Strange Monsters

I am explaining the difference between Lucky's Donuts and Cartems Donuts.
Cartems aren't as sweet as Lucky's... but they are greasier.

I should know. I had two: the apricot almond one and the salted caramel one. Artisan donuts might be a sign of the imminent apocalypse but they are also irresistible some nights.

He writes back. Mmmm, greazy.

And just like that, a character is born: Greazy, the carnival barker. I tippity-tap at the keys instead of prepping for my piano class. Greazy, born of eccentric spelling and procrastination.

Greazy the carnival barker

is tilting on his feet

Greazy the carnival barker

Never has quite enough to eat

He’s been looking for you with his snaggletoothed grin

and his tattered old hat that lets all the rain in

Wearing a carnival coat

with his eyes on your tender young throat

I don’t know what he’ll do when he finds you

but it probably won’t be nice.

I think you should take my advice

and run, run for your life

More words, spilling onto the screen.

Tonight, I get this text:

This is what happens when you are lucky enough to find someone to bounce ideas off. He sends me a picture, a scrap, a word, and I turn it into words and music. Or I send him a phrase and he breathes life into it. Doesn't that look just like Greazy, with his bony fingers and skeleton keys? He's lurching up the road towards your house, and you'd better be hiding under the bed when he lets himself in...

Last weekend we biked to the beach and took pictures of a battered old submersible. We are turning a 15-year-old idea of his into a story. I don't know what will happen to Greazy and Max, and all the other strange beings we've woken into half-life. They want to be free, they want colour and action and sound and I hope we can do them justice. 

We dream up strange monsters and brave little boys together. I will take that any day over joint bank accounts and runny-nosed toddlers. 

Popping the Question

"Soooo... Are you guys planning to tie the knot?"

A friend at work, who saw it all go down last year when I first met my guy, hears me mention our 1-year anniversary and pops the question. The latest in a long line of friends who seem to think my relationship won't be complete until I a) move in with him and b) marry the poor man.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not mad. In the same way that we routinely ask people "So, what do you do?" defining ourselves always by our jobs when we really just want to get to know each other better, I know that my friends are really saying "Is it serious? Does he treat you well? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with each other?" They're thrilled for me: against all the odds and statistics this 'older' woman found love- and through online dating, at that! I am a rare and lucky bird, this I know. And well-wishers, the answers to your unspoken questions are: yes, YES, and Probably.

But here's the thing: my guy and I have absolutely no plans to live together, let alone get married. And you can scratch your heads and wonder why we choose not to 'commit' further, but let me tell you that we are truly happy in each other's company. Far too happy to mess up a good thing.

The luxury of being with someone later in life is that we have so much less to prove. We've already lived with lovers in a marriage-like setup (one of us had a partner's kid living-in as well). Back when we were younger we both thought about having kids, and both of us rejected the idea. As I pass through the last of my childbearing years I feel slightly aghast at the idea that I am-biologically speaking- old, but I have very few regrets about being childless. It was a road I decided not to go down, that's all. I love kids, and now that I'm a teacher I am delighted to be around them more, but my ovaries aren't pining to be used. As for cohabitation? Speaking for myself, I enjoyed living with someone for a while, but love became routine, small faults became large annoyances, and delight withered. He was a good one, the best, but the flame died.

There are so many practical reasons not to live with my person. We both have eccentric work schedules and often work- or don't work- from home. So we'd be constantly in each other's way. One of us is a bit of a workaholic (spoiler alert: it's not me). When we get together it's a break from our responsibilities and worries; if we lived together it would be an endless wrestling match between wanting to have fun and needing to get work done.

We aren't going to combine our financial resources- both of us are better off handling the ups and downs of those by ourselves.

And we're squeamish about swearing eternal love to one another, again because we're old, dammit. We've seen love come and go and we know that what we have now might not last forever. I mean, we both hope that it does, but one way that we can ensure that we are still in love year after year is not to force something that wouldn't be right for us.

You know, for so many years I was stuck in I should, and I wish and If only. What relationship could possibly survive the weight of so many expectations? I was unhappy with myself, and no man could waltz in and fix that. I left a long-term relationship. I had an short and emotionally brutal romance that left me bewildered that I could be so unhappy, since this was nothing I'd ever experienced before.

But when it ended, and I was wrung out, happiness poked its head out again like a sturdy little weed and I realized that for the first time I was truly content to be who I was, where I was.  I realized that I could "smack my lips over life" (to quote a character from one of my favourite children's books). I can remember roaming the streets of Victoria when I was doing a show over there, incredulous that I could feel so wonderfully vital and alive and content to my very bones.

And that feeling never left. Through rough times and loneliness and poverty I was- and AM- so very happy to be me. I don't know if torturing myself through an unsuitable affair was the 'answer'- whether having been through the fire of being so unhappy with who I was I landed on the other side just happy to have made it through. Ironically this unsuitable lover was always telling me to lose my expectations, a suggestion I vehemently ignored. But when I did... sweet relief.

Which brings me to my current relationship, where I simply expect the non-negotiables: love, respect, happiness. All of which are delivered in spades.

Every relationship brings choices. I choose the one I can laugh with, the one whose body feels right pressed against mine, the one I can talk with on the phone and in person like I've never talked with anyone before. The one who celebrates our differences, listens to and remembers the things I say, who brushes off our arguments because he knows there's rock-solid love underneath. The one who needs the space of his own home just as I do. The one who chose not to have kids, just like me.

For those of you who are happily married, or who want that for yourselves, I salute you and I wish you well on your journey. But know that there is more than one way to live happily ever after, and my way won't include an "I do."

Defusing

The other day my guy and I had a phone conversation that was a little... intense.

After I hung up, still seething with blame (both towards myself and him), I went over things in my head, as women we tend to do when things go awry. 

Being forty, and fairly clear-headed (I think) when it comes to my shortcomings, I could go back over the conversation and how it had played out, and see where I had said things that were inflammatory. I could also see a pattern in my dealings with other partners which had led to conversations that were all depressingly similar in their outcome: painful discussions with no resolution. What I couldn't see was this: How on earth do you re-wire your brain so that you don't fall into old, bad patterns during important discussions/negotiations? 

A friend of mine recently founded a company based on this very question. His website says:  

"Professionals are using live simulations as a regular part of their training programs, as often the most unpredictable element is the human one. How these professionals assess the situation and react can mean the difference between life and death. What is at stake in your business?"

Good point. and what's at stake in our personal relationships if we can't get beyond the traps that lurk when we try to have emotional conversations? Think about all the things we find it so hard not to say (and by 'we' I mean me) when we're upset:

You always...

You never...

I hate it when...

I'm sorry that I... 

(a really passive-aggressive one that, and one I'm guilty of using: apologizing for a shortcoming instead of getting to the point, which is that I'm angry/I need something.)

The more we use certain phrases, the more we trigger an antagonistic response in the other person; the more defensive/angry/upset they get, the more defensive/angry/upset WE get, and on and on until it's impossible to say anything sensible. 

I've decided that it's time to learn how to defuse my irritation and anger, but how? Simulations, like the ones my friend offers, are a great idea, but I find that the one-person version of this (having imaginary conversations in your head with the other party) are frustrating, and have the effect of making my tension level rise significantly since there's no one else to mediate or offer an outside opinion. One good solution, offered here, is to 

"...defuse the energy of anger.”

Go for a run, focus on your artwork or finish a DIY project, he said. “Break something that needs to be broken.” As he said, the most amazing works, including music, poetry and art, have been created from anger.

It's true. Yesterday (the day after the unsatisfactory conversation) I could have moped around all day feeling frustrated and upset. Instead I tried to do something productive. I ended up writing two songs: one which focused on the darker side of love (thanks to Noel Coward, who wrote an amazing poem on the subject, which I've quoted from before) and a romantic song for my guy.  I exorcized some demons in a creative way and had some tangible results to show for it. 

So what will I do the next time an issue comes up and I need to have "the talk" with someone I'm close to? I don't have all the answers- hell, I don't have many of them. Things I will try: 

• deep breathing
• articulating EXACTLY what it is I need to myself, before I even think about talking to the other person
• finding the balance between blurting things out when I'm overwrought and "sleeping on it" (where the danger can be that I end up stewing over things and making mountains out of molehills)
• defusing my frustrations by reprogramming my brain: exercising, writing, music...whatever it takes. 

So what happened next, after the phone conversation? Well, while I was still fretting, I heard my phone buzzing. Looking down I realized that I had mail from my guy, who sent me a sweet and sexy message which soothed me into sleep. True to our genders, he moves on while I fret and over-analyze. We've chosen to leave that conversation in the past... for now. And at least I have the perfect original romantic song to send him tomorrow- just in time for Valentine's Day. 

Epiphanies and Anniversaries

Dammit, body. You were supposed to spring into action around Epiphany, ready to start a new year of eating right and exercising hard. Instead...

It's been a hard week. Over a week, in fact, of being a congested, tired, achy, brain-foggy mess. At least I can console myself that everyone else in the city also has this virus right now. But worse, I started to feel my mood tipping into a dark place it hadn't been for a long time... hard not to feel that way when you're sick and the numbers in your bank account are slipping down past the safety zone, with no big job to push them back the other way. I was starting to feel as if I was standing on the crumbling edge of a cliff. I was/am too tired to exercise, too sick to watch every little thing I ate, too broke to afford a Grand Gesture or a fancy event to cheer myself up. The nagging voice of self-doubt started creeping in: How could I be loveable, with my straggly uncut hair showing months of roots (and grey), my belly rounded from holiday overindulgence, my tissue-reddened nose and glassy tired eyes? How will I ever make a living making music? Would I be forced to live forever as my brother's tenant, unable to afford my own apartment? Had I made the wrong decision in cutting myself off from the summer job and northern towns I love so much?

When my guy offered me a small, easy photography gig with a bit of money attached, I grew insecure and snappish, sure that I couldn't do what he needed, although he assured me that it was a simple job. Although I ended up doing it, I was needy and grumpy about the whole thing.
I decided we needed a date night, since I'd hardly seen my sweetheart since New Year's Eve. Although I'm still feeling gross, I rallied- 2 nights ago- and dressed up. Pretty skirt, classy fishnets with the seam, even curly hair, because I know he likes it. He called: he was feeling stir-crazy and wanted to get out. Maybe we could meet up earlier and go for a ride on the bike before dinner? I started seething, thinking of having to change out of my carefully-chosen outfit. I'd wanted to feel dressed-up and civilized, not climb on the back of a motorbike in the cold evening air... I snapped at him, unwilling to bend, to re-write the script in my head. Then I called back and apologized for snapping at him- "Did you snap at me?" he asked, puzzled. Again, the script I was writing in my head, the one called I Am A Terrible Girlfriend And He's Probably Going To Leave Me Tomorrow, was completely different from what was going on in his head, where he was feeling bad for being irritable at me because he'd had a frustrating day, and was just looking forward to seeing me and maybe taking me out for a spin because he knows I love riding on the back of his motorbike whenever I get the chance.

We met. His eyes gleamed at the skirt, the stockings and the curls. He parked the bike and we walked- me mincing a bit in unaccustomed heels- to the cheap but fun place I'd picked for us to eat at. And even though the bike broke down (later) and the movie we'd picked to go to was sold out, we managed to make our own fun. We always do. And the black mood that had sat with me for days slowly lifted. He loves being with me. He loves that I know the words for obscure things (he can't get over the fact that I knew that the word for a monk's shaved head is a tonsure). He drools at my fishnetted legs and curled hair, but is equally inclined to say "god you're hot" when I'm standing in front of him with bed-head, sweatpants and no makeup. He makes me laugh with his stories and his imitations of his friends, he draws me cartoons and plays my music for his friends; he takes me for motorbike rides and always, ALWAYS gives me the warmest gloves when we do, and insists that I borrow his hats when it's raining. I can't believe it's only been 3 months since we first met (in fact, it's exactly 3 months today).  It's time to stop writing those glum scripts in my head and try to roll with things a bit more. Because this one's a keeper.

One of my favourite bloggers has a post that touches on this as well. You can read it over here; it's what inspired me to write this post.

On a completely different note... the Oscar nominations are out!  I don't know why, but this year, I'm pretty excited about them (well, partly because Grand Budapest Hotel made the list and I think that it was a damn fine movie). Although I probably won't watch the Oscars (I'd rather watch paint dry, honestly), I DO want to spend the next couple of months watching as many of the nominated movies as possible, including the docs and the foreign films. When I do, I'll blog about it here. (I'm definitely inspired by this guy, who also worked up in Barkerville this summer, and who is a smart and funny writer.)  Hey, if nothing else, watching movies at home is something my guy and I both love to do together. And it's dirt cheap.

Lucky.

The city is cold and rainy. I buy an adorable pair of grey fleecy fingerless gloves with a mitten attachment that pulls over the fingers. Mittens! I haven't had them since my age was in single digits and it feels awesome. 

Old Yeller played a gig this week: seven friends crowded onto and around the tiny corner stage while our friends and family laughed and ate and cheered. The best pre-Christmas present a girl could get. Well, that and my guy taking pictures of us like the paparazzi; meeting my friends, giving me a grin and a wink when he catches my eye. I tease him: You'll get tired of coming to my gigs. And he gets that stubborn look in his eye and says Nope. 

Sick Day.

The baby cat is delighted to have company at 9am. She darts around my room, stopping to weave happily against my legs or rub her furry body against mine. Although I love her, I am not so delighted this morning.
I am home because I am sick. Strep Throat, or something else that has made my tonsils pop up like golf balls. I sleep for over 8 hours, and I wake up feeling like hmmm, I could use a nice long nap right about now. 
I don't have time for this! I was supposed to be at the pumpkin patch today, on the last of the really busy days, working 6 or 7 hours to give my paycheque a final boost. I've been pushing through the last few days, but last night I realized that there was no way I could go in today, and I called in sick. I never call in sick.
I am seeing a sexy-hot motorcycle-driving man who thinks I am- to use the words of my 19 year-old friend- the bomb. I had to cancel our date last night because I realized that I was too tired and sick to even take pleasure in the thought of making out with him, let alone the reality. Not to mention that when you have infected tonsils your mouth tastes as though something died in it. He texts with offers of hot soup or a ride (in a car co-op car, not the bike), and I thank him and refuse. I've known him for less than 2 weeks; I don't want the sick, hairy-legged version of me to make an appearance in our lives just yet.

Last night I went shopping for late-night snacks with my brother and it was as though a split personality had taken over: in my stash were lemons, ginger, Kombucha, superfood-salad-mix... and also jalapeño cheese puffs, Skor Bites and Sour Cherry Blasters. I ate a bit of all those things last night and let me tell you, the health foods and the non-health foods were both equally delicious.
I get my computer out to do some accounting while I sip my green tea. Three hours later I've switched to coffee, the receipts are still un-tallied, and I've been Facebooking, blogging, and looking at online boot and clothing sites for far too long. Fail.
The baby cat flops onto a patch of sunlight and rubs against the other cat until she starts grooming her. Love me. I feel too horrible to love: sore, tired, unwashed.
Time to slow down, whether I want to or not. I check the calendar to make sure: yep, it's been only 2 & a 1/2 weeks since I got back and a myriad of things have occurred: friends, dates, passion, concerts, dinners, music, rehearsals, workworkwork... I read one of my sister-in-law's health mags this morning: Average time before readers think you should see someone before sleeping with them: 3.9 months. 
Oops.
I guess my body made an executive decision amidst all this craziness and just shut me down the only way it could: by disabling me for a while. Time to take a me-day or two.

Leaning Into the Turns

Where did you come from, sweet stranger? 
I've known you for two hours and all I can think of is kissing you. 
You showed up at the cafe with your retro motorbike and an extra helmet for me, and I put my arms gingerly around you, expecting to be terrified as we roared away. Instead, I fell in love.
With the bike. The bike. I hardly know you. 

But I want to.
You're easy to talk to.
Or you would be, if I didn't get so flustered every time we made eye contact that I stammer and reach for my water glass. Which would be fine, except it's been empty for the past ten minutes. 

I have no context for this. This is why I've never 'dated'. When you meet people through work you have a mutual background, mutual friends, mutual lifestyles.
You rehearse, say,  a show together. You are thrown into the pressure cooker and you become close. Also, you have a reason to be together, every day.

But we steal time together around our work. Our decidedly non-mutual work.
An impulsive coffee date four days ago and I've seen him every day since.
I learn to love the feeling of the wind against my body as we roar down the highway. I learn to wrap my arms and legs around him, lean into the turns, shout conversation at red lights. On the bike, I feel totally safe with him.

He drops me off at home and we kiss in the alley at the back of my house. And kiss. And kiss.

Until the shadowy neighbourhood tomcats are jealous
Until our noses are cold
Until my brain turns to mush 
Until we disengage, reluctantly, and kiss again, and wave goodbye. It's 1:30 am. I get up at 7. 

I don't know what this means. I don't know what this is. I don't know if that matters.

Today I am tired, running on empty after my late night. Sitting on my hay wagon, singing children's songs to enthusiastic strangers, I remember the cause of my late night, and grin.

My day off is being rained out, but the sound of the downpour on my metal roof makes it okay. It is the most cozy sound, especially when you're in your pyjamas and a too-large cashmere sweater, with nothing more pressing to do than eat breakfast and write stuff.
These are active days. I bike to work, I run, I work out. My roommates and I are starting a 30-day challenge to give up some bad stuff so I skip desserts again and I have a tan from paddleboarding and mostly I feel wonderful.
Girlfriends abound. My boss' 11-year-old granddaughter joins us for a week and soon she is practically running the theatre, at least in her mind. She takes tickets, does our show makeup, hangs out with Tanya in the booth, brings us pretty stones with personalized letters for each one: I chose this rock because it reminds me of you, good and kind. We have her over for tacos and a movie and she is giddy with the joys of spending a night with the grown-up ladies. We are all giddy with too much sugar and too much "Frozen" and we skip down the street singing LET IT GO, LET IT GOOOO at the tops of our voices.

Annabelle made me up to look like Elsa from "Frozen". It involved a lot of blue eye makeup.

I call two girlfriends who live far away, trying to imagine their lives in Whitehorse and Elkford. We talk music and marriage and I long to see them one day but money is always so tight.  I bond with the two girlfriends that I live with and we stay up late into the night talking about work and life and love, always love. I really like him but he doesn't like me. If someone told you that they had a crush on you would you be flattered or dismayed? Should I do something or just wait and see? Eleven or Twenty-Nine or Almost-Forty: some things are unchanging. 

One day this week I get really tired and therefore grouchy and I worry about the future again. This feels like limbo, I tell a friend. I love you guys and I love what I do here but is this real life? Living in a dilapidated cabin with three other people in a town of less than 300, dressing up for a living? The next day I am less tired and I think It doesn't matter if it's real life. It's MY life. I might not do it for ever, but right now it's okay, It's more than okay.

21-Year-Old Wisdom.

Last night, after work, we have a friend over to watch movies and eat snacks with us. A typical lazy night, except that this is a particular friend: someone I've had a gigantic crush on for years every time I come up here.
And it is so so lovely: I play him a new tune, we all laugh our heads off at the movies, he and I sit together in the growing dark on the same couch for about 3 hours, we walk some of the way home together (I'm house-sitting), and never do we run out of things to talk about because we never do. Even though we do nothing at the end of our walk together but say "good night" and walk away I am in a daze afterwards, like someone who's drunk too much champagne.
But when I'm back in the Panabode kitchen talking to my best friend about him this morning and I say half-joking, "I wish I didn't have such a crush on him," she replies kindly "I wish you didn't either. Because he's a really nice guy and he's fun to hang out with, but I was watching his body language with you and I don't think he's interested." And the truth that was floating around my head in a big ugly bubble pops with an ugly splat and tears spring into my eyes. "It's okay, we'll wear him down, we'll keep inviting him over..." my friend says, still so kind, and I say sadly "I don't want to wear anyone down" and then although I try to stop them, the tears come for real.
This is the same friend who held me and comforted me and talked me through a horribly stressful breakup last summer and I know she loves me and wishes me nothing but happiness and love, fluffy kittens and unicorns; I know that she is fiercely sad on my behalf: why wouldn't he like you, he's crazy not to! I also know that she is not the Oracle and that she may be wrong, but my instincts tell me that, at least for now, she is rightrightright and it hurts, just like it hurts every time. The only things that make it better are the old standbys Age and Experience, who tell me to suck it up, enjoy my friends who love me in spite of my faults, enjoy my work, which is basically getting paid to sing and be a goofball, enjoy my health and strength; enjoy this moment and the moment after it and keep breathing and sleeping well and distracting myself until the pain of not being noticed, of not being visible to someone, dies down again.  And even shittier is having to distance myself from someone I really genuinely like and love to talk to, an intoxicating (to me) combination of smart and silly, all because I can't just be happy with friends instead of lovers.
My 21-year-old roommate is far wiser than me. "Stop having so many expectations," he counsels the lovelorn ladies of the Panabode, we who variously mourn our limited prospects in this small town. He already knows more than us: that it's best to accept whatever happens; that if you want too much you run the risk of losing it all. He isn't the first person to tell me this; the last one was my latest ex, as he and I watched our fragile relationship drown under the weight of all those expectations I had.
So, I guess I stop trying. It's not possible to turn off the wanting, but it is possible to stop banging my head against this particular brick wall over and over again. My young friend recently stopped a long-distance (and very new and uncertain) relationship because he was finding that the constant pining for something he couldn't have was preventing him from enjoying the experience of being here. If he's smart enough to focus on the here and now, I hope I can be too. I'll sleep long and well tonight, wake up feeling more like myself tomorrow. I'll take the pain of not being special to someone, and put it into our afternoon show, into a character who knows that all too well. And I'll keep finding the joy in everything I do, because to do otherwise would be to give away my power.

Noel Coward explains my love life to you.

I am no good at love
My heart should be wise and free
I kill the unfortunate golden goose
Whoever it may be
With over-articulate tenderness
And too much intensity.

I am no good at love
I batter it out of shape
Suspicion tears at my sleepless mind
And, gibbering like an ape,
I lie alone in the endless dark
Knowing there's no escape.

I am no good at love
When my easy heart I yield
Wild words come tumbling from my mouth
Which should have stayed concealed;
And my jealousy turns a bed of bliss
Into a battlefield.

I am no good at love
I betray it with little sins
For I feel the misery of the end
In the moment that it begins
And the bitterness of the last good-bye
Is the bitterness that wins.

From The Complete Verse of Noël Coward

Oh my god I love this poem. Noel Coward, man. He's all froth and brittle sophistication and then he just peels back that shell and there's this passion and uncertainty and desperation underneath. Very English. 

Being single is hard sometimes. 

Having feelings for people is hard.

Splitting my time between two different towns is hard. 

Negotiating my natural intensity versus keeping things simple is hard.

I remind myself to breathe. 

I try and think about all the things I do right rather than the couple of things I screw up. 

I tell myself that even if I blow it with someone it does not necessarily mean that I will die alone with a cat chewing on my face. 

And I remember that at the end of the day I am harder on myself than ANYONE else. 

Failing With Equanimity

Today I got up just after six, after the worst sleep I've had in months. At eight am, I did my practical exam for Occupational First Aid. And by 12:15, I found out that I had failed it. I made a big mistake in a protocol, and it cost me dearly. Exam over, no need to do the written part. Out of the six people in my exam group, two of us failed. I made my way home in the yucky snow/rain mixture we've got going on today, and burned off some frustration by cleaning the kitchen and walking the dog, who clearly sensed my bad mood and tugged sulkily at his leash most of the way.

The other night I saw a play with someone who makes my heart beat a little bit faster. And then we went for drinks and talked for a few hours, walked home and kissed on a street corner in the falling snow. Which... pretty much my idea of a great night, actually. I don't need all that much- just some conversation, preferably with lots of laughter, some wine, and street-corner smooching. Take note, future dates.
Except that I'm wracked with self-doubt three days later: Was I too forward? Is he interested at all? Why doesn't he do some of the work and invite me out for a change? Whining, in my head: Why can't this be eeeeeasy?

I need more. Maybe I need too much and it scares people (okay, maybe it scares guys). If I like you, I want to talk to you, to have you get in touch with me, to show me that you're thinking about me from time to time. I don't think that's unreasonable but who knows? How do I balance Keeping Things Simple and No Expectations with the needs of my heart?
The wise older sister in my head says You know what to do. Shake it off, keep moving. Book a new date, keep studying,  and re-take that exam. And I do; I book a new exam time as soon as I get home.  Stop bugging that guy. Let him approach you. Or not. Stay busy. Don't obsess. And I try.

There is a small cat curled up against my back as I type this. She doesn't care that I screwed up. I am a warm body and she's glad to have me at home on a cold day. I have music to write, a cast to teach it to, and a lot of other commitments this month. For a few hours today I can think about failure. Then I have to let it go and move on, because that's all I can do.