Claire was cranky and needed her nap.

I spent Five hours(10:00 - 4:00) in a City sponsored cultural planning workshop with earnest culture vultures (arts and heritage mainly) hammering out a cultural policy for the city of Peterborough. We were in eight break-out groups of about eight per group and moved around the room to different topic tables with facilitators to guide the discussion and record the comments. A typical workshop - think tank format like ones I used to organize for the Ministry when I was working.

It sometimes is fun being old because the bright young things on the rise assume I don't know much or have forgotten what I did know. Case in point - my extensive background in marketing and communications. I usually bide my time before showing my hand. I finally exposed myself when we got to developing a *vision statement*. Many a marketing meeting founders on the dreaded vision statement. While the people in my group nit-picked their way through a morass of verbiage, I quietly pulled the key words together and wrote a draft vision statement, which I handed to the frustrated facilitator. She read it out loud and there was a collective sigh of relief because I'd nailed it. Another younger woman in my group had compiled the list of key words for me. We looked at each other, smiled and knew immediately we both had marketing backgrounds. A nice moment, I confess. Earlier in the day, after three facilitators had tried to maneuver our group discussion onto their agenda, I asked innocently, I was under the impression that this is a free flow of ideas, am I wrong?" The response was, of course it's an open discussion, so I asked why are you editing our comments? The facilitator looked like a deer in the headlights but the preempting of the process stopped. All in all it was a day of hard work by good people who really care about the cultural future of Peterborough.

There was a half hour lunch break and we were hard at it again in the afternoon. I ended the afternoon mentally exhausted and physically drained from bad air, poor acoustics, too many voices talking at once and lack of exercise. We broke for supper and were asked to return at seven p.m. for another two hours of public meeting input and discussion of our ideas. OMG, are they mad? I'm an old person. I declined the two more hours of reinventing the wheel and went home for supper and a nap. Like I said, sometimes being old has its own rewards - naps.

We have too much!

I have had a very creative few weeks. My right brain is well stimulated by the new stuff I'm making in pottery. I have made some lovely organic vessels that are both useful and sculptural. I decided that though I'm not a potter, the medium does suggest some utilitarian objective for my sculpture so I'm making sculptural vessels. It's an interesting process and I'll see where it leads me.

I have also been making an art calendar, using the Staples templates and my own art and photography. It has been very challenging because I was pushing the boundaries of the template. Eventually we arrived at a very acceptable proof and I had the job printed. I was called today to advise me that my job is ready. I'll pick the calendars up tomorrow. So everyone is getting a calendar for Christmas. It's an expensive process but once I figured how much my gift buying costs, plus the wrapping and postage etc. I decided that this was no more expensive, and a much more personal gift. I hope my friends like them.

I have also designed and written my Christmas letter this year. It complements the calendar.
It is a photo collage of friends, pets, places and good memories - 2010's high points, with the message on the back. The copy centre manager, was so taken with it, she plans to copy the idea for her Christmas letter. I've done all the shopping for the children in my life so basically I'm done. I just have to address stuff and mail it.

I wish I could say that having everything done protects me from being sucked into the Christmas consumerist vortex, but alas, it only marginally protects me. As long as I stay away from the shops, I'm safe. But when Christmas draws near, I get swept up too and buy last minute items we don't need. Maybe it will be better this year. I just need to keep repeating "I don't need anything" to myself.

We have too much.

It is satisfying to make things for people and the process has been exciting. It was particularly gratifying to hear the Staples technician say how great the calendar looked after our struggles. She was impressed and so was I. She was great, because she never urged me to compromise my concept to make it technically easier. She kept saying we'll make it work. That, dear reader, is good customer service.

I'm also pleased with my growth in computer savvy. I'm doing things now that I never dreamed possible a few short years ago. I actually love my laptop now. Since I discovered creative applications I slowly came to embracing it in my life. It truly is a most remarkable device. Yes, I am old, but not so old that I can't learn a few new tricks. My little gray cells are still working, Im glad to report.

Becoming aware is hard.

I believe that there is no amorphous majority, happy and blissfully unaware. I believe that is the propaganda that keeps the consumer economy rolling. If we are all told that everyone else is happy, we will keep buying stuff to make us happy too. Women are kept in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction with themselves for not being beautiful enough to be loved. The same applies to men and the general population who are repeatedly reminded that they are deficient, their work has no value, their beliefs don't count and democracy is a sham. So they turn off, don't try, don't vote, and don't think. Their only release comes through escapism - addiction, sports, entertainment and shopping. If everyone was feeling contented and satisfied with life, there would be no need to consume more, to compete so aggressively or, ultimately to go to war. Not good for our present social and economic order - evangelical capitalism.

Humans are like leaky vessels, the more we pour in, the more is needed. There is no end to the tragedy of wanting more because the void in our souls can never be filled. Not until we become mindful, can we get off the treadmill. That takes time (we do not have enough) and a conscious effort (too difficult in so little time). We are given choices, but we aren't always aware enough to understand what we need to do. It's so frustrating. It's so much simpler to just buy a new TV.

If some of us are different, it's only because we awakened to notice what is happening and we give voice to our fears. Once blessed/cursed with open eyes, it is impossible to close them again. Alas?!

We are all strangers at the table.

Dearest Friend,

I haven't commented on your search for love previously, because I couldn't get past the terror it strikes in my stomach. I didn't want to rain on your parade with negativity. But with your last letter, you force my hand and I can't avoid commenting.

Your hopes and expectations are so open and out there, that I am afraid for you because at seventy we are more vulnerable than ever before. I also feel jealousy and admiration for your courage to try again. I don't trust my own judgment enough to dare take on another relationship. I asked myself after my last failure, why I kept repeating the same pattern and expecting a different outcome? Surely I had enough evidence that I could recognize a disaster in the making. But no, I would sail into the new relationship because this time it would be different.

I want you to be happy. I wish for your "this time" to be the right man, the right relationship, the true love, the right time. I do keep my fingers crossed for you, knowing full well, that if it works, I will lose you. You will become one of those women with partners whose coupleness underline my singleness. As for you always being the stranger at the table, I've learned that we all are strangers. From the moment of our birth, we can't go home again. The mother- womb is gone forever, even as we surround ourselves with family, friends, activities et al to hide the loss of mother love, safety and security from ourselves.

I have always felt like the stranger at the table. Even at my own table. That's how I became an alcoholic. I wanted to belong or be blotto. Story after story in AA that begins with "I always felt like I never belonged..." and I came to understand that what I thought was my unique loneliness was really the human condition. We build communities and relationships to bridge that condition. Mostly we don't succeed escaping our solitary selves. Sometimes we do succeed.

So I wish with all my heart, that you succeed dear friend.

Love,

Claire

Thank you Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has come and gone and my tummy is going to have to make an adjustment back to sensible eating for WW points. I began the shift back from gluttony today with an all vegetarian supper. I made a delightful ratatouille in my slow cooker using every vegetable and legume I had in the house, seasoned it with ground ginger, parsley, soy sauce and lots of garlic, and served it with mashed potatoes. This would have been the ideal return to my senses had I not eaten two helpings and had a bowl of rum and raisin ice cream for dessert. Oh it's going to be an uphill struggle returning to the program.

Kathleen returned from a weekend at her brother's in Toronto, happy but tired. She had been to the AGO and really enjoyed the three exhibitions she saw. It's really fun to have someone to talk art with again. I have missed being with someone so knowledgeable and excited. It's amazing how many works of art I have filed away in my memory. She'll mention a painting like Rueben's Slaughter of the Innocents and I can draw the visual out of my memory. My Art History education was excellent and Kathleen's Mount Allison education has given her a very good foundation. She landed in the right boarding house by sheer serendipity.

I have had a wonderful time celebrating Thanksgiving with my friends. As soon as people realized I would be alone, I received invitations to two dinners. Saturday evening I attended a French style meal that began at 6:30 with the soup course, slowly wended its way through a fish course, meat and vegetables course, salad course into a dessert course which concluded with a cheese, liqueurs and coffee course at midnight. Throughout there was intelligent, witty conversation and a variety of wines (I had Perrier). I haven't experienced such a cosmopolitan evening in years. It was reminiscent of long lingering meals I've enjoyed hosting and attending in my Montreal days.

Sunday evening found me at other friends where I enjoyed a family style traditional Thanksgiving dinner. It too was delicious and very warm with family banter and pets and people who were very comfortable in each others' company and very welcoming to an outsider. I truly felt blessed by this abundance of affection and friendship and although I missed Maya, it was only a fleeting loneliness.

This has made me rethink my sense of loss with her off leading her own life. I never expected her life to have been so cut off from me. We had always been so close, I imagined she would continue wanting to share with me. In truth, she communicates very little. We speak on the phone maybe once or occasionally twice a week. She is remarkably involved with her London life and when we speak there isn't much to say. Our principle communication tool is the Facebook update, where we can at least see superficially what we each are up to. I understand that Glenn is her confidant now, but I can't remember this kind of withdrawal ever happening with previous boyfriends. I was still part of her life then. Perhaps Glenn's distance from his parents has influenced her. I feel I've been shunted to a siding, not very useful but available in case of an emergency.

I've started behaving defensively which is not good. I make my plans and arrangements as if Maya is not in my life. That way, I reason, I won't be hurt when she overlooks me. I worry about what I should say to her so she won't think I'm "guilting" her. I'm treading on eggs and it's making me angry. I suppress the anger which builds up more defensiveness. When she does call, I'm hoping it will be fun, but waiting for the shoe to drop - what does she want from me? I have to deal with this, because it will become very unhealthy if I let it slide.

The first step is to recognize that I have a life and it's a pretty interesting one. She can choose to be interested but doesn't have to.

The second is to appreciate the friends in my life who care for me and enjoy having me around. I have to make more effort to include them.

The third is to realize that these things are true with or without Maya. I'm more than just Maya's Mom. She doesn't define me and I don't define her. She is moving on without me and so should I. When I say to her " you must do what is best for you" I should take that to heart and apply those words to my life as well. I have to decide that the first person I need to care for is me. Hard to do after a lifetime of caring for others.

These are baby steps to recovery from chronic momism, but they seem huge. I must apply them one day at a time.

Moving right along...

So great to start pottery again. I warmed up making a platter and small leaf plates instead of launching right into a sculpture. I need some time to get my hands used to working the clay. Since I'm having more arthritis in my hands, they require a little coaxing. Making some utilitarian items seems like a useful way to begin. Its been a few months since my last sculpture and my hands have declined somewhat since then. Frigging aging, it's not all parties and lunches.

I'm also on the Market Hall restoration campaign team. I found myself saying yes when I was invited to join the cabinet and I'm not sorry. We are a group a serious arts and culture go-getters in Peterborough and it's exciting to work together to complete such an important and historic project. Market Hall is a wonderful old building in the heart of this city dating back to the early 19th century. It was the brokerage house, commodities exchange and farmers market of its day. CP Rail had offices there and it was the hub of transport and the mercantile trade. It boasts a clock tower and some magnificent carved roof beams. The ground floor is shops and restaurants and the lofted second floor has been a splendidly versatile theatre space since the seventies. It was saved from the wrecking ball by some heritage-conscious citizens when private developers were building a shopping mall where the opera house of the same vintage was torn down. They were moving in on Market Hall when enough citizens said ENOUGH and brought the vandalism to a halt.

The city bought it and turned it over to an arts cooperative to create a gallery and when that failed, a theatre. Market Hall is a perfect venue for smaller, chamber orchestras, jazz and folk music, dance and experimental theatre groups. It was also falling apart, was not easily accessible for the elderly or disabled, improperly insulated etc. Last year Market Hall qualified for the incentive funding both levels of government were offering to stimulate the economy and the reconstruction began. Architects were hired, focus groups met, grants were received and we are well on our way to completion of a brand new state of the arts theatre. Now we need to raise the final three million to match the city's grant. I have complete confidence that we will do it. Peterborough is a really generous town and our campaign director is awesome. It's a positive and forward-looking project that people care about.

So between pottery/sculpture classes, physiotherapy and Market Hall I should be keeping out of trouble for a while.

Oh what strange fate is now upon me.

What follows just came in from a dear friend and I'm in a quandary as to what I should do. I have made some deft edits to keep the identities of all involved private. I'm posting it in this journal as an interesting continuance to my last post. This is the Suzanne I was writing about. This is her admission to M that she and I are no longer in touch. She intimates that the reasons for the rift are complicated and they surely must be because if she had a stroke after our breakup and never contacted me, she really didn't want me to know. I would have been the first person she would have turned to since I too had to come back from a stroke. She knows me well, and would have known I'd be down there to help her in a nano-second rift or no rift. So she chose not to tell me. What could I have possibly done to elicit such an intense anger? I sincerely hope she is making a good recovery and is getting the help she needs. At this point in time, I don't know what I can, or should do. Do I call her and risk another angry rejection? Do I just let it go, and act as if I don't know? I really am very confused not only about what I should do, but also about my emotional response. I'm coldly detached but angry as well. A part of me says she was never there for my illnesses and another part says, that's no excuse for not reaching out to her. I need to think deeply and seek some guidance. In the end it comes down to, what can I live with? That is the pressing question.

Shalom Claire:

May you be inscribed in the Book of Life for the coming year … geez that sounds pompous!

Anyways, hoping that you are happy and healthy.

I very, very,very ,very rarely do this, but I am sending you copy of an e-mail exchange between Suzanne and myself.

Best

M. S.

Hello M,

Just a quick note and an update. Your colleague wrote us about writing an article for you At that time, (middle of August) I put her on our mailing lists so that she would know what it is we actually do. In the last week or so, I spoke to her again about what schedule she might be on. But since that time, I have had second thoughts about whether or not any publicity is a good idea.

First, something I haven't mentioned. For some complicated reasons, I haven't maintained my relationship with Claire since May of 2009. Also in late June of that same year I had a stroke and almost closed down FP altogether. As it turned out, something in me continued to want to get up, go to the computer, and continue sending out the human rights "news." So I have continued to do so, but no longer raise any money or receive any kind of salary. Now I'm just doing it because I still can, and because it still needs to be done. We also continue to get emails from all over the world every month that our work is appreciated. That being said, F P is no longer an entity that can be relied on. It takes a back burner to my recovery, which is going well, but damage is still there. My left hand has an electrical energy of its own now and even a tiny email like this one is difficult to accomplish, and full, full, full of corrections. So I am thinking that it would be better not to call attention to an organization which may or may not continue, my health permitting.

That being said, this news is not common knowledge. The Board and I have agreed to just more or less restrict what is done to the mailings, and the mailings continue to give me strength and purpose. Sorry I took so long to let you know, and hope you will understand. Getting old is turning out to be no joke. Also, a big thank-you for your help at the beginning when we were just getting ready to fly. Your critical analyses of certain papers at that time were very helpful, and gave me the courage to get up and go. I remain and will remain quite grateful.

Best wishes and hopes that all is well with you,

Suzanne