Wife. Bride. Life.

Perspective and Gratitude

2012-01-22T17:54:00.000-08:00

It all started with a sleepytime tea a few days ago. I anticipated having trouble falling asleep, so I took a Melatonin and put the kettle on to make myself a cup of tea and settle down with a borrowed copy of O. Little did I know, I would be having my turning point during a particularly emotionally fraught week. This particular brand of sleepytime tea has little pieces of advice attached to the tea bag and mine happened to say "Gratitude is the open door to abundance." It was exactly what I needed to see at that moment of time and since then, I have been counting my blessings and feeling so grateful for all the things I have and even for the things I have lost.

I feel grateful that my latest health setback was not so serious. The tumour wasn't cancerous or especially large and damaging. I was lucky because a careful dentist and a concerned surgeon decided to investigate further and ultimately save my jaw. (Ther perspective in my title came when my surgeon informed me that an earlier patient receive a diagnosis of tongue cancer. She is only 27 years old).
I feel grateful that my husband is feeling positive these days and that old twinkle in his eye that I fell in love when we were both at our happiest is apparent much more frequently.
I feel grateful that I have a demanding job that keeps me occupied and busy so that I don't dwell too much on what we have lost.
I feel grateful that Isla was alive for an hour, that we got to breathe the same air, that her skin was warm when I held her and that she heard my voice outside my body.
I feel grateful that my sisters and mother are healthy and they love me. I feel grateful that my husband's immediate family are healthy and love me. I feel grateful for the super friends I have who call and text and email to check up on me, giving me hugs across vast spaces.
I feel grateful for Downtown Abbey and how it made the hours fly by while I was recuperating while simultaneously reminding me of the good memories I have from Britain.
I feel grateful for having an amazing boss and working with caring people who were concerned enough to send a beautiful arrangement of flowers with a card that said "We miss you. Get well soon".

When I started thinking about what I was grateful for, it opened up the door to the many good things I have in my life. And that's probably the biggest thing I am grateful for. Thanks to sleepytime tea.

20 Months

2012-01-17T12:00:00.000-08:00

As much as I love this quote, I don't think in times of strife that being strong is the only choice you have. You have a few. You can fall apart. You can be angry and bitter. You can quit life and end it all. Well, those are my choices, anyway. I have been strong a lot of the time, that's true. I choose to do so to honour my baby's life and to be there for my husband, mother, sisters and friends. But it's hard being strong all the time. Sometimes I consider other alternatives. Like being angry and bitter. I wore that crown several times over the last 20 months, but threw it away after a few days because it was too tight and too constricting.

Other times when I feel like being strong is just too tough, I consider ending it all. To spell it out, I think about taking my own life (wow, that is really hard to write). I think about departing either by my own hand or walking in front of a Mack truck, disregarding thoughts on how badly I would hurt everyone who loves me. Sometimes, I just want the pain in my heart to end. When I look at Isla's box and remember her meagre possessions (her hat, her necklace, her blanket and a card with her footprints and hand prints), it seems too much to bear for the rest of my life. With this, I go to an ink black place and contemplate my little world without me. Fortunately, I now have some hope in my heart and dismiss that course of action.

When these options fail to satisfy, I do the only other thing I can do instead of being strong - I fall apart. I cry for hours on end for several days in a row. The tears I always think have been fully wrung out of me over the last 20 months seem to be in endless supply. I don't try to stop them anymore. Sometimes you just need to weep and feel the depth of your despair. And there's nothing wrong with that. Losing a loved one changes you and you can never be the same again. And that is mournful. I think one thing I'd like to shout from the rooftops is that the pain never stops. It's there in the shade of a sunny smile and at night after a great day. And while the bright days grow more numerous between the the dark ones, they never fully go away. To be honest, I don't think I could be strong without taking the opportunities to just go to pieces.

Well, hello there...

2012-01-16T18:22:00.000-08:00

Whoa...it has been a minute, hasn't it? I'm sure all 5 of you have been waiting with baited breath to see what I've been up to...NOT. I'm not sure where the last 4 months have gone...oh yes, now I remember. Shortly after my last post, I learned that a co-worker was quitting to move to Alberta and that I would be covering her job (in addition to my own). And then I started school again (after a 10 year absence, though on a part-time basis). And then I learned I had something funny in my jaw and got a referral to an oral surgeon. That funny thing turned out to be a benign tumor, but one that threatened to destroy my teeth and jaw, so it had to go. And that made me really, really, really depressed. And anxious. And then we went to Montreal for Christmas and New Year's. And then I returned to Toronto and had my surgery. And that's where we are today. I'm recuperating at home, having been put under and had my jaw opened by a roster of talented surgeons (I got really lucky with my team). I am still partially frozen though, due to some nerve interference and I can feel my stitches like train tracks in half of my lower jaw. The good news is that my surgeon believes he got it all out and that he was able to save my molars (had I lost them, I would have had to have a bone graft from my hip. Erm, no thanks.), and Dave has been sleeping better because of it. Who knew stress and anxiety about your wife's jaw and face could make a man lose so much sleep!

So now it's a new year (and I wish a happy new year to all you) and I plan on being more regular with this blog. I had thought about blogging several times but let other things take too much of my time, namely work, but I promise not to do that anymore. It was affecting my health (12 hour days - what am I? A nurse?) and the quality of my relationship so I promised David and myself that I will work no later than 6pm with the caveat of staying no more than two hours immediately before and after a vacation (which we are planning for February). I like blogging. I have always expressed myself best through written words, and I want to share my life. There are so many things people don't talk to because they are embarrassed or feel like they are alone. I've learned that we all hurt and we're only connected when we are vulnerable with it. What's the point of suffering in silence or pretending that everything is ok? I hope I can reach people with my words. And the very least, it's a platform that forces me to be honest, which I intend to be, with you and with myself. That's the only thing that feels right to me these days. We are still here, still living, still grieving, but also, laughing, smiling and loving each other and our Isla.

People in my neighbourhood

2011-09-15T05:28:00.001-07:00

I love my hood. It's tree lined, has lots of old (and expensive) houses and young families, and is, for the most part, quiet. I especially love the fact that most people will smile and say hello. This morning I caught a preteen girl glancing at me and when we locked eyes, she smiled brightly and I smiled back. When she looked away, I continued to assess her and noticed two things: 1) she had a Blackberry and 2) there was a Coach backpack at her feet (I didn't even know Coach made backpacks!). It made me smile. These are the people in my neighborhood.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Inside a Marriage After an Emotional Apocolypse

2011-08-23T13:53:00.000-07:00

When Dave and I met, he was 22 and I was 27. We met in one of the most foreign and beautiful countries on earth and we fell in love. We had fun. We laughed. We swam in oceans and ate delightful things. We sent long emails to each other and talked about life after Japan.

Then we moved together to England. We had a transitional phase (read, we fought a lot) then we adjusted and grew into each other. Adjustment gave way to confidence and acceptance and we became engaged. We travelled to Rome and I discovered Europe. Again, we ate breathtaking food, walked hand in hand all over the country and met Chuck D.

When we moved up to Scotland, the ease that had accompanied us in our preceding 3 years together disappeared and tension was a more constant companion. He hated his job, I didn't like mine. We lived in a good flat in a bad part of town. I commuted 3 hours a day and hated it. But the love was still there and while we had no social life, we loved our time together. We planned a beautiful wedding and had a mini-moon. But our hearts were not as happy as they had been. Despite this, we planned for a baby. Perhaps it wasn't the best of times, but it worked like a charm and we looked forward to her while being sick of life in the town where Dave was born.

Then she died.

And we've been tripping over our feet ever since.

The last 15 months since we lost Isla have been so indescribably difficult from an emotional, physical and psychological point of view. In regards to our marriage, we never dreamed of being where we are when we sunned on rocks by the river in rural Japan. There have been times over the last year where we have been sick of each other. That connection we felt so sure of has been strained by our grief. It's a strange thing - to be simultaneously comforted by the person who understands you and your loss better than anyone else in the world and also want to be as far away from them as humanely possible.

The old us have gone. We are completely different people. There are shadows of our former personalities we can illuminate when we need to, but fundamentally, we are strangers to ourselves and to each other. We have had some raw discussions, words and feelings that feel like bare-knuckled hits to our hearts. Dave's eyes are no longer as shiny as they used to be. My self-confidence ebbs at a low level and consequently, I need him to prop up my ego in a way that embarrasses me.

Marriage is hard, yo. People say it all the time. It's true. It's about give and take, being high when he's low. Watching your words. Being kind even when you want to choke each other. It's about thinking about the other person all the time and loving him all the time (liking him all the time is optional).

We're not going to get a divorce. That's simply not an option nor has it ever been a consideration. We're just starting over. We've been together in Toronto now for 4 months. We've transitioned for the last time. There is no talk of "when this happens" or "when that happens". It's just now. We're working on ourselves and our relationship because it's the most important thing to us right now.

I finally read "The Happiness Project"as per Anna's recommendation and because my boss had a copy. I didn't love it because the author was already happy; she just wanted to be happier. I think I'd be more pleased if it had been written by a person who had been devastated then learned a few things to be happy again. I did, however, take away a few tenets that I've moulded to fit my life now:
1) Be brave.
2) Be kind.
3) Cut people slack.
4) Be selfish when you need to be.
5) Breathe.

I have been trying to remember and applying these things every time I talk to my husband. He in turn is relaxing more which makes me relaxed. We hug each other longer and sit closer together on the couch. I'm listening to him more. He's the father of my daughter and my partner in life. I vowed to always save him the big piece of chicken and to be his safe place, and he vowed to unball his socks before throwing them in the laundry basket and to love me always and forever. I love him more than anything. I've decided to add his last name to my own. We are a family. I couldn't imagine going through all this with anyone else in spite it all.

Hmmmmm...

2011-08-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

I couldn't find the right image, so just remember the episode when Homer decided to suppress his rage. You remember the one - when Bart drew a cartoon called Angry Dad because of Homer's episodic bouts with anger. In an attempt to control his emotion, he decides to swallow it and as a result, he grew lumps that turned out to be boils. His anger was manifested through these boils.

Now that I've set the scene, I can say that this is basically what has happened to me my whole life. My pain, my anger, my stress manifests itself through my body. I'll spare you the details, but I've had a very traumatic life. I don't like to think about it or talk about it, and therein lies the problem. I met with a homeopath for the first time tonight and we talked about a lot of stuff. She took my history and said "ooh" and "ahh" and promised to get in touch with some remedies in a few days. I don't usually think about all the terrible things that have happened prior to having Isla, but unfortunately, they're all connected. My latest physical issue is connected to the birth and a culmination of how I deal with stress and trauma. When she made this assessement, something clicked. She said I'm intellectually capable of expressing myself, and I do a good job of it, but I'm emotionally suppressing and there is enough evidence to connect the dots that the mental, emotional and physical are all connected.

Of course, this can all be conjecture. Of course, I can be so desperate for a "cure" that I'm willing to grasp on to anything. I guess, we'll see.

***************
I had a bad day today. I really toughie. I reached out and D caught me. It's so hard sometimes, going through this thing. Thanks for being there for me D, my sista from another mista. Love you.

Goodbye Cable

2011-08-17T05:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Rogers Extended Cable Package,

When you came into my life 5 months ago in the form of an offer of 6 months free, I really couldn't resist you. With over 900 channels including movies and music, you hit all the right spots. After 6 years away from American/Canadian programming , I indulged in your variety and overdosed on your banality. ANTM, The Bachelorette, nearly every program on HGTV-I lost hours of my life plugged into the inanity. But Movies-on-Demand, Boardwalk Empire, Spartacus; I anticipated my escapes into fantasy and history.

Despite the good, you're not worth the $96 a month. For a long time, I wished I could quit you, and now I will. In your place, I aim to sew and knit more, read more and study for my classes. I hope to have more meaningful conversations with my husband when he's not killing zombies on the Xbox. Perhaps we will get Netflix or Zip to continue with our addiction to films and dust off the old Scrabble to engage in some hardcore competitiveness.

So, so long Cable. You will be missed sometimes, but hopefully not all the time.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Flying Solo

2011-07-27T09:45:00.000-07:00

I went to see Harry Potter all by my lonesome last night because no one wanted to see it with me and you know what? I had a nice time flying solo.

I arrived just as the commercials were starting and didn't have to shop around for seats for 2, which was nice as the theatre was close to full. I just plunked myself down next to a couple of chicks exactly where I wanted to sit (about 4 rows from the top, right side aisle seat) and enjoyed the show without feeling weird. When the credits started rolling at the end, I hopped out of my seat and was the first one out of the theatre. It was just freeing.

It was a cool night and having dressed in jeans and a light sweater, I sauntered home, thinking about a few things and processing a few others. I had such a nice walk, I walked a bit further before eventually heading home. I like spending time alone and I like just being within myself. My friend had mocked me earlier in the day when I told her I was planning on flying solo to the movies, but it's nice to just be responsible for yourself once and a while. My thoughts are often consumed with a future baby and I am so aware that hopefully very soon, it won't just be me and Dave running out on a moment's whim and being free. So while it's just us for the next while, I plan on hanging with just me as much as I can.

Summer, Summer, Summertime

2011-07-13T14:11:00.001-07:00

It has been that kind of summer, one that helps with the grieving. I feel my daughter everywhere I look - through the rustling leaves, in the fluffy white clouds and when I see squirrels running around doing their squirrely business (for some reason, I know that she'd be wild about animals). Last summer, in the thick of my grief, I cursed the sunshine and the long, bright days. Now I revel in them because they make me feel closer to her.

Things are ticking along well in the Big Smoke. We both have jobs, there's a world of adventure at our doorstop and our laughter moves from room to room in our lovely flat. Someone is still missing though, but we say her name and keep her with us in every thing we do.

We have fun a lot. I think we have to.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Finding faith

2011-05-10T11:43:00.000-07:00

Beautiful sakura right near my work.

After a trying a couple of weeks ago, I feel like I want to return to having faith. Don't get it twisted - I don't feel like that thing called God and I can be BFF right now, but I feel like I can't carry the load on my own anymore. I am a ruthlessly inefficient over-thinker and I have been for most of my life. But I started to change this is Japan when I decided to let some things go and hand it over to the "universe". I would wake up in the morning, sit in seiza while looking out at the moutains and give thanks for my life and all the gifts that had been bestowed upon me. At night, before falling asleep, I would give thanks for the lessons I had learned that day, and prayed for blessings for my loved ones.

When I moved to the UK, I stopped meditating in the mornings, but I always woke up and fell asleep giving thanks. Unfortunately, my bad habits slowly returned and I would overthink and get stressed out by my precarious position in the UK, when honestly, things weren't that bad.

When I became pregnant with Isla, I gave thanks morning, noon and night, happy to have her inside of me and feeling like each day was a gift. But then she died.

And I haven't been the same since.

Sakura will always remind me of Isla.

After nearly a year of walking this spiritual past aimlessly and blindly, I know I need to give up some of my anxiety to faith.

Faith that I'm not alone.

Faith that I'll be happy, fulfilled and free.

Faith that I'll get pregnant again and carry a baby to term.

So I'm trying. I give thanks when I remember and let things go when there is nothing more I could possibly do. I don't expect to have the blind faith I had before any time soon, but I do believe I'm ready for the universe to carry the load when it feels too heavy upon my shoulders.

A couple of years ago I wanted to get the word faith tattooed on my wrist. That got veteod by Dave so I'm going to try to tattoo it on my mind.

And so it begins.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step
(or a really rocking pair of flats)

Remember me, remember her

2011-05-02T09:27:00.000-07:00

http://internationalbabylostmothersday.blogspot.com/

Today is International Baby Lost Mother's Day. It recognizes all those mothers who have had to say goodbye to a baby or babies, and who have a wound in their hearts. She might be your friend, your neighbour or even your own mother. Please take a moment to think of her and to wish her nothing but love, joy and happiness in the future. If you're reading this post after the day has passed, don't worry. Just close your eyes, think of her, and send her good vibes. There, you're done.

Thank you.

Big, fat update post

2011-04-29T09:20:00.000-07:00

It's been a whole month since I last updated and things have progressed. A lot. Rather than turn this into a monster post, I'll break down what's been happening in manageable bites:

Reunion

This was before the beard came off. I loved that beard..

On April 5th, Dave touched down at Pearson and we were finally reunited after 83 days of living apart. He breezed through immigration and into my arms and he hasn't left them since. I can't really describe how it felt to see his beardy face after nearly 3 months of infuriatingly haphazard Skype chats and broken up long distance conversations. I can't get enough of his kisses, his voice and his smell. This is the closest to feeling whole in about a year. He has been working hard at settling in, putting together furniture for me and applying for jobs. I'm so happy he's here and we can truly start over again.

Home

Our apartment is coming along now. We have hung up items on the walls, personalized furuniture and purchased a new home entertainment unit. There are items missing like a rug, a coffee table, a sitting chair and odds and ends, but we're here for the long haul. All that stuff can wait until we found the perfect accompaniement rather than running out to buy something just because I want the finished look. I plan on posting a few before and afters because I'm really "in like" with our home and happy with where we live.

Health

These ads are ridiculous. Love the grafitti.

Due to the graciousness of a great friend, I met up with a holistic therapist who came over to my house about a month ago to talk about our loss and healing. I never got the chance to talk to a therapist after losing Isla, and after all the months that have passed, I feel like talking it out is the best thing for me. Rebecca communicated with me from the point of view of a naturopath and spiritual healer and I did feel lighter and more hopeful after we talked, and luckily, I have been riding that wave ever since. She also diagnosed with me with having too much acid in my body which has led to some unpleasant side effects ever since after I gave birth. Based on her suggestions, I've undertaken a fairly strict diet where I have cut out dairy, sweets (including most fruits), wheat and everything delicious and fattening in an effort to balance my body out. While I was focusing on ridding myself of my oh-so-annoying affliction, I lost weight without even trying. I have gone down two belt sizes and my clothes are all looser. I have a more athletic build right now with abs and smaller hips, which is a bit weird. Dave thinks my body is rocking and I'm pleased, but I want to be better on the inside as well. This is month 2 so we'll see if I'm "cured".

Job

Since arriving in January, I have had two jobs and have been interviewed 5 times. I can finally say that I will be starting a third job next month, which, happily is permanent. That means I'll have benefits, vacation, security, and one less thing to worry about when planning about the future. It has been a struggle to get to this place. This is a topic I'll probably revisit in the future.

Extracurricular Activities

As I mentioned a couple of months back, I got elected to the executive of the JET alumni organization here so I have been out to meeting and activities, which have been a really great way to meet new people and get out in the city. I also got the opportunity to write a restaurant review, participate in a fundraiser for the recent Japanese earthquake and tsunami and try my hand at rock climbing. It has been taking more of my time than I anticipated, but that has been good. I've realized though that my focus right now is on pregnancy losses (duh) and connecting with other women who have suffered. I think that's probably something I'll get more involved in as time goes by. In the meantime, I organized and participated in a meet up for other baby loss mommas in the GTA and our first meeting was great (well, as great as can be when you're talking about the babies that you lost). It helps me have an outlet for the pain I still and will always have. We're meeting again in a few days and I can't wait.

Social Life

To put it briefly, my social life has been rocking. I have such great friends here and I feel like a fun outing is just a text away. I have peeps here from university and an old job, as well as my old friends, the Pinay crew. I cannot say how much I laugh when I'm with my friends. When we get together, we are 18 years old again, and I savour those moments. On the flip side, they have also cried with me when I've had my down days. I love them so much. Toronto would not be the same without them.

Isla

Thoughts of my daughter are, of course, are on my mind every day, just not all day any more. I think of her frequently and it always reaches fever pitch around the middle of the month. My brain subconsciously marks the time of the month when we lost her last May. She was born on the 17th and without fail and usually without me realizing it, I go down that deep pit of despair for a while. I remember things vividly and I cry and feel lost and empty. I am coping with these dark times better and better though. Her birthday is coming up and I have been racking my brain thinking of coming up with a good way to...pay homage to her life? No, that's not it. Acknowledge her presence here on earth? Hmmm....getting closer. It's just hard. One of my BFFs gave me a cracking idea - pay it forward. She told me about a friend of a friend who lost a baby and who honours her baby's life by buying various baby items and donating it to the maternity ward of a hospital. That's nice but I think I rather donate to other mothers who are going through the same thing I went through last year. One thing that struck me when they brought Isla to me was that she was dressed in a very lovely outfit. Someone, most likely a woman who had to say goodbye to her baby too soon, took the time to sit down and make clothes for really small babies. Isla weighed 1lb 1oz when she was born. And she was decked out in a lovely pink knitted dress and a pink and white knitted toque. And she looked lovely. Someone gave her clothes when nothing you could have bought in a store would have fit her and I'm grateful my baby had something made just for her. So it seems right to do that for someone else. With just a few weeks to go before her birthday, I won't have enough time to knit something that is of good quality, but in the months to come, I swear I'll do this and send it to the hospital in Isla's name.

And that's where we are. I plan on having a lot of fun this summer and being really, really busy having a life. Toronto is truly a great city and I'm sorry I never gave it a good chance till now. Here are a few scenes from our walk this past weekend:

Underwear found in Kensington Market.

Dave is apparently quite a well known artist in Canada. Google it.

Ramen mascot on Spadina Ave.

I think they suit him.

Progress

2011-03-22T07:42:00.000-07:00

Hi y'all. I feel like I haven't had a chance to blog in a while and I really want to, but alas, I'm without internet right now and blogging at work is kinda tacky, huh (sheepish grin)? Things have been moving forward and I have been feeling better than I have in a long while. Things are in a little bit of a transition right now - emotionally, physically and spiritually, but I feel (dare I say?) happy. I have been learning a few things and I have so much support, so I'm going to try to make this last.

Until I can write a proper blog post, here are a couple of lovely things I found:

This makes me thing about Dave and I, but then again, everything does! I can't wait for him to get here. TWO MORE WEEKS!

This article also made me smile. It's all about finding love abroad, which as you know, is truly close to my heart. Thanks to Loverly for having such a sweet story (and blog)!

Lemonade

2011-03-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

I realize the last post was pretty heavy. I got some concerned phone calls and emails, and I'm so grateful for all the love I have in my life. I've written a post that is honest and hardcore, but I'm not ready to share that, but I promise I will one day. I guess I just want to be even more honest about what I've been feeling regarding being a baby loss mama. One day.

Lately, I've been on an upswing. I went to a local support group for grieving parents and that helped immensely. While I have friends who I can share so much with and who cry and grieve with me, there is something calming about being in a room full of people who have also lost a baby or babies. It just feels like I'm less of a freak and that my tears/rage/sadness is NORMAL. So yeah. That was very intense, but cathartic as well. I've also made contact with another group that will be closer to our new apartment and should start in the summer. Hopefully, that will be successful too.

I'm also very happy that the countdown to Dave's arrival is now on! 4 MORE WEEKS! I can't wait to kiss his beardy face again. In the meantime, I have been driving around this sprawling megapolis securing furniture, furnshings and supplies for our new apartment, which I will be moving into on Saturday. I have been finding inspiration everywhere and I can't wait to make it our own. Our stuff that was shipped from Scotland should be arriving in a few weeks and it'll be great to have all our stuff we've collected from Japan and Scotland here, under one roof. I plan on blogging about making our apartment a home, so that will be different, and hopefully good.

I've also taken a risk in terms of my job/career and I'm hoping it will pay off. I don't want to say much more right now, but it was very uncharacteristic of me to say no even though I would have jumped up and down saying "YES" 8 years ago. Well, we all know that that girl is dead and gone. I guess the biggest thing I've learned through all this stuff is that life is risky, life isn't guaranteed and take advantage of every good thing when you have it. I'm trying. Holy crap, I'm trying.

Honesty

2011-02-27T17:15:00.000-08:00

I have to be honest: I'm a liar. A lie nearly every day. I lie through my teeth when people ask me things and I lie by withholding my true feelings. I'm a dirty, filthy liar. And I can't stop.

I wish I had the power and the guts to say "No, I'm not okay" when someone asks me how I am. I wish I can answer truthfully and tell them I cried my eyes out for hours when they ask me what I did last night. I wish I could wipe that stupid, pasted on smile off my face when all I want to do is grimace and moan. I'm so scared that I'll alienate everyone in my life by telling a simple truth: that I'm grieving, I'm depressed and I sometimes have "bad thoughts".

I know I'm getting better but in some ways, I feel like this grief will never go away. I so wish this wasn't my life.
I just don't know what to do.

This woman is honest in a way I wish I could be now.

Toronto thus far

2011-02-18T20:22:00.000-08:00

I've been in Toronto for a month now, and so far, I've been digging it. Yeah, I go through this every time I initially settle some where (well, except Scotland truthfully), but since this is now my home FOREVER, I feel like I'm digging in more. I mean, I have to like it and thankfully, right now, it's coming pretty easily.

Toronto is a sprawling metropolis and is a bit intimidating. It's really disconcerting being away from your native country for so long and then returning to find that everything is more expensive than you remember and things are just so different. Thankfully, even though Dave is across the ocean, I'm not alone. I have been living with my sister who has been helping me navigate this new landscape, and my friends have been helping me settle in to a social life. I've been getting to know some new areas and I've been trying out new restaurants. I am also trying to get more involved. By all accounts, things are going well.

My gorgeous pal, C.


Pretty horticultural society building.

I've been literally walking all around the city when I'm out to a) save cash and b) see more of the area. Even though it has been brick freezing (-28 one day!), I loved looking at buildings, taking note of cool looking restaurants and stores, and just feeling my way around. In between the hours and hours exploring, I have also been looking for an apartment, which I'm happy to report, I've found. It's in the hip Yonge and Eglinton area (nicknamed Young and Eligible) and the apartment is right in the middle of the well-to-do neighbourhood, Forest Hill. I've been back about 5 times and I'm still in love with the place. I've managed to pick out a kick ass couch and bought a very comfortable mattress set, and I'm so excited to turn a nice apartment into a really sweet home.

The living room. This house has some good bones and I love this space.

I mentioned that I've been getting involved and I've been doing that by becoming more active on the JET alumni association scene. I'm really happy to say that I got elected to the executive and starting in April, I will be the conference organizer! It's pretty exciting since I'm such a big planner and have big love for my time in Japan. Plus the members seem pretty awesome so I'm looking forward to hanging with them doing some cool things.

I also decided to throw my hat into the ring and volunteer myself as a group leader for Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope. It's a really amazing place online where women who have lost babies at all stages of pregnancy can go on and tell their stories (and read others) to gain a sense of community and support. I've said so many times that losing a baby and grieving is such an isolating process, so it's nice to find that you're not alone (as heartbreaking as that is). Anyway, the founders of the site recently had a lightbulb moment - they invited members of the community to set up face to face groups where people can get together with others who share a similar fate and I thought it was such a great idea. I've mentioned that the SANDS support meetings probably helped to save my life and I was desperately looking for similar in the Toronto area. I haven't found anything yet so I thought this would be a great thing. Now, I'm not the most seasoned of baby loss mamas but I feel if I can help support someone who is grieving, like I was supported by SANDS in the early days, then that would be a very great thing. Plus, I'm, hoping that I can get support as well. All in all, a pretty good thing. I've thought that since losing Isla, I'm trying to be the kind of women that would have been an amazing mother to my daughter. I'm really trying to live my best life and she is my motivation.

And with all that stuff going on, I landed a temporary job at the number 1 place I wanted to work in. I'm hoping one good thing can leader to even greater things so here's hoping. I start next week! So Toronto, cheers!

Epic Success!

2011-01-31T10:09:00.000-08:00

I meant to post this a little while ago, but we were in the midst of going through it. So now that Dave has booked his plane ticket (April 5th!), it seems like the right time.

Under normal circumstances, I hate filling out application forms. They can be so tedious and boring: getting the dates right, looking up addresses and contacts, dotting all the Is and crossing all the Ts. Funnily enough though, I was downright excited when Dave and I started his application for Canadian permenant residency.

Make no mistake. It's a freaking monster of packet. I'm sorry, but reams and reams of paper were printed in order to get my husband from here to there. A moment of silence please.

Where was I? Oh yes, it's a freaking monster. So in order not to bore the lot of you, I'll break these down in manageable steps.

The first thing I did was read the Citizenship and Immigration Canada site thoroughly. I mean, we became BFF. It's a lot of information, some of it confusing and sometimes a bit vague, but overall, it's easily understandable. I did, however, use my other BFF (Google) to read about other people's experiences and what I should do to avoid common pitfalls. The site I found the most useful was http://www.britishexpats.com/ particularly the discussion forum. I would urge, no push, anyone going through this to go on a forum and read what others have done in order to save yourself headaches and anxiety in the long run.

After reading the site, I printed out the application guides as well as the application itself and Dave and I sat down together to see what we needed to do. As it turned out, it was quite a lot. The application is in two parts: the first part is for the sponsor and the second part is for the applicant. As I'm the Canadian citizen, I would sponsor Dave, thus being financially responsible for him for the next three years. In order to get approved at a sponsor, I had to show that I wasn't a drain on the State and that I had ties to Canada since I have been living abroad for the past few years. I had to complete a 5 page application form and provide information about myself and my sponsored person and basically promise to look after him while we live in Canada. I also had to sign a sponsorship agreement and a sponsorship evaluation to ascertain if I was rich enough (i.e. not on benefits) to take care of my man, as well as a sponsor questionnaire that entailed me answering questions about my past jobs and addresses as well as my master plan when I arrive in Canada. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. In total, this part of the application was about 11 pages, plus my birth and marriage certificates, and tax and financial documents.

The second part was a little more...involved. Dave and I worked on this for about a week. This part of the application focused on him and his history. He had to answer the usual questions: address, height, weight, if he has ever been involved in an act of genocide...what??? Yes, there were several questions about any criminal activities he may have taken part in. He also had to provide details on what he has been doing and where he has living since he was 18. It took a little while to remember all the details but we got there.

Last but not least, we had to go through the whole history of our relationship including dating, proposal, wedding and honeymoon, and provide pictures of us over the last five years. We had to provide details of when and where we met, if our close friends and families knew of our relationship and if and when I met any of them, who proposed to whom and where and when, describe our wedding and honeymoon, and how we communicate when we're not together among other questions that are just too numerous to list here.

We gave ourselves a deadline date to finish the application, made copies of important documents, printed out photos and checked each part at least 3 times. I forgot to mention that while we were sorting this out, we were simultaneously ticking off other boxes, namely obtaining a medical certificate and criminal checks for each country Dave has lived in for over 6 months. So in addition to the $1040, we paid £190 for the medical check and around £30 for the police checks. We kissed it goodbye in mid August and it reached the Mississauga offices on the last day of August.

And then we began the waiting game.

On around the 30th of September we received notification that I had been accepted as his sponsor. Yay! That didn't take too long, as the members of britishexpats.com indicated. At this point, we were dead set on moving and I booked my ticket to leave Scotland. We fully expected this process to take around 6 months, which seems to be average. I hoped to hear back earlier but I wasn't about to hold my breath.

Maybe I should have. Because at the the beginning of November, we got a request asking for Dave's passport! We dropped off his passport in London when we visited at the beginning of December, and a week later, we received his passport with his brand new permanent resident visa. Soooo, my husband has been accepted as a future immigrant to Canada. Yay for speedy bureaucracy!

So, I held a baby

2011-01-29T08:06:00.000-08:00

Yeah. Last weekend, I went to my friend J-La's place for a late Ukranian Christmas and I decided to come earlier to catch up with my pal. My sister dropped me off and came inside to say hi and we heard the unmistakable screech of a baby. I was stunned. J-La didn't realize but my sister immediately knew that maybe this was not a good thing. She left and I went to the kitchen to meet my friend's friends. And there he was, Z. A very cute and very vibrant baby. There were introductions and some chit chat and I heard my phone ringing so I went in the next room to answer it and it was my sister asking me if I was alright. At that moment I knew that I wasn't and I just burst into tears. I started crying because 1) someone cared about my feelings and 2) there was a baby I wasn't prepared for and I was pretending I was ok.

My sister offered to come back and pick me up but I decided to stay. I figured I was going to be meeting babies of friends soon, so I guessed NOW was as good as time as any to break myself in. I called J-La to the room and told her I was freaking out. I couldn't stop crying but I managed to tell her babies still really, really freak me out and I was having a hard time. She rubbed my leg and tried to comfort me. I asked her to tell her friends about what happened because I couldn't pretend any longer. I cried for a while longer, pulled myself together and went back into the room where the baby was.

After some talking I asked to hold the baby. Yes, I asked to hold this baby. And I did. It wasn't so bad. He was an easy baby to handle and big too. I think he was 7 months old. I tried not to think of what Isla would have been like if she made it to that age.

I don't know. I think it was a wall I had to climb over. But it was hard. Happily, after they left, I had some amazingly strong and delicious gin and tonics and laughed the night away. I'm feeling my way through this. I'm trying my best.

9 to 5

2011-01-18T13:47:00.000-08:00

After hours of job hunting, a well-deserved break.

I have been looking for job opportunities in Toronto while I was still in Scotland and even applied for several, but I haven't heard so much as a peep. I didn't worry too much about it because I had provided my Scottish contact details so I probably wasn't selling myself as a candidate who was immediately available. I became aware of this and applied for a couple of jobs with my sister's contact details before Christmas. I took a little break and now I'm back on the job hunt full time. As my sis said, looking for a job and working out are my jobs right now.

So I've been looking and searching and browsing, tweaking my CV here and there and writing completely new cover letters for the jobs I have applied for and I can't help but feel the familiar questioning: what kind of a job am I looking for? I know what my strengths are and I know where my interests lie, but like many, many people, I don't have a passion for many things. I love eating, cooking, exploring and learning new things such as designing and making new things, but nothing that really translates to what I would love to do between the hours of 9 and 5.

Right now, I'm trying to reconcile what I want out of life and I think it's safe to say that finding my OMG job is not the first or second thing on the list. Maybe not even the third. So with that in mind, I'm trying to get comfortable with pursuing jobs that I'd be really successful in, and unfortunately, they are not as glamourous as I'd like them to be. I guess deep down, I want people to be impressed with my job. I know it's silly, and I've never admitted it to myself before, but I guess being a success, career-wise, is what many people aspire to, and that success usually entails doing something that makes people say "wow!".

One of my good friends posted a quote on FB yesterday: "All labor has dignity." I didn't know it at the time, but it was said by the late, great MLK, whose birthday was yesterday. I googled it and found the full quote: "All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence." It's really true - if you're working to support yourself and your family, no matter how menial the job is, you should hold your head up with pride and be the best you can because you're doing something great. I need to apply this to my job search.

I have a university degree and through my varied jobs, I've learned that I am at my best when I'm coordinating, planning and putting things together and the jobs that I'm drawn to combine all those aforementioned things. They aren't the sexiest jobs in the world, but I shouldn't be ashamed of that. If I could find a job that keeps me on my feet and keeps me energized, I think I would be happy, no matter what the job title or industry is.

I have until March 1st to find a suitable job. Today I applied to two potentially interesting but not "awesome" jobs. The jobs I applied for were for executive assistant positions. I know I would do well in those jobs but I can't help but feel a wee bit embarrassed, but I really need to get over that. I know what I want out of life now and they can't be found during those hours between 9 and 5.

Personal turbulence

2011-01-16T13:00:00.000-08:00

For the past few weeks, I've said my goodbyes and looked at things a little more closely for I know it might be a long time before I cast my eyes upon them again. I shed some tears and hugged people more closely and made promises to keep in touch and visit again, vows I intend to keep. In some ways, it was difficult to say goodbye, but in many ways, it was liberating.

On Thursday, January 13th, I kissed my husband many times, knowing I'd be lacking in cuddles and kisses for nearly 3 months, and went through the gates of security. At the last minute, he gave me a postcard that he had written on and told me to read it on the plane.

I cried a little while I waited but held it together...until I saw that I was going to be sitting right next to a baby. A very, very young baby. And my mind and body just.shut.down. I started looking for escape routes and I started sweating. My fight or flight instincts kicked in but my rationality came back to me. I haven't seen or touched a young baby since I held Isla, and I wasn't in any rush whatsoever to be near one. But I've been considering it since I found out a friend just gave birth. (Aside - I didn't know this friend was pregnant until I clocked it on FB. I emailed her and asked her if she was because she didn't announce it or anything. She told me that she indeed was - 38 weeks so! She said she thought it would have been insensitive to tell me in the months following Isla death and then time just marched on. We've talked about it and I appreciate that she didn't want to hurt me. Now, I'm wrapping my head around seeing her new baby when I visit Montreal.)

Anyway, so yeah. Little babies are on my mind, and thinking about holding one is at the forefront. So as I stood there in the aisle considering whether or not I should change seats, I decided I would try to ride it out. I calmly sat down and said hi to the little family sitting in my row. And then I started crying as I sneaked looks at the little baby, a little girl named Annabelle, trying so hard to calm the rising hysteria. She stared at me with her unseeing blue eyes and I realized that she wasn't a threat. I didn't want her like I wanted my own baby. She was there, living and breathing, the miracle that she is, and I didn't hate her. I touched her little hand and looked at her closely. I felt ok. I made small talk with her proud parents and found out that Annabelle was 9 weeks old. We chatted about Scotland, Canada and Japan and our plans. It was ok. Then I read the hell out of The Scotsman, The Toronto Star and Psychologies.

It has been nearly 8 months since we lost Isla. Time keeps marching on and we keep moving on. I read that very lovely postcard that Dave wrote while I was on the plane and he mentioned the time when we were happiest in our lives, which are highlighted in the pics I posted in this blog. It was our first holiday together and we went to Tokashiku, an island in Okinawa. He taught me how to swim on my birthday and we were so happy. We want to get back there. We're trying our best. I know that most people would hate sitting next to a baby on a 7 hour flight for obvious reasons, but sitting next to a baby was a good thing for me. Another step on this weird, winding, dark road. On Thursday, January 13th, I was grateful to little Annabelle.

Letting go

2011-01-04T14:19:00.000-08:00

“When you find yourself stressed, ask yourself one question: Will this matter in 5 years from now? If yes, then do something about the situation. If no, then let it go.” Catherine Pulsifer*

For the past few days, I have been thinking about the past and the future. I'm starting to think in order to give myself and my future a fair shot, I have to let go of a few things that have been mainstays in my past. I downloaded a motivation visualization track from Amazon in an effort to focus my sometimes hyperactive mind and I must say, it got me pretty excited. The intro mentions the idea of letting things/ideas/people go in order to receive new and better things/ideas/people and I'm all about that! So in an effort to practice this law of the universe by putting it back into the universe, here is what I'll be working on in 2011:

Letting go of people who talk the talk, but unfortunately, can't walk the walk. This is a major thing for me. I expect a lot from myself, and consequently, I have high expectations of others, particularly those who are close to me. I am very fortunate that the people I gravitate towards are selfless, generous and kind and while I can get disappointed when my normally accurate instincts are fooled, I usually pick good people to share my life. I hope by letting go of those who do too much taking and not enough giving, I will invite those who want the services of a good friend (moi).
Letting go trying to always make other people feel comfortable. This one has been getting easier and easier. Having lost Isla nearly 8 months ago, I've learned that a lot of people get freaked out by grief. Well, that's their goddamn problem. If I feel like mentioning the fact that my baby died within context, because, thus far, it has been the biggest thing that has ever happened to me, I'm going to do it. If people can't stomach it, it's not my problem. I hope that this will help me accept what has happened to us and learn how to live with it gracefully.
Letting go of societal pressures and aspirational ideas. By now, it should be bloody obvious that I march to the beat of my own drummer. I haven't settled into the mould that society says I should, so why do I still feel bad about it?!?! As much as I would love to be a homeowner, I am moving to the second most expensive city in Canada where even the average down payment won't buy you a heck of a lot. So for now, I'm just going to forgot about it. My priority is to rent a decent, clean, bright flat in a nice neighourhood very close to the heart of the city. I'm a city girl; I might as well live as close to it as I can.
Letting go of the purse strings. Dave and I have saved a lot of money over the last few years and we've sacrificed a lot for it. Now that we'll soon be starting over in a new city, I think it's high time to spend some bucks. We're going to have to buy furniture, a car, brand new wardrobes, loads of bits of pieces, and we're taking a vacation FOR FUCK'S SAKE, so it's time to relax some of that unrelenting self-control I've been brandishing and spend for a while. I will always save as that's my personality, but if I want to get something pretty and useless from Anthropologie, then so be it.
Letting go of complacency. This can be in all areas of my life: my personal grooming, exploring new places, trying new things, and even just taking more pictures. I need to stop being lazy in order to make the most of my life every day, even if the most I can manage is stopping at the florist and buying a pretty bouquet of flowers for my home.

I really believe in the power of positive thinking. I haven't slept well since early 2009 and I know that bad sleep can shorten your life. I am a stress consumer and it radiates through my body and manifests itself physically. I am hoping that by letting go, practicing positive thinking, exercising, eating well and playing well, I will blossom into this new person I've changed into. Cross your fingers for me.

* Image and text was taken from here.

To a very happy, healthy and successful new year!

2011-01-01T09:40:00.000-08:00

I have been holding off posting for some time because I've just been waiting for 2010 to be over. And now that it's officially done, I feel lighter. The weight of this last year has been oppressive and now I have a new year to look forward to. I know today is Day 1, but it's a beautiful thing. I'm listening to "Auld Lang Syne" and thinking of my wonderful friends and family who have really supported us over the last 12 months, and my eyes tear remembering the love that has held us up. And I think about my husband and I'm sure he saved my life. With everything we've been through, I know I still have things to be grateful for.

Now that we both have departure dates for our flights, I can't help but feel excitement. We are starting over and while it's tough, it's a future we're both looking forward to. I don't know what our lives will look like, but I aim to be more open, more patient, more loving, and to take each opportunity as they come to me and seek out the pleasures and joys in life that are there if you look for them.

Happy new year to all of you. I wish you all the wonderful things I wish for myself.

Strength to strength

2010-12-14T13:48:00.000-08:00

I haven't really felt like writing lately. I've been way too pensive and being rendered trapped by a pathetic amount of snow and ice hasn't helped at all. From the weekend of the 26th of November, Scotland became a frozen wasteland that saw flights grounded, trains halted and highways turned into parking lots. I went into work one day and it took my travel companion and I over 3 hours to get in. That day was the only time I went in for two weeks. So yeah, I had A LOT of alone time, which wasn't a great thing. It wasn't always a bad thing, but perhaps I could have done without it.

Luckily, I was fortunate enough to go to Nottingham before Scotland froze over and Dave and I made it to London when things began to thaw. I had a really good time in Nottingham seeing my friends and catching up and saying goodbye for a while. London, though, took the cake. I had one of the best times in the capital EVER. Between seeing Billy Connelly in Boots and Jaime Bamber at Koya in Soho, walking through new areas in London, eating some beautiful meals and visiting the Victoria and Albert Museum, I had a fantastic time catching up with friends, meeting new people and seeing facets of the life I left behind and the life I want to have in the future. I am a city girl, through and through, and it begs belief that I tried to convince myself that anything else could havebeen enough. So while I was talking to interesting (and attractive - WOW!) people in cool locales about art, culture, travel and social politics, I felt so happy. In fact, while saying goodbye to our gracious hosts, I got a major lump in my throat. I wish I took more pictures to remember the happiness and wonder my heart felt.

---

Christmas is coming and I'm still not looking forward to it. My attitude has been lacklustre to say the least and I'll try to play the role of happy Ms. to make everyone else more comfortable, but part of me wants to buy a box set (preferably Grey's Anatomy), bake an apple pie and lock myself in a dark and quiet room for 2 days. I try to shake off this feeling because I'll be with my extended family and I love them and I'm leaving them, but I can't lie - there's a baby sized hole in my heart and all the tinsel and stuffing in the world isn't going to fix it. I can't help but think that at this time last year, we were working on making a baby. Right before New Year's Eve, we conceived her. So yeah, it's hard.

---

I now have 7 days left at work and people have been asking me if I'm counting down. Why yes, yes, I am. I don't intend to ever work with students again.

---

If anyone would have asked me what I wanted for xmas or a goodbye gift, I would have told them a donation to SANDS in Isla's name would have been perfect.

---

I'm going to miss Dave like crazy while we're seperated. I'm not sure how I'll go 3 months without looking into his beautiful hazel eyes. I know I'll have a fantastic time repatriating, but I'll miss my husband. Sometimes the only thing that helps snap me out of a bad spell is one of Dave's hugs. I keep telling myself I'll be over there laying the foundation for our future. He'll be with me soon enough.

---

I no longer want to talk about regrets. It's a road Dave and I go down too often and it doesn't help anyone or anything. I can no longer think of how our lives could have looked like had we not moved to Dave's hometown. We could have been in London or in Canada. We would have had a better experience as a newlywed couple. We should have taken that job opportunity or moved to Canada sooner. I think we both think that if things were different and I was happier, perhaps we wouldn't have lost our daughter. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Don't want to do that anymore.

---

We have so much to look forward to.

Getting back to svelte

2010-11-24T07:36:00.000-08:00

I have a confession to make.

I've been counting calories.

I know, I know. I shouldn't do it; just keep eating the healthy foods I've been eating for the last 5 years, decrease my portion sizes and hit the gym.

Sigh.

If only it were that simple.

Let’s see. Well, I’m 32. I stopped running about 10 months ago. I started eating bigger portions 3 years ago (since leaving Japan). I work at a desk job where I’m only on my feet for a few minutes at a time during the workday. I had an angel baby. I love food.

I do eat quite healthfully though. I eat good fats, lean meats, plenty of fruit and veg, loads of water, moderate carbs (very little white stuff), no processed foods-all that good stuff. I’ve been at the gym 3xweek without fail since September doing cardio and strength training. But I’ve only lost one kilo.

One fracking kilo.

So I’m on a mission. I now have 9 months to get my body like whoa for Caribana, or at the very least, make it so I don’t get arrested for indecent exposure. My girl introduced me to My Fitness Pal to help me see where I’ve gone wrong. And damned if I didn’t go wrong by at least 800 calories.

I also learned that I need to change my gym routine as per this Oprah article. That means more cardio! I’m going to build up my running stamina again (I had to quit due to my wonky knee) so that should help. Unfortunately for me, my work gym will be closing on December 10th (right in the middle of the eating season!) so that sucks zee balls. BUT, luckily my sis, whom I’ll be living with very soon, lives across the street from the gym. So if you can’t find me, I’ll be there.

Working out and minding my food has the added benefit of giving me focus during my mind-boggingly dull days and keeps me from thinking sad thoughts. It’s a good thing, I swear! I actually feel quite powerful when I'm pushing my body. Like I'm back in control. And for a type A gal such as myself, it's a very good place to be.

Laughing Out Loud

2010-11-19T06:54:00.000-08:00

It's not always long faces and tears in our home. Dave and I love to laugh. Who doesn't? Our senses of humour are very much in tune and he's very good at eliciting at least a giggle out of me. Lately, I've been actively looking for sources of mirth. Here's what has been putting a smile on my face:

Despite this movie being ridiculous, it had some funny bits. Let me say, I cannot wait to watch 30 Rock again!

This song always has me jumping at my chair at work. I love how JW calls Blaze and he's like "What?! She gave you work??!?!" And the Cookie monster looking fella?! Soca videos have come a looooong way since my high school days.

I've always appreciated British comedy since watching it on the CBC from time to time, but my like for it has grown. Dave introduced me to this guy Limmy when he had a show on the Beeb. Maybe you have to be in Scotland to fully appreciate it, but if you're not Scottish and can understand every word, please let me know. You might also enjoy this (not much talking), this and this. If you also have the chance, I recommend "The Inbetweeners" a very funny and very dirty show about boys in high school. Dave actually cringes when he watches it.

Antoine Dodson. You never fail to make me smile. And cringe a little. From the good ole US of A.

I've got nothing but love for JT! And The Roots! And Jimmy Fallon! Loved this. I seriously wish I was there.

And last but not least:

Anything Andy Samberg does, I will most likely love. "Poseidon, look at me!" Please, you must watch all the Lonely Island videos. Don't forget "Dick in a Box" with JT, Natalie Portman's rap, and "Like a Boss."

Good times, no? You're welcome.

6 Mois

2010-11-17T07:07:00.000-08:00

It has been exactly 6 months since we lost her. I still love her and think about her every day.

The pain is still there, but less obtrusive, more like full bodied arthritis rather than a coma. But I’m getting better. Planning for our move has helped pass the time and given me a focus that I had previously thought impossible.

I still weep, but the jags are shorter and cleaner.

Last week, Dave told me that I was becoming a negative person, one filled with anger, fear and jealousy. Whereas I was once optimistic, my lack of faith was darkening my views and my attitude. He was right. I don’t want to be that person.

So I’m more conscious of how fortunate I am and how much my light our daughter brought to our life. I’ve started talking to her to help strengthen me. “Hi Isla. I love you and miss you. I’ll try to have a good day and hug your daddy a lot.”

Lara mentioned that it does get easier. She’s right. I’ll have my bad days, intense and dark, but thankfully they’re shorter.

I bought these roses, similar to the ones I bought for her funeral, to have something beautiful that reminds me of her. I used to hate roses. Now I don’t.

In the meantime

2010-11-05T08:34:00.000-07:00

The other day I received an email from an old friend whom I haven't seen in a very long time. Her subject heading was "Love" and in her very sweet email, she quoted Dr.Phil, via Oprah: "Time doesn't heal all wounds; it's what you do with time that helps with the healing."

It has been nearly 6 months since we lost our daughter. It's still hard, it's still heartbreaking, but I feel it has been getting easier to accept our loss. Granted, planning our move to T.O. has been a driving force in my recovery, but it has been helpful to plan for the future since our plans for our daughter were ruined.

I still think about her every day. I still cry and I'm still grieving. I still smell her little hat but am dismayed that it no longer smells of her. But I'm trying so hard to make my life better. I don't want to mourn our baby and feel like shit every day. Rather, I want to live for her.

I don't think I believe in guardian angels and people watching down on us. When I've said things like "Isla would want us to be happy", I must admit, the words sounded hollow to my ears and tasted like sawdust on my tongue. I think what I really feel is the beauty I experienced when Isla was inside me was achingly sublime, so much so that I want to experience again and again in my life. If I'm lucky enough to bear our progeny sometime in the future, I would be able to feel that specific pleasure again, though it would be different from the first deliciously naive time because it will be coated in fear and anxiety. No, I want to feel that wonderment and love continually in my life in other ways. So in wanting to live for her, I would essentially be living for myself and being more responsbile for myself rather than hoping that someone "out there" has my back and that everything will just work out.

I'm feeling that next year, 2011, will be the year that I change the rest of my life. I've been a passenger for too long, complacent with things and people that were unsatisfying but needed because I simply had no choice. When I received that email with that quote, I realized that I can't get anywhere by scratching out the days of the calendar, gliding through this grief thing until I would get to the point where I'd say "it has been x amount of months/years; I should be better by now." I need to add dimensions to my life so that I can start living it again and thus, get to a place where I feel like I've healed and be in the midst of leading an authentic life I can be proud of. Right now, I'm not proud of myself. Some days, I truly hate myself.

People have started to ask me if and when I'd like to try for a baby again. I tell them that I'm not ready and moving back home and starting all over again has thankfully taken the pressure off. In the meantime, I'm hoping I can gain a satisfaction with myself and what I'm doing during these days between hell and heaven. If heaven does exist and my little girl is looking down on me, I'd hope that she'd feel happy that her mommy was doing A-OK.

Cooking Porn Stars

2010-11-02T08:12:00.000-07:00

Whilst living in Japan, I would sometimes indulge in what I labelled cooking porn. This was the kind of programme where someone would cook and/or sample food and would have food-gasms over what they've imbibed or ingested. The eater would close their eyes and squeal "Oishii!" (delicious) and make facial gestures similar to those expressed when feeling physical pleasure. These kinds of programmes or segments were really popular on TV and my friends and I would emulate these people whenever we'd eat something ridiculously delicious (I tried to find an example on You Tube but I couldn't find anything appropriate). Little did I know that this was the start of an obsession with watching cooking on TV.

Anyone who knows me knows I love to eat and I love food. I've turned into a foodie groupie and tend to watch cooking shows a lot. One of my favourites is the British MasterChef. A little birdie back home told me that Gordon Ramsey has produced MasterChef for US audiences and I was a little chagrined. Firstly because Gordon Ramsey is SO ANNOYING, and secondly, the UK show kicks ass and I will watch that ish three times a week when it's a new season.

A couple os Saturdays ago, we were forunate enough to score free tix to the GoodFood Show in Glasgow (ah, the perks of being married to a journalist) and I got to see the stars of MasterChef LIVE! The permanent judges are John Torode and (sigh) Gregg Wallace. Now, I don't know what it is about this bald, tubby, dimpled Cockney bastard, but he had my heart thumping when I saw him on Saturday. I proceeded to stalk his ass, though I never quite got the balls to throw my panties at him, or more sanely, buy some MasterChef plonk and have him sign it. Dave thought I was a little insane, but meh, what are you going to do?

Gregg (and John) signing some MC merc.

Gregg and John playing up to the audience.

Gregg's big old head.

Gregg's big old belly.

Dhruv Baker, 2010 MC winner and quite the looker.

Of course, MasterChef LIVE wasn't the only thing going on that day. Dave and I sampled loads of food, cheese, desserts and alcohol. There were cooking demonstrations, celebrity chefs roaming around, product demos and loads more. We showed remarkable restraint and didn't buy everything we tasted, though Dave still bemoans the fact that he didn't buy that delicious Lanarkshire blue cheese he eschewed in favour of an oniony cheddar. You live and learn. Some more sights from our day:

My media pass.

Sampling some delicious wheat beer.

A cooking demo with seafood.

The SECC was jam packed!

Cooking classes for £10 a pop and all sold out.

Said cooking class.

Fresh seafood (the langoustine at the top was moving!)

For the first time in several months, Dave and I genuinely enjoyed ourselves for hours. The irony is that the venue, the SECC, was the same place we visited some months ago when it was hosting a baby show. This was not lost on us, particularly when I cried my eyes out some hours later. Sigh. You gain a little, you lose a little.

Sponsor This!

2010-10-28T07:43:00.000-07:00

As I've recently announced, I will be leaving the UK and moving back to Canada. Can I get a woot?! We decided some months ago that all the sadness and misery we have experienced since moving to the UK is just not worth it. Don’t get me wrong: I think Scotland is a beautiful country, but it’s not for me. I need something bigger and more diverse and definitely closer to my loved ones. One of the biggest things I’ve learned over the last few months is that I need my people. My mom, sisters, sista-friends – they are my heart and soul. Of course, Dave has the number one spot in my life, but we both know that he can’t be everything to me, just like he can’t expect me to be everything to him. So we’re moving to the Great White North. Unfortunately, we won’t be living in my beloved Montreal, but we’re going for the consolation prize: Toronto.

Given that I’m a true blue Montréalaise, I have given into the Toronto-Montreal rivalry in the past. It’s just something that is ingrained in you when you’re born. I mean, it even has its own Wiki page. Montrealers are (very generally) sophisticated, laid back, culturally inclined and blasé about sex and drugs, but definitely serious about chilled out parties and great food. The city itself is very European with a lot of French influence as seen in the old buildings, grand churches and cobbled roads in some districts. Torontonians, on the other hand, are more serious about work, a bit uptight but are really tolerant of others. And as for the city... well, quite truthfully, I don’t know much about it. I’ve been to Toronto hundreds of times, but I really don’t know it. And that goes for Torontonians as well. I don’t have any friends who are native Torontonians. I know quite a few people who have jumped ship from the sometimes frustrating place that is Montreal (especially for young Anglophones) to the big pond of the “Big Smoke”, but I don't know a soul who was born and raised there. So while Toronto will be something familiar, it will be something new. And I’m going to totally embrace my new home.

I’ll be moving over in January and I will be going alone. My sweet husband will be staying behind whilst I get our new life started up. I’ll be looking for a job (started that process already) and then finding a flat for us to live in. He’ll move in with his parents, save a few paycheques then come over in a few months time. To get from here to there, we’ve had to put in a lot of time, money and effort in preparing his application for permanent* residency. Part of that application was to supply information that would prove I would be a suitable sponsor. Luckily, since I earn money, have money saved, am not a drain on society and I’m a Canadian citizen, I have been approved to sponsor my beloved. It took about a month to get this approval and this was the relatively easy part. Now we must wait to find out if Immigration believes our relationship is actually genuine. I’ll get into all the hoops we’ve had to jump through (so far) to prove that we are actually in a committed relationship rather than a marriage of convenience. Oy. Cue massive eye-rolling.

*Permanent. I just love that word. Finally, I will have a permanent address again. This will be our final port of call. No more temporary, furnished flats. No more moving countries. This is it!

Disappointment

2010-10-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

It is so sad to be disappointed – by life, by friends and by family. Of course it’s a natural thing, very human, but it’s sad all the same. I just consider it a fact of life. I used to get disappointed quite a lot as a child and after a certain point, I decided to roll with it. Shit happens, right? It stings, but if you apply a little balm (retail therapy, a good cry or moan), it is usually a temporary affliction for me.

The disappointment of losing Isla was crushing, of course, but the thing I didn’t really expect were people’s reactions to us. Let me be clear – a death in a family, especially a death of a child, is an incredibly difficult, awkward, weird thing to be a part of. I’ve lost both a parent and a child and let me tell you, losing a baby is the kind of thing that properly puts the shits up people. And I knew that. But I had no idea how disappointing people could be when you needed support the most.

When some people disappoint you (e.g. colleagues, acquaintances), you kinda just take it with a grain of salt. Sure, it hurts when people that you’re friendly with walk the other way when they see you coming towards them or pretend they don’t see you. And you know they did. Ouch. But you tend to think to yourself “Well, they ain’t shit anyway.” Then there are those who talked to you nearly every day about your pregnancy but suddenly found the weather much, much more interesting. And you tend to think to yourself “Ouch, but oh well, it’s a hard topic and we’re not that close anyway.” And then there are the others that break your heart in a million different ways when you dare think about how they have disappointed you during the worst time in your life. I’m not going to single anyone out but their faces are there in my brain, as sharp as stiletto knife. And it hurts so much.

I’m not sure if lost baby mamas feel the same as me, but when someone hurts you purposely or passively after your loss, it feels as if they didn’t consider the loss as anything of real importance. With me, the central message is one of two: 1. “Because your baby wasn’t full term and because we didn’t get to meet her, she doesn’t hold the same importance as a “real” baby. So I’m just going to shit on you and/or totally ignore this barely inconsequential event.” And 2: “This is way too hard to deal with and I can see/hear that you’re in a lot of pain, but I’m going to be totally selfish and not going to go there with you even though I know you well enough to know that you would like to.” While this isn’t said or expressed obviously, actions speak louder than words.

I heard somewhere that “forgiveness liberates the soul”. I can’t forgive this type of disappointment. Not yet anyway. So I focus on the love we received over the past few months. My friends have been amazing. Truly breathtaking. They have been there for me in the truest sense of the world. In my darkest days, when contemplating suicide was less pie in the sky and more lining up the 5Ws, their being there helped to keep me going. They came through with texts, emails, phone calls, FB messages, SKYPE time and they were amazing, even when they weren’t trying very hard. I found this pic on http://www.postsecret.com/ and thought it was so accurate. So, so true.

Homeward Bound

2010-10-21T03:05:00.000-07:00

So that’s it.

After:

5 years
3 countries
4 addresses
3 passports
4 jobs
2 weddings
23 flights
2 cell phones
60,783,394 tears

I’m going home. A new home, and a permanent one at that. Goodbye UK, hello T.O. See you on the flipside on January 13th 2011.

One note

2010-10-14T03:50:00.000-07:00

I realize it has been a little one note here lately, as it's reflecting what's going on in my brain. But believe it or not, there are some breaks between the grief.

Dave and I took a lot of walks and a lot of drives and saw and ate many beautiful things. In some ways, driving around Scotland has been restorative. It is such a beautiful country. The weather usually sucks balls, but the landscape is W-O-W. I especially love all the animals that dot the country side. As much as I'm a city girl, I do like spending time in the country (but as Dave will attest, not too much time!).

This past summer, we were lucky enough to get a free stay in a posh hotel (all the bells and whistles included) and it was in the very pretty area of Pertshire. We ate and drank a lot and genuinely enjoyed each other's company. We sped down winding country roads and walked around in the rain. The pic at the beginning of this post was taken on one of our jaunts.

The pic to the right is of the grounds of the hotel where we stayed. There was even a lake the back of the property and it was truly stunning.

In addition to getting close to nature, we kayaked, went hill walking and mountain climbing, did some touristy stuff, ate a lot of great food and talked a lot. I think we're starting to heal.

I'm not feeling particularly word today so I'll let the pictures do the talking:

Edinburgh Military Tattoo

Good ole Edinburgh Castle

My beardy honey in a kayak

Moi

I can't remember where we were.

OPP (Other People's Pregnancies or Other Pregnant People)

2010-10-07T03:12:00.000-07:00

Me on the rocks, taken in Dysart by my very talented SIL

This is a bit hard to express in mere words, but I will try my best.

When I was released from the hospital and left the building without our baby, we passed a heavily pregnant woman. I crumpled into a quivering mess of tears and snot and needed Dave to prop me up so that we could make it to the car. In that moment, I wanted to be someone else rather than who I had become: a DBB*.

From then on, my perception of pregnant women has radically changed. Whereas once I was indifferent (before pregnancy), I became awed and curious (during pregnancy) then finally, anxious, nervous and envious (after pregnancy). When I would see a preggo lady waddling towards me, I would avert my eyes and try to not guess where she might be in her pregnancy and not think of where I would be in mine at that time. I would also get really, really nervous for her. I’d mentally scream out warnings – “Hey you! Be careful! Love that baby every day because you might lose him or her, like I did!” Or, “Did you know that I’m part of the 1% of pregnancies that end in the second trimester?! I didn’t know it could happen but it did, so I hope to goodness it doesn’t happen to you!!” Of course I didn’t yell these things out, but I really, really wanted to.

Inevitably, OPP hit closer to home. As a woman in her early 30’s, it’s just a fact that you would know at least one other woman who is pregnant at the same time as you. I had three. It was all peaches and cream until WHAM! I wasn’t pregnant anymore. And that was hard. One person was a co-worker. She had her baby shortly after I had mine so I haven’t had to see her. Another is a close friend who went into labour I think shortly after I did. When I went home, I decided I couldn’t see her and be near her newly arrived daughter, her first born. We have just resumed phone calls, though she was reaching out through email over the last few months. And lastly, the other woman is my BFF who was about 8 months pregnant when I went home and saw her. For this visit, we opted to prepare each other for our first meeting in a year when so much had happened. Seriously, it was like getting ready for a middleweight fight. But in the end, meeting my BFF was good. We hugged and I felt her huge belly between us but luckily, that was the only thing that was in the middle. Thank goodness no other "stuff" made it's way between us. I’m grateful that the first pregnant person I had contact with was her. I don’t think I could have reached that milestone with anyone else.

So now, nearly 5 months later, it’s still hard, but I’m trying my best. My friend at work is pregnant and now noticeably so, so it’s in my face at least 5 days a week. Am I happy for her? Of course. She’s been trying for this baby and I’m happy she has this chance to partake in this miracle. Am I sad for myself? Most definitely because we had previously planned on getting pregnant together and spending maternity leave at each other's flats. But I can’t stop the world from turning. I only hope I can feel that phenomenon again.

The one type of OPP I can feel thrilled for without reservation is a DBB who becomes pregnant again. There is a woman in our support group who is pregnant again after losing triplets last year. When she told me her news, I burst into tears of joy and hugged her. I barely know her but I can understand where she is mentally. As a purely selfish gesture, I asked if I could feel her belly (very uncharacteristic of me). I just needed to feel that life after so many weeks of the oppressiveness of death. She obliged me and I was transported to when I was at that stage of my pregnancy. And it made me feel warm about OPP and so happy that bitterness and jealously hasn’t enveloped my heart.

*DBB is Dead Baby Mama, shorthand in the parental bereavement community. I will not let it define me.

Purge

2010-10-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

Here I am, back again. And I’m ready to purge.

I am so, so happy September is finally over. The last few months have been the darkest, saddest, most challenging period of my life, but September was particularly bad because it was my due month. I don’t really believe in due dates, but mine was September 12th. The whole month was rough because I was back at work when I shouldn’t have been, doing insignificant tasks when I should have been home basking in the wonderment of my baby. That hurt a lot. All I wanted was for September 2010 to finish so that I would never have to go through it again.

Over the last month, I did a lot of thinking, a lot of navel gazing. I looked within my heart, listened to myself, and grieved for our little girl. I’ve become better at hiding my true feelings at work, but wearing a mask all day is taxing. I’d cry on the train ride home, relieved that I didn’t have to pretend anymore, alone with my thoughts. But something toxic was gurgling within me and either in reaction to this or independent of it, Dave felt it too. And something toxic entered our marriage. We grew short with each other, cold with each other, wanting to turn away from each other when we had been so good at leaning on each other. All my mask-wearing in the day gave way to annoyance and anger at night. Sometimes, I could hardly stand the sight of my husband and he felt the same way about me. We separately wanted to be alone and away from each other. I’ve repeatedly heard that people divorce after the death of the child. I saw all too clearly why. We’re the only ones with such intimate knowledge of what happened leading up to, including and after Isla died, and that created a lot of pressure. I’m the only one Dave can really talk to about what happened. He’s the one I talk to most about what happened. That meant we were talking about it ALL THE TIME. And why wouldn’t we? It’s the defining thing in our lives RIGHT NOW, and maybe FOREVER. It was big, it IS big. It was consuming us as individuals and our life as family.

On our due date, I decided that I wanted to move on. I told Dave, which made it more real. I’m not saying I want to forget because you really can’t; every time I touch my stomach I remember, for goodness sake. But I want to get over the depression and the sense of loss. I know that it’s a hard process, but I felt ready to attempt it. I think it was a positive first step and I’ve given myself allowances (example, get really, really sad when I feel a cloud coming and tell everyone to stay the f*ck out of my way), however, it wasn't all sunshine and roses. There was something else sticking in the craw. I didn’t know what it was, but it was there and it was starting to suffocate our relationship.

I didn’t want to go to the SANDS support meeting last Friday, but Dave gently pushed me to. The group is so good because it lets you be you and the old-timers (the ones who have had losses several years ago) are so helpful and knowledgeable. I felt comfortable asking them about what their relationship with their partner looked like after their loss and mentioned that Dave and I were having problems (yes, he was right beside me). We (including Dave) talked about our recent backbiting and he gave me a new nickname right there – “The Escalator”, meaning when we argue, I tend to step it up a notch, which is quite apt. I acknowledged that I did indeed do this, often in reaction to Dave’s grumpiness. I mentioned that Dave said we talk about what happened a whopping 98% of the time and Jenny, a befriender and a woman I have been spending a lot of time with lately, said the most profound thing:

“You talk about it so much and it has become the centre of your lives because there was supposed to be a person here who was to be the centre of your lives.”

I sat on this for a second, but I knew that it was so accurate, so right, that I immediately began to cry. A lot. And loudly. And I couldn’t stop. Because it was so, so true.

We left the room to go outside to get some fresh air, me crying every step of the way. Isla was supposed to be here but she isn’t and we talk about the trauma so much because we don’t have her. In the recent past, when Dave said he felt I focused on it too much, I would blow up and tell him that I have nothing else! Hardly no friends, no life, nothing to look forward to or distract myself with. This was all I had – a baby gone too soon and broken hopes and dreams! So when I started crying, I knew in my heart what Jenny said was true. And I cried for a solid 15 minutes and I felt like I was back at day one.

Eventually the tears became more gradual and then finally stopped and a peace settled, the kind you get from a breakthrough and a deep acknowledgement. As we drove home, Dave said “we didn’t have a baby, so our grief has become our child” and it’s too true. We’ve nurtured that sucker like there’s no tomorrow. And now it’s time to let go. I want to let go. He wants to let go. It’s time.

I know every person’s grief pattern and schedule is different and I’m not trying to come off like it was some miracle because it ain’t. It’s not over, but now I’m working towards when it will be, whenever that is.

I hope this makes sense. I feel a bit rusty in regards to writing right now, but I’ve been spilling all over my diary and feel ready to put it out there again.

So I’m ready to climb that mountain again, this time better prepared. I’m allowed to stop and rest, take in the view, go backwards and then march on. I muddle through the tricky bits, navigating my own path, noting that whatever route I take will be right for me. I don’t know what will be at the top, but I now feel better prepared to embark on that journey.

Navel gazing

2010-09-05T08:58:00.000-07:00

Hi y'all. I've been a bit quiet for some time now, not because anything has been wrong (well, more wrong than usual), but because I've been looking inward. I've had some brilliant days where I've felt powerful and strong and I have had dark days where I've just broken down. I've been kayaking, climbed an extinct volcano, found strength through the support of a befriender and support group and have made the plans that are sustaining me. I have been thinking about the future and harvesting hope. I've been grieving for our little girl and the future we dreamed of. I'm learning a lot.

I haven't felt like writing much lately just because I couldn't find the right words. I write in my notebook when the feeling hits and it's like a release. I sit down and cry when the feeling hits and it's like a release. I close my eyes and daydream when the feeling hits and it's like a release. I'm growing a lot.

I'll be back soon. I promise.

Lion-hearted girl

2010-08-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

My preffered haunt for jogging is a glorious park near us. It has a couple of soccer pitches, a rose garden, a fountain, a swan and duck pond and loads of trees. There is a woodland trail as well and a couple of hills thrown in for a little challenge. It was where I imagined taking Isla during those long, endless afternoons I was supposed to enjoy during my maternity leave. I imagined pushing her stroller while listening to good tunes on my iPod while she dozed. I fantasized about taking her to see the wildlife and teaching her how to pronounce their names. There would be other walks and short trips to mix it up (hey, variety is the spice of life), but I knew this park would be our favourite place to while away the hours. I thought about all this as I passed the swings and children's area in the park during my jog Friday afternoon. I started to feel THE SADNESS and began to slow down when a man ran past me and gave me a "hey" and a friendly jogger's wave. He spurred me on without realizing it and I kept going whilst listening to Florence + the Machine's Rabbit Heart, singing along: "I wish that I could just be brave. I must become the lion-hearted girl, ready for a fight..."

This morning Dave and I left the flat, heading to the park for a late morning jog, when I tripped over the pavement and fell hard on grass and gravel, skinning me knee and hand, knocking the breath out of me. A lady asked if I was alright and Dave told me that we should go back to the flat and rest. After assessing my bloodied knee and ascertaining that my weak ankles were not damaged, I told him that we should keep going. So he helped me get up, I brushed myself off and that's what we did.

I guess those two anecdotes basically illustrate how I've been handling grieving for our little girl. Each time I despair and weep and feel like sleeping forever, I feel it and then brush it off and keep going. I'm sure I'm stronger for it. Every time I break down and every time I tell someone else that yes, I had the baby, but she died, I feel like I'm becoming that lion-hearted girl. Laughing helps and so does running. Hugging and crying also help to soothe the pain. I think about my pregnancy so fondly. I loved that time my daughter and I shared. Her somersaults and kicks and punches, letting me know that she was alive and growing. I absolutely hate that she's gone, along with her future, her potential and her place in the world. But I love that I was her mother for too brief a time.

I haven't weighed myself yet, but I suspect I'm getting close to my pre-pregnancy weight. It was important to me to lose the weight I put on over the last few months because it seemed so sad to me to keep carrying the baby weight without the baby. A sad empty belly with nothing to show for it. Now that it's pretty flat again, I feel better and look back at my bump with fondness tinged with sadness; bittersweet in every sense of the word.

I've never really shared this pictures before, but I feel that now it's right to:

Week 19

Week 21

Week 22 - Exactly 1 week before I gave birth to Isla

As the Brits say, I was carrying "neat". My body was changing immensely, but I loved it. I absolutely fucking loved it. I feel stronger each day, but damn, sharing this was hard. I think I'll sign off here.

BTW, I wanted to thank everyone who commented and discussed with me what I wrote in my previous post. My new beliefs are helping me immensely through this process so thank you for your intelligent and respectful thoughts.

Why I don’t believe in God anymore

2010-07-27T06:30:00.000-07:00

First, I want to preface this by saying what I’m about to write are my own personal feelings and are reflective of what I’m feeling right now. I realize that I might alienate some people, but mile + my shoes should = no judgment. I respect the opinions of others so please respect mine.

Ever since Dave and I lost our little girl, we’ve heard everything one can hear when they are grieving. Some have been helpful while others infuriate us. What pisses me off to no end is when people say what happened was God’s will and that God has a plan. I used to believe this when confronting setbacks in my own life and learning about the suffering of people I love. But like everything else in my world, that belief has been shot to hell. What kind of God kills little babies? Or for that matter, sits by while millions die and suffer through war, famine, pestilence, natural catastrophes? Or watches from above while people get raped, abused, shanked, tortured, waste away? I’ve believed in something greater than all of us for all my life, even when I eschewed religion for personal spirituality. I’ve meditated, prayed and was faithful. When I saw that + pregnancy test, I talked to God every day, thanking Him for the gift He gave me. I prayed with David (he is SO not into that) and went out of my way to light candles in churches. I even believed that if I were to miscarry in the first trimester, it would have been his will.

But then I went into labour. For no apparent reason. I was in agony where I leaked and writhed and bled and sobbed for naught. I prayed and prayed. Dave prayed and prayed. They obviously weren’t answered.

Since that day, I’ve felt abandoned. I couldn’t pray anymore. When family members spoke of God or prayer, I snorted and told them I couldn’t abide by such dogmatic mores. It was a confusing time for me. When I break down, I sometimes want to call out to Him, begging Him for strength to continue and to diminish my pain. Then I stop myself. I steady myself. I tell myself that I am strong and that I can continue and that I can lessen my pain. He wasn’t there for me when I most needed Him so from now on it’s just Me, Myself and I.

I’ve been speaking to a friend of a friend who suffered terribly when her baby boy was born stillborn. She lives on a farm and told me “You know, not every baby makes it.” And it hit me like a lightening bolt: we’re just animals, surviving in nature and we have no control over anything. Babies die, every day. For some reason or another, those little creatures so many of us want to have to teach, love and watch grow, are fragile. Pregnancy is a delicate process, one that is fraught with disasters waiting to happen at every corner. What happened to me wasn’t karma or the will of God. I now believe that our baby, and millions of babies around the world, died because of Nature. And that comforts me greatly. I can now walk down the street and step on cracks without fear of my mother’s back being broken. I can walk under a ladder, while breaking a mirror with a black cat under my arm on Friday the 13th.*

We’ve found out that Isla’ cause of death was simply prematurity while the cause of my premature labour will never be known. We also learned that I had contracted something called chorioamnionitis that threatened my life and would have led to me being induced in a nightmarish me vs. the baby scenario had I not gone into labour naturally. There was nothing wrong with me and there was nothing wrong with Isla. As the doctor said, there is nothing wrong with our ability to make life – we made a good baby.

So here I am. Thinking about the next time. Dealing with the fact that not only was I one of the 1% of pregnancies that end in the second trimester, but I was part of the 2% the catches that infection. Trying to wrap my head around the fact that my chances of going into pre-term labour again is increased. Believing in the power and mystery of nature – a phenomenon that is real and has no altar to beg on. It’s rather freeing, actually.

These days I feel stronger. I feel this way thanks in part to people who I’d previously been friendly with and had known about my pregnancy going out of their way not to meet my eye or change directions when I walk towards them. It makes me realize that they don’t matter and are not helpful in my life anyway. I’m finding that I take immense pleasure in that unexpected phone call or text or hug. I’m in love with the way my basil and mint plants are growing. I adore the taste of champagne and the feel of lingerie on my skin when I’m in bed. I believe in love, family, laughing, movies, sex, books, blogs, good food, good friends, the sun, the moon and the stars. I believe in me.

*Such superstitions are steeped in Christian ideology.

Smile

2010-07-19T07:32:00.000-07:00

I've never been a smile-in-pictures kind of gal. I have photos of myself when I was a young girl positively glowering down the lens. It's actually kind of funny. As I grew older, I became more adept at smiling for the camera and even "smizing" when the mood would strike. These days, I'm finding it very difficult to stand in front of the camera and fake smile like everything is hunky dory. I try anyway, as this picture taken the day after our anniversary can attest (we were at the Castlerigg Stone Circle in the Lake District). That doesn't mean that I don't smile right now or feel moments of lightness. It happens, even in the pit of grief, and I'm grateful for them. I'm also very grateful that I married such a funny guy. I've mentioned this several times on this blog - Dave is a very funny man. He's a master of quipping, remembering jokes, doing impressions and doing silly things to make me laugh. Even in the thick of our shit, he's made me guffaw. I'll be feeling like absolute shit and he'll bust out an impression of Dave Chappelle doing Rick James. Or he'll tickle me until I can't breathe. Or hug me until I stop being irritated (which is an unfortunate manifestation of grief). I couldn't do anything without him. He knows exactly what I'm going through and he needs me to be well again so that we can have the future we fantasize about.

There are times when I forget about what happened. This usually makes me feel guilty but it also brings relief. On Friday night, we watched Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes and for two solid hours, I was fixated on a plot and set design and costumes and I felt good and light. I cut out a pattern for a dress and concentrated on that. I even manage to concentrate on work for 10-15 minutes at a time, which I consider promising. I forget and I feel relief. That's not to say that I want to forget what happened - I just sometimes need a break.

I also feel a lot of empathy towards others. When a mate at work told me about his break up, I very nearly cried all over his nice shirt. He felt bad about that, thinking he was complaining about his problems when I had major issues. But I told him, everybody hurts. Just because our baby died doesn't make me immune to feeling for others. Someone close to me is going through a depression right now and I ache for her. Rather than feeling like "girl, you don't know what depression is until your baby dies", I feel sad for her. I know there are people who have been through what I have and their sympathy for others is completely gone and they actually wish terrible things on others. I don't want to be like that. I know that I am immeasurably changed and I can be totally self-centered and bitter right now, but if I lose that love I feel for others, I know I would be dead inside. Without that love, hope would go and what be the point in living?

That being said, I can feel happiness for others while feeling misery for myself. When a close friend told me she was pregnant, I felt an explosion of joy then I started crying and could not stop. She had been trying for several months so I know this is a much desired baby. And according to FB, my BFF had her baby and I want to call and leave a message on her answering machine, but I have to wait until my throat is less thick with tears. Despite the sadness, I feel happiness in my heart and that comforts me.

I think another facet of my grieving process is taking care of myself physically. It helps me feel like I'm healing physically which will in turn help me heal emotionally and mentally. I''m running again as well as doing pilates. I'm looking into acupuncture and I'm eating well. It gives me something positive to focus on.

I'm currently reading "Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your Baby" and it helps me to understand that it's hard and terrible and draining but that it's also normal. There are several things that I'm taking away from this book, but the one I keep remembering is that I will never get over this. Rather, I will come to terms with it and that realistic assessment gives me hope. I never saw how you could get over the death of a child, but one day, you accept it and it's just a part of your life. I'm working patiently towards that "one day".

Ruins

2010-07-18T07:31:00.000-07:00

It is very important to me to be as authentic and as honest as possible in all facets of my life. I very rarely tell fibs, even to protect people's feelings because I believe in the power of truth. I guess it's for this reason why I'm so honest on this blog, particularly now when I'm in so much pain. It's a process, one that thankfully few people have to go through, but one that is not talked about enough. In helping myself work through this maze, I hope I speak to others to help them understand what it's like, or to assure them that they're not alone.

With that said, grieving is hard work. It's physically and emotionally draining and you can feel like you're going crazy. You can make positive progress then regress in a blink of the eye. Last week was particularly bad. I didn't go to work on Tuesday, just sat at home and cried. I know this is normal but I couldn't help but feel out of control in a very, very quiet way. I cried a lot last week then I got my period which made it seem a lot worse (mind you, I haven't stopped bleeding for 8 weeks). I thought a lot about death and dying and wondered if I'd ever feel the same again. I know for sure that I'll never be like I was before. My innocence is gone and I view the world with different lenses. It sucks for sure.

My boss said a funny thing to me the other day during one of our now regular lengthy chats. He said it appeared to him that my confidence was gone and I may want to consider a change of job where I'm not on the front line. It was like he was in my head. I have lost my confidence and I know I don't want to work with the public any longer, but in a way, it's a positive thing. I know I'm ready for a career change and him saying that was like confirmation that I'm ready for something new. I'm grateful for that.

I've been thinking about what I've learned over the last 2 months since my pregnancy was interrupted. I think I'll write about that tomorrow.

365 Days

2010-07-09T07:42:00.000-07:00

365 days ago, we said "I do" for the second time. Today is our anniversary and there is no doubt I love David more now than when I did when I walked down the aisle. We've been through so much in a year, more than what some people experience in a lifetime. Our sincerest wish on this day is that our next year of matrimony will be far and away MUCH better than this last year. Here's hoping.

Hot Mess

2010-07-07T16:24:00.000-07:00

Today was a hard day. I should have listened to my body and stayed in bed, but like the stubborn mule I am, I got up, showered and caught the train to work, telling myself it would be good to be out on a sunny day and have lunch with my friend/co-worker.

I'm not sure what exactly set me off, but I started crying after lunch and I could not stop. I decided to go home and was walked out by my friend. I tried to explain my feelings to her and I started crying as hard as I had when I realized the future we dreamed of was gone. She held on to me and I held on to her, using her as my buoy.

I guess right now I'm feeling like I'm an absolute failure. I feel real anxiety when my phone rings at work or someone mentions the programme I administer. I'm fearful of running into certain people, much less talking to them about every day things like classes and induction. I can't make decisions. And I believe my feeling of inadequacy stems from the fact that I could not carry my baby to term and she died. Rational? No. Normal? From what I've been reading, yes, very. I think about the last 7 months and I get flashbacks. I see those grainy ultrasound images in my head and recall her perfect heart, kidneys, stomach, brain. All wasted. And I want fold into myself and stop being for a very long time.

It really is one day at a time. On Monday, a co-worker of my mother-in-law came to talk to me about having gone through a similar situation and how she coped. I hardly cried during our talk and she said she thought we were doing everything right during our process. On Tuesday, I found out a friend of mine is pregnant and while I burst into red, hot tears I was and am genuinely happy for her. No jealousy, just hope for her. But today. Ah. Today was a hot, tranny mess.

I cannot articulate how difficult this is. I'm looking for anything that will tell me how long it will take for this soul crushing sadness to subside. I feel like such a pariah. I make other people uncomfortable. Hell, I make myself uncomfortable. This week was supposed to be 30 weeks. I cannot believe I'm part of 1%. I will never, ever look at statistics the same way again.

Cliches and the future

2010-06-29T06:26:00.000-07:00

I have been hearing a lot of cliches lately because at times of grief (or joy, for that matter) they always seem to make an appearance. I understand where they come from because I've often thought them when I've had nothing to say to someone during times of stress. Sometimes they are helpful, but usually not. I'm due to return back to work tomorrow on a very light schedule (basically, a phased return building up my days per week slowly over time) and I'm absolutely dreading meeting up with well meaning people who feel for me but have no idea what to say. I wish they could all relax around me and say something like "I'm so sorry to hear about your loss. It must be so difficult for you and I hope you get to a good place again sometime soon." And scene. Yep, that's it for me, particularly if I don't know you well. The worst thing they can do is launch into a bunch of overworked cliches and telling me horror stories I don't want to hear about, even if they result in a happy ending. I'm just not there.

Anyway, I think a slow return will be good for me. I like being home right now but I know I'll have to return one day. I'm grateful that at least it's summery and somewhat warm in the east of Scotland. It makes the days more easy to bear.

Another cliche that has been swimming around my head is one that was uttered in an episode of Sex and the City the other day. It was "life happens while you are making other plans". Normally when I have thought of this saying in the past, I have focused on the "plans" part in the hope that the "life" part could sort itself out. Now I'm flipping that on it's head. I'm hoping life will blossom for us while our new plan works itself out.

The road to Canada is being paved. Yes, we are getting everything together to get Dave his permanent resident visa. My current visa here runs out in April 2011 and I'm not renewing. So we are going to fill out the long and complicated forms, go through the medical and police checks (well Dave is), and pay the insane fees. It's not going to be quick or easy, but we hope to both be out of here before May next year. I will definitely write about this process.

I realize that this may appear that were running away, but I told Dave before we even got serious that Canada is my home and I would settle there. Happily, Dave always thought he'd end of up in North America so everything is gravy. We intended to return home with our baby, but since that didn't work out there's no point in spinning our wheels any longer. Rather than hightailing out of here without care, I'm hoping our remaining time here will be healing. I cross my fingers.

We've also decided not to try for another baby while we're here. This is a total 180 on my part. I felt like I wanted to try right away, but I know deep down that I won't be in a place to put myself through another pregnancy without my mind and heart being in a better place and without my family and friends rallying behind me. I'm comfortable with this decision and am focusing on a return to strength inside and out.

The above picture was taken from a design blog I frequent which originated here. "Nothing worthwhile is ever easy." Ain't that the truth. I hope this also becomes a truism for me:

Diapers and Blood

2010-06-26T05:02:00.000-07:00

Sorry for you, but this post has absolutely nothing to do with Gerberas or strawberries. I have reusable diapers and post-partum bleeding on my mind, and I might get TMI. So for the faint of heart, you've been warned.

Dave and I are trying to decide what to do with the reusable diapers (or nappies, for you Brits) we bought a couple of months ago at the Glasgow baby show. We decided to buy them so early because we were in the so-called "safe stage" (ha!) of the second trimester and because we got a deal, and anyone who knows me knows I'm a sucker for bargains. We bought 20 odd diapers in a myriad of colours and put them in the back of my closet to be broken out after the birth of our little one in September. We all know that ain't happening anymore, so what should we do with these diapers (they're Bum Genius, if you're wondering)? As of today, I don't think we (ok, I) won't be ready to try again for some time, but then again, we don't know what the fates have in store for us. Also, having them around, albeit in the back of my closet, makes me feel a touch sad when I think about it. Finally, we can get back the £ 250 we spent on the diapers.

Dave, on the other hand, feels differently. He believes that if we return the diapers, we'll be admitting defeat and giving up. I understand where he's coming from but I think having them around is so sad. We can buy new ones for our take home baby. I go back and forth. Any opinions?

On a somewhat similar vein, I'm still bleeding (oh, here's the part that perhaps gets TMI). Wait a second - stay with me here. It's been over 5 weeks since I gave birth to Isla, and I'm physically all kinds of messed up. For about two weeks, I had heavy then moderate bleeding, then it became light for about a week. Last week, all of a sudden, the gates opened and I started what I think was my period. It has been heavy as hell and now it has been 10 days of this. I'm so over it. And to make matters worse (here's that vein I was talking about), I've had to use disposable pads. According to the pros, women who have given birth must use menstrual pads to reduce the risk of infection (which I had when I went into labour). The thing is, I haven't used pads or tampons since January 2007. I've been using a reusable menstrual cup, firstly the Diva Cup and then I switched to the Moon Cup last year. And I love it.

In case you're too lazy to read the links, the cup is a reusable hold all made of high grade silicone that you fold easily and is inserted into the bajingo. It shouldn't hurt or be uncomfortable and it shouldn't fall out or leak. There's no risk of toxic shock syndrome (TSS) and it can be used for 8 hours at a time (though some days I stretch it to 12 hours). And, no, it doesn't stink! Also, since it's a product that last for years and years, it's environmentally and financially advantageous. I've had loads of women ask me about the cup and admittedly, most people are straight up disgusted by the thought, but I'm determined to spread the word. Hopefully, one person will be converted (I'm looking at you, Stacy). Anyway, if you're curious, ask away. Obviously, I'm not shy!

Home

2010-06-23T11:41:00.000-07:00

I returned home to Dave on Tuesday and it felt so good to be back in his arms. My time in Montreal was great on so many levels, but it was so hard to be away from Dave, especially during this trying time in our life. Like I told my BFF, I don't just love my husband, but I really like him as well. I have such a strong affection for him and I just love being around him. Everything is just so easy with him and he always makes me laugh. It's so important to have someone who can really make you laugh. This gift is one of the things that attracted me to him. After nearly 5 years together, he still has it.

I spent most of yesterday getting myself sorted. I washed and put away all my clothes, I cleaned up the spare room and stowed away all the beauty products I bought in Montreal (stuff I can't get here). I cooked for the first time in weeks and started on my Blurb blog book (I'm publishing my previous blog and will post a review once I receive it). I also started my pilates programme (DVD at home) to slowly get back into exercising. I took my measurements and hope to see a noticeable difference by Christmas.

I also talked to my boss today about returning to work. I'm thinking of going back on a sort of graduated system, like start with 3 days a week and progress from there. He's totally fine with it (truly, he's a good guy), but the thought of going back scares me and brings me to tears. In fact, after I hung up with him, I noisely sobbed my face off. Just the thought of sitting at my desk, where I rubbed my belly so many times, and seeing so many people who knew about my pregnancy upsets me so much. But I know I need to go back to work soon. Just so I have something to do, you know? Any tips on how I can make this easier?

I know I haven't blogged too much about my trip home, but to all those I saw who actually read this thing, thank you so much for letting me lean on you. Having moments of normalcy in between the grief helped so much. I am so fortunate to know so many amazing, funny, intelligent, down-to-earth women and I truly love you. I want to especially shout out Dahlia (and her family) for suggesting I come home in the first place. I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but Dahlia is 8 months pregnant and we were writing back and forth about our respective pregnancies. We were both worried about seeing each other after what happened, but she really took care of me. I enjoyed spending time with her funny husband Steven and her delightful daughter, Berlynn. One of the highlights of my trip was when Berlynn climbed into my lap and started sucking her thumb while watching TV. Dal said she did that because she was truly comfotable with me. That alone was a major factor in healing my heart. Thank you so much, Rampersinghs. I love you all.

The picture I posted at the beginning of this blog is of a painting I received from my best pal here in Scotland. Signe, from Denmark, is a fellow expat and we work in the same office. In fact, we got hired the same day. We bitch and moan our way through the day and we became more than work colleagues - we're friends. I thank the heavens for her and I know I'm lucky to have a kindred spirit here in Edinburgh. Anyway, while I was in the hospital, she came by and gave me my birthday present which was a painting she did of Dave and I. Let me tell you - it was the day after we lost Isla and receiving her painting lifted our spirits immensely. We put it up in our hospital for the rest of our stay, then brought it to Dave's parents' house and put it in our bedroom. It's now in a good spot in our living room and we love it. I think anyone who knows us will attest that it is a true likeness of us. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I'm blessed with some truly wonderful friends.

Empty belly

2010-06-15T08:51:00.000-07:00

I've never had a belly before.

Don't hate me.

I went through a brief chunky period in high school, then I shot up a few inches and the weight got distributed a bit better. Still, I don't remember having an actual belly. All throughout my adult years, my stomach has been flat. Then when I started working out, I had definition in my abdominal area. I really, really liked it.

When I got pregnant, it took some time for my belly to pop and I loved it's fullness. In fact, I really adored my pregnant shape.

Now that I'm not pregnant anymore, I have a really sad, soft, empty belly. When I wear jeans, I actually have a muffin top. On top of everything else I've had to go through, this is a total punch in the gut (pun). I miss my baby and I miss my bump, but this has gots to go. I hope one day it will be full and hard again, it's occupancy filled with a delightful, healthy, take home baby. But until that day, my physical self cannot reflect my mental state. I can't hurry up through this mourning period, but I can take care of myself. That means yes to copious amounts of water, B-complex vitamins and folic acid, long walks and light jogging that will turn into serious jogging, smaller portions and loads of fruits and vegetables. Several months ago, my body was in peak condition and a welcome place for a baby. I don't know when we'll start trying for a baby again, but the least I can do for myself and that future baby is get my body right. Hopefully, my head and heart won't be too far behind.

Heart. Beat.

2010-06-13T18:37:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I woke up with some peace. I’m grateful for this because Friday did not start out well at all.

I took my mother to a hospital appointment at the hospital I was born in. They have a new annex and my mom was to meet her doctor in the Women’s Clinic. Ok, that really doesn’t mean anything, but I was still relieved to find just a few children in the office with their moms. I’ve been hanging out with kids since Tuesday, so I was solid about kids. Unfortunately, I was totally blindsided, not by a sight, but by a sound.

A heartbeat. A baby’s heartbeat.

Background: While I was pregnant, I absolutely loved hearing Isla’s hearbeat. I initially saw it during ultrasounds, then heard it during latter appointments. When I was admitted to the hospital, I would hear it about every four hours when my blood pressure and temperature were checked. It kept me strong and hopeful. It kills me that I’ll never hear hers again.

So yeah, hearing the sound of a heartbeat filling this small office sucked the air out of my lungs. At first, I was livid at my mother. “Why didn’t you tell me there’d be pregnant women here?” And I got up to leave and dissolved into sobs. I did not care who was looking at me or who was in my path, but I knew I couldn’t listen to that distinctive “whoosh-whoosh-whoosh” anymore. I stood crying in the stairwell while my poor mother kept telling met that she didn’t know, she didn’t know. I was crying so hard that she started crying too. I left to get some air and gain some perspective. Every breakdown that I have is one tiny step to a better place. Embrace it, feel it, and let it go. And that’s what I needed to get in front of the hospital while people went about their business.

I returned to the clinic after some time to keep my mom company and then I left to meet up with one of my BFFs. She took me out for a delicious lunch, we picked up one of her sons from daycare and ran errands. I also picked up my developed and retouched photos of Isla. And we talked about insignificant things and big things.

When my mother got home from work, we stayed up until 1:30a.m. talking about my feelings and how much I hate it when she tells me not to cry and that I’ll have another baby. We then talked about the future and out of that conversation, I felt a new idea forming. I slept on it and woke up feeling good about it.

Things have gradually started to become clearer over the last few days. Coming home has been good for me. I've had a lot of help over the last week, particulary from my mom, sister and my oldest friend. I'm definitely in a more positive place right now (for now). I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reads this blog and comments and talks to me about what I’ve written. It comforts me more than I can say.

Loser

2010-06-07T08:07:00.000-07:00

I feel like such a loser.

I'm 32. I don't have a permanent address anymore. My stuff sits in boxes in three separate homes in two countries. My driver's license expired 4 years ago (!) and I had no idea. I don't have a plan for the future. My baby died and I have no freaking idea which way is up. Seriously, I don't.

My sweetheart Steph called me a survivor the other night. I told her I don't want to just survive anymore. FUCK surviving. I want to live.

But I feel like I can't right now.

The other night a family friend asked if I'm pregnant. Scratch that. He told me I was pregnant. He was sure because of how my belly looked. I couldn't tell him what had happened. So instead I left and I cried for over an hour. I woke up the next morning with the puffiest eyes I've ever had in my life and a resolution not to meet anyone else who is not on my list.

I've come to realize that even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't move back to Montreal. I've been away too long. At once, things are too familiar and totally strange to me. I don't remember how to get to certain places and I don't know how to use the public transport system anymore. After everything I've seen and everywhere I've lived, and going through everything I have over the past 5 years, I'm a foreigner in my own home town. Like the border agent and passport officer told me, I don't live here anymore. Ouch.

It hasn't been all bad, coming back. I'm connecting with my mom on a level I've never had before. I'm really talking to my little sis. I'm laughing with my friends and hugging some pain away. I'm crying when I want to. I have a crazy uneven tan. I have more friends that I'll be seeing, the ones who have known me since before I got my period and know all my secrets. I have two more weeks left.

I miss Dave. I can't wait to be in his arms again. But, this is important. I know I need help. This is one remedy. The hope is I'll get some of me back, get some of the light back, and return to Dave a bit stronger so we can get stronger together. And maybe, we can feel a little less scared of the future.

Are you there, faith? It's me, Kaki. I really, really, really need you back right now. Please, help a sister out.

Coming home/Going home

2010-06-03T12:45:00.000-07:00

I am returning to Montreal today. I'm scared about going home. I'm scared about seeing my friends and family for the first time in a year, and for some, the first time in 2-3 years. A lot has happened, most notably I had a baby who died. I'm afraid that I'll have difficulty seeing some people and I'm afraid of being judged. I'm sad to leave Dave. But I know for sure that those who love me and understand me will be there for me. I look forward to their hugs and kisses.

Dave and I returned to our flat on Tuesday evening. It was the first time of sleeping there since I went into the hospital nearly 3 weeks ago. We had returned to pick up some clothes since then, and we also took the opportunity to hide away all the baby books I had bought and received. But some reminders were still lurking around. The bathtub had been stained purple by the heather that had been in the bath when I tried to find relief from what I now believe were contractions. On the couch, there was a wedge pillow I had borrowed to use to put under my bump while I slept. And there were my maternity clothes.

All these things have now been cleaned and put away. I also cleaned up my Amazon wish list, purging it of the millions of titles and things I had hoped to buy one day in order to escape those damned recommendations on my homepage. I have cleared my browser history of all the blogs and information sites I had looked at every day of my pregnancy. The reusable diapers we had bought at a discount and the new hand-me-down baby items I had received from my co-worker are safely enconssed in the back of my closet while we figure out what to do with them. The only reminder I can bear looking at right now is the remembrance box we received from the hospital after Isla died. I look in it every day. I look at her picture and I smell her hat.

Her hat. So small and it still smells like her. We just got it on Monday after we secured a new one for her so we could have the one she wore. I'm so happy I realized I wanted this. One more thing to remember her by.

Well, that's all to say that I am home and now I'm going home. Home is such an interesting concept to me. Montreal is my home, but now, Kirkcaldy is also my home. The former is home because my mom, sister, and sister-friends are still there, but the latter is home because my heart is here. A long time ago, Dave told me people can be home. Such a wise sentiment.

I'll be away for a couple of weeks and might write late at night when sleep is elusive. However, I hope my days are so full of talking, laughing, crying and food that dreams come quite easily. À bientôt.

Saying Goodbye

2010-06-02T12:09:00.000-07:00

On Monday, David, his family and I said goodbye to Isla. It had been two weeks since she died and Dave and I were waiting for this day. Our daughter's spirit had left us shortly after she entered the world and we knew we'd have to say goodbye to her physical body before we could begin to properly heal. We went back and forth between a burial and a cremation and it was excruciating trying to decide which would be better. In the end, two things swayed us. Firstly, the gardens of the crematorium are breathtaking. Everything is manicured professionally, there are beautiful trees and flowers everywhere, including cherry blossom trees, and there are even bunnies hopping around. When Dave and I walked around the grounds, we felt at peace. It would be a fitting place to go and sit and think about the beauty of our daughter's life.

Secondly, we know we'll settle in Canada someday soon. We knew that we couldn't leave Isla behind in a place that would be so far away from us. When we leave, we don't want to leave anything behind, especially Isla's body. So we decided on cremating her. We also plan on having her name engraved on a memorial that is especially for babies. When we finally settle down somewhere permanently, we plan on planting a cherry blossom tree in her honour. However, all these things are incidental to the feeling I had in my heart after Isla was finally gone.

Her service was short, like we wanted it to be, but as lovely as Isla herself. Ian, the chaplain who blessed her in the hospital gave the service and he comforted me with his warm words and tranquil demeanour. It was not easy - seeing her tiny coffin and walking her down the aisle of the crematorium, but I felt steady, especially since Dave and I had a few moments alone to tell our baby how much we love her and how we'll see her again one day. I felt like we were letting go and I know that's one step closer in accepting what happened. But even though we were letting her go, I felt close to her and I believe I'll always feel that way. For me, the parting blessing confirms this:

"When you are weary and in need of strength,
when you are lost and sick of heart,
remember her, Isla.

When you have a joy to share
or difficult decisions to make,
remember her, Isla."

I plan on doing just that, for the rest of my days.

After the service, we all walked around the grounds. It was a stunning day, with the sun shining so brightly. It lifted my heart. We even went for a drive later. After the tears in the morning, I felt peace.

I know it's early days and Dave and I have a long way to go before we feel like ourselves again, but I feel like my faith is returning. I know I have a choice. I can let Isla's death weigh me down and I could give in to the despair of losing her. I could stop smiling and I could stay in bed for a year while my heart grieves. It would be so easy. I've had these thoughts and others that are too dark to share.

On the other hand, I could remember the joy Isla brought to our lives. Those 23 weeks were beautiful. Every single one. The week I got the positive test. The week we told our parents that they were going to be grandparents. The week we saw her on the ultrasound for the first time. The week when I felt really sad and lonely and felt her kick for the first time and understood the enormity of what I was doing. I was so in love with my daughter. We both were. We both are. I want to grieve for her properly, but I also want to heal so that I can fully love my husband and we can grow our family again.

I know there are going to be ups and downs and I will never be the same person again, but I'm so thankful and so grateful that I am Isla's mother.

Tears, and could it be, some hope?

2010-05-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was hard.

Dave and I went to Edinburgh to find a new suit for him because he didn't feel that the suits he had would be suitable for Isla's funeral. I wanted to get a couple of things to wear in Montreal because it is actually summer there now. I also wanted to get something for my BFF's unborn baby and 3 year old daughter.

This is where things went wrong.

After a nice lunch in a character hotel, we went to a baby clothes shop. I was focused on getting something I saw months ago for this baby. Dave freaked out. We left. Then I freaked out. Then we saw a pregnant woman. We made it to the top of the street before I started crying. I cried because I would not buy cute little things for Isla and because my bump was gone. Ugh. It hurt. My heart hurt.

We finished what we needed to do and got the fuck out of Edinburgh. When we got back to the town we live in, which as provided us with a space to actually mourn in, I was exhausted. Since my body is more or less back to normal (which pisses me off. My stomach is soft and flat. My engorged breasts have settled down and are soft again. Looking at me, you would never have known I was pregnant last week), it makes it hard to remember I gave birth last week. I was tired. After receiving an offer to talk from my MIL's co-worker who went through a similar thing last year and who has just given birth, then my MIL telling me everything will be alright and we'll be happy again, I lost my shit. Like, boo hoo on the steps. Dave took me to bed and I cried and cried and cried. I miss my daughter. I'm tired. Life will never be the same.

So we slept. Sleeping helps a lot.

When we woke up, I knew we'd have to make a decision. That night there was to be a meeting for bereaved parents organized by a group named SANDS. They support parents who have lost children through stillbirth and neonatal deaths. On the one hand, we just lost Isla and maybe it was too soon to go to this. But on the other hand, talking to others who have gone through what we have might helps us to learn how to cope with the trauma and learn how we can live and be happy again even with broken hearts.

After thinking about it, I knew we wanted to go. So we went. And it was brilliant. Everyone was so helpful and kind. They could not believe that we were there after we had just lost Isla last week. They called us brave and strong. I don't know if I believe that yet. I just know talking about it helps me cope and cry and relieve stress.

We talked and listened for over 2 hours. I would definitely go again. I borrowed a book I had coveted in their library and I'll read it after I read this one. I need to read and listen to stories, particularly positive ones. They help me. I want to be positive again. I want to be happy again. I want to mourn Isla properly and cry and grieve and despair for her, but one day, think about the beautiful baby I had the pleasure and honour of carrying her for nearly six months. Yes, I want to get there.

Dave's beautiful sisters are in town and they'll be coming to the funeral with us. I'm so happy they're here. They bring levity to this house of mourning. The only thing is that right now, I'm not great with the effortless banter they all have. My thoughts are always so far away. But it's nice talking to them. I'm so looking forward to seeing my family and friends next week. I need them now more than ever.

It's my darling's birthday today. I told him next year's will be better. I sincerely hope it will be.

I was just thinking...

2010-05-27T09:10:00.000-07:00

No one knows what to say. And they say things like "I can't find the words" or "no words are enough". But you know what? The fact they took the time to say that and just convey how sorry they are means the world to me. I know it's hard but I'm truly touched by how our friends and family, and even the midwives and doctors have rallied around Dave and I. Even people who read this blog, whom I've never even met have reached out and it touches my heart. The perfect words would be great, but the simple act of sending an email or calling long distance just to check up on us has meant the world. Thank you.

After reading Lara's blog yesterday, I realized that I'll always be the mother of a child that died. Even if I have 10 more children, my first one will be the one that died. And that killed me. And after I thought abut it a bit more, I felt like I'm now a member of a club that has so many members, yet we're afraid to talk freely in public because what happened to us is so sad. And that's tragic. It's a club I'd rather not be a part of but I am and I have to find a way to reconcile that. Then I felt shit thinking about that because I stopped thinking about Isla, who will never be all the things we envisioned for her. Her life has ended. Ours can still go on if we want it to. I need to properly mourn my little girl.

I will be going home next week due to the generous offer to bring me home from my BFF Dal and at the insistence of Dave and the whole world. I know I'll need this time to be around my closest and dearest. Dave is worried about me. The last two days have been the darkest yet. He wants me to go to recuperate and because he feels like I've been needing to go for a long time. He thinks that when I return home to him, we should start working on getting our life back. I've lost all faith, but deep down, I know he's right. Last night I told him I only get out of bed for him now. He said that I've always been the reason for him getting up in the morning and until recently, he had two. That made me cry. I hope that one day I'll be able to get up and be thankful for all that I have again. One day.

Sakura

2010-05-25T09:57:00.001-07:00

Sakura means cherry blossom in Japanese. Every year in Japan, the Japanese make a huge deal of viewing cherry blossoms and appreciating their short yet uplifting beauty. I was happy to see upon moving to the UK, that there are plenty of cherry blossom trees around which makes me feel close to a time in my life when I was quite happy.

Isla was born and died at the end of cherry blossom season here in the east of Scotland. We hadn't figured out an appropriate middle name for her but having found the place where she'll be forever remembered, and realizing that there were cherry blossom and plum blossom trees around, we should have given her the middle name of Sakura. From when she was conceived to when she was born, she gave us so much joy and beauty. For over 5 months, we dreamed of her, talked to her, hoped for her and loved her. We met her briefly and we appreciated our time with her, much like the Japanese do with their beloved cherry blossom trees. Every year, when the blossoms come out, we'll celebrate her birthday and our love for her. Our Isla Sakura.

Shadows

2010-05-24T05:35:00.000-07:00

On Friday, May 14th, I was admitted to the hospital with abdominal pains that had started on Monday, got better and returned on Thursday afternoon. Dave and I were concerned and we were hoping to get an explanation and a plan to get better and to just go home and recuperate.

This was not to happen.

Upon examination by two doctors, I was told that I was dilated to 2cms and that my amniotic sac was visible. The doctor said that a miscarriage was likely and that nothing could be done to stop it. We cried in disbelief. How was this possible? Here I was, more than halfway through my second trimester and I was in danger of losing our baby. I didn't believe it. I couldn't. I imagined weeks of bedrest and emerging triumphant around the 38 week mark with a healthy baby.

This was not to happen.

Over the weekend, my pain subsided that gradually got worse. For 5 months, I avoided any kind of pain relief but in the hospital, I took drug upon drug to slow the contractions down. I got injected with steroids in the hope that if the baby came early, his/her lungs would be supported. What kept me going was hearing the baby's heart beat every 4 hours and feeling him/her kicking against my womb letting me know s/he was ok. But I could feel the baby descending. For some reason, the body was getting lower and lower in abdomen.

Early Monday morning, after suffering through the worst night of contractions, Dave was called back to the hospital (he wasn't allowed to stay with me that night) and we were given the news that I was 4 cms dilated and all my waters had gone. I was going to have our baby.

All my visions of labouring standing up or kneeling disappeared as I lay back and got high on gas and air. Breathing through the pain was so hard and I was trying not to go with it because our baby wasn't meant to be born.

I felt our baby crowing and I pushed out the head. When the next contraction came, I pushed out the rest of the body. I gave birth to a girl. She was taken away and I had to concentrate on getting the placenta out. It would not come.

They brought back our tiny baby to us. She was wearing a tiny red and white hat. She was about the length of my forearm with long arms and legs and big feet, Dave's feet. I looked at my daughter's face and told Dave that she looked like me. She was alive, gasping for air. She fought for her life. She was 23 weeks old and 1lb 1oz.

She was taken away and I had to continue to push out the placenta. I was told that I had another hour to have it come out or I'd have to go to surgery. After some time, the doctor was called in and I was told that she was going to try to pull it out. The pain was unimaginable. Though I was high, I could still feel the pain. I was screaming, but trying to relax my body so she could get it out. She couldn't. She said she was causing me too much pain and that we'd go to surgery. I begged her for one more shot. She obliged me. I sucked on the gas and air, I howled, I relaxed my legs, and she pulled it out and I cried and cried and cried. It was over.

After some time, they brought our daughter back to us. By this time, she was no longer breathing. She was now in a knitted pink dress, wrapped in a white knitted blanket with a pink and white hat on her head. She was beautiful. We cried for her and for ourselves. The midwife had taken pictures with a digicam and told us to do the same. Dave was appalled and hurt but it made sense to me. Even in my stupor, I knew I wanted something to have of her.

Though we didn't previously know the sex of our baby, we had names picked out. Isla for a girl. We knew this prior to even conceiving. So we called her Isla. And we told her her name and hugged her and kissed her. Isla.

I got cleaned up and put in a new room specifically for bereaved parents. The room of tears and broken hearts. The Snowdrop Room, I think it was called. They brought Isla to us for one final goodbye and a very nice chaplain to came to us and he blessed Isla and named her. I don't know how long we spent holding her, crying over her and talking to her. She was so beautiful and we loved her so much.

That was a week ago. We have been living in a cocoon at my in-laws place since I was released from the hospital last Wednesday. I'm afraid to go out and be around people. So we spend our days talking and crying and sleeping and grieving. Our plans down the toilet and no baby inside me. When we hug, I'm aware that we no longer have our much loved baby in between us. In fact, looking at me now, you'd have no idea I was over 5 months pregnant last week. I hate it.

I don't think I can tell this story again, not detailed like this. Dave and I know the minute details and I'm grateful we can always share with each other. I want to heal. So that's why I've posted this - to heal and to help others out there who might find this. I hope that one day, we'll be close to feeling whole again.

How we found out

2010-05-13T06:29:00.000-07:00

It was Sunday, January 16th when I took two tests early in the morning. At that point, my period was about 2 weeks late, but I knew that didn't necessarily mean anything. My periods have always been regular, but I was having serious cramping everyday and I sincerely thought my period was imminent. I believed this despite being late and beside being knocked out by exhaustion and nausea so bad I called in sick to work. I mean, I wore my Moon Cup everyday in preparation for my period for goodness sake! But, I was practicing the Fertility Awareness Method of birth control/family planning and I was taking my temperature ever day. And the main way of concluding you’re pregnant is recording 18 days of elevated temperatures post ovulation. So I think I waited until day 20 because I wanted to take the tests on the weekend. We were busy on the Saturday so I knew Sunday would be the day.

Some months previously, I ordered a thermometer and it came with ovulation and pregnancy tests and I had about a dozen of each. I also knew that to be able to actually believe my fate, I’d have to buy one of the big gun pregnancy tests, so I chose Clear Blue (mainly because it was on sale). So I had these weapons in my arsenal and knew I’d have conclusive evidence of my status one way or the other.

I went to bed on Saturday and tossed and turned all night. Finally, at around 7:30 Sunday morning, I went to the master bathroom and peed in a cup. First, I put the cheapo test in it and laid it on some toilet paper and did likewise with the Clear Blue test. The cheapo test changed immediately, but I wanted to give both time to marinade. So I made myself of bowl of oatmeal and went to the living room to watch early morning TV and pass the time.

After about 30 minutes (I don’t know how I held out that long), I went back the bathroom and looked at them. Holy shit.

I crawled back into bed and gently nudged Dave awake telling him he had to go to the bathroom with me to look at the tests. He rose crazy haired and blurry eyed and stumbled to the bathroom. My heart was banging in my chest. He said “I knew it” and two fat tears rolled down my cheeks as we embraced.

We were going to be parents.

We both knew instinctively that it was way too early on a Sunday morning to celebrate. So we crawled back into bed and fell into a deep slumber amidst our excitement and bewilderment.

Love is love

2010-05-10T07:30:00.000-07:00

I read something the other day that really hurt my feelings. Thanks to a commenter (Kay) on this blog, I found out that a woman I’ve greatly admired, Jill Scott, basically dissed interracial relationships She said she winced when she found out a Black male friend of hers was married to a White woman. She went on to mention the African-American experience and to raise the slowly healing scars of slavery.

Many of you know that I’m happily married to a white man (Scottish, no less) and I have a great appreciation of stable, happy and loving relationships of all kinds, but interracial ones are particularly attractive to me because they are so immediately identifiable. The majority of the men I have been dated have been white with a few forays into other races (equal opportunity dater here!). I’m not going to get into my past, but I will say, before I started Dave and had started my dating sabbatical, I had decided I wanted to put more energy into dating men with a similar ethnic background as me mainly with the hope that we'd be starting on the same page. Of course, the best laid plans get cast aside and I fell in love with a funny man named Dave rather than just a white guy named Dave. So since I’m in this loving and stable interracial marriage, I always appreciate seeing those in likewise situations on the street and in the media. We both get excited in fact because those folks resemble us. And it’s especially strong when we see biracial kids with their honey complexion and massive hair. So yeah, I’m pretty protective and proud of interracial love.

On the flipside, I can appreciate arguments in the Black community that “Black love” needs to be upheld and celebrated because it’s becoming an endangered category. It’s true – monocultural relationships are easier in the respect that individuals can truly comprehend and empathize with what the other has gone through and can perhaps better understand the trials that particular group has to go through (this goes for white folks too). I do feel a twinge though when Essence magazine puts on their annual “Let’s get married” contest solely to celebrate Black love (mind you, this would NEVER go down in a white mag). Is the love I share with a white guy not as beautiful as the love shared by two people of the same race? That’s what this contest seems to deny.

But back to Jill. Am I so out of the loop that Black females still feel like a victim when they see a “brotha” with a “Malibu Barbie”? Was her article written borne out of old hurts? Black women are not helpless or incapable of love with men (or women) outside their race, right? I think it’s a sad, sad state of affairs of a woman feels so beaten down in love that she can’t be happy if her male counterpart has found love and happiness, even if it’s with a person outside their race. Love is love, right? Well, that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Luckily, I found something that brought me back up. Love being celebrated here. Of course I love seeing pictures of beautiful women with natural hair and I was especially happy to see some white guys in there. The blogger, Black Girl with Long Hair wrote a post for Clutch magazine explaining how disheartened she was by the media’s recent pre-occupation of the sorry state of the love life of the black woman so she had a contest inviting readers to submit pictures of them in their natural hair state with their honeys. She aptly called it “Love is in the hair”.

If you’ve been following these media stories about Black women in love, or even if you haven’t, what do you think about the latest contribution to this fascination? What do you think about interracial relationships? No hating please!

2010-05-07T03:20:00.000-07:00

Scene from a Marriage

Back in the day, during our courting phase, Dave and I used to send each other massive emails. We were simultaneously getting to know eacher and flirting our socks off. These emails have diminished in quantity because we moved in together and talked everyday. We still do volley emails back and forth, mostly about crappy work stuff or the myriad of things that are on my mind. No matter how trivial, hairbrained or far out my ideas and hopes are, he's usually unquestionably supportive. He's a sample of a recent exchange and just a tiny example of why I love my man so much (start from the bottom):

Kaki to David show details 16:46 (18 hours ago)
Thanks baby. I love you.

From: David Sent: 06 May 2010 16:46 To: Kaki
Good idea. I think you'd be good at it.

From: Kaki Sent: 06 May 2010 16:42 To: David
Oh yeah, once we’ve settled I’m going to buy a kick ass camera with a SLR and possibly take a photography class as well. Just so you know.

From: David Sent: 06 May 2010 16:36 To: Kaki
hmmm, that's pretty cool actually.

From: Kaki Sent: 06 May 2010 16:34To: David
No, they peel on and peel off: http://www.allposters.co.uk/-sp/Black-Agapanthus-Posters_i4984176_.htm

From: David Sent: 06 May 2010 16:31 To: Kaki
Won't that damage the walls?

From: Kaki Sent: 06 May 2010 To: David
I know how I’m going to decorate the spare room and probably the bathroom now...wall decals! Reusable wall stickers. I cannot wait. I’ve found some beautiful stickers and they are large. I’m looking forward to doing some easy (and affordable) decoration. Aren’t you just excited???

Big hearts.

2010-05-02T08:32:00.000-07:00

The Next Adventure

Over 4 months ago, I took a test and learned our family of 2 would increase to a unit of 3. Since January, I've felt a myriad of emotions ranging from happiness to anxiety to sadness and now, joy and excitement. I have so many things on my mind and I'm feeling like putting it out there in the universe rather than keeping them locked away in my private diary. So many people blog about their pregnancies nowadays, so I know I'm not alone. I aim to write more regularly because I've learned that keeping things bottled up just does not work when you're pregnant and homesick. I don't think I'll write exclusively about pregnancy and baby stuff, but I might. It's my pregnancy and I can do what I want to! But yeah, great and exciting things ahead.

2010-04-28T04:26:00.000-07:00

Hardcore domestication

The older I become, the more I enjoy creating things. My love of cooking developed as a single gal in my 20s and has grown over the years. I like the challenge of a recipe, especially of a dish I've enjoyed in restaurants (mmm, homemade Vietnamese hoagies) and I will admit failure when a dish bombs (damn you, fish cakes). I also like making things though I tend to get discourage (I'm looking at you, unfinished sock), but I keep trying. I finished the skirt I started in my sewing class and wear it to work with pride. I'm working on zabutons (floor cushions) and need some stuffing and a good zipper to continue. A couple of Sundays ago, I ripped apart a pair of old, holey jeans and made a rocking jean skirt. I feel so satisfied when something turns out right and always hopeful when I try something new. I'm now knitting something on circular needles, a first for me. I will definitely show it off no matter how it turns out.

In the meantime, feast your eyes on these beautiful cookies. Drool at their splendor! Bask in their golden hue. Now, here's the recipe and replicate them youself.

Ingredients:
1 cup unsalted butter at room temp.
1.5 cups of creamy peanut butter
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
2 eggs
3 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp of vanilla extract

Method:
1. Cream together butter, peanut butter and sugars with a hand held mixer until smooth. Beat in eggs one at a time.

2. In a separate bowl, sift together flour, baking soda and powder and salt.

3. Slowly stir flour mixture into batter, a bit at a time so you don't overheat your mixer like I did the last time I made the cookies. Put batter in the fridge for a minimum of an hour. I usually make the batter in the morning and bake the cookies in the afternoon.

4. Roll batter into 1 inch balls and put on baking sheets.

5. Bake in a preheated oven at 375 degrees for 8-10 minutes or when the yummy goodness of peanut butter balls turn a golden colour.

Bonne chance!

2010-04-05T11:16:00.000-07:00

Wife.Bride.Life – Revealed! Conclusion

Sorry for the cliff-hanger. Life has been bananas to say the least.

Anyway. Our journey to the altar. Sometime in August, I sent my mother our marriage application and Dave’s birth certificate and she took that, my birth certificate and the nominal fee and went to the courthouse to file the paperwork. We asked for a date just prior to Christmas and when given a choice, we chose December 20. I think our flights were booked at this time and it worked out that I would be back home in the first week of December and Dave would arrive a few days before our date at the courthouse.

Now, in November, I interviewed for a job and two days before I left, I found out I had got it. I was so happy as I had not worked since late August. However, my papers were a bit off at the time. My working holiday visa was set to expire in September of the following year, but I had used up my 12 month work allowance. Then I got this job. So that meant I would have to apply for my spousal visa which would allow me to work for an additional two years ASAP. But I could only do this one I had my marriage certificate. But this small matter did not detract from marrying my love.

On the day of our wedding, we woke up extra early to ensure that we’d get there way before out 11:30 kick off time. I turned to my soon-to-be-husband sleeping in the bed that had been mine in high school and felt so happy and so sure. My mom was up too (thank god, she takes African time to a new level!) and we all got ready in a stress-free environment. He wore a suit (old) and I wore a new shirt and skirt I had picked up with my mom at a Jewish apparel-cum-yard sale. We wore our kick ass winter boots and brought along a change of shoes. We picked up our other witness, the awesome Uncle Solomon, and headed to the Palais du Justice.

The salle de celebration was lovely and our Justice of the Peace was so nice, but it was a little bit nerve-wracking. Dave was so nervous he messed up his mother’s maiden name. But we walked up the aisle together, said our legal bits and promised ourselves to each other. We had to hold hands at this part and I cried a couple of tears and then we kissed. To me, it was beautiful. The second best day of my life.

We signed the legal papers, as did our witnesses, and had a mini photo shoot outside the courthouse (my mom was our photog). A while later, we bid my mom and uncle adieu and went for a walk by the old port. It was freezing, -12 at least so we went to the Marché Bonsecours and I changed into warmer jeans. We made our way to one of my favourite Chinese places, V.I.P., and had our wedding lunch (oh General Tao’s Chicken, how I miss you!). We wandered about town for a while and decided to catch Slumdog Millionaire at the Cineplex. It was bliss.

So that was our (first) wedding day. And I wouldn’t change anything.

Shortly after we returned to Scotland, I started my new job and got busy sorting my paperwork. Our marriage certificate got sent to me promptly and I sent my spousal visa application and the exorbitant fee (£475) to the UK government. I was then subjected to biometric tagging (photos and fingerprints) and in April 2009, I finally got my leave to remain in the country until April 2011. It was such a hard slog and I also got a bit of stuff from a higher up at work due to my immigration status plus I was sent to France for a work trip and had to frantically get a temporary passport from the Canadian consulate, but all in all, it was OK. I wouldn’t change meeting Dave, moving countries or marrying him for anything, but I’m so freaking happy I won’t have to do it again.

So C7, from the time it took from me submitting my paperwork to get married to get my new visa, it took about 8 months. It took 4 months of waiting to get my visa which apparently is not so bad. We could have done things faster, but we were going on what would work best for us.
And there you have it. The story of how I was a wife before I was a bride.

2010-03-15T09:44:00.000-07:00

Wife.Bride.Life – Revealed! Part One.

I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to write this post. It was at first a secret, then a non-secret, then not-so-common knowledge and then it became one of these things that was talked to death about and became a non-topic, as things do. However, it’s the idea behind this blog’s title so I think it’s relevant enough to bring up now.

So, wife.bride.life. I guess this could be interpreted in a few ways but the meaning of my title is fairly straightforward. You see, life is just life, but I was a wife before I became a bride. In short, I got married before I got weddinged.

“Whatchootalkingbout, Willis?”

Long story short, Dave and I tied the knot in a private ceremony at the Palais de Justice in Montreal on December 20, 2008. It was wonderful.

Long story long, falling in love with a person from another country and deciding that you want to be with them is tough. It’s hard in the sense that you are constantly thwarted from being with that person by immigration, exorbitant fees and lengthy applications. When I met Dave, I did something so uncharacteristic of me at the time – I just went with the feeling. I got to know him and fell in love with him. When it came time to inform JET about whether or not we were staying on for another year, we just knew we wanted to see where our relationship would go.

Near the end of our time in Japan, we knew that I’d be moving on to my 3rd country of residence to be with him (he looked at moving Canada to undertake his graduate degree but it was just too expensive). I applied for a working holiday visa, got it quite easily and quickly, booked my tickets to Glasgow, kissed my mom and sisters “à bientôt” and met Dave in Scotland for phase 2 of our relationship. We drove down to Nottingham and moved into a well-situated but dreadful ground floor flat where we navigated the sometimes tricky terrain of living together. We got through our growing pains while Dave studied and worked a variety of shitty, low paid jobs and I temped my way into a UK career. Six months after Dave carried me over the threshold of our first flat, he proposed in our tiny kitchen and I sobbed out a yes.

Life continued amid our plans for a wedding and Dave finishing his post-graduate degree. We had a lovely time in Nottingham, but were on the road again when Dave successfully landed his first full time career-related gig which would bring us (back) to his hometown of Kirkcaldy. This all happened in a year. And at that point, I had worked for close to my maximum work allowance on a working holiday visa. Our final wedding date was locked in for July 9, 2009. We looked at applying for a fiancée visa which would be valid for 6 months but wouldn’t allow me to work and we needed money to fund our little wedding. My moving back to Canada to work and to wait out our wedding date wasn’t going to happen as our little separation while I was waiting for my initial visa (nearly 2 months) nearly ended me. Long distance just wasn’t an option.

So after a lot of research, cost-benefit analyses, discussions and sun dances, we came to the conclusion that we should get married before we got married. We were planning on visiting Montreal at Christmastime anyway and even with our flights and the cost of the marriage application, it still worked out cheaper than faffing with the UK system. It was convenient for us and really, it would be just several months before the big hoo ha in July, so it wouldn’t be a big deal for us. Our parents understood (my mom filed my paperwork) and it was done. Shortly after producing the marriage certificate, I applied for my visa allowing me to stay and work in the UK for a further 2 years.

At first, we explained this to our friends as best we could, but let’s face it, if you’re not in the situation, it’s hard to wrap your head around immigration issues. We found ourselves repeating the same story and the same rationales ad nauseam and it just got tedious. Everyone we spoke to were behind us 100% and no one twisted it to turn it into something it wasn’t. And that was that. We are on our way to being Ms.N and Mr. B forever.

I’ll explain how we got there in my next post.

2010-03-05T06:23:00.000-08:00

YouTube Friday

I'm usually in a great mood on Fridays, and today is no exception. I'm feeling particularly musical today and wanted to post two YouTube videos that made me happy today:

Oooh, Buffalo Stance brings me way back. Love it.

This little chou is so adorable. I love the sound of her voice. Minou, t'es bien cute! I became a fan on her Facebook. Happy weekend!

2010-03-04T12:03:00.001-08:00

Ye Olde London-shire

Last week, David and I made our great escape to the Big Smoke, London. Now, London is not really a place you would go to if your looking for a bit of R&R, but amidst the running around, shopping, sightseeing and eating (oh, the eating!), that's exactly what we got. There is something to be said for just getting the hell out of your familiar surroundings.

Winter is always tough and it's always right around February that I start to crack. So it was great luck when in November, Dave got an email alerting him to the £9 fare deal. Yes people, for £18 round trip, we travelled 550 km to a place where multiculturalism, diverse cuisines and loads of things to do and see are around every corner.

I've been to London around 3 times prior, and this by far was the most kick ass time. This probably had a lot to do with the fact that Dave and I stayed with one of his best mates, Sir Hugh (above) and his lovely wife Gemma in a cool part of London, Whitechapel, right around the corner from the famous Brick Lane. I tell no lie - it was the first time I have nearly peed myself laughing in such a long time.

Over the course of the week, we were out everyday, even in the horrendous rain because London just does that to you. In the pic above, we went to the Tower of London. To be honest, I wasn't super excited about visiting this tourist attraction, but in turned out to be one of the highlights of the trip. Learning about the gory history and seeing the crown jewels were so interesting, but the best part was the guided tour with a Beefeater named Shady. This guy had a way with storytelling and he was entertaining as hell. The only downside was the admission price. Like most things in London, it was expensive - £17!

We indulged in a lot of hawt meals in the big city. We ate out nearly everyday - Indian, Jamaican, Vietnamese, Japanese - our food choices rarely failed us. I think my favourite meal was the curry mutton, rice and peas and fried plaintain from a stall at Spitallfields Market. We took our cheapo meal to the picnic table set up in the indoor market and loved that meal all the way to our lower intestines. We also had a fantastic lunch at a BBQ place I can't remember the name of that was right around the corner from the Tower of London . I had a sirloin steak burger well done and it was so damn tasty. It even had pickels! I don't remember the last time I had pickels on a burger here. Divinity between two buns. The pic above is the door handle for the restaurant - a gold coloured pig hoof!

Can't go to London without a little stroll thorugh Chinatown. We didn't eat here because it tends to be overpriced and rubbish, but it's nice just to see the lanterns. It's also a short walk to Soho, the gay district and the garment district. I got a bit of eye candy and some fab fabric. Can't beat that.

Bunnies! Outside the market where I bough my fab leather purse (handbag). What's more to say? I love random sculptures/installations in public spaces. London has this in spades.

This mosque has been nicknamed the disco mosque due to it's shiny minaret. Everytime I wanted to yell "Call to Prayer!!!" in one of those house song voices. It was pretty cool. I forget the history, but this current mosque was previously a church and a synagogue with the neighbourhood changing to reflect the house of religion. I thought this was pretty cool.

Dave and Hugh - brothers from different mothers. I have to hand it to these two. They set themselves the task of doing the Monopoly board pub crawl. This mean feat entails visiting a pub at each Monopoly place on the board. There are 26 places. They also had to have a drink in each pub. They decided to go for a half pint rather than the file point. They set out at 10am with grim determination in their eyes, and stumbled home some time after 11pm, rather glassy eyed and jovial and stinking of booze and fried chicken. But they were proud of accomplishing their goal. Hugh even took notes! What a pair! What a day!

At Hugh's behest, I had to visit a Jewish bagel shop because apparently they sell THE BEST BAGELS EVA! Now, being a Montreal gal, home of the best bagels in the world (and out of it), them were fighting words. So I moseyed on up to the very top of Brick Lane and bought a plain bagel with butter in it. Slighty sweet and super doughy, these bagels were aiight, but I was happy to have the opportunity to taste for myself. Now, I will continue on my self-imposed bagel fast.

Hubs and I also visited the very awesome (and free!) Natural History Museum. Dinosaur bones makes a very happy boy! We also had some nice soba (he had udon) at a kaiten sushi place and checked out the museum for a few hours.

All in all, we had a terrific time. We also hung out in Covent Garden (neither a covent nor a garden) and found some tacky shit, and saw friends and family we haven't seen in a while. *Sigh* Now, when's the next vacation???

2010-02-12T08:21:00.000-08:00

I want, I want, I want

Lately, I have been spending a lot of time in a state of wanting which inevitably leads to feelings of lacking. For example, pal Gwen and I met up the weekend before last for a bit of fabric shopping and shop stalking but we had to address the small business of food (anyone that knows me well knows this is no small affair). I woke up that morning craving pancakes something fierce and nothing else would do. We met at Waverly station and proceeded to hunt for them as Gwen was quickly overcome by pancake fever. Now, I love Scottish breakfast as much as the next carnivorous female, but I wanted the floury goodness of flapjacks and real, beautiful maple syrup (my city of birth has an indelible stamp on everything I do). I also wanted some burnt-ass bacon on the side. So what should have been an incredibly easy task turned into a fruitless feat. We went here and there and we were so close (all day breakfast – yay) at times but too far away to get anywhere (pancakes as dessert? Idontthinkso.). It also didn’t help that neither of us had handy iPhones or I had the time to google the heck out our possible options. But of the approximately 10 (!) places we went to, satisfaction could not be had! In the end, we settled on an Indian lunch and for a split second, my disgruntled self wanted to shed a tear on my poppodum. Luckily, Gwen texted me a couple of days ago with a brunch suggestion and the menu looks brill. What a gal.

I’ve also been craving good, solid Japanese food, specifically miso katsu don (this pic does not do this dish justice) like the kind Dave and I used to gorge on in Motosu City. Thinking about it makes my tongue swell and my mouth swim with saliva. However, as any one knows, many speciality foods outside the country of origin either a) don't exist; or b) tastes like ass. We'll be heading to London in a little over a week's time and I'm going to get all Roman (ok, poor analogy) on the food there. I'm talking about Japanese, Greek, Jamaican...nom noms. It may hurt my wallet, but it will make me happy. Now, let's not even get started on clothes shopping...

2010-01-16T07:42:00.000-08:00

Mind the gap

I usually totally forget that Dave and I have 5 years between us (he's younger). I think we're both mature adults and when we're together we just have so much fun together that our age difference literally never comes up. Actually, it did come up once recently. We were joking about getting old and Dave said when he's 80 he will grow a huge gut and eat to his heart's content. I told him fine but don't expect me to want to jump his bones and he said he won't...because I'll be 85! And then he said "EWWW!" Hot burn! Diss! I thought it was rather funny, but it's true. I'll always be 5 years ahead. I'll be 40 when he's 35 and 50 when he's 45. It doesn't bother me because I know I look good, but it gave me pause for thought. Here I am, married to a dude who is younger than me, breaking one of my previous cardinal rules. Shocking. And oh so fun. I've got me a boy toy! (Or a toy boy, for you Brits).

2010-01-12T04:29:00.000-08:00

I have dreamed a dream and now that dream has gone from me.

I wanted to make socks. I started in 2008 (!). It was a new challenge for me, knitting in the round with four needles. I rocked that out. I made the leg of the sock and turned the heel and then things fell apart. I started everything again, but my feeling for that first sock changed and I put it aside. I found web sites, videos and online help, but still I was stuck. So I'm making a pair of leg warmers. I will one day return to the mountain of the knitted sock, but for now I must move on. Fare thee well, oh treacherous sock. We shall meet again.

2010-01-10T09:43:00.001-08:00

Auld Lang Syne

Another decade gone and a new one started. It hasn't really sunk in yet, but I'm glad we've entered a new era. 2010 seems really promising to me and I hope for nothing but the best for myself and my loved ones. Dave and I wished a fond farewell to the year past in the comfort of our home amid friends, booze and board games. I look forward to the travelling, plan making and new adventures carved out in the every day in the new year. I don't have any resolutions to report, only that I want to be a better wife and show my love to David even more. I hope to sew some new things on my new sewing machine, and eat a lot of good meals. I would love to visit a new country and enjoy good friends. I also hope to create new things, including new posts ;) All the best to you and yours!

2009-12-15T07:44:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't classify myself as a big crier. I cry when appropriate - when I'm hurt, really homesick or when PMSing. But I've sort of made a name for myself in our household by crying when I watch TV programmes or movies. I cried my way through most of the David Tennant series of Dr Who, during episodes of The Wire and Bleak House, and I have cried in movie theatres and in planes while watching nearly any kind of well-made dramatic movie. The one movie that I recall crying openly and hard (like real boo hoo tears) was Children of Men. I mean, I went mentale. I cried during the climatic scene, sobbed in the lobby theatre while describing that scene, and bawled into my scarf while I watched it on a plane. I cry when I see other people cry in documentaries, like I did last week during The Family, both when the son-in-law was sobbing and when the family found out the sex of Kaki's child.* Tears ran down my cheeks when I watched The Motorcycle Diaries on the weekend and sniffed at the humanity of Che. OMG, In America, with it's unrelenting sadness and meloncholy but it's obvious message of hope and faith nearly ended me. I cry particularly hard when men cry and especially when I care about the characters. Not to sound weird, but Dave says he loves when I cry when I watch movies or shows becuase he thinks it's so sweet how emotionally invested I get. I'm pretty sure I get it from my Dad. I remember him crying while watching such illuminating dramas as Bonanza; Murder, She Wrote; Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman; and Touched By An Angel. I even remember him crying to a commercial (probably a phone advert - they are the worst). If he were alive, I'd tell him that I understand those tears now.

I won't argue that I really do get emotionally invested when I watch certain media and that the good stuff sticks with me long after I've turned off the TV. It's also a release, which I like. I guess it's just another thing that makes me me. Are there any programmes/movies you can recall that touched you to the point of tears (or a big, fat, painful, bump in your throat)?

*For the first time ever in my life, I've watched a programme that featured someone with the same name, with the same spelling as me. It feels so weird to hear it on TV but I love it.

2009-12-08T02:33:00.000-08:00

"The horror. The horror."

When I was thinking of this blog post, I thought about an accompanying photo and title. I chose these to illustrate what I was feeling when I learned of people’s reactions to my previous blog post. In my head, that seminal quote from “Apocalypse Now” took on a slightly sarcastic twinge but accurate nonetheless. I chose this photo of the late, great Marlon Brando as an illustration of perceptions – this big, scary “monster” displaying a vulnerability ready for public consumption. I guess that’s how I see myself when I write on my blogs. I have been, for a few years now, seen as “the other”. Alarmingly apparent in Japan and below the surface here in Scotland, but with me as a constant companion. I have very few local friends here, so when I can’t make like E.T. and phone home, I blog. Now, I have irked others by what I have written in the past and I have found out about it through comments or via a private email or phone call. And that’s cool. To paraphrase Bob Marley, you can’t make everyone happy all the time, so you need to have dialogue to work things out. With that in mind, I’d like to ask to people who read my blog, if I’ve communicated something that is not to your liking or you think is just dead wrong, please let me know. I assume adults read this thing and while I know my audience is small (C7, I still don’t know how to work Analytics!), it’s big to me. I started this thing 4 years ago via Kaki Means Persimmon and I think I self-censored a whole lot less then. But I know that I like writing and expressing myself and being the extrovert that I am, I’m not going to shy away from being as honest as I can be on a public blog. But let me make this clear: this is my blog. Not my husband’s. He doesn’t know what I write and he’s not my editor. I would strongly prefer that if you want to say something about what I’ve written, please say it to me. I promise, I won’t bite. Hard.

2009-11-26T04:28:00.000-08:00

Gulp gulp.

I think I might be drinking more and it might be for nefarious reasons. I can definitely handle my booze and stop when I’ve had enough, but I’ve noticed that when I’m in certain settings, I tend to drink more. Or think about drinking more. I think it’s out of sheer boredom and a lack of connection with people. When I’m invited to join certain groups, the first thing I think of is “I hope there is decent wine because I am going to need it to make it through this evening”. And that’s appalling to me. I never used to think that way. The Brits have no sense of saying when enough is enough (I know this is a generalization but it's honestly what I've observed) and I’m worried that I’ve started to adopt this thinking. I’ve never drunk myself into oblivion or puked or peed in public, which my follow residents are apt to do, but my thinking has changed. I sometimes want to get drunk to better endure the conversation, the jokes and the atmosphere. And that sucks. Hard. NYE is fast approaching, and given our dire evening two years ago when I tried so hard to get drunk to escape the tedium and blandness, I’ve told that Dave that I don’t want to celebrate outside with anyone else. Stilted conversations with a bottle of Malibu just ain’t my idea of fun. I wish we could get away and watch fireworks light up the sky, but we can’t. Though a roaring fire, my sweetie beside me and a glass (or two) of champagne would be the next best thing.

2009-11-24T07:17:00.000-08:00

Taking stock

Sometimes, when you're feeling like poop, it's just good to remember what you've done in your life thus far. I found the below list on a blue day and it perked me up a bit. I hope you can have a smile when you read it and reflect on your experiences. Enjoy.

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyworld/Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you were not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been laid off from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

2009-11-23T06:39:00.000-08:00

BAWLING.

Ok, I just happened upon this on a design blog and I'm tearing up at my desk at work. I'm so bawling on the inside right now, it hurts. It totally reminds me of our proposal as it also took place in our kitchen and culminated with me sobbing my freaking face off and wearing my unflattering Ottawa U. pants with a green knitted sweater and no bra. Sniff. Who says romance is dead?

2009-11-16T04:12:00.001-08:00

Wife. Life.

There has been a lot of (sometimes heated) talk about what being a wife is and what the word has meant in history and what it means now. I've liked the dialogue that has taken place here and here . I find that it’s such a personal thing, but I’ll share what it means to me. It means commitment, love, support and companionship. My reality of wife encompasses rubbing Tiger Balm on Dave’s chest before bedtime when he’s ill and listening to his problems when he’s steaming. It’s striving to keep our priorities aligned and going the extra distance for him to make his life happier and more grounded. It’s a promise of always holding his hand and chatting in our bed about our dreams for the future right before sleep takes us.

For a long time, I thought I would never be a wife, and for the most part, I was OK was that. In my mind, I always knew life’s labels are not what makes you you and me me. But when I became his wife and more profoundly, his life, it was an identity I fell in love with.

I’m one of those people who deeply believes that marriage does change things and that a marriage certificate is more than just a piece of paper. Sure, you can be committed without all the legal work and ceremony and that’s beautiful. But for myself, a girl that loves security and nailing things down, my marriage has made my love for my husband bottomless and I feel it even more so now than before in my body and in my mind. I sometimes look at him in profile and feel an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude, and while those feelings are sometimes replaced with disbelief and annoyance, I know he’s mine for forever + a day. It’s good and it’s mine. For me, that’s what it is to be a wife.

2009-10-12T08:06:00.001-07:00

On time and waiting (*written on Thanksgiving Day)

I will fully admit that I’m not the most patient of individuals. I’m like this in nearly every situation, and I really try my best to calm down but I sometimes snap when I feel like I’m getting tested. I even pray for patience because it’s not something I feel I can do on my own. I feel like I’ve become better at resisting the urge to pitch a shit fit whenever something is not happening NOW, but there is always room for improvement. For example, I nearly had a wee breakdown the other night when Dave and I missed our last train home. We had left our friends’ flat after a delicious dinner of Mexican dishes and imported beer. We ran for the train but we missed it and it made me so upset. Background: I take the train and bus everyday for 3 hours round trip (this includes walking and waiting time). We don’t have a car nor do we plan on getting one. On top of that, my train was late that morning. So I had a bitch fit on the train. I wasn’t crazy but I had this overwhelming feeling of “f*ck this”. So I very nearly ruined our nice evening because of my inability to roll with the punches, though the £40 fare we had to pay to get home from a neighbouring town pretty much did that.

Anyway, the point is there was absolutely nothing I could have done about this situation nor is there anything I can do about all the waiting I have to do on macro and micro levels. For reasons that I can’t really get into on a public blog (ok, I choose not to get into them), I can’t quit my job and we can’t spend the money on a car, nor can I up and move to Canada tomorrow. I can’t change this situation for a few years so I have to be patient and just live with it. We have mighty big plans for our future. I need to look to them while being happy with what we have now. It’s so tough but I can do it. And hey, it’s perfectly ok to get really pissed off as long as it’s temporary and no one gets hurt.

Frankly speaking, I know I wouldn’t be living this life had I not fallen in love with my husband. Dave is ridiculously patient and he really keeps me going. He is so calm and rational when I so am not, and I’m madly in love with him. He makes everything worth it. On this day of giving thanks (in Canada), I am so thankful for Dave. He keeps me grounded while reminding me of our plans and keeping me laughing.

2009-10-06T08:55:00.000-07:00

Holy poop, I'm bored. I'm sorry, I don't have much to say right now. Summer is gone, it's getting cold and the days are shorter. I went to Nottingham for a very brief, but much needed getaway and I'm back, thinking about the future while trying (and failing) to remain in the present. No holiday any time soon and the attainment of goals seem so far away. Damn. It sucks working in a cold office. I'm going to heat up my chilli and my cornbread and wait until it's time to head out to my dressmaking class. In the words of the wonder Liz Lemon: "Blergh".

2009-09-25T04:15:00.000-07:00

The Naked Beaver

The other day, I treated myself to a Brazilian wax and I went to arguably the best place in Edinburgh. It was expensive, but the technician was fast, friendly and experienced. When I left the establishment somewhat lighter, I knew in my heart I can't give up the goo. You see, when I first got my job, I laid down the dough and got a Brazilian, a full leg and underarm wax and paying the bill brought me closer to tears than having hair ripped out from the roots in my most sensitive areas. So I decided to take it easy and do DIY waxing/hair removal in an effort to save money. I kept this up from about February until July when I decided to go ahead and treat myself in the days leading up to the wedding. I went to a cheaper place and immediately regretted it. Dirty walls, hard, thick wax and a procedure that took double the length of time that I was used to. NEVER AGAIN. But I got a better result than what I do myself. So I decided that it was worth paying good money to go to a nice, clean place (read: expensive) to strip down to basically nothing and make small talk with a woman I've never met before and have her put hot wax on my va-jay-jay and confirm that I'd like my "bottom" done too.

But while I was lying there with my limbs akimbo, I wondered why us women do this to ourselves. We don't have to and it's debatable as to whether or not it's detrimental to our health and skin. I don't take my clothes off for money nor are my nether regions featured in blue movies. So why do I feel compelled, and ultimately satisfied, to be hairless? I don't think it's due to societal or relational pressures. I guess it just makes me feel nice. I would love to have a really good conversation about this. I'm interested to know why other women do it or don't do it, for that matter. Anyone care to chime in? Boys are allowed (I'm looking at you C7).

2009-09-23T04:01:00.000-07:00

Looky looky...

I'm a wedding graduate featured on my favourite wedding blog. When I asked Dave if her minded if I put our wedding forward to be featured on a popular blog, he told me he didn't have any problem with me "pimping" our wedding. Da nerve. I had to explain that I was trying to do a service to others. How many Black brides do you see "out there"? Mmm? Exactly. Anyway, I'm rather proud. A Practical Wedding has helped me and so many brides and I'm just paying it forward.

Hey, you're still here? Go check it out!

I'm glad our wedding got featured because I'm not committed to going over and over it on this blog. I may write about it in the future, but I'm not afraid to admit that I'm a little sick of talking about it. I have a feeling I'll go back to it now and then, but only when I feel like I have something new to say about it.

2009-09-21T03:24:00.000-07:00

Two years and counting

I mentioned recently that work has been kicking my ass, but hopefully, I've turned a corner (knock on wood). I had to have a talk with my boss and basically tell him that I was drowning and needed help. That is something I've never had to do in all my years of working but I co-coordinate the biggest programme in the School. *Sigh* I'm not going to get into it because I'm having a three day weekend and I don't want to ruin it by thinking about work.

Moving on.

I've been reveling in the wonders of Scotland. The weather has turned and the crispness and the changing leaves make me so happy. Dave, his parents and I went to an airshow last Saturday and it was hands down one of the best days I've spent in the UK. I've never been to an airshow before but I would definitely go again. What was really fab was the fact that the day was absolutely stunning. Clear blue skies and a hot, unapologetic sun. I was supposed to go to work that day to play catch up, but I called in "hell no" and joined my family on a sweet day out. It was particularly special because it was so great to see my mother-in-law so excited about a massive war plane.

One thing I love about the Scots is their pride in their culture and their history. I can't begin to explain how excited I get when I see men in kilts or hear a really good bagpiper. So it was a treat to see the military pipe band do their thing.

Sometimes I take it for granted that I live in a somewhat foreign country. I have become use to the accents, the foods and the rituals, but when I see something like this, I'm reminded of how fortunate I am and that I need to enjoy it while I'm here. It has been almost exactly two years since I landed at Glasgow airport and one year since we moved to Kirkcaldy. It's tough sometimes, especially since we have such a clear vision of our future and we can't wait to realize it, but I have to say, Scotland kicks ass. From time to time I'll show it off so that you can get a sense of what I experience and see.

** I'm sorry if I haven't responded to comments straight away. I'm not sure how to receive comments to my email. I used to be able to on my old blog but I'm having difficulty configuring this new one.

2009-09-10T12:31:00.001-07:00

Mmmm. Guacamole.

I just made a big bowl of the g-stuff and that was the most fun I had all week. It has been C-R-A-Z-Y. It's the start of the academic year and since I'm pretty much the main point of contact, everyone knows my name. And not only that, they love screaming my name all the live-long day. I can expect another three weeks of this (plus a couple of Saturday catch up days) and it's going to be tuff. So I'm trying to get little bits of pleasure when I can. Like the guacamole. And watching trashy t.v. when Dave's not around, like "Paris Hilton's New BFF". And making beautiful cookies (seriously the best I've ever made). Because I'm prone to forget that life is made up of the little pleasures. When it's wall-to-wall hell I have to try even harder to remember that.

So, I'll be back soon. With stuff. In the meantime, I'm looking forward to eating my guacamole and sleeping in on Sundays.

2009-08-25T08:40:00.000-07:00

In the meantime

First off, I need to say that I know that I am extremely lucky. I have a decent job and make decent money (though I see very little of it since we’re committed to saving for our future). I have good co-workers and even a friend at work and I’m so grateful. Things are good to great in my personal life; I have an amazing and supportive husband and family-in-law, and I have brilliant friends back home and around the world, though I could use a few more here to have a bit more of social life. The problem is that I know I’m not living my best work life. I’ve had my adventures (and you better believe I will have more), I’ve travelled, I’ve fallen madly in love. But there’s a gaping hole between the hours of 9-5. I’ve tried to ignore it for the past four years, but now it’s so big, I fear that I will fall into it. I need to really stretch myself and I know I’m not doing that now. Don’t get me wrong – I’m doing a good job at work. I always do. But I want to be a warrior princess at work. I want to put out fires, engage people, build things up and see the end result. I guess in some ways, I do that now on a very small scale, but I climb ant hills at my current job; what I really want to do is scale Kilimanjaro. But I have to wait. I know now that I definitely want to pursue a Masters degree, most likely in Public Administration and/or Community Affairs. I want to make things happen that will better the lives of people at the community level. I want to get in a position where I’m managing the projects and calling the shots rather than assisting those who are doing all the fun things. The future me is coming into to focus. But I can’t start it now. My excuses aren’t lame, but real and insurmountable for the time being.

So I have to make the most of the meantime. Because I need to continue living in the present. I got pretty good at this while living in Japan. Everyday was a struggle and an adventure. Now life is a struggle but very much in an easier way. Now I must wait in the dimly lit tunnel of the every day without getting apathetic. That, people, is a task more exerting that trying to understand directions in a language you barely understand. But for my sake, and my family’s sake, I must do it.

So here is what I'm going to do: really enjoy my time and do STUFF. Like explore this beautiful country like I used to in that other country I lived in. Dave and I will take little weekend trips (on the cheap!) and discover our adventuring selves again. I'm going to pursue a new hobby (sewing) and reconnect with an old one (knitting). I'm going to host dinner parties and go out for happy hour. I'm going to enjoy my time here so much that I will be sad when it's time to go. This is my new goal.

The picture above was taken nearly a year ago by my SIL Louise. Girl's got talent.

2009-08-19T09:40:00.000-07:00

On having a non-Saturday wedding

I lurve Saturdays. I can sleep in, stay up late, do whatever and eat whatever I want without guilt and be an all around bum. They are blissful and an awesome day for an event. So no wonder Saturdays are so popular for weddings. I think I haven't yet been to a wedding that wasn't on a Saturday.

Initially, the husband (ooh, I still love saying that!) and I assumed that we'd get married on a Saturday (obviously), but I wasn't exactly married to the idea (pun!). I'm a very flexible gal and so when I started seeing links for "mid-week special" of course I clicked on them. I tell you, the pricing differential can be OUTSTANDING. Of course, Saturday weddings are a venue's bread and butter, and increasingly, so are Friday and Sunday. Monday to Thursday are infinitely less popular days to get married, but for the engaged couple, they can be a lifesaver. For people who don't know Dave and I, we are extremely pragmatic. So when we saw the pricing differentials, getting married on Thursday was an obvious choice. Ok, not so obvious, but really, really good.

Between us, we broke it down:

It was our wedding so like SNAP, we had the power;
Since we decided to have it in the summer to best accommodate our families and friends on both sides of the Atlantic, we knew they would be on holiday anyway, so essentially, every day would be a Saturday;
The money thing (but I’ve already mentioned that); and
Thursday, in my book at least, is almost the weekend.

So that was it. We booked Thursday, 09/07/09 (British for July 9, 2009) and we were done.

At first, I would constantly tell our invitees that it was a Thursday. I guess I was somewhat embarrassed because it seemed to announce that we were too poor for a Saturday wedding. But it was no big thing. No one bitched or asked why and it was just accepted.

As time went on, I became a bit proud that we decided to go against the grain and do what was right for us. To some, I could see how our decision could be construed as selfish; in essence, we were asking local people to take a day off. But it was our choice to have our wedding on a Thursday so it was their decision to attend. Personally, if the shoe was on the other foot, and Dave or I was close to the person/people getting married, would take the day off in a heartbeat. (I had to qualify that because I refuse to go to weddings of people I’m not close to or don’t like. They can be tedious affairs, particularly if you have no connection to the people getting married).

So it worked for us. And what kicks ass is our anniversary will be celebrated on the weekend for the next 3 years. That’s pretty sweet.

* You'll notice I posted pics of the kiddies that attended our wedding. They didn't give two poops about our wedding being on a Thursday.

2009-08-18T11:34:00.000-07:00

The Canadian Accent, Eh.

Is there such a thing??? I'm not too sure, but some Brits I have encountered are adamant that there is. Apparently, these people can tell I'm Canadian because my accent is "nicer", "softer" and "less brash" than my American counterparts. I'm not sure if they are referring to stereotypical personality traits of Canucks, but since I'm on the phone a lot these days, the origin of my accent comes up quite a bit.

Personally, I think generally, the differences are minimal. Eastern Canadians, particularly the islanders, have a strong, jumbled accent, borrowing from their Scottish ancestors and god know what else. I also think Canadians have a somewhat nasal quality to their inflections. I recently heard a woman being interviewed on the news and I instantly said "She's Canadian" and she was. She was from some small town in B.C. and was nasal as hell, so I instantly heard the difference. Then again, Midwest Americans (I use "Fargo" as my reference) are pretty nasal, so you just can't be sure.

From my experience of living in the UK, it seems that Brits don't like Americans, or the idea of them, and are always eager to engage a Canadian. Everyone has a cousin/aunt/friend of a friend who lives in Canada and our reputation often precedes us. That usually means I can say most anything and get away with it. Muhahaha. Still, I feel a certain pride talking about Canada and discussing the differences between us and our Southern, gun-toting, anti-healthcare, undercover Republican brothers and sisters.* It's almost like being back home.

*I kid. I know they're not all like that.

2009-08-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

Drive by book review: Let the Right One In by Kåre Hedebrant

I’m not sure if anyone has heard of this Swedish film in North America, but I think it left an impression on British filmgoers. It is dark, sad, amusing and gruesome. Dave and I saw it in a tiny indie movie theatre and thoroughly enjoyed it. There were a few other viewers watching and I was aghast that they snickered at some horrific parts, but overall, I thought it was brilliant. So when I saw the book at our fave DVD store, I bought it without hesitation.

Super fast summary: The story tells the tale of the burgeoning relationship between a child-vampire (Eli) and a bullied boy (Oskar) set in a rather depressing part of Sweden. It’s a multi-voiced narrative that paints a picture of the intertwining lives of Eli’s caretaker, Oskar’s bullies and a few other characters who all play a role during the dark winter days that see murders, loneliness, paedophilia and love. But the main story is the development of the friendship between Eli and Oskar.

What I thought: Though some of the themes were fairly dark and some aspects were a bit nauseating, I thought Let the Right One In was extremely well written. I respected Hedebrant’s ability to tell several stories at once without weakening the arch of the plot and ultimately reach a satisfying, albeit violent, conclusion. I used to read vampire novels back in the day but haven’t read one in about 15 years (and I’m not going to start on Twilight, thanks.) For me, this was certainly the darkest of the genre, but oddly, the most human. If you don’t mind a bit of fantasy and violence and are more interested in the relational aspects of human nature, then you’d probably enjoy this.

2009-08-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

On multicultural weddings...

Since this never actually became a wedding planning blog, plain old recaps didn't seem appropriate, and besides, I find them a bit meh. So I'm going to post about what I learned and how I integrated it (or didn't) on our wedding day. Maybe someone might find it useful or maybe you'll just like the piccies (who doesn't like wedding pics?!). Either way, let the post-mortem begin!

Once upon a time, I was sick of dating guys who didn't have a culture of their own. I mean those people who unfortunately don't or can't remember their roots because they were 10th generation whatever and interesting cultural traditions got lost along the way. After the last guy tried to appropriate my culture without sharing anything in return, I decided that the next guy I dated and ultimately married, would have culture coming out of his pores.

Then I met Dave the Scot. Exotic much? Well, for me anyway, meeting a real life Scot complete with the accent, the kilt and the history nearly knocked me off my feet. Of course, I fell in love with Dave because of who he is as a man, but his culture was very attractive to me. So integrating our cultures was a no-brainer. I always knew my Ghanian* heritage would be front and centre but it was nice to share that stage with Dave's culture. It wasn't difficult at all. I told my mother I wanted people to wear the traditional kente cloth and we just knew the men on Dave's side would wear kilts. My mother asked if I wanted to change into traditional dress for the reception and I said no because I couldn't fathom wearing my wedding dress for a couple of hours - I could wear a kente outfit to a fancy restaurant on a Saturday if I wanted. And that was that. The attire was taken care of.

Since the wedding took place in Scotland, we had a bunch of Scottish touches such as haggis parcels for hors d'oeuvres, a piper who piped us out of the ceremony and into the reception, and a reading by a Scottish poet. This probably was common practice for our Scottish guests, but they were a whole new world for the Canadian, American and Ghanian contingents. Just to nail the point a bit more, we hand an old Celtic ritual performed - the handfasting. I had sewn together two long strips of kente cloth and tartan for this ritual as it conveyed not only the joining of two individuals and families, but two cultures as well. It was and is so important for us for our cultures to be shared with each other and we wanted to share with our guests.

Another thing that we did was have a couple of songs from each culture. We did some ceilidh dancing (traditional Scottish country dancing) and danced to some high life Ghanian music. I was a little nervous about this, but it worked. People loved it! Most Scottish people have never heard Ghanian music and vice versa. One high point for me was seeing my mother-in-law shake her money maker and yell "Am I doing this right?" and me enthusiastically giving her huge thumbs up.

So my thoughts on multicultural weddings is this: keep it simple and make sure both sides are represented equally. They are fun, unique, beautiful and educational. Communicate with your partner and your parents and be confident in the fact that your guests will most likely be blown away by the differences and similarities. For our wedding, one of the things that keep blowing me away is the multi-ethnicity and the vibrant colours in the photographs (sorry if they're not coming through here). A few more pics to see what I mean:

Our families

My family. My cousin at the end left and my aunt to my right flew in from Ghana. The love!

I love this shot for a couple of reasons: Firstly, our friends are gorgeous and they flew out from 3 different countries to be with us. And secondly, we met in Japan and they were there from the genesis of our relationship. We had to kick it Japanese style and give up the peace sign for this pic.

Ceilidh dancing. This was the "Gay Gordon", which I love. Lots of twirling, but make no mistake, this dance is a workout.

Our celebrant tying out hands together, saying beautiful words the whole time.

At the end of the handfasting portion of the ceremony. I loved the symbolism.

All the boys and kilts and me. Yum yum.

My uncle and the best men. The best man to the immediate left dubbed him the African Tony Soprano. Yeah, that works.

*I spell "Ghanian" the way Ghanians do, though if you look it up in the dictionary, it's spelled "Ghanaian" and also pronounced that way by non-Ghanians. Confusing? Hopefully not. But if you go to Ghana and ask a Ghanian what she calls herself, if she was brought up in Ghana, she'll say Ghanian.

I'll be back soon with some more lessons learned. Ta!

2009-08-06T13:11:00.000-07:00

It's over. Now what?

I admit it. Even before the wedding took place, I was wondering what I would do with myself after. (It's funny when people discuss the before and after about their lives when it comes to a wedding). We got engaged in April 2008 and got married in July 2009. That's roughly 15 months of planning, people! And some of that time was spent planning the wedding full time as I was unemployed. Some days it was all encompassing, interesting and exciting. And on other days, the whole thing made me sick. By June 2009, I was tired of all the planning, arguing with my mom, dreams/nightmares, DIY projects, lists, checking and re-checking, and talking about it ALL THE TIME.

So when Dave and I started talking about the after, we got excited. Like, really excited. We would have our weekends back instead of traipsing around Edinburgh looking for paper, or meeting with vendors and working on making our wedding memorable and personal. We wouldn't have to talk about it with our friends and family all the live long day. We could watch movies without guilt, sleep in, cook and just hang out with each other. HEAVEN. So while I was excited about THE BIG DAY, I was even more excited about being married and doing married stuff with my husband.

I think the above photo accurately paints a picture of my relief and my anticipation of the evening, and the life, to come. My sister-in-law, Louise, who took this photo, put it on FB with the caption "Yessh". That about says it all. Here - I blew it up for ya:

So, it is now a month later, and I'm still feeling that relief. But I admit, I am getting a bit twitchy. I'd really like to take a sewing course somewhere in the city or close to home, but I haven't found anything yet. I could just teach myself to sew, though. We have a few gift vouchers left over at John Lewis so I could probably get a sewing machine without having to spend my own money. Dave and I are planning a couple of trips next year, so I can look into that. I could start trying new recipes and uploading them here. There are plenty of things which are interesting, engaging and budget friendly (Dave and I are saving BIG TIME so there won't be much left for "things"). I don't think I'll fall into this "post wedding depression" I've been hearing so much about. I just like being occupied and there ain't nothing wrong with that. While I'm looking for this new hobby, I'm just going to keep enjoying our time together. It's so precious and oh so sweet.

2009-08-04T02:33:00.001-07:00

Wow, I suck.

Ha ha. I cannot believe it has been 3 months since I last updated. I can make all the usual excuses for not updating, but I don't want to bore you. Suffice to say, I've been OMG busy, with work, the meeting of the families, AKA, the clash of cultures, THE WEDDING, and keeping my head above water. All in all, I survived and should get a gold star. The past few months have shown me that Dave and I are creating our own little family and we are truly partners through and through. He's been amazing, level headed, patient, generous and sweet and has proven every day that he truly is the right person for me. And for that, I will be eternally grateful.

Over the past wee while, I have been thinking about this blog and where I want it to go. I have ideas but have been failing to follow through. I commute and the last thing I want to do is get on the computer when I get home. I have considered buying a mini computer, but then I would have to move my pictures from one lap top to the other. I could bring my computer with my from time to time, but it's heavy and I walk to and from work and home for about 45 minutes total each day. Or I could just sneak in posts once a week just to keep this thing going. I want to write and share, butI just need to DO IT.

So I will.

So I'm back. I plan to continue blogging because contrary to what I thought, my friends back home do read this thing so who am I to disappoint them? Plus, it's cathartic to write about my life in Scotland as an expat. I also plan on blogging a bit about our wedding and the joy and the pain that encompassed it. Dave and I have been cooking like mad freaks and I'd like to share what's been going on in our kitchen and in our lives as newlyweds.

Please accept the picture above as a peace offering. I'll be back with more pics and more stuff.

Bisous,
K.

2009-05-08T05:07:00.000-07:00

How many days until our wedding???

According to our wedding website, it’s 64. That means there are 64 days to get our freaking ish together. Yesterday, I very calmly wrote down the multitude of tasks that needs to be done before the big day, and admittedly, it’s not that bad. A lot of little things, but the big stuff has been taking care of. We only have about 6 free weekends left until people start showing up, so we’re going to have to get on things. I’ve left my list at home, but here are some of the things I can think of:

· Buying tulle for a veil and wedding accessories (hair flower and earrings)
· Deciding on a menu and making menu cards
· Making a table plan and table name cards
· Buying favour boxes and printing tags
· Buying more silver centrepieces
· Getting battery operated fairy lights
· Blowing up a picture for the “guestbook”
· Writing our vows
· Finalizing the readings
· And other things I’ve forgotten

On the upside, we’ve been really good about settling the big things like tuxes, rings, vendors and dealing with my visa situation. But then we just got sick of the wedding and decided to have some weekends that were non-wedding related. We’ve had our fun, but it’s back to the grind. This weekend, we’ll be meeting with our venue’s wedding planner and I’ve planned a whole host of wedding related tasks we’ll need to accomplish by Sunday. This is how it’s going to be for the next few weeks. I just keep telling myself that it will be worth it in the end.

**I'm not too sure why I picked this photo of Carrie from the SATC movie. Unlike a lot of people, I thought her dress was gorgeous and I find her a reasonably attractive woman. The photo has nothing to do with the blog, but whatev.

2009-04-14T06:08:00.000-07:00

When smart people say stupid things

I love my guy. I truly do. He’s handsome, funny, intelligent, fun and can throw down in the kitchen, amongst other areas. I fell in love because his heart was open and his eyes sincere. I stay in love because he makes me laugh, gives me great hugs and always holds my hand.

But damn, home boy can some of the wackest shit ever. I’ve told him so. Repeatedly. I think he sometimes fancy himself a bit of a comedian and a lot of the time, he hits his mark. He’s witty and dangerously smart, which can make for great comedy. But other times, he gets a little too close to the “David Brent” school of clowning.

I struggled with whether I should expose some of his less than shining moments, but I’ve decided not to for a couple of reasons: 1) I don’t want anyone thinking my husband and the future father of my children is a complete buffoon, and 2) I don’t want to spread too much of my business out there because we’ll both look like fools. And there’s a third reason: I know a lot of the things he says aren’t malicious and he’s not out to hurt my feelings. But sometimes, I just think of giving him a sharp elbow to the ear!

I’m just having one of those “girl-you-will-never-believe-what-he-said!” moments. I think I should build a website for ladies who want to write anonymously about stupid shit their significant others have said. That would probably make me a millionaire.

2009-04-04T02:06:00.000-07:00

Decisions, decisions...

We’re getting married in Scotland, where we live. Planning this wedding has really brought out our contradictory personalities. Let’s just say, Dave is way more traditional and I’m way more modern than we originally thought. Like major. We agree on the majority of things in our normal lives but we hardly agree on the wedding stuff. It’s been an exercise in persuasion, compromise and diplomacy (I think all very good ingredients in marriage/relationships/friendships) and I think we’re handling it well. Over the next little while, I’ll get into the debates we got into leading up to our “big day”.

The venue: We were living in Nottingham when we got engaged and had many discussions about where to have this shindig. Since all my family are in North America and Ghana and all of Dave’s family are in Scotland, we were thinking of a having it somewhere where EVERYONE had to travel. Mexico was the contender for a few weeks and that idea kinda crumbled. Upon reflection, we realized that we wanted to be somewhere Mexico just wasn’t right for us, though it would have been kick ass. We weren’t a hundred per cent sure where we would be living in a few months time, but Scotland seemed like the right choice. Montreal was a contender for sure, but I knew that my wedding would have turned into a 3 ring circus and I wasn’t about that AT ALL. So we made a decision and were happy with it. In relation to where we actually going to be married, I did a lot of armchair research (thank goodness for the interweb) and ordered packs upon packs of promotional material from wedding venues (don’t worry, everything not used got recycled). I wasn’t working at the time so I threw myself into this and we finally came up with 4 viable options. We made a list of pros and cons for each one then decided on one to view. That’s right – we made an appointment to view one wedding venue. We booked our flights to Scotland and went to visit the Balbirnie House Hotel.

Now, we had Dave’s parents visit the hotel prior to us getting there and they took loads of snaps. They loved it and while I trust them, the pics didn’t really compel me. It looked quite British and traditional which worried me, but Dave was salivating. I held back any type of expectation or judgment and fell in love with the Balbirnie. Good times, good times. We’ll be getting married on the premises and the house is so far removed from anything I’ve ever experienced (the house is older than my freaking country!). I think what I love the most is the space. There are several rooms for people to just chill in and since I now consider Scotland my home, and I’ve been searching for a place to call home for so long, I wanted people to feel like they were home. There are couches and lounges everywhere and I just feel so relaxed when I walk around. I hope our guests will feel that way too.

But the path to this decision was fraught with a lot of back and forth about what each of us wanted. I wanted something cool, hip and unusual, and he wanted traditional, comfortable and quotidien. This could have been a disaster, but luckily it worked out for us. Unfotunately, this isn't the case for a dozen other decisions that we've had to make so far. Stay tuned for more tales of (cue scary music) wedding planning!

2009-04-03T02:06:00.000-07:00

Wedding porn. Such an apt description. For those of you who aren’t wasting precious hours slavishly reading and looking at wedding blogs on the internets, wedding porn refers to images that inflame desire in the bride as she prepares for her wedding. But I think it’s something of a misnomer, because unlike sexual pornography, consuming wedding porn does not end with satisfaction. Bluntly put, you don’t get your rocks off. Instead, after looking at image after image of lovely brides in impossibly loving surroundings looking revoltingly happy and carefree (though your rational brain knows they’ve probably thought long and hard about making those magical moments, well, magical), you usually don’t feel satiated. Instead, after gazing through pictures of beautiful flowers, wonderfully decorated ballrooms, and details, details, details (I’m up to here with freaking details), you feel kinda sick. And not in a good-I’ve-slept-too-long-I’ve-made-myself-kinda-ill way. More like, my-wedding-is-going-to-be-shit-sick. And therein lies the trap of wedding porn. It makes you question your self-worth, your budget, your photographer, heck, even your husband-to-be. Which sucks. Hard.

So I’m trying to sever those bonds. And it’s difficult. I used to have all these wedding blogs on my Google reader and then I got rid of those. Then I tried to cut down on viewing the one that I just can’t seem to shut out. It’s easy to do when I’m hella busy at work, but when I’m not, oh lawdie. Not so easy. (Though I must admit, I get tons of great ideas on how to incorporate certain things and DIY tips). There are 2 I need to read every day to keep me centred because sometimes it gets a bit much and these two blogs help me remember that weddings aren’t about sand ceremonies, chocolate fountains or favours. It’s about two people promising themselves to each other in front of their most beloved.

Ok, off my soapbox. Wedding porn. Not cool. Must read the news and cool non-wedding related blogs.

2009-04-01T02:05:00.000-07:00

Faith Restored.

A couple of months ago, I bought Dave his favourite graphic novel OF ALL TIME, Watchmen, as a petit merci for just being a star. Though he loved this book to death, he’s never owned it having instead taken part in a reading rota that comprised of his best mates when they were in high school. I thought I’d make his day by buying it for him (full price from an actual book store) and giving it to him as a surprise. Of course, he was ecstatic and while I couldn’t share his enthusiasm for a comic book, I had to admit it looked interesting. Fast forward a couple of weeks and we were walking out of the theatre having just watched Watchmen on the big screen. I was gobsmacked. This film was sensational and I loved every minute of its nearly 3 hour running time. As soon as I had finished reading my current novel Small Island (I’m going to write about this soon), I borrowed Dave’s book to read during my commute to and from work. Within 3 pages, I was hooked. I read it on the train, on the bus, standing at the bus stop - I could hardly put it down. Until I did. On the bus. And left it there. When I realized some two hours later, I wanted to cry. It wasn’t just an expensive book, it was an expensive book I bought for Dave as a thank you for being my guy. And I had left it on the #4 Hillend. To make matters worse, I realized I left credit card information in the back of the book and had to call the company to cancel it. Ugh. I called the bus company to find out if it had been turned in, along with the gloves Dave’s grandmother had given me which were sitting oh so innocently on top of the book and I was told to call back on Monday. This was on a Friday. Which meant I would spend the whole weekend mourning the lost book. My boss told me not to worry too much as Scottish people can’t read – I’d probably get it back. Dave told me not to worry as Scots were all thieving bastards – I would never get it back. But still, I wanted to believe. On Monday, I called the bus company and it was found! The operator even remembered me (ah, the perks of having a Canadian accent). I picked it up and wanted to kiss it but stopped when I noticed a multitude of fingerprints on the cover and spine. I was hoping for a tiny break and I got one. Yay.

2009-03-31T02:04:00.000-07:00

It’s been so long. My life over the last 6 months have been full of self-discovery, fireworks, sad days, boredom, excitement and settling down. I have been living in Scotland since September 2008 and I’ve only just started to exhale. It feels good and is long overdue. I finished 2008 by securing a permanent job in my field, I went home to Montreal to bask in the love of my far-flung family and friends, and I got married. Now, in 2009, I’m training for a 5K run, I’m starting a book club and I’m planning a wedding (don’t worry, the answers will come). I no longer feel like a visitor in my new home – more like a proper expat. I want to continue writing to keep those at home up to date with my life here and hopefully make new friends along the way. I want to write about the craziness I see in Scotland, the people, places and things that I’m now committed to, planning a wedding after the fact and just living my life. I hope I can convey my experiences and feelings as richly and as nuanced as I live through them.

I’ve decided to break from my old blog in an effort to start fresh. The Persimmon Chronicles will always be a part of life, but is no longer all encompassing. If you want to see what it was like being a Black Canadian female in central Japan, you can get there after the jump.