Reunions

When an estrangement in a family finally comes to an end, I’ve found the reunion takes place in stages.  First, there’s that rush of intense feeling that floods your soul but must be kept tamped down, for fear of scaring off the very one you are so excited to see.  Then, over time, you are able to share meaningful conversations, comparing notes on what went wrong and who said what and aren’t you glad it’s all over now?  This is followed by a strange period of awkwardness.  Suddenly it becomes gallingly apparent that your lives have not stopped since you last were in contact.  Each person has grown, changed, developed into a different version of the one you once knew.  There’s an acknowledgement that relationships will have to be rebuilt and mended over time, not instantly repaired no matter how much love is in the equation.  But finally, at long last, there comes a time when you know the reunion is complete – when you’re sharing a simple moment of no consequence, your hands immersed in a sink full of soapy dishwater, your sister standing at your side with a tea towel ready to dry, sharing a task you’ve shared hundreds of times before, and the years roll back as if there never was a gap of 17years between this sink load of dishes and the last.

Painting by Iranian artist Iman Maleki.
http://imanmaleki.com/en/Galery/

Plant Me Where I can Bloom!

I once had a boss who told me to "bloom where I was planted" -- quite frankly, he was an ass - a control freak who was more than a little screwed in the head.  But I was young and naive and had no words to tell him all of that, and to top things off I was driven to please others, so I sucked it up and tried to do my best and assumed that the reason why I was miserably unhappy in my job was actually my own fault for not figuring out how to "bloom where I was planted."

Several months ago I wandered into a local florist shop and fell madly and instantly in love ..... with the orchid display!  I have never paid that much attention to orchids before but I was overwhelmed by the variety of colours and delicate petals that formed each orchid face!  Needless to say I couldn't resist purchasing one, but did so with some degree of trepidation as they just appear to be so delicate and high-maintenance, and I've never been one for high-maintenance relationships.

However, having been assured that this orchid would be very easy to take care of, I took it home and found what I thought would be the perfect spot - the bay window in our living room, which faces south but has dappled sunshine rather than direct light.  I was so pleased as the weeks went by and I didn't kill it!  In fact, it seemed to be quite happy in its new location, producing a lovely display of 5 blossoms that lasted and lasted.  Beautiful!

Recently, however, I cleaned out our small glassed-in verandah, ousted the dogs who have been taking over it, and turned it into a small sunroom.  Even though I have been enjoying the beautiful orchid when it greets me every morning in our living room, I thought perhaps I should move it to the sunroom so that all my plants would be in one location, all the better for me to remember to water them. 

Within a few days I could not believe the change that had taken place in my orchid!   Where 5 beautiful blooms had been, suddenly there were 8, then 10, then 13, and today I counted 16 blooms with two more buds about to pop open!   It's like the orchid is suddenly on steroids!

All of this made me think back to my boss's instructions to "bloom where I was planted" -- clearly the orchid is much happier in the new environment and able to bloom in a much more glorious manner because all of its needs are now being met.  Whereas it existed in one location, it is thriving in another!  And I think the same is true of people too.  I have worked for a variety of bosses over the years, in many different environments, and that one place was one of the very few jobs where I really struggled to bloom!  It wasn't for lack of trying, or for lack of dedication, or for lack of desire on my part.  I just couldn't bloom there, no matter what I did.  I survived, I had friends (wonderful friends!) as co-workers, and there were moments of great joy, but for the most part, I felt like I was taking two steps backward for every one where I gained ground.  It just wasn't working for me.  

I had a mini-flashback today to my first year Child and Youth Studies class and remembered Haslow's Hierarchy of Needs.  There are some things we need in order to succeed.  With plants, I guess it comes down to the right combination of sunshine, water, nutrients, and humidity in the air.  With people clearly it is a little more complicated, but still I think love, acceptance, and kindness go a long way to helping others around us to bloom.  This is a challenge to myself to work on providing that kind of safe "growing" environment to the people who are in my own sphere of influence.  If I can find a sense of reward and satisfaction in seeing my plant blossom so beautifully, imagine the joy in helping another soul to achieve their own heights of success!

And if you ever find yourself in a situation where you just can't bloom, no matter how hard you try, don't assume that you are the problem.  Maybe you need to be transplanted to a new environment where the right combination of sun, water and nutrients will turn you into a blossoming wonder!

Fairy Godmothers of the World Unite!

I have a confession to make, I really hate Cinderella.  I don't like the story line or the character.  As a child, it annoyed me that poor little Cinderella was such a goody-two-shoes but never had the gumption to get herself out of what was clearly an untenable situation.  I always suspected she was a whiny little brat who was seriously lacking in the determination department and thus I had a hard time scraping together too much compassion for her.  Why did she put up with her evil step-sisters?  Caught in a similar situation, I imagined that I would find some insidious means of terrorizing the bullies so they would leave me alone.  What can I say ... I have a cruel and vengeful side and have never taken well to being victimized, even at a young age.

(And if you don't believe me, ask my Mum.  She loves retelling the story of Choppy, our pet Rooster, who had the audacity to peck my knee when I was a toddler.  Let's just say Choppy was missing a few tail feathers by the time I was done with him.) 

The story, however, does have some redeeming elements.  The mice, for example, were always main characters in my mind.  Forget Prince Charming, who looked to me like he had spent a suspicious amount of time grooming his hair into that perfect pompadour, in my opinion the mice were the real heroes of the story.  I delighted in the mice.  And if I was going to identify with anyone in the story?  I have to say that I always loved the Fairy Godmother.  Now here was a character who was making things happen!   She had power!  She had wisdom!  She had a magic wand!  Sparkling glitter followed her every move!  This was my kind of woman!

The Disney version of the Fairy Godmother has never done too much for me.  I mean, with all that power, why on earth did she look so frumpy?  Given her powers, I would definitely have used that wand to transform myself into a svelte and stunning beauty and find myself some better clothes.  I've always leaned towards other versions of the story where the FGM is a gorgeous blonde, wearing a diaphanous gown, preferably with a nice set of iridescent wings.   Or like Julie Andrew's version of the Blue Fairy in Pinocchio, all satiny and blue, with her hair swept back in a sophisticated chignon.




(What's up with the blue, by the way?  Anyone know why FGMs, even in the case of Disney's chubby old lady character, all seem to wear blue?  Is this a subtle Madonna reference?)


So, with my fascination for FGM's, it should not surprise you that I was quite thrilled 8 years ago when my brother and his wife asked me to be the godmother for my newly born niece.  I was excited!  But I was also a little nervous.  I mean, the thing is, I'm not even Catholic!  And I've never had a godmother myself, so I have no role models, no idea what the godmother is supposed to do, how they're supposed to act, what their responsibilities are!

As a result, in finding my way through the godmother/goddaughter journey, rather than relying on religious examples, I've leaned heavily on the extraordinarily academic source of the FGM's found in many fairy tales.  Granted I don't wander around wearing long blue gowns, with a tin-foil wrapped paper towel tube in hand (not that I haven't considered this, of course), but I do try to use my "godmother" role as a way to make my goddaughter's life a little bit easier, and hope in the future, as she grows older, to have the opportunity to teach her to make her own happy endings.

While it may sound great to have a "Prince Charming" swoop down and rescue you from your ashy existence, I've learned throughout the years, that I'd much rather have a man who is my equal partner, standing by my side, not reaching down to my "lowly state."  My husband does not complete me - he compliments me in my personal journey towards completion.  My husband doesn't kiss me so I will come alive - he kisses because I am already alive, and vibrant, and mistress of my own destiny.  I'm not waiting around for some lame glass slipper to tell me what I already know - I am a princess in my own right, thank-you very much.  I happen to think that my husband is the most wonderful man in the world, but only Jesus saves.

Today my goddaughter had her First Communion.   Here she is, waiting with the rest of her class before formally entering the church.

Isn't she beautiful?  And I didn't need to wave any magic wand to help her.  All she needs is a few cute mice and a pumpkin, and I bet she will find her own happy ever after.