Robynne is Loved

So I know this girl who's pretty neat...

She has a lot of hobbies and is so passionate about every single one of them.

She has a few friends, whom she loves like family and would go to the ends of the earth for each of them.

She loves to laugh, and her smile can light up a room.

Robynne is loved. She is passionate, fierce, powerful and strong. She is caring, loving, kind, and gentle. She is brave, bold, and fearless. She is soft, empathic, and intuitive. Robynne can move mountains.

Robynne is loved. Robynne is loveable. Robynne is worthy of love.

perspective comes in threes

A year ago, I was laid off. I had been working at my job for over a year, and I absolutely loved it. I loved most of my coworkers, I loved the work I was doing, I was happy, and oh-so-content. Then in the middle of an afternoon, in the middle of the week, exactly a month before Christmas, I was informed that a partner vote had decided my job was unnecessary and I was out of work.

I was crushed. I was absolutely devastated. It's been a year, and I'm still not completely over it. After I was let go, I asked to go home for the afternoon. I was crying, and feeling like a mess, and couldn't handle sitting at my desk for a few more hours.

I went out to my car, but was crying too hard to drive right away, so I called my mom. I needed to talk to somebody, and she was the perfect somebody. She cried with me, and then she comforted me. I remember she said:

"Well, bad things come in threes, so maybe this is the end of it."

You see, a few weeks earlier, I had been evicted with no notice. And a month prior to that, I had been fired from my part-time job. To me, it felt like my entire life was crashing down around my ears, but maybe my mom was right - if bad things came in threes, surely this was the end of it.

That was, indeed, the end of the worst of it. After a long and terrible year, only a few more bad things happened in the new year, but none so bad as my October-November. And then life carried on, things got better, and the pain and hurt started to fade.

Now, a year later, I'm laying here in bed, at 2 in the morning, thinking about my mom's words - "Bad things come in three."

Two weekends ago, I had an allergic reaction and ended up in the hospital. The meds they gave me messed up my sleep schedule like crazy. And then, this weekend, my puppy got an infection in a small cut, and I had to take her to the vet. She's on antibiotics and is stuck wearing the Cone of Shame for a few days. That same evening that I took my puppy to the vet, I fell down the stairs. This isn't a crazy incident for me, but I did wrench both of my arms really hard, and now my shoulders are in a lot of pain.

So here it is, 2 am, and I can't sleep. The steroids I was on for a few days messed up my sleep schedule. My dog is laying behind me, pressing her plastic cone into the small of my back. My shoulders hurt so bad I can't find a comfortable position to lay.

So perhaps it's true -- bad things do come in threes. Bad things that lead to no sleep for me certainly did come in threes.

But maybe perspective also comes with bad things. Maybe normally I'd be a big baby, and I'd feel oh-so bad for myself, pouting about how hard my life is right now. But compared to last November, this November is a cake walk.

And now I'm smiling, because I'm thinking how grateful I am that I had the time, the money and the capability to go to the hospital after my allergic reaction. And how glad I am to have my puppy in my life, and to be able to care for her. And you know, I'm even glad I fell down the stairs in my home, because I have a home.

A year ago, I didn't. I didn't have the mental capacity to cope with a hospital trip. I didn't have my puppy. I didn't have a home.

Eventually, the pain killers will kick in, and I'll fall asleep. I'll be tired at work tomorrow, but I have a job to go to. My puppy will heal, and the cone will come off in a couple of days. My sleep schedule will get back to normal. Everything is going to be okay.

Imagined conversations

I don't really understand why it's so hard for people to grasp something so simple, but several people in my life (as well as an endless stream of complete strangers) can't seem to understand that I don't want kids.

Really, it's very simple. I don't want kids. What's something you don't want? Let's say - a broken arm. I would imagine that most people don't want a broken arm. So when you say things like:

"You just don't know what life really is until you have kids."

"I hope that you change your mind and have kids anyway."

"Accidents happen."

I want to say things like:

"You just don't know what life is like until you have a broken arm."

"I hope you break your arm anyways."

"Accidents happen."

Motherhood

Growing up, I always saw motherhood as an inevitability. Having kids would just be another step in my life plan. I always wanted babies, and I never paused to question why.

And, for a few years there, I was full-blown baby-crazy. I used to read blogs, detailing pregnancy and baby-raising. I entered giveaways for baby items, and then I started buying them too. If I found something that wouldn't go bad or out of style and was on sale, I'd buy it. I filled 2 dresser drawers in my spare room (eventual nursery) with baby things. I'd already picked out paint colours for that imaginary nursery too. My husband and I used to talk about everything from child-rearing tactics, to sports and music options, to when, exactly, we would have kids. I had baby names picked out. As I saw it, I was ready.

However, after a tumultuous summer, I found out that I might not ever have kids. It's not impossible, but I will struggle to get pregnant. I'm not likely to be one of those women who just accidentally conceives. Thanks to my reproductive system, it's not going to be easy. It will take a lot of try-and-fail. And if I do manage to conceive, I can almost guarantee I will suffer miscarriage after miscarriage. Probably most will be very early, but thanks to my family history, I will never be able to trust my body to carry to term.

I have never, even at my most baby-crazy, wanted to be one of those women who becomes obsessed with trying to conceive. I've never wanted to track my ovulation cycle, and force sex because of it. I've never wanted to obsessively pee on a stick and get upset at the negative result. I've never wanted to grow bitter watching people around me have babies while I can't. I have never wanted to be that woman. I had naively assumed I wouldn't have to be.

So when I was faced with all of this, I started questioning things. I wondered, "How badly do I want kids? How much pain and frustration is it worth?" And the answer surprised me. It took several months, but I went from baby-crazy to contemplating a childfree life. I started taking stock of my life and what would change when we had kids. And instead of imagining all the things I would gain with children, I started realizing all the things I had to lose.

I'd lose my freedom. I wouldn't be able to go on spontaneous road trips, have frequent date nights out, dance the night away, or even curl up for a quiet night in. My freedom to shop alone, to sleep the night through, and to go anywhere would be gone. My freedom to be sick and ignore the world would disappear. Everything I want to do would be overshadowed by this one life decision.

I'd lose my friends. Sure, I'd make new ones. I'd grow closer to old friends who also have kids. I'd make friends with moms from various groups. I'd probably go to mommy-and-me groups. But the friends I have now that don't have/don't want kids would, more than likely, just fade away.

I'd lose my savings. Kids cost a lot of money, and I'm just not seeing those extra dollars in my bank account. Worrying about money is hard enough - I don't want to worry about having the money to take care of someone else.

I'd lose my identity. Sure, people will say you don't have to, but I don't know very many women who had kids and maintained an identity beyond "mom". Their hobbies changed, if they kept up with any at all. Their friends changed. Their conversation topics changed. Their social media feeds changed. The things they thought about, talked about, looked at, and shopped for changed. The way they thought about themselves changed. And that's okay. It's understandable. But I don't want to lose the identity I have now. I rather like who I am.

I'd lose my body. No women ever gets her body back after pregnancy. Too many things change, and nothing can ever be exactly the same. If you can accept that, great. But I quite like my body right now, and I'm not willing to give it up.

I'd risk genetic conditions. There is something natural about wanting to pass our genes on. It's built into us, and if it wasn't, we wouldn't have survived as a species. But honestly, my genes aren't that great. Any children I could have would run the risk of several different genetic conditions, which I wouldn't wish on anyone.

I'd lose my pets. I currently own two cats and one dog. Our dog came to us as a senior dog, because she wasn't doing well with the child in her home. We agreed to provide her a childfree home for the rest of her life. And as to after that - if we have kids, that severely limits what pets we can adopt, if any. Perhaps I'd rather spend my life rescuing cats and dogs that need us.



Please, pretty please, don't try to tell me about all the things I'd gain. I know. I've dreamed of them for years. This isn't about pros and cons, it's about options and choices.

But here's what it breaks down to: Nobody told me having kids was an option.

I always thought it was just what you did. It was the next step. But you know what? It is an option. It's isn't inevitable, and you don't have to if you don't want to.


And if you don't want to have kids, that's okay.

So where do I stand now? Well, we have agreed we don't want kids right now. We have talked about more permanent options, but for now we're just using contraceptive and going with the flow. If I were to conceive, and actually carry to term, we would be okay with that. We would give up everything else and become parents. And that would be okay with us. But motherhood is not something I'm willing to fight for, to work hard for, and to suffer for. 

Giving up so many things is not something I want to fight tooth and nail for.

Moving does nasty things to goals and deadlines

For the last few months, I have had a goal to spend at least 15 minutes in my sewing room each day. Sometimes, I get absorbed and finish a project or two. Sometimes, I only have enough time to complete the next step in an ongoing project. Sometimes, I trace off a pattern. Sometimes, I sit down in front of the TV with some hand-sewing and call that good. But the point is - I always make sure to do something every day.
However, at the end of October, we moved across the city. For the last few days before the move, I kept up with my goal - sorting my fabric stash, packing my patterns, organizing my tools & notions, packing away all of my fabric, etc. Then, when my sewing stuff was all packed away, I was still in there every day, packing up the rest of the room, or cleaning it out.

Now that we're moved into our new place, I had a similar goal for myself, but it hasn't been going well. When I get home from work, I'm overwhelmed by my kitchen, my bedroom, and my living room. I've been busy, sorting, cleaning, unpacking, organizing, but not any of that to do with sewing. I got most of the sewing things gathered into a corner, but that's about it. My precious Singer sits there staring at me from under its cover, begging me to bring it out to play. My fabric is stacked in clear totes, calling to me with its colours and prints.

But I'd rather have dishes in my cupboards and clothes in my dresser (getting dressed out of cardboard boxes is never fun).

Everything will slowly be accomplished, and I will get back on track with all of my Christmas projects, I know. But right now, I'm feeling a little defeated, and my sewing is feeling a little neglected.

Anniversary Dress

Every year on our anniversary, my husband and I take photos together. I had the idea just a few months into our marriage, and he has begrudgingly gone along with it since. I have a photo from each year framed on our wall, and I think it is the beautiful journey of love and growth.

Anyways, our fourth anniversary was in September. I started thinking about the photos back in July, and I started thinking about what to wear. Every year, that question is the bane of my existence. I try to find outfits for my husband and I that are both flattering, and coordinate somehow. This year, I decided we should both wear blue. Since I have been sewing so much, I thought I could make my own dress to wear. Easy, right?

I ordered a pattern online on August 19th. Our anniversary is September 16th. So with less than a month to spare, I had to wait for the pattern to arrive, I had to find the perfect fabric to go with it, and I had to make it. And make it perfectly.

I made Simplicity 1354, which is a sleeveless dress with back interest, and it's part of Simplicity's Amazing Fit line. I decided not to make a muslin of it first, because I had so little time, so I bought enough fabric to almost make two dresses just in case. I didn't need it though. This dress came out perfectly the first time around.

I absolutely love it. It fits well, is flattering, and is very comfortable. Oh! And it has pockets!! I love the back detail. The little band at the top of my back is closed with three little buttons. The only thing I don't love about this dress is the hem. I think it hangs a little bit funny. Perhaps a hand stitched blind hem would have worked better, but I hemmed this dress about 2 hours before we were supposed to meet our photographer. Whoops...

I had also thought about sewing a shirt for my husband. If I had found two coordinating fabrics, I probably would have, but instead I found a fabric that worked well with a shirt he already had. Less stress for me!

Baby Gifts

Sewing baby items is perfect instant gratification. I like to keep some cute colours in different materials on hand for those days where nothing is going right. When my seams aren't lining up, when I accidentally cut the fabric wrong, when my machine doesn't want to stitch a certain fabric, when I finish an extra long seam, only to find mistakes (when the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I'm feeling sad!). It's days like those that I need something to go my way. So I pull out a bit of cotton, and a bib pattern, or a bit of fleece and a baby hat pattern, or whatever. Baby items are small, quick to make, hard to mess up, and adorable. In less than half an hour, you can have that "I made this!" feeling all over again, and go back to your project refreshed.

The only problem is: I don't have kids. And I don't plan on having kids anytime soon, so I'm not about to sew a bunch for a non-existent baby. However, I know plenty of existent babies! More than a few of my friends have kids, and about half a dozen have had a baby this year, or are pregnant right now. So I sew for them. A couple of months ago, I posted about the baby shower gift I made for my brother. I would have (and probably still will) make more for his little girl, but other friends are having kids, so this gift was for somebody else.

First, I made a handy little roll-up change pad again. The backing is cotton, the front is minky (chenille, cuddle fleece, what-have-you), and inside is a layer of flannel. This one was about 18" x 27", and then I added a cotton border. I also added bias tape ties to keep it rolled up.

Then I made two bibs. These ones close with velcro, and have backing. One is back with flannel, and the other is backed with minky, so they're both absorbent and soft.

The last thing in this particular gift package is a pair of burb cloths. I know there is some disagreement on the best size of burb cloths. Some prefer the really big almost-blanket-sized ones, and some people prefer the skinny curved ones for their shoulder. I decided to make these ones long and skinny, because every new mom needs variety. I also reverse appliqued an "A" for the baby's name onto the bottom corner.

I mailed this whole little package off earlier this week, and I am so excited for the new mom to open it! I love sewing baby things, I love giving gifts, and I love sending mail.

I'm thinking about sewing more baby gifts for Christmas - some cozy fleece hats, some Christmas themed bibs, maybe even a tutu. We'll see. ;)

Refashion

We all have clothes that we don't wear, right? Whether we changed sizes and the clothes no longer fit, or we bought them when we shouldn't have, we all have a few garments we just plain don't wear. I like to go through my closet a couple times a year and purge all the stuff I don't wear. If it's in good condition, but doesn't fit, it goes in a bag for my sister. If it's torn or stained and I was stubbornly holding on to it, I force myself to throw it out. If I have discovered that it doesn't flatter me, or I hate wearing it, then I donate it (or send it to my sister). But what about those garments that I just really really really want to wear?

I have more than one of them. Things that are fun, exciting, and trendy. I want so badly to wear them, but I don't. Maybe I can't find outfits to go with them. Maybe they're a little too much, and I feel insecure in them. This skirt falls into both of those categories. I spotted it in a store a year or two ago, and fell in love. I was smitten. The bright pink colour, the gathers and drape, the hi-lo hem, the way it flowed and flared out behind me. I loved wearing it and walking down stairs. I loved the way it moved when I spun. I really really loved it.

But I hardly ever wore it. And to be honest, I used to wear it more. But I moved, changed jobs, developed a new friend group, and found my personal style changed. This skirt hung in my closet feeling dejected. I pulled it out a few times, tried it on with something, examined my reflection, and hung it back up in the closet. I went through that routine half a dozen times, before the skirt ended up shoved in the very back of the closet.

I pulled out a few weeks ago, and lovingly fondled it. I was still smitten with it. Since I was short on fabric (I don't keep much of a stash), and I wanted to sew something, I decided to refashion my skirt. I put on a Netflix show, and curled out on the couch with my seam ripper and this skirt. About six hours of Netflix later, I had two pieces of pink polyester knit, an elastic waist band, and a pile of pink serger thread. I pulled out the patterns I had, and tried to squeeze a couple different ones onto it, but that front skirt piece was just so short that I couldn't get much onto it.

Until I tried my Seamwork Aurora tank. I managed to squeeze the front and back of the tank onto the back panel of the skirt, and I cut the yoke out of the front of the skirt.

Let me just say - I'm completely in love with this tank. The front gathers and back pleat offer just enough shaping to be flattering, while still subtle. I love the options for colour blocking, and I love the length and hem line. I didn't even have to lengthen this pattern! Mind you, I couldn't for this version, because I barely had enough fabric as it was. But I don't think I will next time, either.

Skirts & Pockets

Oh hey there. I've been busy lately at my sewing machine, and I thought I should share some of the fruits of my labour with you.

Do you know what I love? Skirts. I freaking love skirts. I live in Saskatchewan, and suffer through -30 winters, and yet I will happily wear skirts all through January (Mind you, I wear tights and leggings with them - frostburn is not for me).

Do you know what else I love? Pockets. Seriously. All clothes should have pockets. I've bought dresses in years past simply because they had pockets. I'm not even kidding. I had this one dress that was too short for me to feel comfortable in and too tight through the thighs to wear tights with. It also had strange shaping that I never thought flattered me. The neckline was too low, and the sleeves were too tight to lift my arms up. But that dress had pockets. So not only did I buy it, but I stubbornly wore it multiple times.

Now that I'm sewing my own clothes, I've set a couple of goals. One of those goals is to add pockets to almost everything. To be fair, I haven't really gotten there yet. I've made a few garments that could have pockets, but I'd have to draft my own, and that's scary.

However, I made this skirt! And look! It has pockets! I made the skirt using this tutorial.

However, I have happily dumped this skirt into my mental Still-Learning bucket. There's a few things I don't like about it, and I did those things on purpose. But, I learned my lessons, I learned what I do and don't like about clothes, and I won't be making those mistakes again.

1. The pockets. I had to draft my own, so I drew the shape shown, pretended to put my hand in, and cut them out. But they're just too small all over, The opening isn't big enough for my hand to slide into comfortable and the inside isn't deep enough for even my phone. Lesson learned - Make pockets bigger.
2. I didn't draft the waist band large enough to actually go over my hips. I'm not completely sure how I made that mistake, but it means I have to put the skirt on over my head. Lesson learned - Double check sizes when self-drafting.
3. I didn't have 1 1/2" elastic, but I did have 3/4", so I decided to use two lengths of that, one on top of the other. Lesson learned - Just buy waistband elastic.
4. I did a mock fitting to see how the waist band would fit, and cut the elastic from that. Then I zig-zag-stitched the length of the elastic down to the inside of the back waistband. But I don't really like how that makes the back of the waist band look. 
5. During my mock fitting, I decided I wanted to skirt to sit on my high hips, rather than my natural waist. Lesson learned - I prefer shapes that hit my natural waist, and I want skirts to sit that high.

 I still like the skirt, and have worn it on occasion. I still love the fun polka dot print, and the fullness of it. But most of all, I appreciate the many lessons this skirt taught me. I know this isn't my last Still-Learning garment, and that's okay. It's okay to make mistakes, as long as I keep learning from them.

Sew Fancy

Mmm, hey! I'm gonna do a little bragging if that's alright with you. As I touched on last time, I tend to do things cyclically, and my latest phase has been sewing! It started in March, when I went away to a weekend retreat and had lots of time to finish sewing a project I'd starts months before, and to start (and nearly finish) another whole project.

Then a couple months later, I'm not sure what started it, but I suddenly felt the desire to make another dress. I did so, and then I sewed a bunch of baby hats, and then I decided to make a baby shower present for my brother, and sew on.

It might go away soon, and it might be something I stick to for a little while, but either way, I want to brag, so I'm posting pictures of all of my projects below!

I bought the material for this skirt in July, and made 90% of it within a week, but then I ran into a problem, and then I moved... I pulled it back out in March and had my aunt help me hem it, and finished in about an hour. [Self-drafted panel skirt] PS, it looks a little better when I'm not wearing jeans underneath, and I have a blouse tucked in, but this is the only picture I have.

I made this whole dress in about four days! It was started and nearly finished during a weekend retreat. I could have finished it at the retreat, but I ran out of green thread before the skirt was hemmed! So I had to pause, wait until I could buy more, and hem it at home! I call it my "watermelon dress" but some people have said it doesn't look like a watermelon. I guess that's up to you! [New Look 6910 View A]

I made this circle skirt infinity dress in two evenings. It took my a few hours one night to cut it all out, and then about an hour to sew it all together the next night. I guess leaving edges raw really speeds up a project! I didn't like the colour of the material originally, but now that I've worn it, I love how neutral it is. The style is also called a convertible dress, and it's very easy to take from work to an evening out. [Self-drafted infinity dress]

These are three different sizes of infant and toddler fleece hats. No, I don't have an infant or toddler, nor do I plan on it anytime soon. But I had some leftover fleece (from two years ago!) and I found this pattern, so I whipped a bunch up. I've made a few more since, and I plan on making more and stockpiling them for the colder weather. It's satisfying to make something that takes so little time. I love the feeling of finishing a project. [Pattern from fleecefun.com]

The next hats I sewed were the beginning of my baby shower gift. My brother loves cow print, so I made him father-daughter fleece cow hats. It took me awhile to figure out the ears, but by the third hat I had it down! (First hat not pictured. Thank goodness.) [Self-drafted ears, hat from fleecefun.com]

This is the rest of my baby shower gift! I made four burp cloths, two reversible bibs, and a roll-up changing pad. I loved making all of them, and I know they'll get lots of use! If you're looking for something to sew for a baby gift, I would suggest any of these. They didn't take much time or material, and I actually enjoyed planning them out. [Instructions from various websites]

That's all for now folks! Let's see what I sew in the coming months.

The Desire to Change

I desire change.
Not on a daily basis. I very much like my life to be static and for my day to go pretty much the same way every day. I like familiarity.

But at the same time, I occasionally desire change. I call it my itch. It'll hang out in the back of my brain, nagging away at my subconscious until I start to talk about various things I want to change. Then it'll become a mental itch. If I don't do something drastic, I can't ignore it, I can't make it go away.

And then I do something drastic, and just like that, I'm satisfied and happy with my life the way it is again.

When I say I desire change, it'll start small. I start by browsing the hair dye aisles, and eying up women with funky-coloured hair. Then I'll start thinking about chopping my hair off. If it's grown out long and I'm not loving it, I get it cut really short. But if my hair is already short or I am loving the long hair, I'll think about piercings. This has obviously only happened so many times, but a couple of times a year I tell my husband I want my belly button pierced. He laughs and talks me down (thank God for him), and then, naturally, I start thinking about tattoos. I'm careful with this one, because I can't undo that. My mom always said "It's not illegal, it's not immoral, and it will grow back." and I try to use that as a motto for my "itch". So if I'm not 100% sure about a tattoo, my brain wanders elsewhere.

That's when I start thinking about painting the house (when I could) or I'll start browsing houses for sale. Sometimes I'll pick up a new hobby, but if it's not drastic enough, the itch is still there.

I always find something to satisfy that itch, and sometimes it's really not all that drastic. But whenever people ask why I dyed my hair or cut it all off, I usually shrug and say, "I was bored." They laugh, but I don't really understand why. I was bored, and that is why I cut my hair.

Perhaps it's not healthy to become so "bored with my life", but it's not usually my life that's boring. I love my job, my relationships, my spare time. I just get bored. My hubby says I don't like being stagnant. I need something to constantly be new. I'll admit that this desire to change has led me to move once, and has made temp jobs seem rather inviting. A few years ago, I worked several temp jobs in a row, and I loved how it kept me on my toes.

Typically, I really just keep it to my hair, like I did this time. It's not totally drastic, but I'm loving it.

Wedding Jitters

I'm dreaming. I must be dreaming. This is all just a dream, I told myself. I don't know why I bothered - it wouldn't work anyways. I knew that until I woke up, everything would feel very real, and after I woke up, it would take me some time to sort out reality from imaginary. It was like that every time.

Okay, try again. Wake yourself up. Come on, you can do it! Nope. Nothing. I sighed. Maybe I should just give up and go with it until something else woke me up.

Another sigh, and I approached the park. There were at least a hundred people milling about, some sitting down in the carefully-arranged chairs, some standing and mingling. No one had looked my way, no one had spotted me, and I thought that was for the best. I hurried behind a stand of trees, where I knew some out-of-sight benches were. I was looking down at the cobblestone path when I heard a noise. I looked up and stopped dead in my tracks.

There I was, sitting on the bench, not ten feet in front of me. Okay, so things just got weird. Like, really weird.

The other me was sitting with her arms extended, hands bracing herself on either side. She was leaning forward and staring at her feet. Or, at least, where her feet would be under her giant white dress.

She looked up and her panic-stricken expression changed to confusion. "Who are you?"

I was caught so off-guard that I stumbled for an explanation. "Umm, I think I'm you. Or are you me?"

She shook her head in confusion and before she could ask anything else, she covered her mouth and looked away.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"I-I think I'm gonna be sick."

Me too, I thought, although for different reasons. I sat down next to her, being careful not to sit on any of the fluffy skirt. "It's gonna be okay."

She met my eyes, and I realized her complexion was actually a little green. Her eyes were wide, but I wasn't sure if it was confusion still, or fear. "I think I'm making a mistake." Her breathing quickened, and I realized it was panic.

Before she could start hyper-ventilating, I put my hand on top of hers. "You're not making a mistake. Trust me. Everything is going to be a-okay."

She gently pulled her hand away and shook her head. She was still taking rapid, shallow breaths, and I started to worry.

"Listen, I'm you, okay? Only, like several years down the road. I don't know how or why, but I know that I've been here and done all this-" I motioned towards the park that was out of sight, "-and I've lived the next few years. I remember it all. Come on, it's gonna be okay, just try to breath."

She took a few forcefully slow breaths, then one big deep breath. As she let it out, she said, "Okay, so if that's true, then you'd know stuff, right?" I nodded. "What's my middle name? And! How do you spell it?"

I chuckled. "Merry Ann." I spelled it out for her, and as I said the last N, she took another deep breath.

"Well, shit. Nobody but my parents know that. Okay, so let's say you're future me. What are you doing here?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. But I do remember how much I panicked today, so maybe I'm here to calm you down?"

"I'm not panicking!" 

I raised my eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little panicked. I just - I don't know. What if this is all a mistake?"

"It's not. Trust me. I've been there. It's scary, and it's hard, but it gets better and believe me, it is the best decision you've ever made."

"Are you sure? I'm not too young?"

I laughed. How many times had I asked myself that? "Yeah, okay, you're young. And this is a little crazy, but why not?"

"What?"

"Why not? What's it gonna hurt?" She opened her mouth, but I cut her off. "No, don't answer that. Not today. Just know that the benefits outweigh the risks."

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, thinking something over. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Am I gonna regret this?"

I sucked at my teeth. Man, past me got straight to the big questions. "Honestly, yeah. For a little while, not forever. There will be days, maybe weeks, that you're angry and you wish you'd never gotten married, but the anger will pass, and eventually you will be so thankful for the amazing man that is standing out there right now. And then eventually, you'll regret regretting it." I laughed sharply. "By the time you're my age, you'll know - without a shadow of a doubt - that this is the best decision you've ever made."

A pregnant pause followed, as she studied me. I felt like she was sizing me up, but perhaps she was just rehearsing my words.

"Okay," she hadn't realized she had been holding her breath, and now she let it all out with the single word. "Is there anything else I should know?"

I thought back to my wedding day, thinking about all the little things that went wrong, all the things I would do differently if I could. I thought about the first few months following my wedding, and all the things I'd wished I'd known. I laughed, realizing there wasn't a single thing I could say to make things go smoother, and that if I honestly had a chance to redo it all, I'd want everything to turn out the same. "Nah, you got this."

The younger version of myself rolled her eyes. She smiled a little, as she lightened up and stopped freaking out. Then an idea popped into her head and she leaned a little closer to me. "So, can you tell me something? About the future, I mean? Like, what happens?"

I thought for a brief moment and smiled wistfully. "You know-" I cut myself off as someone else came around the wall of trees.

A young woman was standing there in a blue dress, holding two bouquets of flowers. She didn't even glance at me, while asking, "Are you ready?"

The bride looked at me, and then up at her bridesmaid and nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Is everyone else ready?"

The other girl held out the larger bouquet. "Yep, we're all just waiting on you. I, uh, heard you talking a moment ago. What was that?"

"Oh, I was just talking to myself," My younger self laughed. She looked at me, and I got the joke. 

The bridesmaid raised her eyebrows and gently waved the bouquet around. "Alright, let's go."

Myself and I exchanged glances, as I clued in. Nobody else could see me.

The bride stood up, and took her bouquet. "Can't be late to my own wedding, can I?"

My father came around the corner next and grinned at the bride. Since he didn't look at me either, I took the moment to escape. 

Although people were looking in my direction, no one seemed to notice as I walked down the aisle and slipped into an empty chair near the back. Well, I guess I'll just observe my own wedding.

My husband stood at the front, looking incredibly young, as well as dapper in his suit. He looked towards me, but even the love of my life looked straight through me.

Wait. If no one can see me but myself, who's really dreaming here? Am I just a byproduct of my own wedding jitters?

Thirteen years

Thirteen years, two months and nineteen days. That is the exact amount of time it took for things to go from perfect to over. Hell, if you want, I could even tell you how many hours and minutes it took too.

Well, sort of. I mean, when things break down, there is no "exact beginning" to the breakdown. There are a million times that things could turn around and get better. In fact, maybe they did. But then the next few things went worse. There's also no real end to a situation like this. It just drags on and on and on. However, I am going to define the end as the day that I said "I'm leaving." I'd say that sounds like an end.

To be honest, things faded into nothingness. It was a day by day process, as small things happened to push us away from each other more and more. But I didn't really notice it happening. It creeped up on me, and hit me out of nowhere.

It was a Wednesday, and I had just gotten home from work. I was sitting at the dining table deciding what to make for dinner, when my husband, Brock, started putting on his boots.

"Where ya going?" I asked, poking my head around the wall to peer at him in the doorway.

"Going out riding, and then drinkin' with the boys." He didn't even look up from his boots. He finished tying them up and walked out the door.

It sounds absurd, I know, but that was the moment I knew things were over. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach as I started doing the math in my head, considering the last few weeks, months, even years, and as a couple of common themes came to light.

First of all, we didn't have any mutual friends anymore. I didn't even know who "the boys" were. And none of my girlfriends had ever had a conversation with Brock.

Second of all, we had no common interests. We used to do things together, but now all he does is ride his motorcycle and drink, and I have no interest in either. It's not all his fault, I'd developed some hobbies of my own. It's not just free time, though. Over the last few months, he'd been going on bike trips, gone for a day, sometimes three, and I'd just stay at home without him. It didn't bother me, but maybe it should have.

The next problem was that we didn't have conversations anymore. He used to ask what I was reading, and now he just grunts when he sees me glued to a book. I used to wander out to the garage and chat while he worked on his bike, but I haven't in months.

It's like somewhere down the line, we had turned into roommates with the same last name.

To be honest, we hardly ever slept in the same room. It was just easier that way. When he stumbled in late and drunk, he passed out in the guest room. It wasn't planned or discussed, but he had started moving most of his clothes into the guest closet over the summer. He'd been waking earlier than I, and he didn't want to disturb me by getting dressed. Thoughtful, yes, but it just marked yet another division between us.

I spent the rest of the evening thinking about it. I weighed the pros and cons. I considered the good things he brought to my life, and the bad. I thought about what I would do if I moved out. I thought about what he would do if I kicked him out. As a newlywed all those years ago, I never would have thought that I'd be sitting here thinking this, but it seemed so casual now.

The next night he was out again, so my closest friend, Lana, came over and we opened a bottle of wine. I told her what I was thinking about, and why. I laid it all on her.

I'll probably never forget how she squinted up her eyes, and chewed slowly, obviously thinking carefully. She swallowed and then said, "I think you should leave him." It only took as long as it takes to chew a pretzel for her to decide.

This coming from Lana, mom of three, then aged eleven, seven and four, who had once called, sobbing and in hysterics because her husband wasn't home and it was getting late. The very idea of him leaving her paralyzed her, and she couldn't fathom leaving him. But then, they were still in love (or so I presumed) and they had kids to worry about. At the very least, that gave them something in common.

Brock and I, we only had two dogs. They were our fur-babies, but they certainly didn't bring us any closer together.

I spent the next couple days mulling over it, and planning things out. I realized that I didn't want to live in that town anymore. Sure, I had friends there, but I moved there for Brock, and I stayed there for Brock. The second I was on my own, I would want out. I made a list of places I wanted to live, and started job- and house-hunting in those areas.

It took me a week and a half to tell him, but the following Friday, I came home from work and cornered him.

"Brock? I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"I'm leaving."

"What?" I think normally he would have said, 'Have a good night', but something in my tone stopped him.

"I'm moving out. I'm leaving." I took a deep breath. The next was the hardest bit. "I want a divorce."

"Oh." He put down his phone and actually looked at me. He studied me for a few seconds, and then asked, "Why?"

We spent the rest of the night talking. Neither of us were angry. I think we both felt a little burnt-out, maybe deflated, but there was no anger. We discussed logistics, such as who gets the house, the dogs, the furniture. I told him I wanted to leave the city, and he was fine with that.

There was a lot of sadness that night, but it was deep kind of sadness. There were no tears, only this heart-ache feeling that something once dreamt about was over.

I stayed in the house for another week, while I found a divorce lawyer, finished up at my job, and packed all of my belongings. The following Saturday, I loaded my car and drove to eight hours to my new place. I'd found a decently-priced apartment in a new city that would let me rent month-to-month. It didn't need to be great, just a roof over my head while I found my bearings.



It's been three months since then. I have a new job, a new place, and I am officially single. The divorce process was a lot less ugly than usual. We were both pretty good about it. We agreed what items he should keep, and what I should. He kept the house, the dogs, the truck and the motorcycle, while I only took my car and what would fit inside of it, so the lawyers had him cut me a cheque. It's not something I wanted or needed, but he said I deserved it, and it would help get me on my feet. Most of that money is still in a savings account.

Honestly, I'm happier. It's not that we were fighting or that I was miserable, but I just feel free now. Like there used to be a weight strapped to my ankle and I took it off. I know he's doing great too. Well, he's doing the same as before. Riding his bike, drinking with the boys. But now he doesn't have to worry about keeping me up or waking me.

I miss my dogs. I wish I could have kept them, but I still in a place that isn't pet-friendly.

Isn't it sad when you leave a marriage of thirteen years and the thing you miss the most is your dogs?

Loss of a Dear Friend

How do you handle losing a friendship?

It can be a lot like ending a relationship. Sometimes it feels very much like a breakup. Sometimes it happens slowly, and quietly. Sometimes it goes out with a bang that leaves hurting hearts. Actually, either way, I think it leaves hurting hearts. It hearts to lose a friend.

When someone passes away, you miss the hole. Whether it's a relative, a friend, or even a pet, the part that you mourn and where you miss them is the hole. If you did something together every Wednesday, you're going to miss them every Wednesday. If they greeted you at the door every time you arrived home, you'll mourn them every time you go home.

The same goes for the loss of a relationship. Whether a friendship blows up or fades away, you're going to miss the hole.

In my case, I find myself staring down this giant, gaping hole at least once a week, sometimes every day. My heart hurts every time.

When I tell stories, look through old photos, drive past restaurants, walk past stores or plan coffee dates. When I think about foreign travel, or put on my favourite necklace. When I do anything that makes me think of that friendship, my heart aches. Right to my very core, right in the middle of my chest. It makes me think the hole is in my own ribcage.

And I don't know how to mend the hole. In fact, I don't think it can be mended.

Perhaps, over time, the hole will slowly close up on its own. As I make new memories, take new photos and build new friendships, I will find myself staring into that hole less and less often. I will probably never forget about all the old things, but I will probably find them in my head less often. Which is okay, I think.


But how else does one deal with losing a friendship?

Especially one that disappeared so suddenly.

Hoop Earrings

As I sort of mentioned in my last post, my father has a lot of really messed up opinions, especially when it comes to women. Over the last few years, with the help of my loving husband, I have been working through these opinions, one by one, and sorting truth from straight-up BS.

One of his "catch phrases" will pop into my head and I'll tell my husband about it. Sometimes he'll just laugh at me, and sometimes he sits there and lovingly tells me that's not true, depending on what it is, obviously. Then we talk about it, and I form my own opinion on the subject, and discard whatever crazy thought was in my head. I try to explain these to people sometimes, but I honestly can't remember any of them because I've just completely let it go.

The most recent one of these happened without my husband, but I did just fine on my own. I was getting ready for a swing dance with a friend, and I put on some earrings, but they didn't quite match my shirt, so I looked through my collection again. I was away from home for a couple days, so I'd only brought a couple pairs with me. One of those was a pair of silver hoops, a couple inches in diameter, that I had never worn. I popped them in, and my friend said they looked great with my curly hair and I wore them.

Halfway through the dance this conversation happened:

Me: "Do these earrings look okay?"

My other friend: "Yeah, they're really cute!"

Me: "I don't look too slutty?"

Friend: "What?"

Me: "My dad always says only sluts and hookers wear hoop earrings." My friend looked at me like I was crazy, so of course I went on. "Yeah, only sluts have short hair and only hookers wear hoop earrings, and the shorter your hair and the bigger the hoop earrings the sluttier you are. Hoop earrings make girls look loose and like a prostitute."

At about this point, I realized how crazy I sounded. How on earth can hoop earrings make you look slutty? Girls look slutty when they're showing a lot of skin. Earrings don't show or cover any skin, so how can a certain type of earring make you look slutty? It doesn't make any sense at all.

My friends assured me this was crazy, and I carried on wearing my super cute hoop earrings.

When I told my husband, he said we should go buy the biggest hoop earrings we can find and wear them around my father, because that's just that crazy. He said he has never looked at a girl wearing hoop earrings and thought she looked slutty.

Honestly, though, I have. I've also looked at hoop earrings in stores and thought "Only sluts wear those" and when I worked at a jewelry store, I judged every girl who bought hoop earrings. How crazy is that?

So here's the thing, I guess. Women can wear whatever earring they want, and as many as they want. Women's ears will never make a woman look more or less likely to have sex.

#YesAllWomen

I was raised by a male-dominant, chauvinistic, pseudo-feminist father.

He'd talk like he was concerned about women's rights, but he was much more concerned with suppressing all women from succeeding, from speaking out and from being considered equals. It was very confusing for me after I moved out, because I believed that he was a feminist, or at least believed in equal rights, but as I sorted out his thoughts and beliefs, I began to see that he saw women as lesser and unworthy.

Not to divulge into my very complicated childhood and upbringing, but I needed to explain why his views had so much power for so long.

My father used to tell a story about a friend of his who would wear low cut blouses and short pencil skirts to work, and faced a lot of sexual harassment in the workplace. When she approached the boss about it, he told her that "If it's not for sale, don't advertise."

This was the mantra of sorts that I grew up with in mind when it came to dressing myself, especially for work. I would dress modestly because I didn't want men to think I was loose, or a prostitute. I would wear pants or long skirts because I didn't want to get raped.

Wait.

Let's let that sink in for a minute.

I wore certain clothes because I didn't want someone else to make a choice to abuse me, take away my rights and force me into sex. I didn't wear V-neck shirts because I was afraid that someone would rape me.

This is a concept reinforced over and over in society, but one that is highly wrong.

Here's the thing. My body is not for sale. In fact, my body is not something that can be bought. Ever. I am not an item. My personal space is not something that can be purchased.

Therefore, my body is not something that can be advertised. No matter how short my skirt or how low-cut my shirt, I am not advertising anything. No matter how much skin I am showing, I am not inviting any man to buy my body.

I will never tell any of my children this poisonous sentence. Instead, I will teach them that humans are not something to be purchased.

This all is not to say that I don't believe in dressing modestly. I like my skirts a little longer, shirts a little higher, and I love wearing boleros over anything strapless. Not because I don't want to be for sale, but because I am more confident with a little more skin covered, and I am aware that people judge everyone for anything, and the quickest way to judge someone is to look at what they're wearing. When I am with people who know me and I am comfortable with, I'll bare plenty of skin, but I work in customer service, dealing with people who don't know me all day. I want them to look at me and see my personality, which I display every day in my clothes (bright colors, happy coordination and quirky accessories).

So anyways, there's my feminist rant, and my contribution to #yesallwomen. Yes, all women are taught to fear rape. Yes, all women are told they're bodies are for sale.

Johanna 2

Having made up her mind, Johanna reached for her computer and turned it on. She spun her chair around a few times while it booted up, and took a moment to dry her eyes. When it was ready, she reached for the mouse and clicked a few times, opening a new email. As she typed in her boss's address, she realized she had been holding her breath, and slowly let it out between her teeth.

She started and erased an email several times, renaming the subject line four or five times as well. Finally she settled on a simple approach.

Harry, I have something you may be interested to hear. When is a good time for a private meeting? 

Vague, unassuming, and most importantly, wouldn't tip him off to her intentions. Once she had her email open, she tried to push everything out of her mind and actually get some work done. There were a dozen unread emails waiting for her, each and every one of them adding something to her to-do list.

In less time than she expected, an email from Harry popped up, saying that he would be free for a little while around one. She could come by his office then. Johanna checked the clock. 9:36. That left just under three and a half hours for her to finish up what she could.

Just before one, Johanna found herself standing in front of Harry's secretary, telling her that she had a meeting scheduled with him. Before the little blonde could pick up the phone to tell Harry, the older man came out of his office.

"Johanna! There you are. Come, come. I have to get somewhere, but we can talk on the way." Harry didn't give Johanna any time to protest, taking her by the elbow and directing her towards the elevator.

She was dumbstruck until they were in the elevator going down. She really would have liked to sit down and tell him one on one, not in a car, or in an elevator, or wherever he was going. She had to get her bearings, figure out where he was going, and plan how to approach this again. She needed to do this today, no putting it off.

The elevator dinged at the main floor, and Harry led Johanna out of the building and into a waiting town car. The chauffeur must have been expecting him, because Harry didn't have to tell him where to go. This only increased Johanna's confusion. She needed to know where they were headed. Should she tell him on the way, or there? Maybe on the way back? Without knowing what to expect, she had no idea how to do this.

It didn't really matter though, because Harry didn't let her get a word in edgewise. "You know, Johanna, I inherited almost everything I have. My grandfather worked very hard to build a company from the ground up, and my father worked very hard to turn it into an empire. The hardest decision I ever had to make was what I wanted to major in at college. That was my father's rule, you know. He had four sons, so he required that each of us go to college and get a degree and then decide what we wanted to do. I don't know if you know this, but only two of my brothers are part of the group. David is a doctor, you know. He wanted nothing to do something else altogether. Anyways, I was the youngest, so by the time I graduated, my other brothers had already taken over some part of the company. I didn't have to do anything to get to where I am now." He paused and looked at Johanna, as if expecting some sort of response. Johanna smiled as if to say Go on, still desperately trying to figure out what was going on.

Sunrise

They say history repeats itself. I guess that's true. I mean, I watch the sun rise every morning, and yet the next morning, it rises once again. Every day, bright red and pink slowly spread their way across the far edge of the horizon, and the sun slowly pokes up behind them, as if he's afraid we've already forgotten how beautiful he is. One full day later, it all happens again. Granted, the colours, the patterns and the immense beauty change day to day, but history still repeats itself.

I wouldn't change it if I could, though. There is something so comforting in the sight of an expanse of blue-grey clouds, dappled in hot pink. The colour splashes across the bottom sides of the clouds, as if it is in a rush to get somewhere. It doesn't seem to be in a rush, but when you look back a minute later, the colour has spread so much farther, you're sure that its late for something.

Eventually, the pink starts to fade and all of the sudden, the sun is up and it is day.

Scientifically, I know that the Earth I stand on is round, the sunrise is a result of the Earth turning, and the colours are just rays of light that have been lengthened from having to come all the way around the edge of the round planet.

And yet, I can see how people believed they stood on a flat surface, and the sun revolved around them. That's the way we're trained to think, isn't it? We're taught to believe we are the center of everything.

We aren't though, the center of everything. We are each just a speck of matter floating in a never-ending rotation, surrounded by other specks of matter who think they are the center of everything.

Countdown

I can't breathe.

Ten.

I can't see, either. Everything feels a million miles away and is all fuzzy.

Nine.

Okay, for real now, I can't breathe. I feel like my stomach is in my throat and no air can get past it.

Eight.

I can now hear the blood pumping through my brain, so I force a ragged breath in through my lips.

Seven.

Let the breath back out again, listening to the air hiss between my teeth.

Six.

Halfway there, right? Or does five count as halfway there? I've never really been--

Five.

Crap, crap, crap. My heart is racing.

Four.

I can feel a huge grin working its way across my face.

Three.

One more deep breath, all the way in...

Two.

And all the way back out. A slow calm is working its way through my bloodstream.

One.

This. Is. It.

Jump.

Everything falls away from me, which is ironic, because I'm falling. I'm surrounded by nothing and no one, just me and the air. I can feel and hear the air, she's yelling in my ears how crazy I am. I focus and count, remembering how long they said to wait. When I pull on the cord, my body jerks up. Everything slows down and I right myself. Now I can focus on the ground, and see how far away it really is. It gets closer constantly, but it still seems like forever away.

Pure ecstasy is pumping through my veins. This is so awesome. The stunning beauty of the landscape, the sheer thrill of the fall, the pounding adrenaline. I have never felt more alive. I want time to freeze right here and now. I never want to feel anything else, because nothing else will ever compare to way I feel right now.

Johanna

If there were an easy way out, Johanna would take it. She was beginning to feel like a coyote with one leg in a bear trap. She could see herself, laying there, staring at that one unfortunate leg, contemplating chewing it off. She knew how much it would hurt, but she wondered how much she would regret it, if at all.

She could hear faint footsteps, growing louder with each beat, so she sat upright. A small-faced man with round wire-rim glasses and a bushy mustache poked his head in.

"Are you going to be finished before tonight, Johanna?"

Johanna pretended to study something and then looked back up at him. "Hmm, maybe. We'll have to see."

He nodded and disappeared, leaving Johanna feeling caged and trapped again. She spun her chair around in a circle and then stared at her desk again. There was a short stack of papers on one side and a messy array of half a dozen sheets on the other. In the middle sat her keyboard and computer screen, which stared back at her with a black, empty gaze. On the other side of her desk were two chairs angled towards her, as if two invisible people were sitting there, having a deep conversation with her.

She could see them now, a woman with fine lines embedded in her face, marking the outlines of a smile and a hearty laugh, and a man with thick black hair, just starting to go grey around the edges. He leaned forward, looking over his imposing glasses at Johanna, asking her if she knew what she was doing. He seemed a little intimidating from appearance, but his eyes bespoke the kind of concern that stemmed from a deep, pure love. The woman laughed, but not cruelly, tossing her long, untamed brown hair over one shoulder. She insisted Johanna always knew what she was doing, she just simply wasn't worried about the outcome.

Johanna furrowed her brow. She was worried. If she wasn't worried, she would have already made the leap. She was about to protest the woman's claims out loud, before she realized her parents weren't really there. They weren't having this conversation right now, they were having this conversation five years ago, with a blue laminate dining table between them, not an office desk.

With the setting clear, Johanna rehashed that conversation in her head. She had protested her mother, claimed that she was worried, and tears had welled up in her eyes. Her father noticed and reached across the table to hold his daughter's hand. He didn't say anything, but he made Johanna feel a million times better instantly. Her mother had stood and walked into the other room, moving some dishes and making some noise, but coming back empty-handed. She leaned in the doorway, absorbing the scene in front of her, the man she loved most in the world, comforting her one and only daughter. The one and only daughter who wanted to pick up her things and move hours away from everything she knew, to a city she had never been to. A city that never slept, a city that moved and breathed as if alive, and a city that would swallow up this innocent, naive little girl and spit her back up in a matter of months. This woman, a mother to three boys and one girl, lived her life carelessly. She refused to worry, to consider the worst situations, or to prepare for possible ill outcomes. She had raised her daughter to approach things the same way, but she could see now that her baby girl had picked up habits from her over-thinking, always-prepared father. This girl, who used to laugh and dance barefoot down the sidewalk, was now worrying, truly concerned, and planning ahead.

Letting out a long-overdue sigh, the kind that welled up from her very heart, Johanna's mother walked back to the table and sat down. In the next few hours, both of her parents relented and agreed that this move really was the best thing for Johanna. Over the next month, Johanna packed all of her belongings into her little car and drove halfway across the country to start her dream job in her dream city.

Almost exactly five years later, she found herself feeling trapped, sitting in a chair, in front of a desk. The window behind her looked out at this dream city of hers, but all she could see were buildings and windows and smog.

Johanna wiped a tear off her face before she realized she was crying. She spun her chair around to face the window, knowing that she couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She wished that her parents were with her, right then, to tell her what to do.

She knew what they would have said, though. Her mother would say to follow her heart, to do what makes her happy, and to go where the light is. Her father wouldn't say much - he never did. He would make sure she was prepared, and he would worry about her, but he would never have told her what to do.

So what would make her happy? Where was the light? More tears rushed forth, momentarily blinding Johanna. She knew where the light was. She knew what she needed to do. She needed to chew her leg off.