You Have What You Need

There is so much shame around money, or I should say money, just like food is so fucking emotional. At least it is for me. So just for posterity I will bold all those “emotion” words.

When my wife died in 2012 I contributed equally to the household but I was not the breadwinner. See, lesbian, bisexual, gay, straight, in a partnership roles just need to be filled by a warm body. So many times she reminded me of this but I could somehow never feel equal because I was not bringing in anywhere close to the same income. I wrote for Pink Play Magazine, I had a private practice but it was grocery money, not her unionized job with the city. I had never secured a career that supported me which was disheartening and sometimes humiliating. So it goes when you are the kid who feels like they will always have to be supported, as if it were the only option.

When our son came along I was the primary care giver so I was suddenly slammed at work and Kara felt poor for time with him. This is the time honoured struggle for a two parent home with kids. When she died I suddenly found myself living on her pension and social assistance programs which I was very grateful to have!!!This is when the enormity of what we called reality hit. I have always been lucky, I had affluent parents that had saved for my University education. While everyone around me seemed to be obliged to be on OSAP (a students first source of debt) I did not. This was when I really had my eyes opened to just how damn lucky I am.

With me a widow and my house falling down around me it was then I, ironically, decided to buy a house with my first year university roommate Erin. The one who told me she was flabbergasted that I made long distance calls in the daytime. Like my wife who said the “no name is the same as the brand name.” Erin was suddenly on the task and that is when I secured my first job since 2005, when I learned just how important a source of income was for my self esteem and sense of value.

I was still in a pickle. I was never good at balancing my budget and any debts incurred either by necessity or habit were taken care of for me. I really started to get a handle on what a blissfully ignorant state I was still shaking off. The state known as upperclass white privilege. I am still very privileged to have two families who are ready to lend their support when they can. However I am continually filling the gap between the theory of budgeting and its practical application. Erin, who has a head for numbers has over the last five years been helping me get closer and closer to it, cutting through the shame and emotional pitfalls of feeling like I have failed somehow. She reminds me “how can I apply to life what I never learned to do? It’s a learning curve!”

I was never that successful with Mint, the first budgeting system I used that my cousin Wendy introduced me to even though I was so embarrassed that she was looking at my finances. Now I co-own a house and share the bills I have been obliged to change this, thank goodness. Credit cards are not the devil but they can be so unconsciously overused. Plus they are way too abstract a concept for me. And so we are trying the envelope system, or the digital version of the envelope system You Need a Budget (YNAB).

Basically you have bills to pay but you can’t spend what you don’t have, it does not manage your money it just shows you what you have to manage and how to allocate funds. When you get money you assign it jobs or envelopes so you can see what you have left over to work with instead of shockingly hitting the bottom of the barrel and thinking “oh shit I fucked up.”

I am starting not to panic. Lots of people live pay cheque to pay cheque. As a person I know starting with “ther” and ending with “apist” says, “no Kelly you are not up shit creek, you are resourceful.” This month I am proud to say my bills are paid, I have no debt and even though I don’t have much in the bank I can still go to the market to buy fruit, damn it. I went into my tip jar this morning and counted $40 in change. So I would respectfully like to say to my younger self,

You are strong, you are smart, you are resourceful, you are blessed, you are sure as hell getting there and you have nothing to be ashamed of! So failure can fuck off.

Man I love f-bombs.

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

Tiny Mouth

It has always driven me bonkers but my mother has always maintained that I have small ears. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that I was an earache kid and my first procedure was to have tubes put in them. I was then obliged to protect them. I remember then going to clinics for technicians to put a syringe of silicone into my ear canal (gross) to create custom made earplugs. I don’t know if I was old enough to be embarrassed but I’m sure they made me the talk of the swimming party. I was also the kid who got to wear those pink medical looking glasses before I was three. I was just that kid.

To extend the humiliation past the time of glasses or ear tubes my mother got into the habit of saying “you just have tiny ears Kelly, just little baby ears” etc and of course that also translated to “and you just have a tiny mouth Kelly, just a little baby mouth.” I’m sure I reacted so well that she couldn’t resist pushing that button.

Last Monday as my hygienist was trying to wrangle a new age device into my mouth the poor dear, and in between struggling and laughing said “your mouth is so tiny.” Of course I groaned and was forced to reply “my mother would agree with you.” I was having my x-rays done at my new dentists office Toothlife Studio and I must say I have never been treated to such an informative, amusing and high tech dental experience.

During my first cleaning a few weeks ago they painted my teeth a violent purple that turned my plaque into pink or blue depending on the age. I got a gold star for flossing. I always explainI that I have the fear of God put in me after it took 4 needles NOT to freeze me when they had to treat a cavity a few years back. The dentist at Tooth Life, upon seeing both of our kids who have been born bright ginger, said “that’s a thing you know, red heads not freezing.” Well, look at who must have the recessive gene, the things you don’t know until you have kids!

My latest appointment began with her taking my mug shots with a clear plastic device that looked like a double ended shoe horn to pull my mouth open. Thats when I started rolling out the jokes. Next there were other strange objects to make my teeth visible while she shot me with what looked like a new age hairdryer, and she couldn’t stop saying “you’re so funny!” I guess I got my X-rays done, another gold star for my teeth and an ego boost.

In this day and age I don’t know if my dentist appointment was so fun because it was like a social call, as I was home with two gingers that week, because my mouth is apparently tiny or just because they are well, just fun there. Really how could a dentist not be fun when they outfit a bathroom like this? Is it silly to say I can’t wait to go back? I have to floss now.

Just this!

Showing Up for Myself

The irony here is that the title of this blog post and the original post itself is a draft I wrote a year ago, talk about falling down on the job! It has been a long time since the world changed utterly and I was left wondering what to do with myself other than feed, water and exercise the children. I hadn’t been back to the clinic all that long and I really loved being a working Reflexologist and Reiki Practitioner again. However working with the family I have fashioned (Erin my friend of 24 years whom I bought a house with, my son, her son and a black and white dog) made us an even closer knit team. It was a much better place to be than in a slowly disintegrating house with no real income and my six year old child.

We were really disappointed that we had to cancel our trip to Mexico in 2020 but circumstances could not be helped. Since then we have tried to make the best decisions for our family and by good fate we have made it through unscathed and un-Covid contracted. Last January Erin and I had started 2021 off with Adrian’s 30 Day Yoga Challenge. Her big thing was “Showing Up for Yourself.” It really became the cornerstone of all our good health initiatives and helped us make priorities, or if you will sorting out the shit I have to do and the shit I would really rather be doing. Both were equally helpful.

I made lists of things I had accomplished. One column had things like wills, taxes, balancing my budget, purging and remembering to floss and the other had find an online writing community, try to date during covid, use the fire pit, Star Wars Marathon, use the skating rink across the street and potty-training Junior.

Attacking the list we also made room for failure for as Erin always tells me this is a learning curve. Every success is usually preceded by a failure. The things on that list were not potty-training Junior, not drinking too much wine (we started ordering by the case), not dating during covid and not staying up and watching Outlander or Bridgerton. Yes they were glorious failings that we peppered our success with as sometimes things didn’t work out, and sometimes we just needed what we needed i.e. Jamie Fraser in a kilt.

So where are we now? I found an online writing community called Sapphic Online Writers which have selected me to be represented in three Zines from their Online Zine Collection, Issue #3 Closer, Issue #4 Out of the Wardrobe, to which I submitted an excerpt of my new fantasy novel and the Valentines Day edition so that’s great. We started January 2022 with another 30 Day Yoga Challenge and went for about 10 days, yeah it’s February I know. We have slowed down the wine and chocolate consumption but we have had some epic fails where dating is concerned and now watch The Discovery of Witches and burned our way through all three seasons of Sex Education. All we can do is keep plodding along succeeding and failing where we must and hope that the rest of 2022 will show us the best of ourselves, and the selves we can forgive!

All Signs Point Too…

There are days when I just need to fold into the fabric of life and forget myself. To be one of the little cogs in the wheel of this city, getting shit done. However there are days when it is not so clear if I am folding into the fabric of anything, as I throw myself at the mercy of the clock praying it will soon be done. Today on what would have been our 10-year wedding anniversary I am reminded that there are days that are in-between those two extremes and today is one of those.

I very much depend on the inner workings of my spirituality. When I connect with something outside of myself and ask for guidance, I received it. Some mornings when I wake up frazzled even before I have gone out the door that certainty is the mast I to cling to as I set sail into the unknown. When I launched myself into the day it was with confidence, look, see, I said to myself, I’m fine. I’ve done this before and I will do it again. It wasn’t until the challenges started rearing their heads like sea monsters above the waves that I knew it was a different kind of day.

While I may receive guidance in times that I specifically ask for it, there are also times I receive it unlooked for and I guess I think of those more as signs. Like, hey over here, wake up, go left not right,  buy that thing now or even more arresting, would you please just stop! Usually it shows up as a song, picture, or passage in a newspaper or even a literal sign! It’s not essential that I know where it comes from or why I am noticing it, it’s enough to know deep in my bones that I do.

When on the way to daycare my nephew had a poop explosion in the stroller and I had no supplies, but I knew I would be fine. It was a quick thinking scramble but I’ve been in the trenches of mommy-hood so I took it in stride and said,

“Yup, message received.” It will be this kind of day and I had shit to do, pardon the allusion. It was officially the kind of day that presents you with challenges. The ones you can figure out if you get your head on straight and believe in your own ingenuity. You can and will reach success with exhausted pride.

Sunflower

When I went into the post office I looked up to the August calendar that sported a large photograph of a sunflower, the flower Kara first brought me when we dated, the flower we made the symbol of our wedding, the flower my friend McKell stalked the city for in November 2012 to have at my wife’s funeral. This sign was not so much a kick in the gut but a gentle telegram that told me she was with me; this was because the word “Thrive” was scrawled across it accompanying a quote by Maya Angalou,

“My mission in life is not merely to survive, but to thrive; and to do so with some passion, some compassion, some humour, and some style.”

If Kara could send me anything today this undoubtedly would be it. It told me, pay attention, you are not just surviving, you are thriving baby and I love you. It sent me out of the post office feeling loved, strong and calm. I continued on my get shit done mission, catching a streetcar to the vet to pick up my elderly cat’s pain medication.  As I waited for another streetcar I envisioned getting onto one bound for the beaches, where I could grab lunch and head to the beautiful and unvisited library, reading the book I was engrossed in all the way.

BooksI am not a rapid reader but I have crashed my way through several series this summer, two by Juliet Marillier a New Zealand born author of historical fantasy novels. The current addiction I was barrelling through was Seer of Sevenwaters the second in two trilogies about a family who usually has a set of twins that are telepathically linked, one healer and one who has the gift of sight. In this book the seer is Sibel who is destined to be a Druid and can read the signs of the ancient gods in many forms.

The beautiful simplicity of the universe is that it works with what it has to reach the people it must. Standing there waiting for a west bound streetcar on Queen St. I was disappointed as many northbound ones passed me by. I had reached the moment in my novel where the mysteries were unravelling, the leap of faith became a sprint and they were not sure if the sea dragon was going to rip them to shreds or let them live, when something happened. The brave scribe that lost his brother in the treacherous sea voyage to Ireland composes a song that was almost like a spell, there it was on page 375…

“Come here, come here, You creature fine, Oh come away with me, I will give you hearth and home, And children one, two three.”

As anyone who attended my wedding could tell you, Come Away With Me by Norah Jones was our wedding song. This was a sign from the universe to stop…and grieve. I retreated to the parking lot behind the vet before my sorrows washed out of me. When you most need it, it comes and I cried until I was empty and boarded a northbound streetcar. I had to go north anyways to pick up my son but it was more than that.

“Come away with me” I said to Kara. “Come sit and have lunch with me.”

“A date?!” I heard her elated reply.

“Yes, let’s go somewhere we’ve never been.”

Turns out that somewhere was closed and I ended up at Factory Girl holding a gin and tonic. Even though Kara thought drinking gin was like “sucking on a pine tree” I figured she would not mind if I used it to toast us. I cried anew as Nat King Coles Unforgettable started playing over the speakers and stammered out my toast.  It was a toast to us, to our anniversary, to our beautiful son and the bravery that all one, two, three of us have summoned in order to thrive, apart.

Flat Potato Fry

I am noticing a theme my friends. I have always known that I have a recurrent subject of cooking and food because in a major way my life revolves around menus and meals. Well of course you might say, anyone who eats may feel the same way what with the planning, shopping, cooking and eating sustaining life thing. Cooking makes me happy creatively as well as gastronomically, especially when I produce something delicious!

However something happens when you become a parent and just like popcorn and movies after 8pm (when you can stay awake) they are not as enjoyable, so cooking that once was a dove feels more like a ball and chain. I laughed long and hard when my friend and housemate gave her 6 month old banana for the first time, but this is precisely when the change occurs. When we go from boob juice to solid food it’s a delicate transition. The same is true every time my son falls in or out of love with something I cook. When he says things like,

img_3592“This is disgusting” or “mom, gross” or “I didn’t like this, I was just pretending” (what the ?!?). It’s hard not to take it personally. Except, so is everything else if you are not careful. It’s just after a splendidly joyful interlude in the kitchen that by all rights is a hit with adults will go down in flames as soon as it hits my child’s plate.

Take last weekend for example I was trying another recipe from Nicolas Hortense, off of Blogtastic Food for Crispy Potato Cakes. It is similar to potato latkes with less ingredients. It was a labour of love to grate the potatoes and squish all the water out of them. When I spread them in the pan with a little olive oil and butter, they gave potato love right back. Inhaling deeply I contemplated the next challenge, to “put a plate over the pan, carefully but confidently turn the hash brown onto the plate.” Confidence, hum, Okay lets do this shit, I though

I grabbed a plate with zero to five percent fear, threw it over the large potato pancake and with one swift movement flipped upside down onto the plate. I slid it back into the pan and again experienced potato bliss as well as deep feeling of satisfaction. After that it went into the oven for additional crisping. I was so proud when I deposited it on the table next to the poached eggs and sausage; and what did I get from the french fry king

“I don’t like this.” Sigh.

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“Then you will have this much” I said and looked at my friend for some sort of valid response, thank God for other adults.

So I loved the outside crispness but it was still a bit soggy in the centre, maybe I didn’t squish it enough or used too much potato? Originally I was wishing I had some egg rings to do small versions, what with my inherited love of adorable sized food (see my post  Adorable Vegetables). As brunch only comes once a weekend my conclusion is I shall try them again, fully enjoy potato bliss and my son will have to suck it up.

See you on the flip side :).

Fashioning Families Podcast Preview

So folks, our new Podcast Fashioning Families is ready to launch on January 1st but I wanted to give you guys a little quick listen.  My long time pal Erin and I have set out to build our own community, and create family in unconventional ways. We are very excited for this venture and want to share it with the world, or a least the people who would like to listen.

Check out the Fashioning Families preview episode and join us in January when we go LIVE!

Listen here!

 

From Scratch

Sometimes starting from scratch is the best thing to do. Siri tells me the definition of this phrase is “beginning with the basic ingredients – typically to bake something, to do something or make something.” The basic thrill of genuinely saying I can let something go is the exciting field of possibilities in front of you. The risk always exists i.e. what if it doesn’t work, what if it turns out like shit, what if this changes in ways I don’t anticipate, but so what? Shit can lead to some, if you will forgive me, very fertile strokes of brilliance.

This phrase denotes looking at a new canvas with a pallet full of paint. A counter full of ingredients that are mingling their single aromas under your nose. Or blank page with a pen in hand that writes so smoothly and darkly that you can’t wait to make the first scratch. This is a sense of freedom that renews the spirit and today I am doing that.

This period of time is called the chaos stage, or brainstorming where there are no limitations on ideas, only continual and preferable expansion. New website, new plans to address work life balance, new ways to make being a single mom easier and a renewed commitment to my creative projects namely my first book.

I want to, if I can use another euphemism, make my mark on the world or as Siri pipes out “make an impact on the world” i.e. to inspire and assist people in their everyday lives whether I am speaking directly to them or connecting my words to a wider audience. Being as authentic and visible as possible is scary because you are opening yourself up, but I have learned that if you do this from the heart it will resonate and make that mark or scratch you were hoping to leave that will stay with the people who need it.