Lots of sap

I am a pure lover of all things Christmas. The traditions that have been handed down for generations. The warmth and magic in the air takes the spirit high. I’m not a person for gifts even now that I have a family I still don’t see much purpose in a lot of empty things piled under a gorgeous tree that to me is the biggest gift of all. I’d spend hours decorating a tree lost in the lights, that crisp winter smell from the fluffy bows. Visiting ornaments that are so familiar like old friends they hang holding that year within them, where I was, who was around the tree with who hung those precious balls with and the giggles shared and dreams wished hopes and fears and all the magic that year revealed. The Christmas tree for is a special thing, the keeper and maker of memories, warm feelings, sad feelings things of now and people who are gone, nothing seems to engage so much emotion in so many ways. Captivating.

Every year as a girl picking the perfect tree to hold the years festivities was the greatest day ever! My dad is to thank. Every year we would all get in the car and head into the woods to pick the perfect tree. We all as a family would start the journey all following behind dad like ducklings threw the woods as he inspected each tree. My baby sister would get cold and my cranky sad mother would take her to get warm, I hung strong because just being near dad made me feel special. The snow seemed so deep, the crinkling of the bulky snowsuit like a crickets wings rubbed, nose ran air cold. When dad saw a perfect straight top to the snow covered trees he’d take his axe and bump the tree with a clump like thump the tree dropped its winter wear. Dad would go around the tree over and over looking for holes, no holes allowed. I’d sit in the snow watching closely eating the crunchy earthy snowballs off my mittens, knitted perfect mittens Joan my grams best friend made for us each year. None would do and no matter how long it took dad was on a mission. It seemed to take hours, I’m sure it didn’t just now the robe on snow would drop and there it stood, his eyes would light up his ocean blue eyes like a child again. Around her go as the tree met his check list the excitement I felt from his joy was infectious. “Lots of Sap” dad would say laughing to his own joke he always does. The fat, perfect topped, full, smelly tree with lots of sap was the one. He’d chop that tree down left to right the perfect point. Dads a strong man so pulling a tree miles back to the car was his job yet I’d hold a bow and think I was carrying a ton.

We always tied the tree to the roof as again tradition would be and home we would go to put our tree on display for this lovely day. Dad never decorated his perfect tree that was our job,no questions asked. For that perfect month dad would sit by the tree snacking on mixed nuts cracking away just staring at the tree. That’s the magic. It transports you. He never spoke of his memories but in his light lit eyes I knew they were special and sad too.

This very memory has me even though in a large city driving hours to the country to do exactly this with my wee ones. The same rules apply and sure enough that perfect tree reveals itself. I create the moments that ii cherish, that’s so special. It’s these feelings that matter, the traditions over the gifts.

Christmas is in the heart not under a tree.

The fridge

It seemed that dad was working all the time rarely coming home. When he was home he was asleep and even working those kind of hours he still barely had enough to maintain his family, often times not having enough to last the week. I remember having picnics by a lantern because the lights were off until payday. Now having my own family I understand just how hard it is to provide and what it’s like to have a list of I can’t affords. I still remember My sons 2nd birthday/Christmas when all we could afford was dollar store toys, I get it now. My dad worked his hands raw and bloody to just survive. My mom had been asking often for a new fridge, the big yellow rumbling beast that revd its Engine when cooling.. shook the house I loved it as a youngster. I can see my parents still screaming and shoving eachother in the kitchen over needing a new fridge see it ran water that pooled in front and mom had enough cleaning it up. Dad kept patching the problems trying to put this large purchase off until summer. He left that Sunday to go to work screaming over a fridge, sounds ridiculous now, they fought just for the sake of fighting.

A few days later after only having a few sightings of her since dad left. The silent treatment, so awkward and even now I get very anxious and hysterical inside if someone ignores me actually I get pissed and come across vicious I think. Damn temper of mine. I can Remember at times a week or more could go by and my mom would not talk to me nor even turn her head to look at me. I can see myself 8 years old following behind her that big bottom in a nightdress that was mostly eaten by her bum. I remember begging for her to talk to me having doors slammed in my face, it’s a very awful feeling I’d actually prefer a beating to the silent treatment, shiver. Mom just came out one evening very energetic and happy. She put down 3 cans of old paint, brushes and glitter, are we doing an art project? Well it was kind of art I guess. Happily shevpulled that huge yellow fridge out into the middle of the floor. She took a paint brush and splattered dark green paint all up the front of the fridge. I was so confused, this felt odd but I got excited to do something with you, sad but true I’d take anything for attention so lonely all the time. I dipped. My brush into a rose pink can of paint and made a dot on the fridge. Mom was laughing, jumping up and down giggly and I joined in full throttle. We laughed together and I felt like I was on cloud nine, if mom said it was ok then it must be, right? Oddly fond moment. Mom just stopped. She stepped back and had a massive smile on her face. “Now the fucking asshole will buy a fridge. ”

With those words a rush of fear came over me. Mom just shoved the fridge into the hole and walked away like a smerk in her walk. “Make sure you get all that cleaned up” . No good was going to come from this, the hysteria inside grew I spent that night cleaning paint off the walls, floors it was everywhere. I knew dad would be home the next day and I was knotted in the gut about this.

I stayed in my room all evening waiting to hear dads truck come up the driveway. He rolled in the rocks popping of his tires. My heart pounded and throats became tense and stiff. He came in the heightened senses heard each lace undone, crinkling of his coat. Then came the pause. “What the fuck?!?” Echoed up the carpet stairs hitting my chest like a airbag. This massive fridge was painted like splatter art green,pink,blue with gobs of glitter blabbed on worse than a 2 year olds painting. It was absolutely ugly! Dad just left as she came after him laughing and mocking him. ” you pussy!” “Piece of shit” you moron! She beat him down constantly in particular my dads intelligents. He’s a simple fella but not nearly as dumb as she taught me. Honestly I thought my dad was a bit mentally delayed because of her. He’s not at all.

Why?

Baby powder

As a blooming young woman I was feeling all so grown up that summer before grade 8, moving up to the big high school no more girl it’s the first walk into the world of womanhood and it’s bright, glittery, giggly, full of butterfly tummy feeling. Romance and young cute lusty love, all new the energy seemed much more intense. I spent this summer between this changing grade of all hormones gone wild, spent where else? The public pool. Gathering with classmates that are suddenly sexy and you feel the throb in your groin, these beautiful years of womanhood.

I caught the attention of a very handsome dark boy from town whom I did not know. The long glares across the pool, dropping eyes feeling nauseous, ridiculous new feelings and curiosity of boys, so cute.

It was not long and my perfect tanned crush in the hottest wet swim trunks that set my girly dirties on fire came walking over to talk. It’s true the movies are spot on with the mushy slow motion stuff but it happens. His lean body, curly hair and sexy grin, I was just about to explode from blushing as he stood in front of me, so gorgeous! That hair, his hemp bracelets and no fear tshirts, just cool a tall sundae extra cherries. ” want to walk the trail with me?”

Before he finished I said yes. Trying all so cool to get into that change room and pretty up. That walk around the lake was very quiet and beautiful he held my hand and my heart fluttered, touched my back I swore it was ice in my chest. This walk became a regular thing just us, snuck away meeting in the woods to just hold hands.

Finally while sitting on a picnic table he kissed me, at last and it was phenomenal and I became some starving sex girl. We spent the whole summer just making out, everywhere, sneaking away and ravaging eachother, oh the French kissing, just way more than this girl imagined, he was full of passion and a bit dark hair tugs, slaps on the ass surprisingly, he had me so wound up I could bare walk at times from arousal, those making out days. First base, second base for weeks we felt eachother up hour of squeezing boobs and petting Levi button fly jeans,, then came third base… it was going to happen the last make out lead to unbuttoning, I was so so nervous.

I got ready that night knowing exactly what we would be up to. He was staying at his aunts house just down the road. My parents were never around so the plan was to sneak out and meet at my place. I was anxious my tummy doing summersaults. I’d never done this in a normal teen way. My silly anxiety had me so clean in lady land it kinda stung, I had shaved up, very odd the first time. M friend who was older walked me threw it over the phone, it was hilarious. I’m the 90’s it was the landing patch. This first go at my lady bits kinda matched a mans first shave, few nicks, little off here, how do you get all up in that. Then the mirror.. oh my I laughed so hard into the receiver I thought I’d never catch my breathe. “Yes she looks cute”.

I got extra dressed up, lots of cream, perfume, my hair perfect. I’m ready.

I heard him come across the porch we just jumped on eachother, falling into walls and sitting on tables grinding teenagers we are sex machines then. As his hand slid down my pink panties I feel into him total surrender. We made out forever all hot and teasing I ran to the bathroom while he put the radio on nine inch nails played. I suddenly got all weird freaking out I decided to freshen up I felt messy. In the downstairs bathroom I only found baby powder, I’d never used it so I puffed a bit in my panties that would be a fresh clean lady bits.

We fell to the floor and continued this passionate rolling he’s into I’m ontop jeans feeling damp then as the passion increased he unbuttoned my jeans kissing my panties. I was so beyond myself I knew I was so ready as weird as it may be. As the silk panties were pulled down I saw him lower. Let’s say I was a very happy lady and that I’m generous with natural lubricant, anywho still blushing.

All these super awesome weird things start happening it was out of this world. He came to kiss the inside my legs and as he looked up I saw it… his face from eyes down was white!! I sat up concerned and freaked out. “. Your face!” What? It’s all white?!? He gets up to go see and in this terrifying moment we both saw the powder on the sink……

Oh my fuck!!!

I literally got so excited I made paper mâché out of baby powder.

Can’t make that kinda devastating experience up.

We were so awkward I was mortified but we said nothing.

A few years later in senior high he while high told his friends laughing about our funny tale that to me was the ultimate devastation, I painted his face like a white balaclava! I still see his young studly face all white and cracking.

Well let’s say I heard baby powder a lot that year. Only a few knew and that was way too many already.

Embarrassing!!!!

My brain at this point is rumbling with emotions. I can only best describe a feeling, not a easy thing to do cause if you have not felt it how do I make you feel it?

When I’m in this form of mental relapse it’s a Gymboree of chaos inside ping pong balls in a padded room no one hears the feelings if they did I’d sound like some god awful heavy metal band, no one wants to feel that or be near it, yucky feeling, we don’t like that so I stuff em in tight so they can pop around colliding making new feeling like pissed-happy sure. Oh maybe sad bumps lonely, perfect lump of chest tightness,, on and one they go.

Living these episodes are incredibly exhausting feeling so much, at times the rage and tantrums really wear at ya.

My beautiful brain is like a bingo roll cage all stuffed with feelings. Each ball is a emotion there they sit quietly for months, years then the hand of my disease reaches out and begins to turn that cage. Fast, faster, the chittering cage rolls those balls until one drops. What feeling is going to escape?

Sssssssssunk… B6, broken heart beaten with sticks..

Chitter chitter the chaos and rotation like a emotion tornado

Sssssssssshunk… N11 a ball of tears. Well ain’t that fun to randomly drop a feeling out of my spinning mind with little warning.

A public sweat fest or cry over coffee yesterday always leaves s impression on orhers.

That’s the best way I can describe these episodes and at the point I’m so so over it.

Round and round we go what kinda out burst will you bestow

O Hollows Eve

My family is so unique and so very odd too. A village tradition we celebrate upriver almost cult like. The costumes are not bought it’s from the closets and made, it’s some of the most creative contraptions you’ll ever see. All ages gather in our community hall, so old so many memories. We are all related in some way or another and full of talent. The musicians start plucking those strings and the Monster Bash starts. Absolute silliness most have there faces covered and the others whisper to figure it out, who is the night stand? Who’s the giant dildo? As the guess fly around so do the booze and blazing blunts fog the party. The laughter that echoes over our silent village and the mountain lined river is amplified joy. As a kid the noise inside was a roar this event that ends in prizes really is the celebration of our pagan holiday.

Every year for as long as my memory goes our family aunts, uncles, moms, dads, sisters, kids and friends gathered at our family sporting camps cookhouse to prepare a our crew. The sewing kits going, paint everywhere, tying down boobies it was like a large change room of creativity and love, real love we all have. Most of the time our crew took home all three medals, it’s just our thing.

Last night was the famous Riley Brook hall Halloween bash, even away I’m on the phone with, getting pics of and medling I feel kinda apart of my personal favourite family gathering. I got up this morning excited to see photos of my redneck goons and as expected, awesome!

Then I feel lonely.

I feel like I’m no longer family after being away for so long.

Each person standing in my home lady right shared blood and in my eyes people that made everything so much more than it was all because we are so close and goofy.

I’m homesick.

Then I remind myself there nothing there.

Just a twisty turny goat path threw the deep woods along our river with nothing my for sale signs on run down homes that once boomed with families.

Here in my blood all these moments are stored.

Now I’m here in this lovely position of carrying these unique traditions on. We may go overboard as parents and yes every moment is a ballon occasion here. That’s ok cause I celebrate every good thing there is and seek every laugh it offers.

I love this.

Fall

As the leaves ripen shrivel and fall silently as if the days of summer are captured in leafy photos, I see home. This time of the year us river people certainly celebrate our harvests and begin to stock the freezer with local game meat for a long cold rough winter ahead. Out comes the orange vests as the mountains chirp like a painted backdrop. There’s this amazing feeling in the air a silent wind whistled cool and damp. The rattling leaves rustle in the fall breezes, the crinkling leaves making the strong powerful rise inside, close your eyes and ride the leaves up into the whirling winds. Falling, swirling, captured suspended in hope, fall is truly natures greatest celebration.

My orange plaid hunting coat still hangs int the pull out secret knoby door closet, like I’m still there going to put it on. Many coats of my greatest role models hang there as we once were in a soon to be another boarded up home along a river of heritage with broken families who left there home to just survive poverty. I’m one of these awesome few and I know the back window tears while seeing all your family fade. This is the East Coast curse, saying goodbye is it for now? Or forever? Waving back windows.

My family in particular lived off our mountains and streams, an hour away from the nearest town with roads that close and bridges the rivers ice take out we upriver people fill our freezers, I loved going hunting. Yes I love animals of course I’m a goober over ever beastie yet I can appreciate a life given to feed yourself. As a girl I rode onback the four wheelers watching for signs of our seasonal kill. Partridge, moose, deer are the best to fill the freezer up. Each crack of that smokin gun was a mouth fed that day. It’s an achievement and very prideful to have a full freezer you worked to fill together, kids and family of all ages contribute. I know the animals deaths are quick shot kills just instant death most the time, a good hunter kills on first crack every bullet thereafter is a reflection of your ability, so to be praised it’s one shot. Way to go! Personally I have never dropped anything other than birds but I’ve gutted, skinned and sectioned up a lot of carcuses not much we didn’t eat. Respectful real hunters eat their catches not wasted a life taken for novelties, wrong.

My first rifle was a old family 2 barrel barely held together so many first shots that gun has. I was proud so proud that day on the front lawn under the crab apple tree when my grams buttoned me up tied my vest and sent me out into the woods for the first time on my own. I was 11 that fall and had been practicing in local turkey shoots for months for this day. I wanted to be all look at me I’m a good hunter too even though I’m a girl. I walked up past the deer cages, yes we had pet deer. As I began the walk up the mountain crunching leaves that lovely wet dirt smell they make as they rot into the earth, beautiful sun like a colidiscope of oranges,reds reflecting like sun crystals above my head flickers of light it’s a gorgeous sight. I was off to shoot my first partridge. I was more puffed up than the partridge doing his sexy dance. When I got to the top I stopped for my lunch, always packed in wax paper in a paper bag, eating lunch in the wilderness back against a tree longer you sit the more nature investigated you, that odd giant stomping around loudly. Birds sing, bunnies hop and if lucky a deer may cross your road oh then the coyotes.. yuck. Shiver.

I saw that wee volcano mountain in the distance bald peak had the greatest number of birds only trees along the base but dense and full of yummy birds. Before long there he was in the turn right around that bend, a beautiful bold little bird, partridge once spooked good luck.

Metal clinks as I close my gun, click. Snuggle you shotgun in firmly, eyes focused breathe in.., exhale slowly at end of breath.. pull the trigger. Crack! The gun powder, that amazing familiar smell and there.. right there was a bird, flapping about as his nervous system shut down. I go to retrieve my catch all I can think is common shot be good. Bam!! Head shot!

I walked the mountain and ridge slowly but ran home not even considering hunting more just had to get down there to show them. My uncles full of praise, my aunt took pictures and my gram took my one partridge inside to get him skinned and ready for my supper. I felt so big that day.

These traditions are passed down again.

I had s proud feast at the round table were the guides sat that night, my little partridge potatoes and some fiddle heads boiled up. Fantastic!! Ate like a queen.

It’s memories like these that light my eyes and a silly grin stays on my face as I remember.

It will get better

It will get better, it always does yet not before I’m exhausted, bloody in battle weak. I do look on the bright side of the crap pile blow flies are butterflies, well this walk down mental health alley a month now of fighting everyday has me in complete agony. Agony. If my arm were hanging off or skin burned beyond recognition I could say agony and it’s a obvious, me my disease my internal flesh eating virus munching up my heart. I’m in agony. Emotional distress, I’m feeling a thousand things a thousand different ways the logic in me works past the pain with techniques I’ve been taught to relax this here, I’m completely a sitting duck. Agony.

I’m sitting with my gorgeous everything’s with all the dreams I had are bundled in my lap, why does my heart keep aching? This is a guilty plea how can I have everything yet feel empty. It’s the disease, it will get better. The sun will feel warm again, colours will glow and my skin won’t hurt soon, it will get better.

I sat in the shower begging all above to just stop, I’m just so exhausted. My soul feels dim.

I’m a mess held together with only self will, I refuse to be blown out.

Nibble, nibble your not deserving,

Nibble nibble, your a horrible person.

Nibble nibble, just have a drink, just one.

Nibble nibble, not even a mother can love you.

Nibble nibble… nibble nibble my heart is broken.

It will get better.

I know this yet at this point in dancing with the devil I’m begging for relief.

How do o explain the invisible?

Week 3

Oh for the love of Pete this sad cloud of mania can buzz off anytime now. I’m absolutely all in, done, beat to a pulp, so over it. Woke up this morning sat on the bed looking out the window sore, someone rolled my hyde out with a rolling pin, I can’t even comb my hair it feels loose in the roots yet pulling it a bit seems to help my skull from burning. I sat there in that familiar morning gaze, first feeling out of the gate, tears. Why? Just because I’m sad, no reason else just sad. Up up up. The kids get moving and I’m behind them though tenderized. Cold water to my face, peas on my eyes, up up up. Every single instinct in me wants to go lay down, pull the covers over my head and ostridge this episode away. That’s why so many of us who walk between the rows “take to the bed” this sure ain’t pleasant, it’s flat out gross at time, great big invading bully, yawn!!

My father came to visit last week. I never see my dad due to distance and that he works every single day on his logging truck. Taking a day off sets him back yet when we let others know I was struggling, I never activate the mental health phone tree but when we do it’s a bad go. I really needed family and he without thought just packed up and came up to just sit with me at times. Really meant a lot we’ve never talked about my disorders, he’s of a very old way of thinking. I know how uncomfortable he is around me. This is the first time he actually seen my face sick. He’s scared. I’m thankful he came, had a feed together for thanksgiving I can cook it’s a family trait, put together a good spread, even shot with a tranquilizer dart in my ass. I’m glad in a very odd way that my dad took sick a few years ago. Not nice to say but it’s the truth.

A few years ago dad developed a enpiema in his lung, it’s a egg like capsule filled with spores. It’s a fungal thing and when it broke in his lung from coughing with the flu it nearly killed him. They took half his lung out to stop the thing and remained in icy for a month. I was up here in Toronto working and came home immediately. I stayed in the hospital with him sleeping in chairs and on the floor at times watching him. At that very scary time I saw my father, now looking grey and older laying there tubes everywhere, dying. I said fuck it all I’ll take any relationship. I know If that had not happened I’d not know my dad as a adult. He’s trying, I’m trying and hopefully we grow closer. I can say that his visit meant the world to me.

Well shit biscuits.

Yawn!!!

Yawn!!

Creek

Crack

Pop… true story the percussion of my body are singing the go lay down blues.

Lacing up my gloves,

Yawn!!

Pace, pace

When I’m in a mixed state bipolar episode I have the most annoying symptoms that I’m so done with, yawn! So I’m a bit manic not I’m Jesus manic just electrical sensation manic. I physically no matter how hard I try I can’t stop pacing, can’t trust me I’ve heard it all “just sit down”. Why yes that is a brilliant suggestion. I can’t just sit, let it go or not complete a task. This is a topic in our home that’s frustrating my husbands knows I need rest yet I’m going a mile a minute completing my tasks no matter what. Just sit down. If I could I surely would.

Mixed of course means a rainbow soufflé of really uncomfortable days. Each day that passes the exhaustion of flying high being stuck in a manic OCD hurricane I physically begin to fail. Mentally the rituals increase as I try to self sooth all these yuckies. It’s truly a horrible state of confliction, I’m so tired! The exhaustion and pain are obvious. The medications are rising to prevent a in stay at our local ward to be put to sleep and forced to sleep. If it comes to that I’m totally ok with it only so long I can be like this, high blood pressure from the frantic crawly exhausted feelings. If we can do this outpatient it would be great. I hate being a family burden my poor husband would worry himself sick, not be able to work cause we have no family here, I’m everything to these perfect humans, me. He can’t work that furthers the stress of fearing job loss. There is no protection in Canada for medical emergencies like a few weeks off no worries to care for your family, nope. I feel horrid that I hold the man I love back, he’s stuck sometimes under very very hard rocks.

I pace all day, I clean and scrub, I exercise, eat well, do everything right. Why does it still come back. The depression,,, oh the depression. It’s such a heavy, cold, clammy chill of a blanket. Sometimes the cape of non logic wraps around tightly and squeezes the sun from my eyes. The world look darker. I feel you, you hurt my blessed self it hurts.

I woke up today in tears. No reason other than getting up was like climbing Mount Everest. I got to the bathroom and I stood there forever looking into my own lifeless eyes, a depressive eclipse of my soul. I look past into the light and I say “fight”.

It’s invasion of yourself, your in there. Fight

Not BAD

The foolish things that people say when it comes to parenting, truly bold at times with righteous bragging on “I did this” well here’s my response to you all and your magical rainbow diapered filled children, shut up!! Just shut up! Drop that wagging finger of well I’d fix that, do that it’s because you don’t…. ” put it down and honestly think back to raising your babies. Stop and reflect on how annoying it was having many I’m sure telling you too. Did it feel nice? Ever invisiom of a rolling pin upside miss blabber mouth? Ya ok now that’s you ya big jerk.

My word my sons struggles with ADD is just as real as asthma yet somehow we automatically go to discipline. He can’t sit stil, well you spank him each time he gets up… ya that sounds genius!! Never. He won’t listen to you well make him get in his space and make him hear you.. that sounds like good feelings right there eh. He makes a mess the same mess for 2 years because he can’t listen at times. Well that’s simple he don’t listen best his ass till he can sit for a week few of those he’ll listen. Awesome idea, break his spirit with fear and violence. See to me as your speaking I’m thinking.. Idiot!

The way my family talk about eachother rather than to eachother policy cycles into well gossip, not a phone call to say I’m sorry, I’m here but that boy is savage she must be letting him run wild. No, not at all.

Everyday I feel I’m on my sons ass, all day, don’t, stop, what are you doing? Why? The time outs, the constant talks the defiance the push back from him. Everyday I chase, protect, teach and hold onto my son so he won’t get hurt. I live in fear that he’ll get hurt. I’m at a place inside that’s guilty. Have I been too hard on him? I didn’t know. I honestly thought it was my shit parenting.

I feel shameful to even write this I feel great relief in knowing it’s not my inability to control my own kid. My shoulder seem looser. It makes me greatly sad that he’s going to struggle, be constantly in trouble based on conformist actions like sit, stay, rollover, nor did I well do I. He will be a good friendly person that’s plugged in with energy I’m sure but a good perky kind, I know it.

I feel so sad that he will be pegged “Bad”. Oh that’s a awful word and even more of a burden to carry,?”bad”. As though your person is bad. How sad of a feeling and I wish for my bright, loving, gorgeous human being to never doubt his good.