I have the hands of a seventy year old woman. I have since i was in highschool. Perhaps they were the hands of a fourty year old, back when i was sixteen.
I have never had long nails. I have never been in any obvious way "girly."
As an adult i have come to realize that girly does not always translate to womanly. And by womanly i mean sexy. I know we tend to make a connotation between womanly and old, or at the very least "round." If someone says you have a womanly figure, or at least says that to me, my brain tells me "fat." But now, as i rapidly approach middle age, womanly is taking on a whole new definition to me. Something i want to be. I want to be womanly. I have produced four children, my body oozes womanly. And i like it.
Womanly means that i feel more beautiful with each passing year. That i accept the inevitability of time. That time does not define me. That age does not define me. That there is beauty in wisdom and lines and experience. That beauty is depth.
I'm hunkering down for snow and christmas and family. For the first time, in forever, there will be no extended family involved in my celebrations. Just us. I've managed to get three days off in a row, the 23rd-25th then back in on boxing day evening at which point the kids will go visit their dad's family.
I am not a huge holiday person. I love the idea of family and togetherness, it's the pulling it all together that i always feel i fail a little bit at. I have really great memories of christmas as a child. I've been wondering what made those memories so strong. I think it was the simpleness of it. How happy i was to be around family for the whole day, the yummy dinner, grandparents and, obviously, presents. I loved the gifts. As a child we only got "stuff" on birthdays and christmas. If we wanted something at other times we had to save for it ourselves.
And the baking. My mom was a baking goddess. I am not. I would like to be, i have tried to be. I just am not. And the baking? It is a huge part of my christmas memories. I know i should try to pull this together, but with eliza's allergies and baking without nuts, it just leaves me a little dull – you know?
But, despite all my shortcomings as a holiday mom i am hunkering down/psyching up to put on the best freaking christmas ever starting with a screening of National Lampoon Christmas Vacation* over popcorn and sugar plums tonight.
*My favourite movie ever. I don't think i can explain the million ways it makes me happy inside and crack up in huge belly laughs on the outside, and really? what could be better.
And this video will make me dance through the day:
As i approach the end of 2008, the year which indeed did not get me. The year i didn't suffer from depression after the two very long years of struggle before. The year that, in many ways, i discovered myself. The year that brought about so much change and upheaval. The year that had promise. As i approach the end of it, albeit a little bit melancholy, there are a few things which made the year great.
Music. Music, what can i say. Music moves me, traps me, inspires me. Music is a huge part of my world. 99% of the titles i use on this blog are lines from songs i like. I listened to tons of new music this year. Some of it old, like Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan, but most were artists new to me. I was browsing through my itunes purchases this year (i buy all my music) trying to decide on my favourites. It's not always easy to decide because i tend to obsess over an album for a month or so and then move on. Best – Bon IverFor Emma, Forever Ago I love this whole album. I love the image of him recording it, alone, in a cabin. I love the raw anger. I love that i feel a strong connection to so many of the lyrics. You can often find me, driving home from work late at night, singing very loudly along to "Skinny Love."
I read. I used to read more. This year i tried to get back in the habit of reading every single day. Often either work or children come first. But, i did manage to get through quite a few books. I have been trying to re-read my favourite novels from university. In particular from my two favourite courses: Modern American Fiction and British Romance Novels 1800's. That being said i also enjoyed some great books by chefs, artists and poets. Best – Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje. The timing of reading this novel with events in my personal life made it a magical read which swept me away.
Part of what makes it difficult to read as many books as i would like is time spent on the computer, well, reading. I click my way through a ton of blogs and websites. I still have the same thirty or so blogs i have been reading for four years and more, but every now and then i stumble upon one that becomes a favourite. BestJess is not technically a new read for me or a stranger. We met when we were both staying in the psychiatric ward. Our paths only crossed for five days, but, a bond of sorts was formed. I care very much about her and what happens to her. She has begun, finally, telling the story leading up to that hospitalization and, i hope, how she ended up married last month.
I sit in my little island hideaway, perfectly secluded and alone. Alone and anonymous, yet completely naked. I lay it out there in vulnerable shards. Shards of my life, bits and pieces that don't come together to make a complete story.
Many people think they know me because of these words i write. This is only a piece of me, the parts that i choose to share. They often seem too personal, too intimate. Thrown on the screen without hesitation.
That is not it. I choose what i write about with great trepidation. Many things flow through my head before i hit publish. The first being: is this going to hurt someone i care about? I always try to be mindful of those i love. I have hesitated to write about my separation and reconciliation because the events that surround them are intensely personal and i have wanted to protect my children from potential hurt.
The problem therein is my community. This website is read by coworkers, friends, family, my children's friends parents, and on it goes. Last winter it became apparent that there were many in my community who were aware of the events that lead up to my separation and they felt entitled to cast blame and, even, lay judgement in comments right here.
This has made me realize that i can't protect my children from information. I can teach them compassion, empathy and forgiveness. And one day i will have a conversation with them about this past year and the years before them and after them. How they were loved.
I am ashamed of my actions last year. I hurt people i loved out of greed and self-indulgent behaviour that was fueled by my struggle with depression. I have seen and felt the incredible pain i caused. I have asked for forgiveness from the people that matter most and most have given me that.
Yet, there are still those people who want to punish me. I can only imagine that it is out of great fear. Fear that it could happen to them. The simple answer is yes, yes it can happen to you. And if it does, no matter which side of the trauma you land on, you will need friends. You will need people who can listen without judging, who will stand at your side, who will forgive. Who will be your lifesaver. If you are not capable of being that friend then how can you expect to find one.
I was sitting here enjoying some soup, trying to think of something to write, browsing blogs when i checked out my home page and what to my horrified eyes did appear?
In my Lijit widget the search cloud said in bold "jess is horrible, jess is a cheater and jess is an adulterer." I have been fortunate with this blog to have a minimum amount of nastiness come way, especially considering the content. There was that one time i was featured on trainwrecks.com (gone away), but other than that nothing that has really hurt me.
But those words hurt me. I have removed the search terms from the widget, but i was able to pinpoint exactly where those searches came from and let me tell you, this town is so small. In every sense of the word.
Words hurt. They are like silent daggers that pierce through the heart of someone sensitive. I may have been those words at some point, but i am definitely not alone in that. My actions have been wrong. I know that. I still am, and always was, a good person. Ask my husband.
