Choosing to live authentically me

So a lot has happened in the last several months - year.

The job that I adored at the cafe, came to an end, when the cafe closed very unexpectedly. But I, thankfully, landed on my feet, when one of my previous employers made a spot for me in the small business that she owns.

The cafe closing left me sad, upset and extremely angry. I felt betrayed. When I think about how things went down I still have some hurt feelings. I'm owned a couple weeks of wages still and the owner is ducking my calls and avoiding me. I'm not even sure how I'm going to get my T4 for the time I worked there.

I slid into my current role with lots of apprehension and not a small amount of anxiety. Although I had worked for The Company before, it was in a role that was quite different to the one that I am now in. For several months I worked my new role and made up hours by performing my previous role as well. Eventually, The Company decided to hire me on full time in my new role as administrative assistant/manager. It's been a bumpy ride, but one that I've thoroughly enjoyed. I have a boss that is super supportive, who listens to my ideas and suggestions and who encourages me to get hands on and learn as much as I can. I am part of a management team that is truly a team. And I have a staff that I oversee that is diverse and varied. I'm helping to grow a business that I actually care about.

In the last several months, as I've settled into work and life as I know it, I've realized a few things.

1. It doesn't take much to make me happy.
At the end of the day, I'm happy as long as I can return home at the end of the day to my dogs.

2. I've rediscovered how much I enjoy singing.
I joined a choir! And I love it!

3. Spreadsheets bring me a strange amount of joy.
I love nothing more than the beautiful spreadsheets that I create and use at work. So organized. So streamlined. So much information contained in the them. *swoon*

4. Cooking is fun again.
Hello deliciousness!

5. People have faded out of my life and I'm learning to be okay with that.
People that I thought were good friends of mine, seem to have cut me out of the friendship that I thought we shared. I was hurt at first, but now it's faded to a dull ache that appears only when I actively think of them. Their exodus has brought new and better friends into my life. And I'm oddly grateful that the end of those friendships was the beginning of new friendships.

6. A good cup of coffee is the best way to start the day.
Especially early in the morning, before the dogs are walked.

7. Sitting at home with a glass of wine, reading a book is the perfect way to end the day.
Genre of book dictates the wine that is consumed.

Where did the magic go?

I've been going to church on a regular basis. Since almost this time last year, I've been heading out west of the city with a good friend of mine to attend a small country church.

I love it. I really really like it. It's like when I was living at university and I'd go home for the weekend - that's the feeling that I get when I get in the car for the drive out.

Until recently.

At the beginning of July a new minister started working at the church. She's.... not a good fit. Everything that I love about my little church - the chaotic, messy, vibrant family that I've found - feels like it's slowly being suffocated.

I hate it.

I've tried to give it time, but we are coming to the end of month 3 and I'm still not enjoying it. The new minister doesn't seem to be making an effort to get to know what makes us as a congregation special. She seems hell bent on making us bend to her whims and ways.  What I used to look forward to all week, is something that I am beginning to dread.

And this feeling seems to slowly be weaselling its way into other facets of my life - most obviously my volunteer work with my rescue. I find myself dreading responding to emails and inquiries. Whereas before I couldn't wait to open the email accounts and jump right in, I find that I have to force myself to check emails at least once a day.

My heart is hurting. This isn't like me. As my good friend said tonight, I want the magic back. Where did it go? How do I recapture it?

Everyday is a test and I'm thankful for that

Today was one of those days.

Customer interactions were a test of my patience. Finding time to get everything done was a test of my management skills. Staying involved in and focussed on work today was a test of my mental endurance.

I slogged through the morning at work. I trudged through my morning rush. I struggled to stay positive.

I have this thing that I do. When I'm not in a good place -mentally, physically, spiritually- I start listing things that I am thankful for. I call it my unending list of gratitude. It's morphed since I started it. When I started it was mental, I'd think about what I was thankful for. Then it became a weekly list I wrote on a chalkboard. Now I have a notebook that I list everything in. And now it's daily.

The surprising thing is that it helps. No matter what kind of a mood I'm in or why I'm in that mood, listing things that make me thankful, lifts my spirits.

So today I'm thankful for:

• warm  cookies 
• that first sip of coffee at 5am
• wearing a scarf, but not freezing
• infectious smiles
• customers that are thankful

The fear of disappointment

I've done a lot of stupid things in my 28 years on this planet. Some of these led to failed opportunities, some led to better things; sometimes I felt the results right away, sometimes it was farther in the future. Whatever the case I have a huge fear of disappointment- sometimes I'm scared of disappointing myself, most of the time it's that I'm scared of disappointing other people.

In my world fear of failing< fear of disappointment (myself or others).

I'm back in school studying because I know I can't get a decent job with my chosen undergrad. And that's a disappointment to both me and my parents. I'm fighting for a promotion that I'm not even sure is worth it and that's a potential disappointment to me. I'm a member on a committee for Sit With Me and I'm worried I will disappoint the board and my fellow members.

Today, I've been hit with a huge wave of anxiety that I'm disappointing everyone that I love and hold dear. I know this is foolish, but I hate the thought that I'm a disappointment. Most recently this has been brought upon by my decision to get one final tattoo in memory of my Nanny. I've felt compelled to have a permanent reminder of her since she passed away. And I've held off because I know that my parents aren't super keen on tattoos. Thankfully, my two current tattoos are easy to hide and not obvious. But this tattoo for Nanny I want in a place that is easier to show off, I want people to see it and ask about it so that I have a chance to share the story of my grandmother. I've been thinking more and more that I want it on my arm somewhere, but I'm also considering my ribcage, close to my heart. Needless to say, I'm a ball of worry and anxiety and feel some guilt about this decision.

In another part of my brain, (the small part that sometimes whispers "you're 28, you can do what you want") I know that feeling this way is irrational and silly. But this part is not loud enough or big enough to drown out the silly, irrational part that is overwhelmed with the fear of disappointing someone - anyone.

Long story short, I will get the tattoo. And I will guilty about it for a while, but ultimately it is for me. And I should be able to enjoy it and I will.

Old Date-mares

I'm sitting in a coffeeshop. Doing some reading and a spot of writing. 

There isn't much else for me to do today. And I'm okay with that. I don't have to work today, and while that is strange (I don't usually have a mid-week day off), I am more than okay with it. 

I'm sitting near two university students, who haven't realized that everyone in the shop can hear what they are talking about. They are talking about the usual things: classes, homework, friends and BOYS. They are currently discussing a not so great date that one of them went on. It honestly doesn't sound that bad. I've been on much worse. 

For example, there was the evening I met a man for dinner at a local restaurant. We had been chatting online and via text for several days and we seemed to mesh quite well. I found him easy to talk to and interesting. He suggested meeting for dinner and said that he would make a reservation. That would make it easier with the first face to face meeting. It's so terrible when you are waiting at the entrance for your date, whom you don't really know well enough to recognize. Smart, I thought after I agreed. I arrived first. And I'm kinda glad I did. I ordered a drink and settled in to wait for my date to show. He appeared a few minutes after my drink was delivered. 

Me:   Hello!-

Him: Let's get a few things straight first, you pay for your shit and I pay for mine. No sneaking off to the bathroom and telling the waitress on the way by that it's one bill for me to pay. I'm not into that kind of shit. 

Me: *Silence in which I finish my drink quite quickly* Well, I don't think that this is going to work. 

I put my coat on and left money on the table to cover my drink. I have never been in and out of a restaurant so quickly. Neither have I been so embarrassed to be meeting someone. He was so rude and abrupt. Not at all like the guy I had been chatting with. 

The next evening he messaged me. Not to apologize for his rudeness, but because he thought I got the wrong impression of him. "I think we got off to the wrong foot, I'm not sure what I did or said to make you leave so quickly, but I guess you probably expect me to apologize."

Yeah. If you don't know what you did/said that was wrong, we are definitely not going to try to meet again. I replied saying that my first impression of him made me not want to get to know him any better and that it would best if we just lost each other's numbers. 

I haven't heard from him since. Thankfully.

Homemade Decongestant versus Life Brand Decongestant

I've spent the last 4 days home sick. There's nothing worse than being sick in my opinion. I hate it. I get cranky and grumpy, I can't breathe through my nose and I lose my voice. I develop a hacking cough that sounds kind of like a goose mated with a chainsaw. It's terrible.

I am also the person that will try anything to get over a cold/sickness faster. Homemade remedies, old wives remedies.... ANYTHING.

This time, I decided that I would make my own decongestant. I had read about them last year when I was sick, but I couldn't be bothered. This year... I decided I was doing it. I was all in. I found the recipe that I was curious about last year. Did some research on the ingredients and read hundreds of reviews of it. It seemed legit. I found the recipe on a blog called Titus2Homemaker. I figured any woman who willingly made and gave this to her children could be trusted.

I shuffled off to the grocery store. I bought the onions, lemons and the radishes. Honey and garlic. I got a lot of weird looks. I'm pretty sure the cashier thought that I was stoned. I shuffled back home hauled out the blender and mixed up a batch of this. I strained it, it's pulpy and gross looking. And although my nose was out of commission, my eyes functioned perfectly and they cried. A lot.

I quickly downed 2 tablespoons.

So. Much. Regret.

It was like my throat was on fire. My eyes were now watering for a whole different reason. I thought I was dying. After suffering through that, I sat down on the couch and waited for relief. And waited. And waited. And nothing.

The decongestant did nothing for me. I waited several hours to see if maybe it needed more time to work. I even took a second dose. After 9 hours of nothing I headed out to good ol' Shoppers Drug Mart to purchase some relief.

Lesson learned: not everything you find online works. Even if several hundred people say that it does.

Foster Update: Mango The Ginger Pig

"Saving one dog won't change the world, but surely for that dog the world will change forever."

- unknown

This past summer I decided that I wanted to foster dogs. I did my due diligence and research and chose to contact Sit With Me Shelter Dog Rescue. I went through a series of interviews and checks and a home visit before a dog was placed with me.

I was entrusted to look after a small pocket pitty, Mango. She was less than 40 pounds when she arrived, she has just been spayed and so she was doped up and miserable. And she wanted nothing to do with my dog Remi. Remi on the other hand wanted to play with her so badly that he was vibrating. And so Mango entered the Ottawa branch of the McLellan Family.

In the next few days, it became obvious that she still wanted nothing to do with Remi. Any time he came near her she snarled and tried to bite him. And not in a cute don't bother me way. I was starting to get worried that there was something wrong with me or Remi or that in the short amount of time that I had had Mango, that I had turned her into a dog aggressive pitbull and ruined her for life. After a week of trying every trick that I knew, I contacted that rescue group ready to admit defeat and tell them that I couldn't look after this adorable dog. Thankfully, Mel (my foster coordinator) dropped in for a home visit to see how the dogs interacted. After a few tense moments where Mango went for Remi, Mel could see that Mango just needed to be shown that she wasn't in control of Remi and coached me in how to help Mango snap out of that mind set. We practiced a few times before she left and that was that.

Since then, she and Remi are inseparable. They eat, sleep and play together. It has been so rewarding to see her come out of her shell and turn into this playful, goofy dog. She has learned her commands in English (I learned the commands in French!) and is learning to walk gently on a leash.

Not bad for a little over a month of love and gentle work.

I've also become well versed in pitbull stigma. In Ontario any dog that looks like it could be a pitbull is banned. Because Mango is a 'pitbull' type dog she is subject to the law. She is only allowed in Ontario because she is a ward of a rescue organization and her foster home is in Ontario. This means that every time she goes outside she has to wear a muzzle. And the muzzle is what brings attention to her. I've become used to people stopping and getting out of the way (even going so far as to cross to the other side of the street) as we stroll down the street.

I've heard people comment that I shouldn't be allowed to have a vicious dog. Lots of people make snap judgements about the dog I'm walking, and also about me. I had one couple stop me and ask me if it made me feel powerful to own a dog that was so vicious it had to be muzzled. I quickly explained that Mango was my foster dog and that she wasn't vicious at all. That because someone somewhere thought she was a pitbull, I had to put a muzzle on her. I told them her story, how she was essentially abandoned and even though she was so young had been pupped on at least 2 occasions. I told them that I was responsible for ensuring that Mango was looked after until she was adopted. I explained that the Breed Specific Legislation (BSL) is actually ineffective as a law, and that it should be changed to target dog owners, not dog breeds. All this is happening while Mango sits quietly at my side, tail wagging as people and dogs walk by- clear evidence that she is not what they judged her to be.

This is what I do as a foster for Mango, I engage with people and take that opportunity to educate the public on what wonderful dogs 'pitbulls' can be. I get dirty looks and rude comments, but I can put up with that as long as it means that strangers are willing to stop and listen when they ask a question.

As for Mango, she doesn't even realize that people judge her before they even know her. She's happy to go for walks and chase Remi when I let her. She knows that if she is good, she'll get belly rubs and cuddles. And if she's bad, well she'll still get those things, just after her timeout.



So far, fostering is one of the best things I've decided to do. It's just as easy to look after 2 dogs as it was to look after just Remi.

And while I know I will a little sad, when my ginger pig gets adopted, it will be nothing to the joy I will feel. So until then, I will love Mango like she's mine.

I am: Little Miss Christmas

Tomorrow is the first of December. 

And that means that I am finally able to wear my Santa hat at work. I adore Christmas. It is my favourite time of year. And since Christmas began at work on November 3, I've been waiting impatiently for December to roll around.

Most of my regular customers know my love for Christmas. And one completely fantastic couple calls me 'Little Miss Christmas'. Mostly because I've been bopping around for weeks singing Christmas carols and songs and reminding people how many days until Christmas. 

So, if you stop into my shop tomorrow, don't be surprised by my Santa hat. And don't complain about it either. Be thankful that I waited until December to wear it!

When your bad luck outweighs your good

It has been said that if I didn't have bad luck, I would have no luck.

I would agree with this statement. Whole heartedly. 

Two weekends ago, Kate and myself were slated to transport three dogs from our area to the Montreal SPCA. I'd done this once before and it was easy and painless. So we picked up the dogs and started out. It was a great little drive. Except for the fact that one of the dogs, a shitz-tu that we named Yzma, didn't stop her shrill barking. So I had to pull over an hour into the drive to take her out of the crate and give her to Kate to hold. Unfortunately for Kate, she was covered in old pee. And stank. Every time she moved, we got a whiff and it was enough to make us gag. 

We made it to the Montreal SPCA with no more difficulties and got the dogs unloaded and signed into their care. Then we jumped back into the Jeep for the ride home. Except when I went to back out there was no power steering. So I popped out to check that everything was okay. And let's just say that it wasn't.

Thankfully the people and staff of the Montreal SPCA were lovely and cool headed, we spread kitty litter all over the lot to soak up the various liquids spewed out and they had one of their people look at the engine. And then Kate and I sat in the building to think about what we were going to do. Kate had to open the next morning at 5 and we both have 2 dogs that needed to be fed and walked. Spending the night in Montreal was not an option. 

So I did what I do whenever I'm in a spot of trouble: I called Lisa. 

And she offered to drive from Stittsville to Montreal to pick us up. So I had the Jeep towed to a garage that was still open, and then Kate and I wandered the streets of Montreal, ate MacDonald's and tried to find a Starbucks that we could take refuge in until Lisa and Jan rescued us. 

Although, the whole situation was pretty terrible, the silver lining in it was the confirmation that I have wonderful friends in my life. I don't know many people that would have offered to drive 3.5 hours to pick us up and then turn around and head back to Ottawa. 

So although I have terribly bad luck, the one area I have an abundance of luck in, is my friends.

A belated thank you note.

Not too long ago I sat in a pub with a couple of friends. We were chatting about this, that and everything in between. Weirdly, the conversation turned to social workers. Now I can't remember how it started or what exactly was said, but needless to say my ears perked up.

What you may not know is that I am adopted. Thankfully, my parents have always been open about it. They answered the tough questions (why didn't my mom want me?) and the silly questions (did you have to pay for me?) and they've always been open about the people that helped them through the process. It can be quite invasive. There have been many times I've been out with mom or dad and we've run into my case worker, my foster mom, various social workers involved, the lawyers involved, the judge.... I think I've met everyone involved, except my birth parents.

One of my friends remarked that being a social worker was a thankless, terrible, dead end job, where the social workers felt they weren't actually accomplishing anything, all this via a friend's dad. The rage I felt at the comment was instantaneous and fiery. I actually had to bite my tongue to not verbally eviscerate my friend. Keep listening I thought to myself. Don't say anything you'll regret. I felt sick to my stomach and cold as I listened to the others join in. I couldn't take it anymore and I jumped in. I think I sneered. I never sneer. But my anger was growing and my temper (which can be formidable) wouldn't allow me not to. I told them they obviously didn't know what they were talking about. That I had been/was a part of the system and that as far as PEI went I had heard nothing but positive responses from the social workers that I had interacted with. That my aunt, who is a social worker, loved her job and was often found speaking about how she felt she was a part of something that accomplished good.

And then I went silent in my rage. I stared at my phone and texted my sister that I was having a moment. The conversation at the table in the pub slowly picked up. The subject changed to something completely different. I made no move to interact with anyone. I was still too angry. I was shaking. Never a good sign. I began to replay the conversation over in my head. And I realized I had to let it go. It didn't matter than my friends didn't see the good in social workers like I did. It didn't matter that my conversations throughout my growing up years all indicated that social work was a profession filled with positives and negatives (and yes, tough cases where children are removed from homes and families) but overall these men and women that worked in the field felt proud of their work.

It's been a couple of days and I still feel anger when I think of this conversation. I can't help but feel sorry for the people that are social workers who think and feel this horrible way. I guess I can see how it would feel thankless.

So, to anyone and everyone who is a social worker, works with them, is married to one, is a child of one, is a parent of one; I hope you know what a wonderful person they are. This person has a heart so big and filled with love that they are advocating for children who have no one else to advocate for them. Your loved one is a hero in my books. They saved my life. They gave me my family. They talked to my teenage bio mom and calmed her fears. They helped dry her tears at giving me up for adoption. They held me to their chest and rocked me. They called my adoptive parents and shared the news that they were finally going to be parents. They made my parents happier than they've ever been. They gifted me with a baby brother. They came for visits and had tea with us. They called to check on us.

They are the reason I exist as I do.

I have to apologize to my friend. Perhaps her friend's dad really didn't like his job. Maybe he only saw the negative and never got to see the wonderful things that I experienced growing up.

I ended up emailing my case worker the day after this happened. I thanked her for her work and everything she did for me and my family and all the other kids like me who she came into contact with. I've decided that thanks is the least I can give.

And maybe that's better than anything else.

Home

I went home for a week at the beginning of August.

McLellan cottage. Guaranteed good times.  

Home is Prince Edward Island. It's red dirt roads and waves at the beach. It's being able to walk down the middle of the road and not worry about any traffic. It's fields full of potatoes and barley and wheat and hay. It's hearing the lobster boats before you see them bobbing on the water. It's being able to visit before calling ahead to make sure someone's home. It's coffee on the deck in the morning and sitting on the couch in the evening reading because there is no TV at the cottage. It's BBQs and family.

Oh boy, is it family.

My family, on my mom's side, is large and noisy and everything that you think it is. It's dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles and merriness and shenanigans. It's messy and fun and chaotic. And it's mine and I love them all.

Afternoon at the beach in Richard's Point
where Nan used to bring us all. 

Being home this summer was weird. It was the first summer that I'd been away since Nan passed away. There were lots of times I'd think to myself, "Well, I must run up home and see Nanny." Only to realize a second later that she wasn't there to go see. And there were dozens of times that I drove past the cemetery and I'd have the thought that I should stop in and visit her, but I couldn't bring myself to do so. Mostly because I knew there'd be tears. And I hate crying in public. But also because I knew that Nan knew I was home, she knew how I did with school, she knew everything. See the thing is, even though my Nan is gone, I still talk to her. Mostly it's while I'm lying in bed almost asleep but not quite, but it's also the quiet moments I have while I'm walking the dog or sitting in a park. There have been many moments since she passed that I've had little conversations with her.

It's weird, because I'm not the type of person that has conversations with people that are gone. But Nan was a huge part of my life and it feels wrong to not include her in it still.

Red dirt roads and water. Typical PEI.

My visit home was also a time for me to reconnect with my mom. Although we talked quite often on the phone it's much easier to talk to each other while you are sitting face to face. Mom and I laughed and cried about Nan (of course), we talked about school and life, and everything in between. It was wonderful. There have been a few moments in the last year that I've wondered if mom was upset that I had moved back to Ottawa to go to school. If she thought that maybe I was abandoning her while she still was getting over Nan's death. My talks with mom reassured me that even though she missed having me around she was more than happy that I was living in a city I love, surrounded by friends I love, studying what I discovered I love.

Light lunch at Windows on the
Water in Montague.

My time at home was filled with food. And lots of good food. There were meals out with the family. And a huge chowder night with the cousins to celebrate the birthdays of my brother and myself. There were lunches and coffee dates. Home, for me at least, is a place where there is an abundance of good food and great coffee. What makes them great, is probably the company that comes with both.

Looking back, it's easy to see why I love home so much- it's the people. It's not easy to leave them behind, but I've also got amazing people that make up my Ottawa family. And let's face it, they too love food and coffee. So it's no hardship saying goodbye to one family and heading back to see my other family.

So while PEI is home, Ottawa is also home.

And I like that.

View from our table at The PEI Preserve Company in New Glasgow.