What do you believe?

I am a person of strong opinions. That is vastly different from merely being opinionated. For example, I no longer hold strong opinions on ideas on which I am not well informed about. I now take time to assimilate information about an idea and let it sprout into knowledge, As this knowledge blooms, I will generally become more forceful in my beliefs surrounding that idea.

In my lifetime, I have ditched opinions more often than not. I used to believe in God. I used to believe in academia. I used to believe in marriage. I used to believe in democracy. I used to believe in peace. I used to believe in hope. I used to believe in certainty.

I look back on the naivety of my certitudes with a nostalgic fondness now. I clung to them with desperation. It is freeing to not feel the chains of blind faith while trudging through life. I have joy in the new lightness of my being.

Recently I had a discussion with a new neighbour about religion, god and faith. She was getting frustrated and flustered about my atheism. She asked: "Well, what DO you believe in then?"

"I believe in humans. It's all we've got." I replied calmly.

And by her look, I could tell, that she did not share this belief. This makes me sad since I realize that she is not alone in her misanthropy yet ironically must feel quite alone whilst walking amongst her fellow humans.

But, in my humanism, I too am not alone. I have met some astounding people over the last few years that also believe in humans and the power of human connection. This has brought more faith to my life than the three decades of religious indoctrination in my youth. Watching their activities through the magic of technology, inspires and humbles me daily. It literally gives sight to my faith and cushions me with the comfort of knowing others have belief in me and in each other.

Certainty: A Fish Called Orla

It's been awhile.

I sit down to write this in desperation. I have arrived at a critical turning point. This is a middle aged crisis like no other. It is epic. It is a swirling dirvish of emotions that have seemingly arrived to a fine tuned epiphany. It is grandios.  It is socially media infused. It is happening on a grand scale and a microscopic scale.  It is neverending.

What?  What's that you write?  Tell me!  Are you okay?  Am I okay?  Am I too old for this?  Am I too young?  What are the warning signs?  What are the symptoms?  What are the cures?

Whooooaaaa. Don't worry yourself and thanks for your concern. This one is mine. All mine. I am in the middle, at the edges and in the nucleus of it. It is MINE. If I attempt to share it, it might explode, yes. And the detritus from the fallout might catch a wisp of your eyelash, yes. But it is not contagious. Unless, of course, you are a carrier. Then, and only then, might we reach a threshold of energy that could reach detonation proportions equivalent to the nucleur bomb or a universe exploding into existence.

But, my experience has shown me that is quite unlikely. After a near half century of waltzing around the planet nurturing the inner flame of this beast I have met few carriers. And us carriers are scattered enough to not be a threat to any large scale change. Scattered by culture. Religion. Media. Gender.

Alright. Phew. So then. I don't understand. What the heck are you talking about? I'm confused.  

Confusion is normal. Confusion is intended. We arose out of the primordial soup in the state of chaos. This is our default setting. Anyone or anything pretending otherwise is lying. History attests proof of this. Certainty is a simplistic mathematical exercise best left to the immature minds of children. Santa helps with that.

Santa?  Is this about Christmas? Everyone knows that you are not a big fan of that and another rant is kind of boring. I, for one, expect better when reading your shyte.

In a way, yes, it is unfortunately about Santa.  He is part of the maelstrom for sure but I used Him to exemplify how those of of us with sentient ability use a culture/religious/media icon like Santa to cement certainty into the brains of children.  Instead of opening children to the (nearly) limitless possibilities and chaos inherent in life we spend inordinate amounts of time/money/thinking towards reinforcing certainty and stability to the future generation.  This has led to generations of people (including myself) being perpetually disappointed with life because as we came of age, every single person has looked around and found endless chaos.  It's everywhere.  Even if you have a certainty about monotheism (culturally the most popular religion at the moment) each religious tradition has tales upon tales of times of chaos and upheaval.

And yet, we continue to preach stability. Certainty. Change is abhorred and when it rears it's inevitable ugly head we pronounce miracles (look at what this or that celebrity has overcome - or more often, not) or grant some deity ownership of the outcome (i.e. please pray for xyz outcome).

Wow Modern Times, you've really jumped down the rabbit hole during your 5 weeks absence from this blog.

Ha. Yes. I can see how you'd think that.  But let me spell it out.

In the last year I've travelled extensively (Peru, New York, driving nearly the entire width of Canada and spending time in Vancouver, Winnipeg, Kenora, Montreal, Gros Morne and St. John's). It has brought me so much joy and I hope to get to that on these pages, eventually. In my five week hiatus from this blog I've pondered on this and that. I've written some fiction for the first time in my life (this is perhaps the greatest revelation of them all but I'll get to that here too, I'm sure).

Underneath all of this for me is the bigger question and then there is also the shroud surrounding that question. The shroud is anger and the bigger question is still not known but I do know the answer: 42.

Picture taken from the edge of the Barrens towards Trepassey.
On the Irish Loop, Newfoundland, NL, Canada.
January 2012.

There are no rats in this race. None.

This missive serves as a formal thank-you note to the parenting warriors I know.  And no, you do not need to be a parent in order to be named a parenting warrior.

All of us wear, as a public front, the results of our parenting.  So if I directed you here I was informed by you and your actions as to my own parenting choices. I likely talked about you with Daughter in the form of "There is this really cool person I met from a food thing/school thing/random thing (including the internet)...this is their story or why they are cool". And some of you I know more intimately than that but I might not have directly named you in my story telling.

The internet allows me to mask identities with Daughter if I have intimate knowledge of something and I was to pass along a great story but not reveal true identity.  More often than not I have chosen to share stories of action rather than stories of identity so I guess that means I've fully rejected most notions of idolatry .Which also happens to make me a really great atheist, eh?

There are tumultuous times as parents. Birth. Toddler. Preschool/early school. Grade 6 (for estrogen heavy children especially). And then, finally, the holy grail of parenting: Teenagehood. A last childhood stage that hopefully finales with a goal towards further education (formal or otherwise) and intelligent voting (I'm not joking).

Daughter moved away to university yesterday. She and I both entered a whole new world. One where my role as a parent will have shifted away from one thing to another.  And, according the to the God (Dr.) Seuss :  Ah, yes of course. Thing 2 would like to clarify that just because he wears the number 2 does not imply in any way that he's inferior to Thing 1. 

And like everything else in this world, when life is tumultuous one tends to turn to others in order to support and inform. And sometimes literally carry you (extra long hat tip here to The Parents, luckily both still alive and healthyish).

So whether or not you knew it, if I've directed you here then you were part of my own personal strongly social media infused Information and Support Team: Parenting Branch. (Brief Aside to an interesting fact. I first went online in 1993 seeking out parenting support after a devastating miscarriage. This makes me an original netizen).

You were the people on whose backs I often trod. And most of you know I'm kind of addicted to learning so many of you were just plain teachers. But the best kind of plain teacher is the one that you actually learn from. So thank-you for teaching me even if you had no idea I used you for my parenting role model (especially if you are not a parent lol).

Parenting was the biggest challenge I ever took on and I had heaps and heaps of learning to do on the subject since I was not part of any large familial structure as a first generation Canadian. An extremely grateful Canadian, now.

Some of you I do not or can not name because our interactions were so brief I failed to obtain a name.  And some of you I do not name because you do not getz the social media internetz thang (remember, I am 45, GenX - we GASP wrote snail mail in our youth and many of us still do...not me though lol).  But I might actually snail mail a few of those sorts of characters.  And, of course in the age of social media, some of you I name, but do not know face to face since we have never actually met.  And sadly, there is one dear friend who I especially wish to thank but she recently passed on. She was, ultimately, a fatal victim to her own childhood demons.

Memory, being what it is, will forget some. And memory, being what it is, will enlarge some.

Be that as it were, I now attempt to name you here via various sorts of social media avenues including good 'old fashioned' email. Because, you see, in the land of social media I can now name my not-necessarily-blood-related-clan. And not only name you but sometimes to also publicly thank-you, without a face-to-face ceremony. And ceremonies traditionally employ food and it just so happens that I've broken bread with most of you. And much of it good healthy AND tasty food at that :)

I am transitioning to stage II parenting now. And I certainly feel a ceremony should occur. So this is mine.

My transitioning parent ceremony will occur over the course of the entire month of September and I will attempt to blog here regularly about my reflections on parenting as I drive across Canada from Vancouver to St. John's along the Trans-Canada Highway.  I'm also hoping to get a few cross Canada harvest food related stories up on my newish food themed blog (but not recipes: they are here).

Namaste and again, thank-you.  Go forth and multiply the intelligent and humane sorts of folks that we are capable of creating.  Be a seed, as it were.  Plant yourself, flower and prosper.

Losing our saviour

I was 29 years old.  It is 1996.  I have broken down in front of a priest.  I am taking the rite of reconciliation without the comfort and anonymity of a vestibule.  The new fangled modernity of catholicism allows (encourages) the face to face airing of one's dirty laundry to people with testicles. I am beside myself with desperation.  Weariness.  Loneliness.  I have a heartbreak that is nearly 2 years raw.  I regularly believe I can no longer go on.  I weep today with the memory of it.  It is still palpably raw and only a heart beat away.

Ironically, my figurative marriage to the mother church was sealed by my literal marriage to XHusband.  I thought both would endure infinity.  I was encouraged to believe this.  Indoctrinated at the baptismal font.

The old priest thought he was being helpful.  "Of course you're upset. Your life is hard."

Crack.  The first fault lines appeared.  He had no idea.  He had nothing to offer me except shallow words of empathy.  I had no sins to confess.  I had no time for sin.  A single mother with a high needs two year old.  I was exhausted.  I had nowhere to turn.  Mother church, why hast thou forsaken me?

Fast forward to 2001.  Annulment received in 1998 like a new baptism.  Phoned anulment priest (not the old one) for a letter of reference for a contract position teaching math in a catholic school.  Job badly needed.  Priest unwavering in refusal to give letter. I begged.  He refused.  Fault line cracked open wide.  Over the next decade everything fell into that chasm, including parts of my soul.

"So much for my happy ending."  Avril Lavigne (2004)

Dancing towards Canada

I wore the yoke of an immigrant child often.

But in the past few weeks, with Daughter graduating high school and simultaneously embarking on her first serious relationship, I see how there was no need to wear that yoke at all.

After nearly forty-five years of poignantly feeling the absence of family - with the crescendo happening through my 30s and dwindling down as I coasted through my early 40s.  And perhaps, upon this writing, I may have ditched it altogether.

Mother talked yesterday of her feelings getting on the boat in Cobh, Ireland in January 1967, a mere few months before my birth here in Toronto, Canada.  I have heard her talk of this before but it seems that yesterday I really heard her for the first time.  Perhaps it is because I am now 45 with a young female daughter at the dawn of her own life journey that I can see how the decisions of our forefathers really come home to roost on the subsequent generations.  And I see how the yoke I was wearing is non-existent for my daughter.  I am sure she has her own limiting shackles that will cause fear and trepidation to creep into her decisions since I am far from the perfect parent that I set out to be 18 years ago and heck, life is just like that.  But the yoke I had, the yoke that demanded family where there was none, the one that demanded substitute family in lieu of the real thing (leading to decisions like joining self help groups and immersing myself in, gasp, strict catholicism - complete with an anulled marriage -  until my early 30s), the one that led one early boyfriend to affectionately point out the chip on my shoulder (regularly), that yoke seems rather ridiculous today.

Because, what I heard from my mother yesterday was how she wanted to dance when the boat pulled away from that dock in Cobh.  I heard about how all of the immigrants nearly danced with joy.  There was celebration and no tearful goodbyes.  The people that got on that boat wanted very badly to leave Ireland.  My parents themselves were literally escaping the shame of my too early birth and on the boat my mother was relieved to let the waist of her clothes out and be publicly very pregnant for the first time.  On that boat, there was no talk of regret, there was just anticipation of a new life in a country that offered a religious and personal freedom that was unimaginable to the immigrants on that boat.  A country where a marriage date and a subsequent birth date would not be held up for inspection and judgment by an entire community - a community that shunned regularly, with females being the favourite target.

And now, over forty five years later I wish I could go back in time and join my parents on that boat and lead the dance.  And then go back in time again and tell my 18 year old self to drop the yoke.  But heck, life's just like that, right?

And oh yeah, Happy 145th Birthday Canada and thx for welcoming a couple of knocked up newlyweds back in 1967 - this vast country provided a safe refuge that has allowed our tiny family to explore cultures/lifestyles/cuisines/ambitions/relationships/careers/places that would never have been dreamed possible had I been raised in the not-quite-former-church-state known as Ireland.

Hard Core

Many of us leave the comfort of the womb only to then spend a lifetime looking for somewhere else to reattach our umbilical cords to: be it person; place; or substance.

I am one of those people.

It is a hard habit to break.

This time of year, when there is the most light on our side of the planet, also happens to be the anniversary of the bleakest and darkest time of my life.  The anniversary of the day that my metaphorical umbilical cord got severed cleanly and swiftly and with no prior inkling on my part. 

To say I was blindsided is an understatement since I am still seeing the ramifications 17 years after the, um, unplanned surgery.  And in that passage of time what have I learned?

I see now that time does heal but occasional tears water new growth.

I see that there is no such thing as forgiveness, only glimpses of understanding.

I see that most of us still have an umbilical cord but it is usually well hidden (or medicated).

So today, in the spirit of the season, I invite you to join me during this summer solstice and take some time to reaffirm your connection to our wondrous universe.  Hug a tree.  Watch some birds.  Get yourself to a body of water and watch it's steady rhythm.  Be still and recognize how much you are a part of this grand stage called life.  And notice that the umbilical cord you thought you needed for that feeling of connection is not there in that moment.  And that, my friends, is the launch pad towards a new life.

Good Grief

Today marked an entirely new variety of grief.

I knew my day was gonna be, um, off, to put it mildly by 7:30 am.  I had been up for 30 minutes, had a good 8 ounces of coffee into me and I had yet to have a clear thought that didn't carry a huge lump in my throat quickly behind it.

So I attempted to busy myself.  You know the theory....idle hands make for the devils workshop.  So I hung the laundry in the near freezing morning.  That task usually chippers me up but today, with my wide open deck gate and back fence gaping at me I was confronted by my loss.  There is no need to ensure that these items are secured any more because we no longer have a dog in this house.  It's been nearly two weeks and today it feels like a raw and unhealing hangnail.

In this state of mind I numbly attacked my linen closet next (idle hands, devils playground).  That effort requires strong will and a sharp mind to make tough decisions regarding the dismantling and reconstruction of the currently near-useless shelves.  One small bag of goodwill items later (and nearly an hour of fussing before that) I gave into my muddled mind and grieving heart.  I made one rule for myself about today...I must make no major decisions and then let the wind of grief blow me wherever she may take me.

I took Daughter to school first (she skipped the morning due to a late night outing with her new boyfriend...it is hard to give out to her with that honours average, three university acceptances and three scholarships she's toting these days...).  We shared a good laugh about my decision not to make any decisions today.

Then, in order to make the grief move faster, I went to the humane society.  Hindsight is making me call it a grief 'enhancer', if you will. I actually had no idea why I went there other than to just feel something maybe.  Luckily I made that rule (no major decisions) for myself before I left the house or else I likely would have taken Maya, the six year old spitz husky mix, home.  I might go back for her tomorrow.  There are no major decisions today.  I went to the cat room at the pound and guiltily scratched a cat while chatting with a volunteer.  I felt guilty because of my own affection starved cat at home.

Since I was already veering towards the east side of the city I thought I'd check out the restaurant where I'd hoped to get a bunch of friends together for a birthday Jiggs dinner.  On my way out to the eastern location I cruised through streets I hadn't been through for awhile.  It wasn't until I hit Coxwell that I realized I could swing by my family's first house in Toronto....very near Coxwell and the Danforth.  My earliest memories are placed here and I tend to revisit the old homestead when I'm in the area.  I think I've written about that before but I'm not gonna try and find it right now.

I expected the floodgate to open when I cruised down the street and spotted the freshly coloured front door.  It was so cheery looking that I didn't even stop.  That wasn't gonna serve my maudlin intentions at all!  As I cruised by the house I made a minor decision...I thought I'd prod the grief a bit by parking directly in front of the house and let my mind free float.  And there was nothing.  Nothing but the wonder I felt at the enormous tree in the front of that house and how much energy that tree contains.  As I grabbed a pic, for posterity (and my parents) I did not really take note of the rays of light in the the shot and how beautifully they peered through the tree.  I felt a bit ripped off that the visit didn't do any purging but I carried on to find the restaurant. I easily found the now closed and rather seedy looking restaurant (unfortunately a bit too similar to some of the places my family has seen during tours around the Rock) and then returned home.  I rode in silence and my mind felt a bit clearer.

I write this now after nourishing my body with leftovers from yet another meal made without my cooking companion.  I ate the meal and peered at the picture (posted).  I often used to call these shots with the rays of light that are placed just so, 'god shots'.  Maybe I might start calling them Shamrock shots since she was a ray of light in my life.  Gosh darn it, the floodgate opened, finally, and yet again.  This grief thing bites.  Large.

First Toronto Hegarty Homestead
Pic taken 2012.  Hegarty Habitat from 1969-1973

Womb Warrior

/StartRant

(S) He who controls the wombs, controls the warriors.

An operations management strategy for the human race includes a special manual on how to control a population while letting them believe that they actually live in a democracy.

Section A of this manual would include an A-Z guide on current and historical world religions and how to use any/some/all of them to hijack community based cultures in order to control people.  Storytelling methods using advanced media platforms with special shock and awe focus would be especially detailed (think early miracles and modern day prophecies).  Modern footnotes to this section would include guidelines on giving lip service to woman's rights while commanding obedience to a monotheistic god or rigid doctrines.

Section B of this manual would include an A-Z guide on current and historical world military successes and failures.  The Roman empire, Napoleon, etc.  Methods to ensure the competitive spirit was enshrined at a very young age would be outlined.  Media platforms to induce this would again be outlined and detailed.  By military I mean anybody who owns the guns so that includes most current police forces and the political fortresses that run them.

Section C would follow the rule of Fight Club.  It would not actually exist.  But if it did it would command state control over reproductive and journalistic freedom, in any way shape or form.

#EndRant

Stand By Me

In the summer of 1984 a friend of mine had an abortion.  In the Canadian mid-eighties this was considered a radical thing to do.  It involved the exchange of money and a trip to a clinic that may or may not have had pro-life protesters marching in front of it on the day of your appointment.

A further complication for my friend was that we were catholic so the whole mortal sin thing was hanging over our heads.  I say our heads because I lent her money for the procedure.  So, in fact, I aided and abetted the committing of the sin that was to prevent my friend from going to heaven directly upon death.

I now know that I was what we call book smart nowadays but man, I was a long way from being life smart that summer I was 17.  And as a mother of a now 17 year old girl I see the mirror reflection of this reality.

This abortion was quite necessary for my friend.  Her parents were staunch roman catholics and she would have been kicked out of the home and goodness knows where her life would be today. One thing is for certain though...it would have been a much rougher ride for her and that yet unformed child.

My musings of this time are brought on by my recent Linkedin re-connection with the religion teacher I had that year.  He is now a principal of a catholic high school.  I wonder, in his prior role of a religion teacher/counselor, how many young women he had to discuss abortion with.  Because he did with me.  My friend's abortion caused a major moral dilemma in my life.  The first voiced dilemma of what would turn out to be many fruitless hours spent worrying and wondering if 'god' would be happy with my earthly actions.  This young religion teacher, at the time of this moral quandary, was fairly new in his career and not too far removed from the hippie protests I know he participated in against things like nuclear arms.  At this point of his new career he was also leading bus loads of people to the very pro-life protests my friend could have faced on the day she went for her 'secret' abortion.  I don't remember much of what he said regarding my moral quandary but I do remember he pleaded with me to support my friend in her decision, in whatever form that took.  This advice had the effect of soothing my conscience - at the time.  Many years later I felt outraged that he had managed to bypass the whole pro-life debate with me and for that I am sure he was quite grateful.

Seeing his name pop up this morning as a new connection on Linkedin floods my mind with these thoughts.  Thoughts of incongruent teachings by the church of my birth.  A church that provided many opportunities for moral quandaries in my life.  Parents separating/divorcing/annulling?  Check. Not going to church regularly?  Check.  Not going to confession/communion regularly?  Check.  Eating meat on Friday?  Check. Not giving up something for lent?  Check. Masturbation?  Check.  Pre-marital sex? Check.  Shacking up before marriage?  Check.  Marrying in a different church?  Check.  Using birth control?  Check.  Raising my child in the church?  Check.  A homosexual sibling?  Check.  Husband abandoning marriage and infant child?  Check. Wipe slate clean with an anullment?  Check.

Looking back on all those life events that shackled my moral compass for years I feel exhausted.  I feel exhausted because the years I spent under the duress of the obligations of mother church were so futile.  I can not take on the church.  Any church.  But as a parent I am proud to report that these shackles have been removed from my child.  Her moral compass lies within and my hope for her is that this freedom will allow her to channel her youthful energy into making the world a better place.  Because, you see, for too many generations my family has been segued through life with the roman catholic church observing and directing from the moral rafters.  Enough is enough.  I severed the cord and claimed complete moral responsibility for my child early on in her life and am almost ready to release her into the world.  She will have complete freedom to choose whatever tools she needs to nurture her own moral compass and I will support her as best as I can with her choices.  For isn't that the best we can do?  My high school religion teacher thought so too and made sure I heard that above all else.  I think I might send him this blog post as a thank-you.  I hope he 'gets' it.

Apples and Snakes

I am not religious.  Not anymore.  I had a good long three decade run at it with most of it being a willing and consenting participant (i.e. as an infant/small child I had no choice).  My certificate of annulment from my brief mid-twenties marriage attests to the purity of faith I once had as well as to the success of the brainwashing efforts.  As does the certificate of baptism that my daughter has.  As a teenager I used to go to Saturday evening masses with my best friend when neither of my parents had darkened the church doorstep for months.  My relationship with the church fizzled out before my daughter's recollected memory starts so she has bypassed the brainwashing track and for that I am truly grateful....as is she.

However, I do miss the comfort of the ritual.  I was part of many church choirs and I miss the music.  I went to a catholic funeral a year ago and belting out the hymns was marvelous.  I didn't participate fully in this mass due to knowing that the partaking of the sacraments is a personal witnessing for christ ritual that holds no meaning to me anymore. But I was fascinated to see friends participate even though I knew they hadn't partaken of any sacrament in years and according to the 'rules' as I know them the body of christ portion of the ceremony should have been off limits to them.  All of these friends were in their second or third marriages without annulments and I'm pretty sure their new relationships weren't chaste.  So they are 'living in sin' and not regularly obtaining the sacrament of reconciliation to clear that blemish in order to partake of communion.  In fact, I'm not sure when the last time any of them had been to church (probably a first communion or confirmation service).  Their participation made it clear to me that in today's secular world most people regard church ceremony as more pomp and less - or no - circumstance.

Setting aside the pomp versus circumstances debate, I don't regret for a single minute the time I spent with mother church.  It gave me early insights into the history of humanity that I don't think I would have obtained since I was pigeon holed at an early age into the mathematics/science fields.  My knowledge of humanities subject matter remains an autodidactic journey which is enormously pleasurable albeit a bit frustrating when the next gap is forged open, yet again.

That knowledge of humanities' history becomes handy when seeing clear affronts to morality. Like this kind of shyte.  Knowing that the core of humanity can be boiled down to the Adam and Eve Garden of Eden parable delivered concisely in the first book of the bible helps to frame these affronts.  Let's recap that shall we?  Snakes are tricky. Apples are tasty. Some humans can't resist.  Consequences can be profound and innocent bystanders are affected also. But at least we can blame someone (the starting line of most christ centred religions). 

When I look at that repulsive soft drink ad campaign, or in fact at much of our modern culture,  I see lots and lots of snakes. And just because I can blame someone (or something) doesn't mean that anything will change. And even if I ignore them,  the consequences will affect me and my daughter and her generation and the generations to come.   So basically nothing can be done except to try and ignore the tasty apples cleverly profferred by the snakes and concentrate on the bounty elsewhere. Because, despite being extremely tricky, those snakes haven't figured out how to obliterate the bounty overflowing in each and every human being's mind.

P.S.  Try to imagine what our world would now look like if the starting line of the Adam and Eve religions had been placed at recognition of the abundance of our planet and our need to sustain this for all time despite the appearance of tricky snakes with their tasty apples.