Category Archives: Seeking Life Now

 Sit STILL…

02 Thursday Jun 2016

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One thing I don’t do very much of these days that I used to do all the time, is practicing the art of being still. Back when I was a Christian and heavily involved in church, worship and spirituality, I spent a lot of time sitting quietly. Meditating. Talking to God. Hoping he was there.

There is less of a reason to sit still these days. Or, so it seems.

It’s true that I, no longer, have this idea of a god with whom to sit and be still. I no longer need to spend time spouting off laundry lists of requests, or endless platitudes to prove how much I love him.

But, I am learning there are still plenty of reasons to sit still. To be still and know…

To be still and know…that the building across the street from our deck is gorgeous when it is bathed in the light from the setting sun.

To be still and know…that summer came after a long, difficult, winter and the trees have blossomed into gorgeous green boughs.

To be still and know…that I am ok. I have a safe place to live, I am well fed, I have a family who loves me, I have a job that pays the basic necessities of life, that my son is healthy and happy, and that I have a comfortable bed waiting for me.

Sometimes I still want to use the phrase “I am blessed”. Because I feel blessed. Not in a spiritual way, or as though these are gifts from God. But, my life is a privilege compared to what many others have to face and I don’t take that knowledge for granted.

I need to sit still and think about these things. To think about all the incredible things I have. The places I’ve been, the people I’ve known and the things I’ve done.

Sitting still and reflecting on these things puts my current circumstances into perspective. 

I have been blessed.

I am blessed.

Even if it’s just blessed by chance, or circumstances, or biology. 

I want to write more. But, it’s nearly impossible to write when I fill all of my time with sound, with screens, with social media and all the noises of the day.

I wanted to challenge myself for 6 weeks to write every day. I am learning that this will be impossible if I am constantly moving and filling my mind with stimuli. 

And so, I sit.

I forgot how beautiful this world could be.

What a Couple of Weeks It’s Been….

28 Saturday May 2016

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I haven’t had much opportunity to write recently. The past 2 weeks have been busy and intense and I have been unwell through much of it.

I have been thinking, however, about how writing is not always an easy thing. When I was younger, I could write at the drop of a hat. But, as I’ve gotten older I find that when I sit down to write, my head is swimming and it can take a lot of work to sort through the thoughts and actually form something worthwhile.

I want to be a writer and it’s easy to daydream about what that life would be like. But, my daydreams don’t usually include the struggle and the not-so-romantic logistics that have to go into making writing happen. Also, I’ve swallowed my pride and have realized that I need help. I can write, to be sure, but there is still so much that I need to learn. I’m not just going to become a famous writer tomorrow. I have to work at it.

So, even though it’s not much of anything, really, I needed to write even just a little and post it in an attempt to prove to myself that I can be committed even when it’s tough. I also did a free writing session last week, but did not post it. 

All of this just to say, sometimes writing does come extremely easy to me, but the times when it does not, I realize that I want to approach it like I do my health and find ways to keep at it even if I’m not ‘feeling it’.

Old ‘Tom’s’ Funeral

12 Thursday May 2016

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She climbed-up the hay bale with little difficulty and perched on top of it. She looked-out over the farm and realized that she loved this place with every fiber of her being. The farm had been an anchor to her tumultuous life and had provided stability and safety to her from the moment she had arrived.

Let us also not forget about adventure.

Since arriving on the farm she had lived a wondrous life full of new experiences, challenges, growth and adventure.

She conducted her first funeral on this farm when she found an old, male, cat dead in a field and determined that he deserved a more fitting departure than just rotting alone in a field.

It was a gloomy spring day and the ground was still partially frozen. She had been out wandering around, listening to the “Counting Crows” and reflecting on how perfectly the music suited the colours in the sky when she had come-upon the cat carcass.

It seemed sad to her that something that once had life in it, that moved, hunted, ate, played, slept and felt, was now just lying there lifeless and, if she hadn’t found it, forgotten.

Upon deciding that she would give the cat a proper burial, she trudged back to the house to fetch a shovel, a Bible and a hymn book. Having collected these items, she bundled herself up, gathered a couple of dogs to sit with her to pay homage and headed back to the spot where the cat carcass lay.

As she dug a hole in the frozen ground, she had to teach the dogs that the carcass wasn’t a play-toy. Once she had convinced them all to just sit still beside her quietly, she commenced the memorial service.

She opened: “Friends, we have gathered here today to say goodbye to…” and she realized that she didn’t know the cat’s name.

“Tom.” The name suited him nicely, she thought.

“Life is short and for poor, ‘Tom’, it was too short. I will miss him.” She stopped here and cried a little bit. It’s not that she was particularly close to ‘Tom’ or knew him well, death itself was sad and she couldn’t help but be touched by its presence.

“We think about all those who knew him and loved him most”, she continued. “We pray that they will find comfort at this time.”

And, looking at the dogs who were known to, sometimes, terrorize the cats, she added “And you must all do your part to help them at this time. Be nice to the cats, it’s a tough day for them.”

Sammy, the dominant male Samoyed looked up at her with, what seemed to be, a guilty but resigned look of agreement.

“Now, I will read Psalm 23…”

As she read, she paused dramatically to give all those in attendance time to reflect on the words and how they pertained to the life of dear, old, ‘Tom’.

“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…” She stopped reading again to observe all that existed around her. Taking a deep breath of the farm fresh air her eyes settled on the cattle which were slowly moving around the field to the right of her.

It is grey and dreary right now, life seems to be moving in slow motion, but soon these fields will be green and teeming with life.

She realized she had wandered-off to her own thoughts and that the dogs were sitting there, patiently, waiting for the Psalm to continue.

She went on.

“Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…” and now she was sobbing.

The shadow of death. It sounds so cold and lonely. I hate to think that ‘Tom’ was afraid and alone, passing through the shadows. What a terrible way to be. I hope that I never have to experience that kind of fear. People do every day. Lord, how horribly sad.

And now, she came to notice that a couple of the more compassionate dogs had snuggled in closer to her, aware that she had been crying. Belle, the most gentle Old English Sheepdog that you could ever meet, had come up and rested her head in the young girl’s lap.

“I’m sorry, everyone” she stated. And giving them each a hug she added: “I will never let you die alone.”

She finished reading the song and then declared: “Now, as I lower the body into the ground, join with me in singing ‘Amazing Grace’.”

When she had finished the song she picked up a handful of dust and scattered it over the cat carcass proclaiming: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Enjoy your final resting place, ‘Tom’. We love you.” And with that, she covered him up with the earth.

She took several steps backwards and sat down. She was exhausted.

Death is tiring.

She turned her Walkman on again and exhausted, she lay back onto the frozen ground, staring into the sky and felt her body became heavy as she drifted into dreamland.

“When I think of heaven
Deliver me in a black-winged bird
I think of dying
Lay me down in a field of flame and heather
Render up my body into the burning heart of God
In the belly of a black-winged bird”  (“Rain King”-Counting Crows)

The Lost Girl

04 Wednesday May 2016

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The other day I was in the bathroom washing my hands and when I looked-up at myself in the mirror I got a surprise. I looked like myself again.

For years now I have looked in a mirror, searching for me and failing to find the person that once looked back at me. I would see someone with a puffy, tired, drawn face looking back at me like I was a stranger and I would say to her ‘who are you?’

I would stare at this person, intently, gazing into her eyes, trying to find the person I used to know.

Then, all of a sudden, she just showed-up.

The person looking back at me had the mischievous twinkle in her eye that was so familiar. She looked happy, refreshed and full of life.

I didn’t realize how much I had been missing her until she showed up again.

She took my breath away.

There was great relief to find that she still existed. I had been feeling as though she would be lost forever.

This girl and I were close once. We used to explore, create, love, laugh and live a wondrous life full of energy. She was brave and enjoyed exploring and trying new things.

I guess I first started losing touch with her when I was pregnant-the first time. After the miscarriage, she began to distance herself a little bit more. After moving country and finding herself more alone than ever, she would disappear for weeks at a time. She was never really the same after that.

After she gave birth to her little boy she disappeared, almost, entirely. There were brief moments of pure joy when she would show her face, but for the most part, she was lost.

I couldn’t find her. I would call out to her ‘where are you?’ and hear nothing in response. I missed the excitement she brought to the world, I missed the energy, the love for life, the hunger for experience.

I missed the love of art, the desire to create music and write thoughts, the joy that she would have when she watched a breeze rustling the leaves of a tree.

And, all of a sudden, here she was. A cheeky grin on her face, her eyes glowing like an andalusite gem, ready to take on the world.

Like Bastian in “The Neverending Story”, I have traversed through sadness, fear, loss, overcome great obstacles and battled “the Nothing” only to discover that I was the one all along.

The rediscovery of this girl has been a huge part of this journey that I call “seeking life now”. It hasn’t happened by accident. I have had to work at it. My lost self didn’t just appear of her own volition, I have been working on creating a safe space for her so that she felt confident in returning.

And, although she’s not 100%, fully back, the glimpse I have seen of her has given me new hope and renewed energy to keep working on the things I have been doing so that she has space to thrive once again.

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Art is what happens to you…

29 Friday Apr 2016

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Art- it’s exciting when a piece of art surprises you by impacting you in a way you never thought it would.

My husband and I took a half vacation day to explore the AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario). We had wanted to do this on Leap Day (Feb. 29, 2016) but it fell on a Monday and the Gallery is not open on Mondays.

So, we decided to do it yesterday.

We took the elevator to the top floor and found a volunteer leading a tour who invited us to join. Usually, I would want to just explore these things on my own, but today I was feeling like I could use a little extra input into what it was we were going to be seeing, so we joined in.

I’m so glad we did.

The very first installation we saw was one created by Micah Lexier. It was “a work of art in the form of a quantity of coins equal to the number of months of the statistical life expectancy of a child born January 6, 1995.”

Normally, I would look at something like this and think: “Huh…ok. Kind of interesting, I guess.” And not give it very much thought beyond that.

But, as we looked at it our volunteer tour guide said:

“Notice how the coins in the first box are neatly ordered and purposefully placed. This is the expectation of what life will bring-the hopes. This is how we all start out. Now look at the coins in the second box. It always reminds me of a line of a famous John Lennon song: ‘life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans’.”

And then the tears came.

First of all, the installation reflected things I’ve been having about my own life for some time. For years now I have been trying to teach myself how to be present in the moment and realize that this is life.

There was a period of time when I felt I was constantly waiting for my life to begin. And then, all of a sudden, I looked and I saw a box, much like this chaotic box of coins, and I realized that this was my life. Life was here in all this mess, disorganisation and the many unplanned events and bends in the road.

I had been expecting to look at my life and see it as the first box: Ordered, dreams fulfilled, everything in its place, looking exactly as I had imagined it would. But, I have recently come to realize and accept my life as being beautiful, despite the fact that it looks so different to what I had originally envisioned.

Just as the neatly organized coins have their beauty, so do the scattered. And, as I looked at the 2 boxes the one thing remained the same, despite how the coins were placed, they were all in “my box”. And, that’s really what is important. Whether the coins are neat, or scattered, they are mine. They are my memories, experiences, struggles, victories, joys, sorrow – my life. And that’s beautiful.

Secondly, I sing that song to my son all the time. And, as I looked at these coins, I saw my neatly organized hopes and dreams for what his life will be in the first box and the reality of what it will actually be in the 2nd. I realized that his life, just like mine, is going to be what it’s going to be. I can’t control it and I won’t be able to keep it neatly organized for him. He’s going to experience pain, sorrow, frustration, disappointment, confusion and chaos. But, there will also be joy, love, freedom, hope, comfort and adventure.

There will come a time when the 2 coins that are currently in his box will be at the bottom of this heap of messy coins, almost forgotten. Except, the image of how they are now in their near perfection, will always remain in my heart. At some point, there will have to be a letting-go.

As I stood there contemplating all of this I made a promise to myself to help teach my son how to not miss life because he’s trying to keep his coins in order. I want to teach him to embrace the chaos that is life and to see the beauty in it while it is happening.

Out on the ocean sailing away
I can hardly wait
To see you come of age
But I guess we’ll bot just have to be patient
‘Cause it’s a long way to go
A hard row to hoe
Yes, it’s a long way to go
But in the meantime

-John Lennon-

 

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Sarah – 1

25 Monday Apr 2016

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“Please join us for the fireworks, Sarah. It’ll be a lot of fun.” Chris was being persistent in his attempts to encourage Sarah to join a small group of friends who had been hanging at her house and decided to go to check-out the Canada Day firework display.

“Alex will be disappointed if you aren’t there. He’s really hoping you come.”

Sarah and Alex had been spending a lot of time together and had had started texting regularly. This might seem like no big deal but this was back in the day when every text message cost you and there was no such thing as unlimited. If you were texting, it meant that someone meant enough to you to pay per flirt.

But, Sarah just wasn’t feeling it. She didn’t want to be out and around a bunch of people. She liked Alex well enough, but the truth was, she was in love with someone else.

Tonight she was feeling particularly melancholy after having a great evening with Alex and their friends, because she spent the entire time wishing Ben had been there, not him.

Alex was great. He was funny, intelligent, artistic, athletic and kind. He was slight of build which was not really her taste, but had a smile that could light up an entire city. They would talk about movies and art and he would share with her his dreams about becoming a famous photographer. There was something exciting about him and she liked being around him. She wanted to have his energy and thirst for life.

Alex had taken a summer off school and biked across Canada, a thought that would keep her up at night. She wanted to have the guts to try something like that, but felt overwhelmed that she wouldn’t know where to start.

A night of fireworks could have been the perfect setting to take their relationship up a level. This is what was in Sarah’s mind as Chris continued to beg her to join them. And this is why she said no.

She was in love with Ben and didn’t want to have a romantic evening with anyone but him. Chris saw that he was fighting a losing battle and finally left her to join the crew. She clung to her tea cup and listened as the sound of the group of revelers grew further away from her.

She sat in the kitchen for, nearly fifteen more minutes, in the silence, staring at the mustard coloured wall and then towards the entrance to the kitchen, hoping that, at any moment, Ben would walk through the door.

He never did.

Let’s Get Dirty

24 Sunday Apr 2016

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I love to write. But, it doesn’t always come easy. Sometimes there is a thought or idea in my head that I think will flow easily, but when I sit down to write, I soon realize that it is actually a tangled mess in my brain.

It is at these times I remind myself that I must be more disciplined with my writing. I have to carve time and be protective of it so that I have the opportunity to write a little bit, every day. This will give me the freedom to do a bit more with my writing and not get so hung-up on it.

The problem with writing a blog is that there is an expectation to sit down, write and have a finished product- just like that.

However, I want to explore my writing more than just making short editorials on life and memory. I want to work on my story writing again. It has been years, and I mean YEARS since I have taken the time to properly write a story.

In fact, the last time was probably in High School. I have been out of school since 1999. That is a long time.

I have been playing with the idea of just writing stuff, unfinished, in bits and pieces and just posting whatever it is that I have written. No matter how bad it might be.

This is my playground. This is my place just to get the writing muscles warmed up and back into some kind of shape.

I don’t need to feel like I need to be able to produce perfection from the start. I want to be able to just write, no matter what it is, and no matter how unfinished it might be, post it, be proud of it and continue to strengthen these chops.

I want to approach it like I am my health and fitness- progress is progress, no matter how little it might seem. A bunch of small changes all add-up over time. A little bit is better than none at all. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be something.

These are the kinds of mantras I tell myself about my health and I think I want to apply them to my writing as well. I’m writing, primarily, for myself. I’m writing as a release. This is the time for my brain to breathe. I have to allow it the room it needs to run around and play.

And so, I’m just going to start posting whatever it is I’ve managed to write in the times I have forced myself to set-aside and do some writing. It might be great and it might be complete rubbish. But, either way, it is my mind finding freedom, release and embracing life.

My friends have always told me that I’m a ‘windows are wide-open, curtains flapping in the breeze’ kind of a person because I’m really open with my thoughts, feelings and memories. I guess it’s just in keeping with that to allow my writing the same kind of freedom to just be what it’s going to be.

I heard a parent at a playground today tell their child to stop playing in the sand because he didn’t want him getting dirty. I thought that was one of the saddest things I’d ever heard a parent say to a child in a park and I thought ‘well, why did you bring him here, then? Isn’t having fun and getting dirty what it’s all about?’

I guess what I want to say to my mind is: Write.

Write. Write. Write. Write.

Get as dirty as you want to get. This is your playground. Go wild. Have fun. Get messy.

After all, that’s what we’re here to do.

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Why Can’t We all just Get along?

14 Thursday Apr 2016

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I don’t understand hatred. I can’t wrap my head around the things that humans do to one another.

This world really baffles me some times. I recently read a post on Facebook about someone who had been treated poorly because of the colour of their skin. In the comments below this person’s friends, rightfully, expressed outrage at what was happening to people of their colour. Then, as I continued to read the comments one person said something along the lines of ‘stupid (insert racial slur against people of a different culture), they think they can come here and take over our country’.

What?!

You’re raging about how your people are being treated in one sentence and turning around and treating people of a different ethnicity than yours with the same lack of respect.

I just don’t get it.

I’ve never understood racism or bigotry or even just plain rudeness, for that matter.

I don’t even like it when my husband is terse with telemarketers. I used to let them go through their entire spiel until I realized that doing that wasn’t the nicest thing I could do for them, because they have a certain amount of calls and a certain amount of deals they have to make to reach targets and get paid, etc. So, now I try to interrupt them early on in a polite way by saying “Not right now, thank you” or “I’m not interested, thank you”. But, I don’t feel like I can hang up until they have said “bye”. And I always say “but thank you, anyways” one more time for good measure. My husband teases me because I feel too badly to just hang up.

Recently, I heard about a teenage boy with down syndrome who always wanted to be part of the “group” of guys at school and one day he thought he had got his wish. It was a cold day in February, with the temperature well in the minus digits, when he received a text from a boy in the group saying “we’re all hanging at the mall. You should come join us. Wear shorts, it’s kinda our thing’. Meet outside the front doors.” The boy arrived, in shorts, and stood outside in the cold waiting for the group of boys. They were inside, warmly wearing pants, laughing at him and filming him standing outside in shorts, waiting for them.

I

Don’t

Get

It.

I just don’t.

My brain goes into convulsions anytime I hear things like this and almost completely shuts down because it cannot seem to process such things. I feel like it’s a bit of a problem, because I live in a state of suspended disbelief and denial all the time.

So, I try to understand it on a smaller, personal, level. I know that when I am feeling hurt, I can get mean. When I am hurt, a monster rages inside of me like you could not believe (well, my husband could, he sees this monster frequently enough). And, I could see myself doing all kinds of things that seem out of the ordinary for me because of it.

Is that what is happening here? Are people just hurt all the time and being mean because of it?

Could this be why someone, rudely, pushes you on a streetcar without so much as an “I’m sorry”? Is this why the boys in the story above thought it was funny to pick on someone, embarrass and endanger him?

Whatever the reasons, I don’t really understand it. I don’t understand gay-bashing, fat-shaming, racism, sexism, or people being mean or rude or even unhelpful.

Why don’t people want to be nicer to one another? I guess that’s what I’m saying I don’t get.

I live every day with a desire to be as nice as I can to everyone around me. And not just that. I don’t want to just be nice to those around me, I feel a deep drive to go beyond myself and help to make things a bit better or easier for people with whom I come in contact. Regardless of race, colour, sex, station in life, and so forth. I want to make the world a better place and if that means something as easy as saying “Thank you” to our streetcar driver, buying milk for someone who asks for it at Tim Horton’s or even something as simple as giving a smile to someone to acknowledge their existence, I like doing it.

I always assumed that this is the way people were. But, I’m learning otherwise.

Is it that people are not being raised to try and see things from others’ perspectives? Whenever I encounter a new person, issue, problem, etc. my initial thoughts are always ones of ‘how do I best understand this situation/person?’ and I automatically shift to ‘seeing it from that perspective’.
Maybe this is because I love complexities and have trained myself from a young age to always look at ‘the other side of the coin’ before making any snap judgements.

My Mom always used to tell us to be nice to waitresses/cashiers and anyone who was serving us in any way, because you never know what kind of day they might be having. You never know what sorrows, frustrations and pain someone is carrying around with them at any time.

And so, I assume everyone has something that is tough in their lives and I try to ensure I don’t add to that-or, if possible, maybe even bring some relief. Even if just for a moment.

Is it really that difficult?

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Money! Money! Money!

12 Tuesday Apr 2016

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Money! Money! Money!

I’m 35 and I don’t own a house, a car, or anything of real monetary value. We don’t live extravagant lifestyles- we very rarely go out, we order in a few times a month, we aren’t regular drinkers (and by that, I mean that I have, maybe, 4 mojitos/year and my husband probably averages 1 beer/month), we don’t smoke or partake in any other kind of drug/narcotic, we don’t buy fashion/designer anything, we don’t purchase games, music, or pay for new tech equipment regularly, we buy the cheapest groceries and sale items habitually.

And yet, we live pay cheque to pay cheque and have a significant amount of debt that we are, basically, maintaining (as in, we’re not increasing or decreasing it).

Yes, we have a child and yes, we pay for day care. We have already acknowledged that when he is in school we will have a little bit more breathing room financially.

But, we see other people with children who can afford: car, vacation, expensive clothing, expensive tech gadgets, expensive groceries, home repairs, household purchases (like furniture, appliances), go on regular dates and other kinds of weekends/trips/excursions.

When I hear people who party, go on trips every weekend, don’t have any children and make more money than I do complain about ‘not having money’ it just drives me bonkers. We are hard-working, simple-living, just trying to make ends meet, people. And we struggle every single day.

Does it sound like I’m whining?

Maybe I am, a little bit.

But, I know that, at the end of the day, we are responsible for where we are financially. It’s not anybody’s fault but our own that we: are in low paying jobs, have a child in day care (though, this was still more financially sound than me staying home with him), chose to move from NZ to Canada and the list goes on of personal choices that have landed us in this position.

We dug this hole ourselves. Well, for the most part. There are, obviously, circumstances out of everyone’s control that pop-up in life and require $$ that we would have chosen to use differently.

There is that old saying “money can’t buy happiness” on which I’ve always gone back and forth. There are times I agree with it and other times when I disagree.

I don’t have money. Am I happy? Generally speaking, I think I am for the most part.

However, would I be happier if I didn’t have to live by such a strict budget, If we had less financial burden, more disposable income, the ability to go on regular vacations and buy a $60 household item without a month of debating whether we REALLY need it, or not, only to inevitably decide we can continue to make due without it because, although it would be great and make our lives so much more enjoyable, it’s not an absolute necessity?

Ugh, yeah, I think so.

Doesn’t that kind of mean that money can and does buy happiness?

But, then I flip the coin and I wonder if we, as humans, always want more no matter how much we already have.

If we were out of debt, had a car, could afford a vacation every year, and could buy $60 items without having a mild panic attack, would we just continue to want more to make us happy? Yes, we have this, but now I want…a house, a new sofa set, a new tv…

Maybe the quote should actually say: “money can’t buy ultimate happiness” or “money can’t buy nirvana”. Because, no matter how much money you have, there will always be unhappiness and there will always be other things you want, want to do, etc. There will always be more. We will always be striving to some extent.

If I were more mathematically, scientifically, minded, I would love to be the person who creates a method for measuring happiness. And pain, actually (but that’s a different topic for another blog).

If I were to get $10,000 (for example) I could be completely debt-free. That would bring me to a 4.8 on the ‘money bought happiness’ scale. If I made an extra $2/hr, it bumps me to a 5.1 on the ‘money bought happiness’ scale and so forth. If I had a monthly disposable income of $2000 or more, I would be at a 5.4 on the scale.

And, I’d have a Noble Prize or something and be super happy.

But, alas, I am not that intelligent, nor do I have the energy to invest in such research. I barely even had the focus to write the paragraph above with horribly (not) thought through numbers in it.

But, thankfully, there are people who have the intelligence, energy and resources to put into these kinds of questions and here are a few interesting articles about it:

http://time.com/money/2802147/does-money-buy-happiness/

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/can-money-buy-happiness/

http://www.forbes.com/sites/susanadams/2013/05/10/money-does-buy-happiness-says-new-study/#73fa309b40b5

The Diet Pepsi that almost Wasn’t

08 Friday Apr 2016

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Just a funny, little, tale about my morning so far. Written for a friend who shares my affinity for drinking Diet Pepsi in the morning instead of coffee.

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I debated with myself whether, or not, I wanted to stop at the Tim Horton’s on my way to work this morning. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I would stop, because I really wanted a Diet Pepsi to kick-off Friday and the expectation of a great weekend.

I entered Tim Horton’s excited and expectant to enjoy that cold, sharp, biting fizz of the Diet Pepsi.

I ordered a breakfast sandwich and the lady said to me “would you like a drink with that?” to which I replied “oh, yes. A Diet Pepsi, please!”

Another staff member, upon hearing my request, went to the fridge and began to search for a Diet Pepsi.

“We don’t have any”, she declared.

My heart sunk into my shoes.

The woman serving me at the counter repeated the bad news: “We don’t have any. We have 7up?”

“No, thank you” I said mournfully.

And then, I got an idea. Perhaps, just maybe…

“Are there some in the back?” I asked, with a glimmer of hope in my voice.

The lady at the counter shook her head and added “No, the truck just arrived”.

My shoulders collapsed and my chin shrunk down towards my chest.

I paid for my sandwich and moved to the side to wait for it. As I waited, I was determined to not let it bring me down. I was also plotting alternatives. I opened up my change purse and began to count to see if I had, at least, enough to get a can of Diet Coke from the vending machine at work.

$0.95

Darn it.

‘Oh, well’, I thought, ‘I’m not going to let it get me down.’ And I returned to humming a song I had heard earlier while cuddling with my son.

SLAM!

The sound of something heavy being dropped to the floor pulled me out of my reverie.

‘Could it be?’ I thought to myself.

‘Did they just bring in…’

“We have it now.” A voice breaks-in to my thought and I see, standing before me, such a glorious site. A Tim Horton’s employee standing there, case of Diet Pepsi in her arms, welcoming me to come and partake of the bounty.

“Do you want some?” The sweetest words I’ve ever heard.

“Oh, yes, please!” I exclaim with, perhaps, just a little too much joy. “May as well make it two since I’m using my debit card” I add, trying to appear level headed and rational about it all.

She began to put the information into the register, an obvious look of amusement across her face.

Feeling the need to justify my intense reactions to the events of the last five minutes, I say: “Some people drink coffee in the morning. I drink pop.”

“Good for you” she replies, with the trace of a chuckle in her voice.

Deciding now to just embrace the craziness of being as desperate as I was for a morning Diet Pepsi, I say: “Thank you. You have made my day”.

And with a happy heart, and two bottles of Diet Pepsi in my bag, I headed for work, enormous grin on my face the entire way.