Cat Skinner Club

Deboning my Duck

I rented Julie and Julia the other night, and it made me want to do two things:

1. Eat a lot of food cooked in a lot of butter

2. Write here

The movie was cute, but I would have rather watched the Meryl Streep action than the whiny narcissistic blogging girl. In true narcissistic fashion, it made me wonder if I am as narcissistic as this girl, consumed with her musings and driving her husband right out of the house. Then I realized that I haven’t written here in a very long time, and I have no husband. Legal documents may dictate otherwise, but the only ring on my hand is my feisty Nana’s wedding band which I wear proudly on my middle finger.

Here’s what’s happening in Schnooville:

1. I’ve given up on 9-5 forever. Seriously. I mean it. This last stint was the straw that broke this obnoxious, proud, ego-maniacal lion’s back once and for all. I am hell bent on being the boss of me, and am fortunate enough to be in such a position

2. I’m doing a lot of research about one of my favourite topics – sex. There is A LOT of crap out there, written by pathetic jerks looking to make a buck by proclaiming themselves master lovers. I’m sorry for everyone who is buying into this shite.

3. I’m creating an alter-ego. I almost spelled that “altar” and I think there is some significance to such a type o. This is to facilitate my new adventures as a writer and professional master lover. Ha! Just kidding. Sort of.

4. My relationship is awesome. Not perfect, but settling into this awesome place where I don’t have to worry so much about my relationship. I can just kind of be in it, and enjoy it.

5. Anxiety seems to be vastly diminished. I’m sure this is directly linked to my lack of 9-5 job. I really don’t know what I was thinking, trying to go back to that world. I kept telling myself “this time it will be different”, but like all bad pairings, the outcome was the same.

6. I am convinced that my lack of writing here has my mother convinced that something is wrong with me. Mom, nothing is wrong. Everything is actually amazing. You should know by now (my teenage years being the finest example) that I write more when I’m unsettled, anxious, depressed and/or frustrated. I guess it’s like venting.

7. Every female friend I have is now either a mom, or about to be a mom. I’m thinking through this list, and yep. All of ’em. The closest I have to my own “last unicorn” status is my girlfriend who is a step-mom. Amazingly, all maternal yearnings have been subdued by the recent focus on my writing. I am birthing a new career, I guess. I was actually marveling about this today, but then I ended up minding my pal’s five-month-old little dude and I think I have an achy ovary now. I think I’m reassured that my maternal cravings still exist somewhere.

8. Every morning I wake up happy, but realize I desperately, desperately need a bigger bed. Seriously. It’s actually ridiculous now. Am considering moonlighting as an exotic dancer, because I’m fairly convinced I could buy a larger bed after two nights of work. Ha. Kidding. Sort of.

9. My dreams are back. Intense, vivid, grabbing me by the throat and shaking me to my sub-basement. Deep dark childhood fears, feelings of insignificance and self-loathing from high school, terrifying scenarios involving total strangers. I blame therapy.

10. Therapy is AWESOME. Despite the unbelievable dreams, I am realizing exactly how to articulate what I need, and want. I’m also able to really relax into my life and my love, knowing how successfully my needs are being satisfied. My life may be non-traditional, but it works really well for me when I stop worrying so much. I am so in love, and feel so loved, and have faith that we really can make this work. I can’t imagine any other reality.

11. I’m back at the gym. I have a really sexy trainer. My goal is to be confidant in a bikini this summer. I haven’t worn a bikini since I was about six because I still have the exact pot belly I had then, and not the sexy Pulp Fiction kind. As I type this, I notice it actually hurts to rest my chin in my hands. Tomorrow should be awesome.

I’d best make more of an effort to write here. I have no idea how many people are still reading this, but I think about you often. Whenever I have a moment in my day that I consider remarkable, I think “That would make a good blog post, I think my readers would like that.” How fucking pretentious of me, no?

The truth is friends, I had my privacy pretty seriously invaded through this blog, and it hurt me more than I realized. Because of people’s narrow thinking, I’ve had to cut some significant parts out of my day-to-day accounts, and I really resented that for a while. Now, I think I’ve come out the other end.

Writing here challenges me to seek out the little bits of magic that happen every day, for the sake of having something to share. Without my regular posting, I felt like the magic dried up a little, but then, watching that kind of cheesy movie, it all clicked. I missed you, and remembered why I fell in love with you in the first place.

So, I’m back. I’m re-focused and ready to make a fresh commitment. If not for the sake of reaching out and examining, I will write more frequently in the hopes that I can squeeze a moderately entertaining chick flick out of this.

Ha. Kidding. Sort of.

I’m Not Going Anywhere

A genuine shrunken head

Some people still believe in this. They can look you in the eye and say it with complete conviction.

I used to be one of those people.

Now life and love have taught me that our best intentions can often be foiled by the complex machinations of the universe. That forever and ever are words best left to describe diamonds, or the hole in the ozone layer. We just don’t know when the jig is up, and any jig is subject to this rule.

But still…what a beautiful thing to hear: “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you.”

Even though I can’t believe in the phrase, I can believe in the intention. That was my revelation this week past. I can believe again, really believe in the possibility and the power of love.

Life has been a bit tricky of late. Big questions needing firm answers, big issues needing the whole team to tackle them. Big possibility at work, requiring big focus and big attention.

While my first instinct is to run for the hills, I did just the opposite and tried to roll up all of my sleeves and dig in. Huge, difficult conversations were had. Feelings and wants and needs laid out on the table. Commitments and promises were made, and now I sit and wait for the follow through. I wait to see how it all shakes out.

My therapist asked me a question last week that I was surprised I could not immediately answer. As I meditate on this, I think it’s becoming more clear. “What do you need?”

Here’s what I’ve come up with:

Stability
Security
Support
Inspiration
Friendship
Love
Laughter
Passion
Family
A quiet room of my own
Strong Partners
Opportunity
Trust
Faith
A king sized bed

Now, I ask you:

What do you want?

On Faith

Christmas day. Last year, I made a silent wish that in a year’s time I would be sharing the holidays with someone I love. That wish came true, but I find myself unable to completely immerse myself in the joy of such a thing without worrying that I won’t have this kind of happiness next year.

Yesterday I had to explain to a six-year-old why, after the cruel tutorial from a classmate, Santa does exist, and some people just chose not to believe in him. I asked her to look into her heart and decide what she believed in, and she nodded solemnly and said “I believe in Santa.” Of course her affirmation was made real by the collective efforts of family and grandparents, and the magic unfolded before us all in a way that made me believe again too.

What good is faith without people to share it with? People to add their collective hope and dreaming into the well, to fill it with possibility and imagination? I believe this collaborative effort is required to breathe anything into life. To take dreaming and hoping and make these real, you need a community of dreamers, feverish in their dedication and their faith.

Faith;

1. Confident belief in the truth, value, or trustworthiness of a person, idea, or thing.
2. Belief that does not rest on logical proof or material evidence.
3. Loyalty to a person or thing; allegiance: keeping faith with one’s supporters.

I have an abundance of faith that the path I am on is exactly where I need to be. I have faith in its possibility and ability to survive whatever the world throws at us. I have faith in the power of love. I have an “It’s A Wonderful Life” sized abundance of sweetness and real, pure love in this relationship. Enough that I brought everyone to my extended family holiday celebration, and introduced them to nearly all of my people.
This entry continues on Boxing Day morning, at my parent’s home. My family home, where I lived my entire life before venturing out on my own. We’ve crashed here, and my mother is now busy in the kitchen, putting together an epic brunch. I’m battling guilt over all of the bad-for-me things I’ve eaten in the last week, but I know the onslaught is not over yet, and so I’m steeling myself for more over-indulgence.
After my last relationship ended, I decided not to bring anyone home to my family until I knew it was the real deal. I didn’t want my poor parents to have to bond with anyone, only for it not to work out again. I realize there is no way to predict the future, but as I watch my mother, and more remarkably my father, filled with delight I feel a little knot forming in my belly, that is the product of so much hope and fear.
I want this so badly. Not just because of the love I feel, but also because if we can succeed at this, we will inspire so many people. We are like pioneers, forging our way across uncharted land, making our own rules as we meet new hurdles. To witness the love and acceptance and inclusion over the last three days has only further convinced me that this IS possible. That despite some complication and difficulty, there is a way that all of this can work, especially with a loving community to support us.
However, if we don’t believe in this ourselves, there isn’t very far to go at all.

The Most Wonderful Time

The only good thing about November is that it is immediately followed by December, which I think perhaps is one of my favourite months of the year.

I love the winter, and the snow, and the cold. It affords such quiet, introspective time, and finding interesting ways to keep your world filled with warmth and light always results in such lovely domestic moments with friends and family.

We hosted a beautiful party on Saturday night, and my favourite cook completely outdid himself. The night before was perhaps the most fun I’ve ever had shopping at an LCBO (there is only ONE wine expert in Barrie) or shopping for groceries. I credit my gorgeous shopping buddy for this. The party was a success. I was so proud. We were so organized. The house looked beautiful.

My first wish for the New Year is to organize this place together so it looks like this without having to hide stacks of boxes behind closed doors.

After such a fine, fine weekend, I’ve decided to see how long I can carry these feelings into the week ahead. The holidays should be an interesting experience in sharing and experiencing family dynamics. For the most part, I trust it will be pleasant, but I’ll admit to feeling nervous.

It’s funny how the expectations heaped on people at this time of year have really come to affect me. I’m in-between jobs, so Christmas shopping didn’t happen, and I’m feeling really strange about this. Next year, I’m giving everyone home-made gifts, and will be super organized about this. I love gift-giving. It’s a natural Leo trait, and it makes me so happy.

This morning starts with a meeting to put the finishing touches on plans for a Valentine’s Weekend blow out with the troupe. Then I come home to assist with child-care duties. I need to think up an activity that will amuse a three-year-old. Tonight will be quiet, with some baking, and a movie or two.

Looking at my life now, I think a lot about traditions and the little familiar rituals that surround these holidays. The cherished elements of my own childhood Christmas feel so far away now, but perhaps there is a way to re-visit them and re-invent them to fit within my new reality? It seems I am re-inventing everything to fit into my new reality, and I think perhaps this is the greatest thing I have ever done for myself.

As I break down everything that I was accustomed to, and everything I thought I knew, I realize I still have so much to learn, and that I’m surrounded by loving people who can only help me grow.

What are your favourite holiday traditions? Mine include:

The Charlie Brown Christmas Special
Baking
Making decorations
Christmas parties with my friends
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
The Grinch Who Stole Christmas
White Christmas
A Christmas Story
It’s A Wonderful Life (Kleenex required, ALWAYS)
Tourtiere (French Canadian meat pie)
Bertha’s butter tarts
Opening Christmas pajamas on Christmas Eve
My mother’s Christmas morning spread
Lazily watching new movies or listening to new music on Christmas day
The smell of my dad’s soap/cologne/aftershave as the house is filled with people getting ready for:
The big family Christmas Day party
Singing with my aunties
My cousins playing old Acadian folk music
Playing with my Grandmaman’s creche (My grandfather built the stable)
Drinking nog with my dad and listening to Bing Crosby
Wrapping presents
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas (my mom used to read this to us every year on Christmas Eve.)

Tell me yours!

In the hall of the Gnome King

Pheasant Feathers - David Taylor

Yesterday we bought a Christmas tree, set it up in our living room, went to a pot luck at the girls’ school, and then decorated the tree with all of the decorations we’ve made.

I’m a PTA mom. I have children to enjoy the holidays with. I have a family.

Every day we are growing, and with the hope that peaceful December brings, I daresay getting stronger. I believe we are getting stronger.

The dreamy phase has been paused, and work, and life have sunk their teeth into us, creating some stress and some seriously distracted grown-ups with their faces buried in their computers, but we persevere. I work at being better, stronger, and most importantly, more trusting. This one is the hardest, and it is with real anger that I admit that. I imagine myself free of doubt, and able to sink deeply into the arms of love, and know that work distractions don’t mean the end of the world. My waking brain knows this, but there are still cobwebs that keep this message from being clearly relayed.

Sometimes when I tell my boyfriend some of the things in my head he laughs. Not because he is laughing at me, but because he can’t believe how far his own thoughts and my perceptions are from each other in such moments. I wish I could laugh at this too. Maybe that’s a good way to dismiss such moments, or put them in better perspective.

This has been an incredible weekend. When I can look up and catch secret, special glances from both of my partners each time, I know all is right with the world. We’re listening to Louis Armstrong, each working away in our brightly sun-lit living room, brunch is packed away, and the girls are playing in their now-clean bedroom. The six-year-old is wearing a crazy woolen hat that I own, and matching blue tights with crazy flowers all over them. She has a leather belt with embroidered flowers, where she’s tucked a recently acquired plastic sword. Her fuzzy red and white striped socks match the red and white furry pouch she has slung diagonally across her little self, and she is addressing her father and I as the Gnome King and Gnome Queen. She returns from her epic travels to her bedroom with treasures that she lays like offerings with a bow and a flourish; old rhinestone costume jewelery, feathers, crystals, old coins, and anything else that catches her imagination.

She is a soul-twin, of that I am sure. There are so many moments when I am convinced she can see into my head and my heart. For example, just the other day, she was playing a story game taught to her by a class mate. It goes like this:

“Once, there was a man named Gunkie Dung Gung, and he ate a slug.”

None of us knows what this means, but we have a joke that only children can say the name of this man, because it is unpronounceable to the grown-up tongue. This particular morning though, she changed the game up:

“Once, there was a man named Bookie Boo…”

Bookie Boo was the nickname my father gave me as a little girl. I’ve never told her this, nor have I ever uttered this name in her presence, but there it was. She amazes me every day.

At the pot luck, the children in her kindergarten participate in a little ritual called the Advent Spiral. The teacher lays evergreen boughs on the floor in the shape of a spiral and the path is marked with large shells or crystals or tin stars. In the centre of the spiral are individual white taper candles in fat apples. The children walk with a parent, select a candle, and walking the spiral, place the candle near the symbol that speaks to them. Our six-year-old chose me to walk the spiral with her, and it was so sweet and solemn. She didn’t want to hold my hand though. She led the way, proud and strong, selected her candle, walked with me at her side, and laid it to rest beside a large, beautiful feather.

From the internet:

“When you find feathers upon your path it could be taken to mean that you are on a higher spiritual path (whether you accept it or not), and it may be a sign of encouragement as you philosophically travel on this path.

Finding feathers on your path is also symbolic of having a lighter outlook on life or a particular situation.  When we see feathers in our midst it is considered a message that we need to lighten up, not take things too seriously, and try to find the joy in our situation.”

Light. Joy. Spirit.

Let the holidays begin.