The little dogs laughed

The little dogs laughed

when i woke up and realized i was happy about

Nothing

when i looked in the mirror and smiled at an image

i did not recognize

when i gazed out my window and saw only

sorrow and pain

and greed

when i got up the courage to say “i'm angry”

when i began to accept what i had known for years

when i understood

what they had been trying to tell me

when i learned where their anger

came from

when i woke up

was when the cow

reached

the other side

of the

moon

****************************

be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

gigi

today i was given a gift. 

i was given a baggie with folded up letters in it. old letters. 19 year old letters. letters from my friend gigi who this blog is named after. letters and poems from my best friend who died when we were 18. 

getting these letters and reading them was like getting a piece of her back. 

i forgot how sardonic and sarcastic she was. i forgot how passion about social justice she was. i forgot how funny she was. i forgot the mundane things we talked about like English projects and hockey games. 

i wanted to share with you a couple of her poems. because i want to share a piece of her with you. here are her poems: 

So what?

Just because your heart is pumping doesn’t mean you’re living,

Just because you’ve made a lot of money doesn’t mean you’re successful,

Just because you give to charity doesn’t mean you’re generous,

Just because you’ve got a degree doesn’t mean you’re intelligent,

Just because you have everything you’ve ever wanted doesn’t mean you’re happy,

Just because someone says you’re better than mean doesn’t mean I should respect you,

Don’t try to buy me with your wallet, money hass no lasting value.

Don’t try to buy me with your superficial flattery, I can see right through it anyway.

Don’t try to make me jealous of your riches, I’m rich, I just dion’t have any money.

Don’t try to make me look uneducatied, there are some things you’’ll never learn in school.

Don’t try to tell me I can’t change the world, jjust watch and learn.

By Gigi

Friday may 13, 1994

The train moves forward

Travelling towards my dreams

I am left behind

When small

Tense, hunched over

Paper and pressing

Hard and carefully

To make words

Letters precise and deep

Within the page

Grammar corrected and

Stressed constantly

Unrelenting, ruthless

And then

Letters perfected

Personal style perfected

(big letters and circles over the “i”s)

Grammer perfected and enforced

And then

Rejection

            Messy scrawls written hurriedly

            Punctuation forgotten or ignored

            Incorrect grammar, rules scorned,

            Mocked; too rigid for

            Real expression

And then

For always

By Gigi

November 7, 1995

this is the last thing she ever wrote. she wrote it on the subway on the way to the party where she died:

Sunday, December 31, 1995

365 days in the year

5 hours left now

Somewhere in the world

It’s already

Next year

But not yet

Here

1996

The year of my graduation

I hope

And then?

New years eve

Is always a night

Of contemplation

Wondering

About accomplishments

Failures

Dreams

And unwanted realities

Life has too many variables

Or not enough

And what will 1996 bring?

What will tomorrow bring?

Tonight?

Is there merit in trying to guess

Or second guess?

And what are we counting down to?

Another ten seconds of our

Life go by

As we look to the next year,

Which will come if we

Watch the parties on T.V. or not.

A funny thing about those

Televised countdowns,

One station tells you

5 seconds left,

The other tells you 7.

Does it even matter?

i want to leave you with this poem about the light inside of us and how we can change the world. that's all she wanted to do; change the world. and change it she did. she changed me. she changed everyone she touched. and her light shines on inside those who loved her. be kind to yourself, and let your light shine ...

Personal light

Each of us has our own little light inside

And after we die various things can happen to that light:

Some lights fade away into the darkness and nobody notices or cares about the loss of their light

Some lights shine brightly, but nobody wants or needs their light and some

Even despise the suffering the light brings

Other lights shine with a loving glow that encompasses all

Anyone who has ever felt the warmth of these beams keep a little glimmer of

Them with them wherever they go

These lights remain brilliant and everlasting

Every person chooses which light will shine within themselves and the type

Of light that will shine after them

(you can) light up the world (forever)

By Gigi

Saturday June 11, 1994

the number yellow ...

sometimes trying to explain what is happening to me these days is like trying to spell the number yellow. 

there isn't really a why. 

there is a just an is. 

why don't i want to go to work? why don't i want to do anything when i am at work? why don't i enjoy singing anymore? why don't i want to get out from under my blanket cocoon? why don't i want to get off the couch? or leave the house? 

there is no one answer for anything of these things. 

nothing "happened" to set this in motion. nothing changed. 

except me. and my willingness to be vulnerable and to "lean into" the darkness. 

i was reading some poetry that i wrote when i was a teenager. in my memory, it was angst. but reading it now, all i can say is ... HOLY CRAP I WAS SAD !!! i was so, so, so sad. my poems are dark, and lonely, and sad, and longing for something. longing to be heard, to feel loved, to feel understood. 

looking back, i can see that i have suffered from depression my entire life. it just wasn't identified as depression. and i found ways to self-medicate and to repress my feelings, and to stuff them down with food. 

there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and not just because butterflies don't get to choose to morph from their caterpillar state and leave their cocoon ... there is a light at the end of the tunnel because i am not going through this alone. i am getting the help and the support that i need. 

finally. 

i am finally DEALING with the things that i have never dealt with. dealing with the things that i just ignored. 

and it's challenging. 

and i am doing it anyway. 

but it will take patience. from myself and from the people around me. people who have gotten used to me picking up my pieces and just dealing. 

right now, i am still trying to find all my pieces. and some of them are lost. and i will find them. and it is going to take time. 

oh, and one more thing that brings the light ... 

there is a way to spell the number yellow. 

it actually CAN be done. 

the number yellow is actually spelled F-I-V-E. i learned my numbers as colours and still think in colours when i add and subtract. 

i guess that means that even the most complicated situation has an explanation, even if it is tricky to understand. and even if it only makes sense in my own head. 

to me, 

5 + 5 = orange. 

and 

brown - red = 6. 

maybe things aren't nearly as complicated as they first appear. maybe i need to be patient with myself, and listen ...

                                                                  cuisenaire rods link

xoxo

...

an open letter to libby oughton

dear libby, 

you probably don't remember me. 

i wouldn't have had the same impact on your life as you had on mine. 

my name is april and i interviewed you through email about 15 years ago for a paper that i was writing for a feminist literature class in university. we stayed in touch a bit after that. and then when i was in grad school, you were in town and we met for coffee at the second cup. 

it was both the most exciting day of my life, as well as the most humiliating. 

the kinder you were to me, the more miserable and negative back to you i was. 

and i have wanted, for the last 13 years, to apologize and to explain. but i never really knew how. 

i was severely depressed when i was living in halifax. i was lonely, and sad, and homesick. i couldn't seem to break my way into any community. i had no sense of belonging. 

i was lost. 

i spent my nights reading in bed and slept as much of the day as possible. reading would transport me into another world where i could escape the reality of my predicament. 

i had been accepted into a master's program in women's studies. i applied with the clearly laid out proposal that my research was in feminist lesbian geography. and i was accepted into the program based on that research. only i moved myself across the country and upon arrival on the very first day of classes i was told that there was no professor that had accepted me into their program who did any type of feminist geography nor lesbian geography, nor lesbian studies. 

which meant i had no adviser, no mentor, and no one to guide me in my research. add to that, a really mean roommate who treated me very badly, the fact that i was really sick, and had no friends .... it made for a lousy year and really lousy timing in meeting you. 

it is no excuse for how negative i was when we met. and yet it is an explanation for the terrible space that i was in. 

and as i navigate my way through the regrets of things that i did, or things that i didn't do, you and that meeting in the second cup are at the top of my list. 

your book made it's way to me because the universe wanted me to have it. it found me at a time in my life when i was discovering who i was (i am still discovering that) and the words spoke to me. the words were alive on the page. i carried that book with me ... ALL THE TIME AND EVERYWHERE. i wrote my own poetry all over the pages. the pages are worn and soft now. and i still read it. your words, meshed with mine. this morning, i sat and read your poetry. and once again i was filled with the joy of words. 

and the universe gave me the opportunity to meet you. to connect with you. to form a friendship forged in our mutual love of words, of feminism, of activism. and i was a sad little brat who spent the entire time complaining instead of learning from you. 

and i regret it every day. 

i hope that you can forgive my youth. i hope you can forgive that wasted opportunity. 

and i hope that this letter finds its way to you and finds you well. and that you will receive this letter with my love and affection. 

if it is meant to be, the universe will get this letter to you. 

with deepest regards, 

xoxo

...

regret and poetry

regret is one of those pointless emotions that slogs you down and keeps you from moving forward. there isn't really anything good that can come from regret other than a life lesson - because you can't go back and change what happened, all you can do is learn from it and try not to repeat the past. 

and as much as i preach the uselessness of regret ... i have regret. 

too much of it. 

and i wanted to share one of my biggest regrets. something that makes me wish i had a time machine so that i could go back and change what happened. 

i don't have a time machine (dammit) but i will take you back in time to when i was 17 ...

... i used to hang out at a used bookstore with my friend. we would find old records and take them home and listen to them while lying on the floor: joni mitchell, joan baez ... and we would search through the bookshelves to find hidden gems. 

one day, i came across an old faded book of poetry by a woman i had never heard of. 

libby oughton. everything about this book felt right to me. it felt like fate. the worn pages, the drawing on the front cover, the fact that she didn't use capital letters (like me) ... and then i turned the book over and in her little bio she mentioned that she was born at the same hospital that i had been born at, and was delivered by the same doctor! and that she lived in pei, which was my dream location. it was fate, or "divine providence, that's what" as rachel lind would have said. 

so i bought the book for $2.75 and i took it home and read it. and then read it again. and again and again and again. i used the pages to write out my own poems. it became an extension of myself. 

i bet you're wondering how this story is related to regret. i have to give you the background so that you can fully understand the regret that i still carry heavily in my heart ...

in my 3rd year of university, i took a feminist literature course. i was introduced to all sorts of incredible authors, and exciting and innovative ideas. i decided to write a paper about libby oughton and her poetry ... the professor read my outline and suggested that it would be a more interesting paper if i could actually interview libby oughton. and i thought to myself, well of course it would, but that will never happen ...

... it turned out that the professor knew someone who knew someone who knew libby oughton. and we were connected together over email by elly danica (WARNING: Elly Danica writes powerful words about childhood sexual abuse and incest and her writing can be triggering ... if you want to read more, click here for her incredible webpage). and i was able to interview libby over email. keep in mind, this was the 90s, and email was still fairly new. being able to connect with my favourite poet who lived in pei was absolutely incredible. 

the interview was great, the paper got an A, and life was good. 

over the next couple of years, libby and i emailed back and forth once in awhile. until i was in grad school and she emailed to tell me that she was going to be in the same city as my university overnight and did i want to meet for coffee ... 

... you can't even begin to imagine my excitement, my joy ... my heart was leaping out of my chest. here was this poet and activist whose words had touched me so deeply for so many years, whose book i carried with me everywhere, whose words i read again and again ... and she wanted to meet ME! my roommate teased me that the 30 year age difference between us was irrelevant and that libby was going to take my back to her hotel room and we would have the most incredible night of passion ... but she didn't understand ... i wasn't in love with libby ... i was in love with her words, and i wanted nothing more than to be taken into her life as a friend, to have her as a mentor, to learn from her. 

i spent hours finding the right outfit for the coffee date. it was going to be one of the most thrilling days of my life. here i was, ready to meet libby. 

sweeping up the mess
it's time damn it
get out the broom
that's me
littering the floor and walls
there are my toes
now where are the nails
left toe    right toe
this little piggy goes
this tendon needs attaching
something to stand on
are these my long leg bones
hips    ribs   backbone
my soft belly    tender lips
breasts and all
the not-so-sturdy stuff
i spend the day sorting and piecing
me back together
shake out the broom
last search for my heart
find magic markers
draw a big brand new one
to pin to my sleeve 

- libby oughton

the time finally came and i took the bus to second cup. and there she was in all her glory. she was beautiful. and kind. and interested. and encouraging. and i spent the entire time talking about how miserable i was. how much i hated the university. how much i hated my masters program. how much i hated the city i was living in. how i had no friends. how lonely i was. and each terrible thing i told her, she gave some piece of advice that i shot down. until she finally said that she had to go. 

... and she walked out that door and i never heard from her again. ever. not a phone call, not an email. ever. 

why? why couldn't i pull it together for one coffee date to say positive things? why couldn't i have just not talked about how miserable i was? why couldn't i have simply asked her questions about her life, her writing, her dogs, her publishing company, her children, her lovers ... why couldn't i have just been positive. 

i wish that i could track her down and apologize. and explain. not that i really understand it myself. i think that i was so miserable and so depressed and so alone that i needed to tell someone. and she was there. and she was kind. and she was listening. 

i have tried to find her in the world. i have tried emailing all sorts of people to try to find her. and no one seems to have any contact information for her. 

dear readers, if you have an idea of how to find her, it is the one thing in my life that i actually could change. i can't go back in time and erase that terrible conversation ... but i could find her now and explain what happened. and i could make up for it. so if you know how to find her, you can use the contact box to the right of this post. 

regret. 

it is something we all have. it is something that can't be changed. we need to let go of these things that hold us down. we need to get out our brooms, and sweep ourselves up, and put ourselves back together. regret is also something that we can learn from. i keep trying to learn that lesson from my coffee date with libby oughton. i keep repeating it. i keep relearning and unlearning. and one day i hope that i will find a way to let it go. 

xoxo


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