New Chapter, Old Manure

There are so many photos I could start with for posting on this new chapter... so why not start with an image that represents the decay and renewal of life? Behold- COMPOST. 4-year-old composted manure gold one story high. Patiently waiting for the field. This pile sits on the land we're renting, lovingly collected by the sweet landlady who grew up on the property, on Haudenosaunee territory in Niagara. It's the result of the love and care she lavishes on her sweet llamas, alpacas, and teensy horses. Organic and healthy and vibrant. I am in no way a farmer and would never pretend I am, but I aspire to learn and grow along with our tiny plot on this farm, my sweat and most likely my blood offered up in service to the plants, which are being grown for my community to eat, to make medicines, and to beautify life.
I have always been told and appreciate that it's best to grow your own plants/food, and make your own medicines. It's a lovely sentiment and we can do that in a multitude of ways from a pot sitting in the light on a sill, wildcrafting ethically, or joining a community garden. I have reached this point in my life- right now- where access to this land and this lifeway is a privilege I need to acknowledge. I want to, and aim to, facilitate this connection for those who don't have:

• the time (because they work 2 jobs to keep marginally healthy food on the table,)
• space (because they live in an area where they don't have access to clean/healthy land,)
• energy (because they give so much of themselves and serve their community in other ways,)
• or assets (be they financial or otherwise, because learning this knowledge and accessing the space/time/energy/knowledge to learn and grow sometimes cost a pretty penny.)

I'm doing this in a few ways- first, I'll be starting a small-scale organic farm using traditional Indigenous agricultural methods (some might call this "Permaculture" and "Biodynamics") this spring to grow medicines for my community, my own practice that serves my community, and to support a few small local/bioregional medicine makers and healers who don't have access to or time for medicine growing/making because they're so busy serving our communities. Second, I am co-developing a mobile herbal clinic to provide access to herbal medicine to underserved communities in the Niagara/Hamilton region. Third, I am dedicating a portion of the farm's production to the Niagara Farm Project, a local organic collective of urban farmers who produce food for the Niagara community (who I am also writing a manual on herbal gardening for in the coming months.) There's so much more coming on the Ethnobotany/Anthropology side, but that's for another post. For now, this will do. It's a start!

Annual Catch-up

It's been almost a year since my last post, which should say something about the way life has been going lately. Breakneck speed mixed with bouts of freedom, revelations, and tons of change.I've interwoven some photos here from Life this year.

Traditional Medicine training- field school.

Noel and I hit a really tough spot last winter just as I was starting to really get into running. We've been through the gamut and after some amazing therapy (individual) and honest, nothing-to-lose talk, compromises, and recommittments, we are stronger than ever in a REAL way. I'm sitting next to him right now and am feeling blessed to have him in my life.

Doing the Duck Dance at the 2015 Indigenous Studies program Social.

My messy living room.

I stopped running in the spring when my Achilles became too strained to withstand a short run. RICE'ing it doesn't help. I never completed my No BS Run Club half marathon and feel like a failure. But I know I'm not, I'm just like every other person who became enchanted with running in the honeymoon phase but didn't make it a sustainable part of my life. Now I'm dealing with some really intense chronic pain, major fibromyalgia flare ups, and two injured knees (more on that in a bit) that has me really rethinking what exercise looks like, and has proven to me how important movement is to a healthy body. I'm starting physio as soon as exams are over.

The Aunts.

My favourite tree on my running route- I imagine I'm passing under a dinosaur.

  "Exams?", you say? Yes. Exams. After finishing my Chartered Herbalist diploma in June (yay!) and my first year of Traditional Medicine training (double yay!) I decided to try out other avenues of edumacation. So I enrolled at McMaster University for a summer Anthropology class and fell in love. I researched and fought hard to get my financial life in alignment with full time school, and on September 8th I left a full time working life for full time school. It's been the hardest transition of my life outside of, well, the last hardest transition in my life. Pick one, they've all been hard. There are no easy transitions, usually. But then, if they were easy, they'd be kind of boring, innit?

Emmadog at Dundas Valley.

Ruby.

 Amidst the beginning of school, on Day 2 actually, life took an unexpected turn. I hurt my knee at school, bad enough to have to go to the hospital (hence the two injured knees) and Noel raced home on his bike to pick up our car and drive to the bus stop to come get me. On his way there he felt sort of odd, arm tingling, chest-tighteningly odd. Heart attack odd. Basically, Noel stole my knee thunder with a mild myocardial infarction. He was a trooper through the whole ordeal, and is now on the road to better health with no need for surgery, thankfully. 

Desmond.

Loki.

It's now December and I'm in the throes of writing exams. I'm pretty much procrastinating by writing this post, but what the hell? It's been almost a year and I can't leave this blog empty for an entire year! I know no one reads this, it's mostly my own accountability to myself and sort of a fun expression to get out my thinkythoughts, so I don't feel bad. Sometimes it's nice to see who I was a year or two ago and see how much I've changed, what's important in life at that moment, and how things evolve.

Emmadog cursing me for my impulse purchase. She's totally giving me #slightsideeye

Where I spent most of my spring, summer, and fall this year. My favourite back yard.

Lillers.

The Aunts visiting Noel in the Cardic unit.

My life for the past 3.5 months.

Light painting at Turkey in the Woods.

Epic bonfire at TITW.

I have a few hopes for 2016. 

Hope #1: I recently decided to reduce my courseload to part time and take another full time job, mainly because I love my home and don't want to lose it. That, and I am totally BROKE and need to make more than nothing, which is what I'm making right now. I shouldn't say that, I do get funding through my band (Oneida, SixNay all the way!) and it's super helpful, but it's not enough to pay the bills. I just accepted a position with a cancer hospital as their first ever Aboriginal Community Outreach coordinator. It pays well, has benefits, and most importantly- they want to support my education, so I can still move towards that end. It's an important decision for me. This is the only position I would have said yes to- mainly because it deals with cancer and ethnic disparities in health. I hope that the work I do prevents what happened to my mother and my family to some other family.

My favourite tiny store in Vermont- the East Warren Community Market, just down the road from our old place.

 Hope #2: When I lived in the Red Light District in downtown Hamilton I became familiar with several Ladies of the Night. I saw them come and go, do the Crack Dance on the corner for more hours than anyone should have to work, and disappear altogether to an unknown, uncertain, and most likely dangerous future. I want to give back to these women. They may be damaged, they may be shells of themselves, but they deserve love and compassion, just like every other human being. It's so easy to write them off, slut-shame them, and believe that we're somehow better than them. My hope is to bring them a small spark of peace and gratitude. I'm enrolling to volunteer to being clean needles, water, condoms, and food to these women, and to be armed with compassion and resources for safe space and respite.

FUNdy Bay summer vaycay.

Hope #3: I'm 40 years old and have thought about the idea of children for, well, pretty much my entire life. I had 3 miscarriages with my ex and decided that was enough and that I would stay childless by choice. Since we split up I have thought about the potential for Noel and I to raise a family, but he's been snipped, so I sort of gave up on it again. I finally have a job that offers benefits, IVF included, and we're seriously considering it. Or adoption. I want to try IVF first, but we might end up adopting anyway. My hope is that by the end of 2016 I have made a decision and followed through on making it happen (or not).

Shrooms (or something!)

Emmadog being all Continental in Old Quebec City.

Magoose- those LIPS!

I played with purple a lot this year.

That's about it. I've procrastinated long enough. Happy solstice, happy Christmas, happy Hannukah, and Happy New Year!

Yep, That's Pretty Much What It Looked Like.

This is definitely a winter running Don't.

It's -18C out there right now, which results to about -1F. A Polar Vortex (stop being dirty) has descended upon us in Southern Ontario. -1F equates to something I like to call "PFC": Pretty Fucking Cold. This has led to a deeply uncomfortable quandry, something I've always resisted, like going to the dentist, or hugging my ex mother in law: running in snow. What I've learned is it's best approached these things head on and as fast as possible, like ripping off a bandaid. I know, I know,  I keep going on about running lately, but it's definitely the one thing I'm most consistent with in my life right now, aside from being consistently inconsistent. So, I give you: Running in PFC Weather.

I've never run in weather this cold before, and used to judge anyone I saw traipsing along the darkened deep-winter city streets, be it alone or in packs, as deeply disturbed individuals (or, packs of crazy people running the streets in search of havoc to wreak). Nicole and Ryan, my running coaches for my 13.1 program, offered us a great group call last week during which we lamented the cold, making up all sorts of challenges and barriers to get out of it. They bravely and confidently volleyed each one with Awesome Solutions. Too icy? Wear Yax Trax! Too windy? Remember your balaclava! Snow too deep? There's always the treadmill! What I got out of it was: YOU CAN'T GET OUT OF IT, SO DON'T BOTHER TRYING. I didn't shell out cash and sign up for this to get out of it, so Monday morning I suited up in waaaay too many layers and stood bravely at the door, firmly believing that once opened, the wind and snow would suck me right outside.

Yep, that's pretty much what it looked like.

5 minutes into it I realized I was dressed way too warm. Lesson 1 from Coach Ryan: dress like it's 15 degrees warmer than it actually is. I guess because I never run in 15 degree weather I wasn't sure what that looked like, but now I know!

Some other winter running tips:

1. Where to run: Run on the street as it's most likely plowed, unlike the inconsistently shoveled sidewalks of your lazy neighbors.
2. There Will Be Snot: There is a hand signal that runners give to one another while out there on any day under 5 degrees Farenheit. It looks somewhat like doing a snot rocket. Or maybe that was just because that dude in the park forgot his tissues. Remember your tissues! (Now that I think of it, what was he running from, anyway?)
3. Wicked! Wear wicking layers, like soft merino wool and synthetics, covered by a warm wind breaking shell.
4. Dry Them Bitches Up: Your running shoes may get wet and slushy, freezing your feet into blocks of soggy ice. Be warned! You may feel compelled to dry your shoes over a heater, or a crackling fire, or a forced-air vent, but apparently that will fuck your shit up, so just crumple up some newspaper and put it right in the foot holes. That'll dry them bitches up.

I'm sure I'll learn more as the winter goes on, but for now, them's the tips. Maybe by the end of the season, after I've expended all my expendable income on new running gear, I'll do a fancy graphic-against-a-white-background thing and offer something of real value. I mainly wrote this post to use the new meme generator I found and to somehow involve my very favorite scene from National Lampoon's Summer Vacation. In my defense, it was crazy,

EndorphineFunkCelebration

Out with the old, in with the new.

I alluded to this in my last post, but I will say it out loud and proud right now: I'm riding the Crazy Train, and it's 13.1 miles of fucked up track. What that cryptic statement translates to is: I'm on week 4 of a 24 week training program which will culminate in my weary ass collectively running 13.1 miles with many other passengers on said Crazy Train- better known as a Half Marathon. Why, you may ask, would I put myself through the rigours of 6 workouts a week, for 24 weeks, only to run along side several other folks who are crazy enough to push themselves to collectively run from point A to point B thirteen point one miles away with absolutely no promise of a bag of fifties waiting for them at the end?

Well, for lots of reasons, none of which are exciting or new. Personal demons, personal challenges, the proverbial Bucket List. Yada yada yada. Deeper Into the World, right? Basically, I feel called to do this, so here I am, a month into Doing It. I didn't wait for any special time, didn't wait for the New Year, I'm doing it one small step at a time. I've been learning a lot about making small forward progress.

I think this will be the year of coming to terms with the Non Exciting Not So New Gently Used and Unspecial Life- and being OK with that. It's the year that I run along side many others, all running towards a somewhat meaningless goal of a finish line, all for our own reasons. Something in me feels that if I can even get through this training that I've won. Every time I complete a workout, fuck, every time I even break through the brick wall of apathy and get out of my head enough to get out there I. HAVE. WON.

There's all this talk in the group that I'm training with (with the awesome Nicole Antoinette of a Life Less Bullshit, many thanks to Portia) about music or no music? Music, for me, pushes me further. It constantly repeats in my ear to keep going, own that shit, be in my Self in that moment and celebrate the vibrant, dynamic, fluidity of my 39 year old body. Music is my own little cheering section and I've broken through many an obstacle because of the right mix. I, for one, will be listening to music (in a safe way) for most of my runs. I don't really care about etiquette or how it might affect my performance as an athlete- for me, music gets It done.

Lately I've been using Podrunner mixes along with a celebration song at the end to reward myself for completing my workouts. My Celebration Song has always been just for me, and I let myself choose whatever the hell I want to hear in that moment. Since I've been doing this training I keep coming back to the same song to celebrate with: Michael Jackson's "You Can't Win" from the Super Soul musical The Wiz. I know the movie was kind of a bust, but it's been embedded in my life since I was a child and the music was catchy and fun. This song, mixed with the endorphin high of a good run, and the projection of my personal story onto it's lyrics, is a cocktail so strong that it aligns all the planets of my being, opening the fifth dimension of Don't Fuck With Me I'm A Glowing Ray of Light and Power. Hearing that song at the culmination of a workout gets me so pumped up that I'm dancing like a fool down the street saying Fuck Yes! to life, ready for any mountain lion or ninja hiding in the bushes to challenge me. They would most certainly would run from my sheer force of EndorphineFunkCelebration.

It might sound strange that a song about not winning would loft my spirits so much. Well, I identify with Scarecrow at this moment. Meta picture: Scarecrow, the representation of apathy, restrained by his own insecurity, slowly breaks away from his shackles of fear. He's forced to sing, by the Crows (his demons, addictions, Inner Critics) the same old song, over and over, until it becomes a mantra that holds no meaning, like words that lose all meaning once repeated over and over. It's at that moment that he starts to beak free. The lyrics are not his words, they're an anthem to a state of being that he is waking up from. He's hovering on the edge, he's reached the precipice, and is just about to realize that he can win. My mother would tell me I'm thinking too much, that sometimes a Werewolf in London is literally just that, but I like the story I made up better.

You can't win
You can't break even
And you can't get out of the game
People keep sayin'
Things are gonna change
But they look just like
You're stayin' the same
You get in
way over your head
And you only got yourself to blame
You can't win Child
You can't break even
And you can't get out of the game
You can't win
The world keeps movin'
And you're standin' far behind
People keep sayin'
Things'll get better
(Just to ease your state of mind)
(So you lean back, and you smoke that smoke)
(And you drink your glass of wine)
Say you can't win, Child
You can't break even
And you can't get out of the game
You can't win, you can't win no way
If your story stays the same
(You ain't winnin'),
No, no,
(But it's nice to see you)
(I'm awfully glad you came)
(Better cool it 'cause
It ain't about losin')
And the world has got no shame
You can't win, Child
You can't break even
You can't get out of the game
You can't win
You can't break even
Ain't the way it's supposed to be
(You'll be spendin'),
No, no
(Your little bit of money)
While someone else rides for free
(Learn your lesson), ooh,
(Refuel your mind)
(Before some turkey blows out your flame)
You can't win, Child
You can't break even
You can't get out of the game

Swan Song to Mary Jane

So, remember when I was all "I'm ready to get my ass in gear" last year? Well, it didn't happen too quickly, but it did finally happen. I'm happy to report that my ass is now in full gear. Full-Geared-Ass has commenced! I have the muscle pain and an earlier alarm set on my phone to prove it. I'm on the road of few words, lots of action. I will say, however, that the road I'm taking is on foot- and it's 13.1 miles long. More- lots more- on this in the months to come.

I've been making small steps toward something better, something that seemed so far away from my life that it felt like a distant galaxy. But I've been mired in apathy, stuck in the proverbial rut, the deceptively enticing quicksand of stuckness has been sucking me down. That rut I was in felt cozy, though. The apathy draped around my shoulders like a nice, warm, cashmere throw. I think for awhile I was confusing the quicksand for a Vichy mudbath. What I'm saying here, people, is that the low-grade depression and unmotivated greyness that clung around my life like a misty fog served me somehow. Or, maybe I served It.

So, before I move any further down this path of action, I have to say thank you and goodbye to someone very special to me. Her name is Mary Jane. You might know Her by other names: weed, green, pot- you get the picture. I need to say thank you and farewell to my old companion Tetrahydrocannabinol, good ole’ C21H30O2.

I remember the initial spark of discomfort, a seed that was planted one late spring evening while scrolling mindlessly through social media. A friend I met in Vermont, a lovely woman who helps others come into healing, had posted an article in Elephant Journal. I always pay attention to her posts because they're usually very poignant and insightful. I was smoking my evening bowl, unwinding from my stressful day, happy for the lengthening days and warmed concrete under my bare feet. The title of the article piqued my interest: “Dear Marijuana” by Alexandra Moga. Oh, yes, dear, dear marijuana. I sing your praises and pray at your altar almost religiously.

Click.

I was expecting an article lauding the benefits of weed, another piece of research affirming my choices, adding a layer of cashmere to my self-inflicted shroud of apathy. What I got was a love letter- a goodbye letter- to my dear friend. I almost closed the page, feeling tricked, judging it as right-wing propaganda, but chose to read it. It hit me like a brick wall. I cried. This woman could be me. I could finish most of her sentences. Change the name, some of the basic info, she is me. I am she! 

"I know that you heal. And I know that you enlighten. You are of Mother Earth and you ease the pain that life can bring in a beautiful way. But the truth needs to be stated: using you is, ultimately, cheating...

...It’s cheating myself and the road that I have to walk through life—through pain, foolishness, discomfort and the work I need to do on that tendency toward not-always-healthy escapism I harbor. You’re the fast lane to the highs above the lows of life. You’ve helped me understand some grand truths...

...I mean, here I am right now, living a life around yoga, wholeheartedly trying to dedicate myself to helping myself and others access a direct connection to that elevated, deeply integrated state you so cheaply (though dang—you can cost a lot!) and easily endow with zero work or digging. It’s not true. It’s not honest. ‘Cause as much as I love you, I’ve gotta learn how to love and stay connected to the unadulterated, direct line, the line of and through myself, my soul, the only tool I was born with for that exact purpose—to connect in order get high and deep as f***!"

There was only one big difference between me and that woman: she was on the other side. I sat there. Judging. Mocking. Silently simmering inside. Hating that mirror. I wasn’t ready.

Bookmark.

The seed was planted. I went on with my life. Working, planting and tending my garden, moving, learning my herbs and medicines, working some more, and, of course, smoking. In the back of my mind I kept that seed hidden in the deep, loamy soil of my heart, it's potential slowly germinating in me.

A little while later I received an email from an herbalist whom I admire. She was sharing a book review of the book The Enchanted Healer: A Guidebook for Finding Your True Medicine by Jesse Hardin. A quote stood out to me:

“It is crucial for healers to not become complacent, inured, or for any reason get in the habit of feeling less and numbing out more. The efficacy of our lives and practices hinges on our sensitivities, our innate and developed senses, our ability to notice, feel, and respond.” – Jesse Hardin

As an herbalist, student, and apprentice, my heart sunk. I know this, yet this is exactly what I’ve been guilty of. My training in Traditional Medicine had just started and the rule has always been that I can’t touch any intoxicating substance for four days prior to touching a medicine. I've been taught that I need to stay sharp and aware. That complicated my fun time. 

About a week later I got an email from a dear friend. She wanted to give me some feedback on a recent visit we had. She held that mirror right up to my face and told me that the last time we saw each other that I did nothing but talk about me. We both were pretty high during our visit and that equates to a loquaciousness like no other for me. Holy fucking hell. There was no backing away from this now. 

My priorities were placed squarely in front of me. I had to make a choice- a week later I was in the chair across from an awesome therapist. A week after that I decided to not smoke pot for one night. Then another, and another. One night at a time. One bowl at a time. This wasn’t the grand farewell I imagined it would be. This wasn’t the way I pictured my departure from Greenland. I didn’t sneak away, I just clicked and It shut off.

I haven’t smoked in a couple months. I wasn’t sure how this would affect my life, but the rewards have so far outweighed the occasional cravings I have, usually at night when I’m done with my day, or when I have major period cramps or arthritis flare ups, or when I have an especially stressful or emotional day, or when I’m in a social situation where I want to vibe with everyone else. I’m seeing the holes that weed filled for me, how it lubricated discomfort and coddled me, or when I was bored. 

I was always lamenting not having enough time to achieve the things I want to achieve in my life- to be creative and productive and healthy, but my intense lack of motivation was purely chemically-induced, a leftover coping mechanism. I realized that my habit started during the trauma of my mid thirties when my life dramatically shifted. It helped me cope with the death and grief that surrounded me. It eased me into a new life after I left my ex. I celebrated my freedom by sparking up. I had amazing, mind-blowing psychedelic realizations. And then things just sort of flatlined and went numb. I stopped running. I stopped creating. I stopped doing anything that wasn't in my lexicon of self-preservation. The initial chrysalis of mind-altering benefits wore off and never opened, devoid of energy or motivation. I just kept sleeping, thinking that the longer I stay in that cozy cocoon the more prepared I'd be for the next big shift.

I know I don't need to say this, but I would like to acknowledge all the weed smokers out there. This is not a judgement on you or your relationship with pot. We all have our own shit to deal with and this is completely mine. I have been in many situations since I made this shift where people have been confused and self-conscious around me and offered to leave the room, or ask me if I am offended in some way. I'm not. Keep on keepin' on! This is my choice around my issues. I know nothing of your issues and make no judgements, no should I. 

So, this is my farewell. My swan song to Mary Jane. I wholeheartedly thank you for all the good you do for so many who benefit from your potent Earth Medicine. I apologize for abusing you, taking you for granted, and misusing you for my own dysfunction. I will always advocate for your freedom. I will always honor your deep wisdom. If I ever see you again, I will most certainly look you in the eye and we will both acknowledge the awesome times we shared together and how you changed me. But it's over now. We both need to move on and be the best we can be for others.

It’s not you- it’s me.

Catching up

OK, OK, I know. It's been 9 months since my last post. Enough time to birth a damned baby! Well, I guess I've kind of been carrying something to term, although we're still childless by choice (unless you count our furry family members!), but more on that later.

To play a little bit of catchup- we moved out of our awesome apartment/horrible neighborhood in Hamilton, Ontario on April 1st. We weren't planning a move, but the location and constant fear for my life, lack of greenspace, constant parking tickets (there were only metered spaces anywhere near our building), and just general depressing energy of that neighborhood finally got to us. When we found a rental in our favorite town in the GHA we jumped on it and broke our lease. We ended up in a sweet 1.5 bedroom with a great yard in Dundas, a posh little British'y town about 15 minutes outside of the city. The Bruce Trail picks up at the end of our street. My CSA share is a block away. There's an amazing butcher a block from us. We live next to a chiropractic office that closes before we even get home, with a privacy-fenced back yard, so we can walk around in our skivvies with nary a thought. We've been in domestic bliss for the last 4+ months.

The entire first night Emma slept outside. I realized that night just how depressed she had gotten with no access to the outdoors, even with twice daily walks or the almost daily outings to the dog park. Emma, more than any of us, needs access to be outside, followed by her mama. I sat outside wrapped in a blanket every night until the weather got warm enough to let the warm air swirl around my toes. Noel actually slept an entire night in the hammock on top of a sheepskin and under a down duvet! We put in a great lasagna garden (it's a type of gardening, not that you couldn't make a lasagna out of the harvest!), some medicinal herbs (especially catnip to keep our babies close to home) and sit outside every night while we let the day wind down. I've always been a nature loving girl, but I just now realized how desperately I had missed being able to take in fresh air!

Other than just getting unpacked our lives have been relatively stable. Working, hiking, visiting family in Buffalo, chilling. That's about it. We came into a bit of cash from from tax returns we finally filed, so we took a holiday to one of our favorite places and one new place (for Noel, at least): Vermont and California. We spent 5 blissful days in Vermont with our friends Denise and Brian. Five days was just enough time to remind me why we love it so much there. It was kind of painful to go back, visit all of our old haunts and say hi to old friends. I felt like I had to float on top of the experience lest it pull me into the vortex of green, mountainous vistas, amazingly fresh farm-to-table culture, rooted, down-to-earth people and abundance of Subarus. When we left, we felt like we were leaving home again.

The second half of our trip was dedicated to exploring as much of California as we could in 9 short days. Definitely not enough to do it justice, but we still had a great time. We met up and stayed with friends in Sebastopol, Santa Barbara and San Diego and had one lovely and completely naked 24 hours in Orr Hot Springs. We had a great time in California. It was wonderful to see so many old friends at once, eat awesome Mexican food, explore the ocean and forests, gratefully accepting the doting hospitality of our hosts, and basically just letting our hair down and letting the days flow into one another.

On the third day of our trip, my landlord emailed me that he needed to speak with us ASAP. I called him and he broke the news- he's getting a divorce and needs us to move out October 1st.

Yeah.

Fuck.

At first I experienced a great sadness, mourning the sweet little nest we were still creating for ourselves. Then anger came up- how could he? Doesn't he know how much our home means to us? Then bargaining- couldn't he take pity and give us a few more months? Finally, acceptance kicked in, because we are, unfortunately, only mere renters, and his drama trumps our life. I forgave myself for being an unsympathetic asshole and grew a pair (of boobs!) So, we started looking around. And talking. And looking. And realizing...

Pet owners are seriously discriminated against when it comes to renting.

But, aside from that, we really started thinking- why are we staying in Ontario?

We were immediately pulled out of the sleepy lull of our vacation and went into self-preservation mode. We drove right by the Pacific ocean and barely saw it's splendor. We felt out of control, powerless and frustrated. So, we made a conscious choice to not let it get us down, to enjoy our vacation and deal with the mess when we touched down and recovered from our trip. About twice a day for the rest of the trip these waves of anxiety and sadness flowed through us. We acknowledged it and let it pass and dissipate. I think the beautiful surroundings and the awesome friends had something to do with that!

So, we're at the crux of some major decision-making right now. Where to go from here?

I can't answer that right at the moment, but I can share a few of my favorite photos from at least the VT leg of our trip. Enjoy, and if anyone has any wisdom on this front, please share!

Noel at Granville Gulch, VT.

Our friend's beautiful home in Johnson, VT.

The view from Mt. Mansfield, VT.

Noel enjoying the water at Granville Gulch, VT.

My favorite goatygoat who lives behind our friends in Johnson, VT.

Mt. Mansfield, VT

Hi there.

Granville Gulch, VT.

Bus stop near Prickly Mountain in East Warren, VT.

Ember

“Sometimes the one who is running from the Life/Death/Life nature insists on thinking of love as a boon only. Yet love in its fullest form is a series of deaths and rebirths. We let go of one phase, one aspect of love, and enter another. Passion dies and is brought back. Pain is chased away and surfaces another time. To love means to embrace and at the same time to withstand many endings, and many many beginnings- all in the same relationship.”
― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype 

I feel like I've been focusing too much on death lately. Why do I say this? Well, because for some reason I almost capitalized the word "death" as I was tippity-tapping this out. Ugh. death can take a flying leap (for now) off a tall cliff... but that would just give it what it needs, eh? Well, how about distracting it for awhile with my awesome lab results!

Oh, did I not share with you all my recent health fears? I've been putting it off and putting it off, but finally went and had many vials of blood sucked from my veins to take a snapshot of what is happening inside this glorious body of mine. I'm sure that even the healthiest person in the world has this little nagging fear in the back of their minds that they have some sort of incurable illness. If you take that fear and magnify it by, oh, say, twelve thousand, then you'd have a teensy peek into my (mild) hypochondriac brain. Everything, for me, is WORST. CASE. SCENARIO. ZOMBIE. APOCALYPSE. ENCROACHING.

So, I'm pleased to share that neither zombies nor any manner of apocalypse will be encroaching on my ass anytime soon. In fact, my blood glucose level, creatinine-albumin ratio, thyroid, CA125, lipid profile and all other unpronounceables are perfectly balanced and in rather good spirits, actually! (Hmmmm, I wonder if there's a test for Zombie Apocalypse Syndrome?)

This is a lovely thing for me to hear- it alleviated so many fears that have been building up in me for the past year. Every year I go to my annual physical weighted with the worst case scenario on my shoulders, making promises to myself, "from THIS DAY FORWARD I will take care of myself better and develop a taste for kefir, Bikram yoga and colon cleanses." So far, every year, I come out happy and relieved. Then I bring home a pizza and dial up the Netflix, right after that run I convinced myself out of. This is no way to live!

Between 2008 and 2009 I had transformed myself from depressed, overweight and apathetic to a new, healthy and happy woman. I lost 70 lbs, was running every day, was eating whole and healthy food. I was consistently doing yoga, pilates and exploring other modes of being kind to my body and spirit. It showed. I was glowing. I felt amazing! A positive momentum was building in my life and bled into all parts of it. I started walking my talk on all levels. I was an active member in a community that accepted and loved me. With their support, I took pleasure in producing events that felt soulful and enriching. I finally found myself in a place where I felt strong enough to face my life. I started identifying my weaknesses and coming to terms with many deeply-embedded issues.

I was strengthening my body and spirit. In retrospect, I feel I should have been prepared for the tidal wave. I was ripe and cracking open on all fronts. I guess I never thought I was strengthening it for something specific. Then the tidal wave hit my life.

My father, diagnosed with lung cancer, was deemed terminal. I left my husband of 11 years, something long overdue. A few months later my mother unexpectedly died without a moment to even make sense out of it or really say goodbye. I took a job in Ontario and moved from Buffalo, NY to Ontario to be with Noel.

My family unraveled under the stress of taking care of my dying father and dealing with the sudden loss of our mother. Her death was a huge shock. We had been focusing all our energy on taking care of my dad, who passed away on June 5th, 2010, 2 months to the day from my mother's death. The tragedy in both of these deaths, aside from the horrific sadness of watching my dying father have to see my mother die so suddenly, was that my sisters were both pregnant with their first children, 3 months apart. Neither of my parents lived to see their first grandchildren be born. My niece Lily looked so much like my father during her first month.

2010 was a year of living, dying and love. Life was pared down to the base essentials of humanity.  Since then I've spent the better part of 3 years protecting myself and picking up the random pieces of rooftop and brick and broken glass shattered and thrown by the hurricane that brushed by my life.

Loss made me recoil into a shell of instant gratification and comfort. Food and pot and movies.... although a lovely way to live if you're 20 and on summer break, is not the right prescription for a 34 year old woman who has just come out of a personal crisis. Night by night all work I pushed through in 2008-2009 slowly became undone. I remember running through the forest, at my beloved Spraguebrook Park,  liberated and full of light and sweating and pushing through the pain of an hour and a half trail run, saying to myself "Never again, I'll never have to hurt and work like this again", promising myself that I made positive changes for good. Funny how massive stress can act like quicksand. I just got stuck. Mired. On the outside I was doing fine, moving along and keeping myself afloat amidst an ever-changing sea of stress and depression. I got promotions, better and better jobs, was blissfully in love, got married, moved to Vermont, moved back... On the inside I started making excuses for every day I stayed dormant. I was protecting myself, I thought. I was holding the last little shreds of my energy close to me, I thought. Finally, I caught up with grieving and the wound across my heart has gone from gaping and raw to a scar. I imagine that scar in the form of a lightning bolt.

So here I am, on the other side. Actually, where I am is on the hard slug back up that hill, if I really want to be accurate. My labs were fine. This time. But I know that the longer I go on treating my body like a Bacchanalian temple the less likely those labs will keep coming back normal. The hard work is again set before me. I've come to realize that changing my unhealthy patterns isn't a temporary commitment. It has to be permanent. I'm a little older, a little wiser, and a little richer for having lived through the past few years. It doesn't make the work in front of me any easier, but the ember of a healthy, motivated, whole woman sits inside of me. I've been breathing a little onto that ember lately, hoping a flame will lick up and set my world on fire again. 

And then there were 6...

Ginger taking his rest on Noel's lap.

The Morningstar household has suffered the loss of yet another furry companion, our Guinea Pig, Ginger, died suddenly in Noel's arms the other night. He was a sweet little guy with (believe it or not) a real personality. His gentle and quiet nature was sharply contrasted next to his brother Stinker's in-your-face Guinea Pig style. Stinker is alone now, but adjusted very quickly. Once Ginger passed away, Stinker came up to him, snuffled him, tried to wake him by pulling at his foot, did a weird little dance on him and that was it. His mourning was over. It was hard not to laugh, for the sheer strangeness of the rites of Guinea Pigs, but the sadness of watching that poor little bugger suffer and die so quickly overshadowed any silliness, at least for a little while. What was wrong with him? I have no clue. One minute he was eating his favorite, cucumber, the next day we noticed he had no energy, no drive, no squeak. His eyes were crusty and his nose was snotty. He was cold to the touch and didn't want any food. Within an hour and a half of noticing this he was gone. I gave him aconite 30c when I noticed he was sick, and then some Hepar Sulph, but I could tell it was too late. I gave him to Noel who warmed him by holding his little body close to his own chest. Ginger nuzzled in. Then he made a strange "eeee!!!!" sound and flopped over onto his side in a strangely dramatic fashion. He did that a few more times, in between gasping a bit, and then nothing. His little soul melted into the One, or was enfolded in the wings of the Goddess, or went to Guinea Pig Heaven (whatever you believe happens when you die, it matters not in the big picture).

This death came suddenly and it reminded me that Death has no rhyme or reason in its timing. It also reminded me of the animals that I've shared my life with and lost in the past few years. I have always been an animal lover but never fully expressed that during my life until the past few years. Just in the past year alone we lost our sweet DaphneCat and then Penelope, neither of whom were properly eulogized. So, since lists seem to soothe me, I thought I'd make up an indulgent little list of the sweet furry friends that I've said goodbye to in the past few years. I've had so many animals in my life, I hope this doesn't make me look like the Black Widow of the Domesticated Animal Kingdom!

(Chronologically listed- I won't play favorities!)

1. 2009-November 2013: Ginger the Guinea Pig. Inherited (as most Guinea Pigs are, I swear the same 10 Guinea Pigs just circulate the earth being given away from home to home!) Loved for his gentle nature and propensity for squeaking as soon as he heard the fridge door open. Taken by something that seemed like an aggressive upper respiratory infection.

2. July 2008-February 2013: Penelope the Great Dane. Purchased from a back-woods breeder in Chaffee, NY right before the end of my previous marriage. Loved for her goofy ways, her sweet and gentle disposition and her preference to sit on your lap despite her 115 pounds. Loved to stalk the cats. Loved to find her Fish. I took great joy in teaching Penny to swim the summer before she died. Taken by Osteosarcoma. She thoroughly enjoyed her life right up until the moment that she left us. She died peacefully with my words "Carry only love" being sung to her.

3. 2005-September 2012: DaphneCat (aka Tikey Bee). Found in a tree in the middle of a thick wood when she was just a teensy baby. John, my ex, stood on all fours so that I could climb on top of his back to rescue her from the tree limb she was perilously perched on. She cried and cried (howled, really) even as she gulped down her food that first day. Well known for her adeptness at tricks, Tikey enjoyed sitting up, giving her paw, laying down and high-fiving for treats. She was taken too soon by a car on Route 100 in Hancock, VT. I found her on the side of the road as I was driving to work. She's now buried behind our first VT home, the Gathering Inn, next to some lovely comfrey.

4. ?- 2011: SanJambs the Ball Python. SanJambs also came to us as an inherited pet. He was the most gentle and sweet snake I've met (aside from our Maizie Snake). He loved to sit wrapped around my shoulders while I did dishes and slither up to the water. He loved to swim. He loved to lay along the length of me while I laid on the couch. SanJay burrowed himself down under his substrate and suffered burns to his abdomen from the heating pad. Note to anyone who uses heating pads- don't use heating pads! He just wouldn't eat after that and after many days in the care of the Herpetologist he came home. He died in my arms.

5. ?- 2011: Butterwood Bakery Parking Lot Cat (aka: Butter). We found Butter in the parking lot of, as his name suggests, Butterwood Bakery in West Falls, NY. He was a stray (confirmed by the bakery) and was the most easy-going cat I've ever met. He just sat there in the car, no need for a carrier. He immediately adjusted into our home like he had always lived there and was probably the most affectionate cat I've had the pleasure to share space with. Noel found him dead on the floor of our living room after work one day. We have no idea what happened. He is sorely missed, especially when eating pancakes or corn on the cob.

6. ?- 2010: Mellow the Cat. Inherited from my sister Meghan, Mellow was a sweet little thing that we only had for a few months. She grew on us and loved to play in the bathroom while we sat on the toilet. (We all have our thing, don't we?) She was diagnosed with Fatty Liver disease and died shortly after.

7. 1998-2006: Sophie, the Greatest Dane of them all. John, my ex, gave Sophie to me as a Christmas gift the first year we were married. Loved for her astute emotions and fierce loyalty. Sophie was my first real pet as an adult. She had 8 wonderful years and died at the end of a long battle with Cardiomyopathy. I laid with her the night before she died- right on the floor next to her. I dreamt that we were in an airport together that night, and that she got on the plane without me. She's buried at John's house, in her favorite place, The Plateau.

Wow. That's a ton of pets. I've been questioned as to why I share my life with so many animals. I can't really tell you why aside from the fact that each one of their spirits spoke to mine and I opened my heart and home to them. There's something about connecting with an animal that transcends the trappings of human emotions. There's no pettiness, no jealously, and believe it or not, no problems with communication. They say what they mean. They don't need words to say anything. I don't know if I need to do some work on that myself or if I'm surrounding myself with pets to make up for lost time or if I just like having an illegitimate petting zoo in my home, all I can tell you is that I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm by no means the Angelina Jolie of domesticated animals, especially because we've decided not to replace any of our pets as they leave us. I'm enjoying the company of the remaining Fur Family: Desmond, Loki and Ruby (our cats), Emmadog, Stinker (the remaining Guinea Pig) and MaizieSnake. They will all have their own eulogies, but for now, I'm celebrating their lives.

Moving, Nesting, Running, Living and Dying

Two months have come and gone and it feels like it's been about 2 days since my last post. Time and life are flying by. What's new? Lots, and nothing. Lots of nothing? I feel the need for a list welling up from deep within... it's like that rumble in the pit of my stomach that signifies something is coming out of me whether I (or you) like it or not... So, in no particular order of importance (my subconscious might argue with that), here is my update for the last 2 months:

1. Moving and Nesting: I love our apartment- it has great bones and is just small enough (1 very large bedroom, a living room, a teensy bathroom, and a nice sized kitchen) to manage cleaning without feeling totally overwhelming. Having a dog and 3 cats makes life, well, lets just say, vacuum-worthy.

The architectural detail of the building (it's an old stone heritage building that used to be a bank) keeps us there despite the neighborhood's less-than-desirable location. Although we love the apartment, we have kept searching for either a house or large apartment to rent that offers access to the outside world- that's really the only thing this place lacks. It's a little miserable to have no outdoor access aside from our front stoop- upon which I have found (on more than one occasion) a used condom, used needle, half-eaten pizza slice, too many cigarette butts to count, and the occasional hobo, misanthrope or prostitute.

There are also good things about our neighborhood that give it that rough-around-the-edges inner-city charm, like the sweet little old Eastern European ladies wearing babushkas, Emma's favorite prostitute who always loves to give her lots of love and petting, and the constant entertainment of the various modes of transport (e-bikes are the standard followed closely by those old-people scooters and bikes with hacked shopping carts as trailers). So, we're sort of half-searching for a new place, but reluctantly, as I firmly believe we would be total shoe-ins for the 2014 Apartment Therapy Small Cool contest! My goal is to settle on something, whether it's this place or something else, by early Spring 2014 so that I can know which community garden to join.

2. Work: I had trepidations about my current position as the office manager/Girl Friday for the physician and Traditional Healer that I work for- mainly due to funding issues, but since my last post (and after some job searching, interviews and offers) I decided to tough out the storm of uncertainty and stick with the job knowing I may not know how long it will last. I couldn't bear the thought of working anywhere else. Nowhere else in my life have I ever felt so valued as an employee, a person, an herbalist, and a woman. I totally believe in the work that we're doing and feel that I'm a part of it, even in my limited administrative role. My bosses (who I feel honored to call my friends) are patient, respectful and encouraging. I decided that was worth more than more money, more benefits, or a closer commute. The day after I decided to stay for the long haul my employer handed me my paycheck with a significant raise- like almost twice what I was making- along with a hug. I don't think I've ever glowed at work, but this was as close to that as I've ever come.

In addition to my position at the clinic, I was just offered a contract position as an Archivist for the Indigenous Knowledge Centre on Six Nations. It's part time for 5 months and will not only give me the extra cash I need to dig myself out of debt, it will afford Noel and I the money that we need to pay for his vasectomy reversal surgery. It doesn't hurt that I have access to this amazing cache of Indigenous Knowledge- a cache that I'm now charged with making some sort of sense out of!

3. Noel's Update: Noel doesn't seem to come here as much as I do, I guess that's up to him to share if he wants. Basically, Noel decided to forego school this year and stick to working at the Coaster company that hired him on shortly after returning to Ontario. It's similar grudgery to his last schleppy warehousing job, but he has a cool benefit- awesome coasters. Sounds crazy, right? I never realized what a great design vehicle coasters are for interesting art! I'll have to scan some and share.

Other things:
Well, basically we've been unpacking more, settling into the area and getting to know Hamilton in all it's Steeltown glory. It's a wonderfully multicultural city with tons of greenspace (it's saving grace) and a funky-weird vibe, not good or bad, just funky and weird.

I keep pining away for Vermont, but know that all in good time we will be back to visit our favorite state. For now, we've decided it's best to put down roots in a place that will allow us to thrive and build up our skill sets.

I'm starting school in January and Noel is trying to figure out where and when and what he wants to learn. My intention right now is to finish my Bachelors and move into a health-based field- maybe finish my Master Herbalist diploma or possibly apply to Naturopathic school. I usually set all these lofty goals for years down the line without really allowing life to unfold the way it's supposed to, so this time I'm trying to take each day, week and month as a sort of fluid progression that naturally evolves from choice to the next.

Life keeps throwing curve balls at us, but we're making progress and don't feel half as vulnerable and freaked out as we did in December. I've started running again and am planning to take a 6 month yoga teacher training at Dharma Door retreat beginning in April. I promised myself I would give the training to myself as a gift after a solid 6 months of running and yoga, so it's still tentative, but I feel confident that I can get through 6 months without backing into my sedentary self again.

Rest In Peace, Layne Redmond:
One more important thing that really merits it's own post- Layne Redmond, a wonderful frame drummer who I had the pleasure to work with at Kripalu Center (her Bee Priestess Training) passed on yesterday from a lengthy illness. I'll write more about it, I'm sure, but wanted to note that we have lost a wonderful woman who inspired a whole community of percussionists to explore rhythm as an integral part of their expression of spirit. She lived her life to it's absolute fullest until she let go, working on the revised edition of her now famous book "When the Drummers Were Women" during her last days. She will be sorely missed, but her work is being carried on by those she acted as mentor to- many many MANY women (and some men!) who are now teaching their own frame drum techniques based on Layne's work.

Emma and I enjoying Little Rock City.

Brilliant autumn <3

Hey there :)