it pass you by.
here is my song for april:
you always asked me to sing for you
you always wanted a song
i knew that one day i would write one for you
i just want this to be your song
i don't want it to be sad, your song
i don't want it to make me feel bad, your song
i just want you to hear your song
i remember the way you looked the day you came home
your arms around me, at home
oh, how you had grown
i'll never forget your yellow sarong
and how you looked when you put it on
that day you wore purple and said
"i've so much to tell you"
and then you were gone ...
i don't want it to be sad, your song
i don't want it to make me feel bad, your song
i just want you to hear your song
be kind to yourself,
xoxo
...
april is my pseudonym, but the name comes from a real person. from a young and vibrant woman whom i loved very much.
april could get me to do things that i would never do on my own. things that wouldn't occur to me. this photo was taken at a volunteer appreciation picnic for the sexual assault centre where we both volunteered.
at the picnic, april decided that she wanted to go swimming. we were by the otonabee river, near the water treatment centre. not the cleanest place to swim. there were rumours about how polluted and gross the water was.
but april liked to jump first and look later. and she wanted to swim. she convinced a group of us to go skinny dipping. *shaking my head* i had never done that before and have never done it since. but there i was, 20 years old being dragged skinny dipping with a group of women into the otonabee river.
sometimes april's impulsive decision making scared me. like the time she wanted to jump off a bridge into a river without checking the water to see how deep it was, or if there were any rocks. however, she taught me to let go of many of my fears and to take risks.
april was a force to be reckoned with. there was no stopping her. she was a community organizer at 16. she was amazing.
we worked on a couple of committees together and attended endless meetings. we joined a "lesbian talking group" together where everyone thought we were a couple.
she moved away for a year to work in jasper. she came home so happy. so full of life. so loving. so glad to be with family and friends. she showed up at my house in a yellow sarong ... and nothing else. that's the kind of thing she did: ride the bus with no shoes (or underwear) for no reason other than she felt like it. for no reason other than that she could. she was so beautiful that day. we talked for hours and caught up on each other's lives and crushes.
a week later, we ran into each other in a parking lot. we were on opposite fundraising shifts for the ywca. she was just about to get a ride home and i had just arrived. she was literally bouncing with glee. she was wearing purple cotton overalls and jumping up and down and the last words she ever said to me were "i have so much to tell you!" and she bounced away into the parking lot ...
she was 18 years old.
... a few days later, she was staying over at a friend's house and she and her friends fell asleep leaving a candle burning.
the house caught fire.
she and her friends got out. as did the family who lived in the downstairs apartment. unfortunately, april and her friends thought that there was still someone inside. there wasn't. but they didn't know that, so all 3 went back into the burning building to rescue their friend (their friend who wasn't even there ... jump first, look later ... give ... take care of everyone ... these were april's traits ...). a beam fell and one of them had to turn around and get out. she survived.
april and her other friend were trapped. and both of them died.
april's loss hit me hard. after losing my friend gigi only a few years earlier, i wasn't ready to endure the loss of someone i loved.
the difference for me this time was that i was surrounded by a community of women who were also affected by her loss. and we supported each other.
i turned to my writing. i wrote many poems, journal entries, and songs for and about april. i was also taking a theatre course that year. so i wrote and performed a one woman show about the loss and my grieving, using dance, song, and masks. it was incredibly cathartic.
i still miss april. she was an incredible young woman who touched my life in many ways. she taught me that it's okay to jump.
i look first,
but i can jump.
she taught me how to love with an open heart. she taught me to LIVE life, not to just let it pass you by.
here is my song for april:
you always asked me to sing for you
you always wanted a song
i knew that one day i would write one for you
i just want this to be your song
i don't want it to be sad, your song
i don't want it to make me feel bad, your song
i just want you to hear your song
i remember the way you looked the day you came home
your arms around me, at home
oh, how you had grown
i'll never forget your yellow sarong
and how you looked when you put it on
that day you wore purple and said
"i've so much to tell you"
and then you were gone ...
i don't want it to be sad, your song
i don't want it to make me feel bad, your song
i just want you to hear your song
be kind to yourself,
xoxo
...
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