Category Archives: Just Posted

The Season of Light

Just Posted, Life Is, Muse

Winter has never been my favourite time of year.  A lot of people in my life are away. The nights are dark and long, and the landscape washed in shades of grey, and not the erotic kind… When the kids were small we did all sorts of cool things. Once, with a big box from a new refrigerator, we spent a lovely snowy day, painting it purple, decorating it, making curtains and puppets and putting on a show. As the sky turned dark we were all still in our pajamas and having a glorious, “raindrops on roses” kind of day. Sometimes we spent time with my sister up at her cottage. The annual gingerbread house was always anticipated, as well as peppermint bark, vanilla hot chocolate, and a ski day at Horseshoe. These seemed to be the rituals of our winter vacation.

Last week I attended a ‘Sound Bath’ at a yoga studio. I’m trying to find my Zen. I was immersed in the vibrational sounds of crystal bowls, and meditations about the Winter Solstice filled my mind. It offered insight that was unexpected, resonated with me, and changed my perspective. The mediations reflected ideas that light resides within the darkness; a light exists within us, ours to kindle, a flame to ignite, and a path within our bleakest moments. I learned that winter is our time of contemplation. I discovered that with the solstice is our shortest day and our longest night, the sun is at it’s farthest, but now begins to get closer each day. I love this. I remember my mother reporting the length of days. Her glass was always half full.

Inspired, I found myself reading various writings and quotes surrounding the solstice and will keep this one by Albert Camus, close to my heart. “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” We woke this week to a beautiful winter-scape on the front page of the Globe. A Clear Winter, by Arthur Lismer. We don’t see this kind of winter living in the city. But, we have seen it somewhere, at some time, and know these images in our Canadian bones. As my neighbour, Richard pointed out, ‘we know that we can feel the slight warmth of the sun if we are standing over there in the brilliant aquamarine sky, and the cold in the deeper cobalt blues shaded by the trees’. There is a beauty in the bleakness of winter, there is colour when the sun paints its hues, and there is a light that only exists within the depths of darkness.

Puppet shows have turned to wonderful meals around our table with delicious conversation. The gingerbread, hot chocolate and peppermint bark are still welcome! And this season, I am grateful for my family, for my friends, for the time we spend together at home, for kindness, for the winter, the scarves and candles, and for this time of contemplation and discovering the light.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sharing our Stories

Just Posted, Life Is

We are all storytellers at heart.  We are always recounting the events of our day, the people who touched us or irked us; we listen to our children’s joys and tribulations, and provide advice from our collection of wisdoms. Our foundations are built from the experience of our mother’s and father’s and their stories. What have been the stepping-stones of our lives? What junctures were significant? What changed us? There are moments, places and details that set our lives upon various paths. It may be an innocent conversation, look, touch that otherwise might have gone un-noticed.  Or, perhaps a complicated instance with layers upon layers of fact and innuendo that are seemingly relentless; a tragedy, a joy, an implication, an unexpected surprise, a twist of fortune, a turn of events, a time of great happiness, a period of deep sorrow. These are all pieces of our stories.

Natalie Goldberg, author and writing advocate, says in her book, Writing Down the Bones, that she believes we “all have a dream of telling our stories – of realizing what we think, feel, and see… Writing is a path to meet ourselves and become intimate.” She is talking about the idea that we can all write, we may not be interested in creating the next best seller, but it is an intrinsic form of our expression.

Over the years I have attended many writing workshops. They open me up to possibilities. It’s like a trip to the spa for my mind, soul and imagination! I am infused with ideas, and often walk away with  something that is refreshingly new to me. It’s because during those hours I completely give myself over to the process, and my focus is intensified. Surrounded with like-minded people, their energy and sincerity is compelling. I discover parts of myself that I wouldn’t un-shelve on my own.

Next month I will be teaching a writing workshop, alongside two inspiring women, Vivian Saffer, an Integrative Coach and Michelle Katz, an Iyengar Yoga Therapist and Mediation teacher.   We will discover how to deepen our awareness, embark upon meditation practices, and immerse in contemplative writing. Through writing we find our intimate selves and dare to dream of telling our stories. Sitting around Vivian’s reclaimed table in her beautiful and welcoming kitchen we will provide a safe space to take a chance on writing, to laugh, feel, and share in a meaningful and unique experience.

I have known Michelle for a very long time and our paths keep intersecting. Her grace, spirituality and wisdom are such that I feel grounded and peaceful in her presence. When we discussed the possibilities of this workshop we connected on the transformative power of combining meditation and writing. She says, “ My passion as a teacher for the past twenty years has allowed me to pursue my life’s work in helping others nurture their dreams, and nourish their bodies, minds and souls through the physical awareness of yoga, meditation and Jewish spiritual tradition. Meditation directs our awareness to an object of focus, and is a way to nurture the creative aspects of our life.”

Vivian is my sister-in-law, a gift for which I am very thankful to my brother! She has taught me so much over these years. Gratitude, acceptance, awareness have become the tenets of my daily life. I am deeply grateful for these lessons. They have served me well, and carried me over many hurdles. Anyone who attends our workshop will be touched by her compassion, insight and knowledge. She says, “Deepening our awareness deepens our feeling of peace. This peace is always there but is clouded by emotion and judgment. When we are present and aware, we have the ability to choose. This is where our true power resides.”

Our life journey is our greatest teacher. Self discovery does not have times and places, it is ongoing, and takes detours, maneuvers in surprising ways, hits obstacles and sails smoothly into the sunset; all at any given moment.  Join us for an extraordinary evening where we will deepen our awareness, engage in inspiring conversation and write and share our unique stories.

Thursday November 6th from 7-10. RSVP before October 31 to Jacqui@recipeforlifeclub.com to secure one of our 12 spots.

Resume of Life

Just Posted, Life Is, Muse

During a conversation this week, my sister coined a phrase that really made me think.  She said, “Have it on your resume of life.” I love that. It’s such an interesting way to think about how we navigate our lives.

What is on our ‘Resume of Life’? Is it the things we’ve done, the experiences we’ve had, the possessions we own? Is it our roles? What values do we attach to what achievements? What are the categories, significant moments, and accomplishments that would make the page noteworthy to share for our life’s work?

Here are some of my distinctions and musings. I am continuing to think about this idea. It’s a tremendous exercise, and one that really makes you stop and consider your life through different lenses and from various angels.

Mother: Skills include: Academic advisor, driver, nutritionist, sous chef, and chef du cuisine, stylist, consultant, personal financier, sounding board, worrier, facilitator, head of the fan club, event coordinator, director, producer, life coach, chameleon.

Wife:  Marriage of 33 years consisting of: Acceptance, perseverance, love, heartache, loosing oneself and discovering her again, challenges, joys, and passion.

Children: Most worthy accomplishment, and greatest blessing. Three daughters, each having embarked on their tremendous journeys of life because of me, and none withstanding of me.

Friendships: These are amongst my most valuable life achievements. Our friendships are the mirrors of who we are. They challenge us to look at ourselves from various angles, and change and accept, and reach out. To have a friend is to be a friend.  Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh?” he whispered. “Yes, Piglet?” “Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s hand. “I just wanted to be sure of you.” A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Sister: Being a sister is truly about unconditional love. We share a past with our siblings, our lives are intrinsically interwoven, and we create our present, we unite our families, and hope for a future where the shoots and roots we have so ardently nourished continue to thrive and connect.

I have had many paying jobs along the way, some even significant, some that continue to define me, but my career has been my family.

Volunteer Positions: This is where we learn who we are at our core, and where we stand in the world. Where the idea that one person can change the world is abundantly and astoundingly apparent.

Writer: As the saying goes, ‘If I knew then what I know now’, I would have been a writer. I sincerely hope it is not too late!

A resume requires a statement of intention, a goal, and a direction. My personal statement for my Resume of Life is:  To grant myself the courage and the wisdom to fulfill what lies within, to have conviction, to flourish and be for myself all that I wish for in my children.

What would be on your Resume of Life?

Photo: Passion Flower

Apples and Honey and Bathurst Street

Just Posted, Muse

I was standing in line to pay for my groceries and overheard the woman ahead of me ask the cashier to put some items in a separate bag because they were for her mother. I used to do that too.

It has been five years since my mother passed away. The missing her surfaces in the little moments of day-to-day life. Like buying a Greek salad at United Bakery. That and their potato soup was one of her favourite lunches. Or, passing by Neptune Drive and glancing up to her fourth floor apartment. I can still see her sitting in her special chair, wearing her pink sweater, waiting for me, or my sister to come by, and looking out the window at the stained glass windows of the synagogue.

Bathurst Street is a smorgasbord of traditions this time of year all diverging on several blocks from  Lawrence Plaza to Baycrest creating a vibrant mosaic. Men in black hats with long beards with their quickened pace and an increased sense of purpose. Students sharing pizzas and falafels for lunch at Tov Li. The elderly with walkers shuffling along the sidewalks. Mini vans and sedans vying for parking spots at Hartmans and along Deloraine. Shofars decorating the gift shop windows. Bakeries making crown shaped Challas and apple cakes, the rush to order chicken, brisket and Gifilte fish, and jars of bright gold honey. She loved it. Maybe it was a small town attitude that reminded her of her life in England, and feeling part of the community.

There was a storybook that she read to me, The Mystery of the Missing Challa. I loved it, still do, about a little girl, Bayla who helped her mother get ready for Shabbat, polishing the silver, visiting the baker, the butcher, the toy shop, the shoe shop, the fish market. As a child she would hold my hand as we went to do our holiday shopping, and visit Lolas for her shoes, and Daiters for delicious thin slices of Munchee cheese, blintzes, and a pound of creamed cottage wrapped in cheesecloth. The old man behind the counter at Strolli’s would give us a beef or potato kinish. It is these small details that bring back such sweet and savory memories. They are the things that make me hold my breath to keep back the tears. Later, I would hold her hand.

I miss her in these small moments. It is when I light her Candelabra on Friday nights and feel the presence of her hands over mine as I say the blessing. It is when one of her funny little phrases pops into my head, or I catch myself saying something that only my mother would have said. It is when one of my children reminisces about Grandma. I smile. She was always there for me. Taking my hand, showing me the way. Somehow, she still is.

I always make lunch for our family at Rosh Hashanah. I will make her apple cake. I will bring out her special dishes. And, I’ll do my rounds on Bathurst Street, and she will be in my heart and I will miss her.

Wishing you a Shana Tova. A happy, healthy and joyful New Year, and a time of peace in our world.

Our Greatest Teachers

Just Posted, Muse

The other day I was flipping through the channels and came upon the movie To Sir with Love, and ended up curled up on the couch watching this old classic with Sidney Poitier. This film must have been the first in its genre; the classroom with challenging kids transformed by a gifted teacher.

Our greatest teachers are those from whom we learn more than the curriculum. Bill Clinton says that one of the most influential people in his life was the band director, Virgil M. Spurlin at the Hot Springs High School. Apparently their relationship was the inspiration for him to go in to politics. Spurlin made him feel that he could accomplish anything, organize and effect change. For Oprah Winfrey it was her teacher, Mary Duncan who recognized something special in the insecure fourth grade student, and encouraged Oprah to read out loud for the class to gain confidence. Maya Angelou’s neighbour and teacher, Mrs. Flowers, took her to the library and told her to read every book within the small room. Here, she discovered her love of poetry. Mrs. Flowers had her come to her house and read poetry aloud.

I can draw upon pieces of my education from primary school all the way through university and my continuing studies now, and there will be moments, phrases, ideas and lines that resonate, pierce or make everything fall in to place. Who are our greatest teachers? Perhaps it is those who help us find our purpose, from which we learn the lessons of forgiveness, or discover the parts of ourselves that can soar. It could be an author who connects the dots of understanding, fear or passion. There are those who make us believe. It is the brush stroke of an artist, and how the play of light provokes sadness or love. It is often our children who by their own extraordinary, or commonplace actions make us stand back in amazement, recognition, astonishment or delight.   I think our greatest teachers are those who reach us in a small, intricate way, sometimes serendipitous, and with whom we are able to experience a feeling unlike anything we have before.

Who are your greatest teachers?

Don’t Worry George Clooney

Just Posted, Muse

Is the Trivago guy really the new object of affection for middle-aged women? What happened to the Marlboro Man? Has that rugged, sexy, smoking icon has been replaced by, (musical cue – bom, bom, bom) the Trivago guy?

As an advertising campaign it’s clearly working! Maybe not the stats of Marlboro where Leo Burnett turned a filtered cigarette with a feminine psyche into a testosterone buzz in just a few months; but I can’t seem to turn on the TV without seeing the ‘Trivago guy’. He’s become an Internet fuss, has been featured in Rolling Stone, and Sarah Hampson in the Globe and Mail gave up a quarter page to discus whether or not he is being objectified. There is now a contest to determine his new wardrobe, and women are weighing in. What am I missing?

Well, I guess there is ‘something’ about him. Polar opposite to those cowboys! He’s the soft-spoken, rumpled guy who constantly needs his shirt tucked in. There has been lots of talk that he needs a belt! Really? He’s just that guy. I guess he does have that ilk of boyish charm that is totally appealing as long as you’re not married to him.

Maybe it’s the summer. Maybe it’s likened to a beach read. Okay, I admit, I watched The Bachelorette.

Am I a victim of pop culture? Yes, I suppose I am!  It’s the flip side of my coin. On one side I am swept away by literary fiction, captivated by the banter of indie films, and enlightened to spirituality; and on the other lured by a great leading man, a latte, and the ‘who wore it best’ column of In Style magazine.

Truth is, it took me years to find my inner coffee at Starbucks, the ‘grande low fat decaf latte’. And, now that I have given up coffee (and gluten… I am so on trend…), mint tea has become my staple at any coffee shop. I must say that I still prefer tea at a cozy, busy, coffee shop to a trendy tea café. Why is that? Well, even though I haven’t had coffee since February, I still dream of it, and love the aroma. There are just so many great scenes that play out at a coffee shop. It’s the essential movie moment in our voyeur lives, a kind of Meg Ryan minute, with that cute, covert smugness, if you know what I mean. I’m definitely a RomCom kind of girl.

But the Trivago guy….really? Don’t worry George Clooney.

Life Lives

Just Posted, Life Is

“You will have bad times, but they will always wake you up to the stuff you weren’t paying attention to.” Robin Williams

It’s early morning. I’m writing from my favourite spot. My kitchen table which is surrounded by windows on three sides, and I feel as if I am in a tree house. It’s a dark morning. It’s not raining anymore, but the wind sends a bustle through the trees, their leaves shake and sashay, and the rainwater falls from them. It feels like summer is winding down. Robin Williams passed away this week.

It’s difficult to imagine his struggles with addiction and depression living in the same person as his brilliant cathartic comedy, and deeply absorbing dramatic roles. The three sides of Robin must have all been vying for his attention at the same time. And in that one desperate moment where the demons over shadowed the other parts, they swallowed him up. It’s so very sad, and really hard to wrap our heads around his pain, his choice, and this ending.

It makes me think about how we know people. For the most part we don’t really know what lies beneath the surface of even those we are close with. There are parts of our lives that we keep well tucked away. Maybe because they scare us, or we are fearful of the scrutiny, feel trapped, or perhaps it’s that we can’t fathom a way out. The heartache is that his choice was made in the devastation of a single moment. That is what is so hard I think for us to reconcile.

The news of Robin Williams has triggered me to reflect about how we get through the dark times in our life. The past five years have been wrought with a number of challenges for me. At first I was scared to let my friends and family know what was going on in my life. Scared they would think different of me. So many scenarios played out in my mind. I took the risk and shared my story with those people who were closest to me, and my gift has been deeper, more caring, and real relationships. And, opening up has allowed me to connect with myself, feel empowered and move forward. I have learned so much, and have so much more now to give.

Not to be cliché, but as I am writing the sun is trying to come out, and for a brief moment I feel the rays bring some welcome warmth. And, I guess that is my answer.  That’s about as concise and simple as it gets. Life lives. And, if we can get through the moment, there is the hope that possibility lies around the corner.

Crinolines and Peace Pins

Just Posted, Uncategorized

Mid July. Another overcast, breezy day in Toronto perched on the verge of rain. I needed to get out of my house. Feeling restless. Maybe it’s the day. The news. Maybe it’s the melancholy that seems to follow me like a persistent shadow in the past few days.

My daughter, sensing my mood suggested that we get out of the house, and go downtown, hang out in a coffee shop and write. Good plan. I am sitting in Kensington Market writing this blog post. I wanted to photograph the crinolines on Kensington Street that hang on lines across stores that are throw backs to a time when I would come down and hang out with my friends and buy peace pins, beads and bell bottom jeans. I have a thing for crinolines. I like their whimsy. When I said ‘crinolines’ she replied with ‘peace pins’. Perfect. She gets me.

Some things do remain the same. I guess I’m still the same girl at heart. Peace and love. The shops are still the same. Their wares haven’t changed. Even people-watching is pretty similar. Aged hippies. Young people wearing the woven sacks over their shoulders, that used to carry pen and note book, and now cart I-pads and MacBooks. Girls with nose piercings, high-waisted shorts, crop tops. Now with I-phones, taking ‘selfies’ with peace fingers. Well then…  And in the background the painted brick row houses, faded green and, brown and burgundy shingled roofs, bamboo blinds. This is not a street that has been replaced. The seeds of the sixties have strong roots here, and the passersby seem to adapt their stride.

Perhaps I needed to retreat to a less complicated world for a moment. A time when we believed that our voices served as a mantra for peace. The world is a mess. The sadness has settled in my bones.

This little excursion has restored my equilibrium for the moment. A little Moroccan Mint tea, a slice of Halava from the Cheese shop, and a weathered bench at an outdoor café. Breaking away from the tangent of unrest that is swirling within.

Across the street a silk halter dress, pink, with flecks of made in India gold is blowing in the wind. I hear tambourine, guitar, and wind chimes wafting across the air. Some voices that are too loud, “nice, nice, yeah, yeah” merging on top of each other. Snippets of irrelevant conversation like a reprise.  I can almost smell incense. The sun in breaking through the clouds. Crinolines and peace pins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet Dreams and Blues

Just Posted, Muse, Uncategorized

I was seventeen lying on the grass outside our basement window looking up at the sky and watching the clouds. Led Zeppelin was filtering through the screen from the record player turned up as loud as possible. In a little while I would be leaving for the airport to visit my family in England for the summer. I was struggling with lots of emotions. Leaving my Mom, my friends, traveling to see people I had never met before; a teenage tangle of anticipation and uncertainty. I can feel that moment as soon as I hear, Jimmy Page’s iconic guitar and Robert Plant sing, “There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold, and she’s buying a stairway to heaven…”

I can remember moments in my life because of the association with a song that I loved. I think we all can. Music is a powerful elixir. It strums along with loves, woes and dreams. I catch a feeling in my heart even in the opening bars of songs and just that much can drop me in a time or place.

If there was a soundtrack to my life, here are but a few of the tunes that would be featured.

You’ve got a Friend; by Carole King; the perfect antidote to the bumps along the way.   The opening notes of California played on the Dulcimer by Joni Mitchell resound within me. There is a kind of happiness with a twinge of melancholy that is the joy and heartbreak of her songs.

The Circle Game over the years has become part of my melody. The words renewed with my children. It sang them to sleep, and the markings of childhood to adulthood have a kind of reverence that I’m sure even Joni couldn’t have imagined in the 70’s. “We’re captive on a carousel of time, we can’t return, we can only look behind from where we came and go round and round and round in the circle game…”

John Lennon. “Because the world is round it turns me on….”

Crosby Stills and Nash, the Dejavu album. I bought it at Sam the Record Man at Bayview Village with my Dad. He drove me there in his red Pontiac convertible. Came home and played it over and over again on my green portable record player that sat on the side table in our living room with the blue lamp. If I am on a train, traveling, Simon and Garfunkle’s America becomes part of the syncopated rhythm of the rails as the landscape distances itself in a rush out the window. And, Van Morrison’s Moon Dance, “the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush…”. Well, it’s always in the back pocket of my faded jeans, in the rising of the August moon, and in just holding hands.

This month I’m going to see James Taylor with my daughter. My husband doesn’t get it. He can’t understand why I would want to go to see him playing the guitar and still singing ‘at his age’. It’s not looking back or living in the past. These are the sounds of my life. Me and James and the music, have all gone down the road together. I hope he plays all the songs I love. “Dreaming the dreams I’ve dreamed my friends, loving the love I’ve loved…”

Here is a link to Stairway to Heaven live in Madison Square Gardens New York 1973
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Q7Vr3yQYWQ

And, James Taylor live at BBC studios, 1970
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEcsp9AIQzY

 

 

Beginnings

Just Posted, Life Is, Muse

Last week my daughter was married. It was an enchanting affair, a beautiful dream of a wedding. And she looks so happy.

The foundation of our married lives begins riding a wave of unbridled happiness that then lulls to shore, and takes residence in the soft white sand at the edge of the waters. We live in this euphoria for a moment, then it settles loftily about us, like the white gauzy chuppa (wedding canopy) that danced in the delicate breeze above her head, with the sides left open to all the details of life.

It has led me to think about all the beginnings in our lives, and to reflect on all of mine since my marriage all those years ago. There have been many twists and turns, and journeys in directions I could never have foreseen in the bliss of wedding vows.  As my mother would say, “I have had many lives.”

Our life stories are comprised of a succession of beginnings of one kind or another, bobbing and weaving and charting territories yet unknown.  Beginnings come like punctuations, fly off the page in a torrent of hesitations and excitements and settle into complex protagonists, as the pages turn.

Her story is about to unfold. She is embarking on her life as another woman. She will see things I cannot see, vision her life in ways that I can’t know. She will remain stitched into my life so intrinsically that I will feel all her joys and pain, and at the same time she will unbutton her coat from my front hall closet and step away to her life. This is the multi-layered beginning of our journey as mother and daughter after the wedding. It’s a waltz now, you see. There are so many beginnings.