my mulberry street

There are many people that have impacted my life in a significant way, even rocked my world (yes, this is both good and bad). Then there were others that have just said a few short words to me that I've clung to forever as words of wisdom. But being a humble, naive, simple girl from a small town in the east coast, I've never really thought I had the capability to leave a long-lasting memory or impact on someones life.

There are so many things I remember from my childhood, to my teenage years to now - but as I get older there are so many things I forget. And when people try and stir your memory and you still can't remember, it's actually kind of scary (not to be confused with a blackout from drinking, albeit that's scary too). A few years ago I took a creative writing course at George Brown, where our short stories were based on real life situations. I remember our teacher saying to us, "how do we really know for sure with some of our memories being so far back in time if they really did exist". That concept fucks with my mind, because if you don't have proof to back an old memory, it's true - did it really happen? I remember testing this theory about a plant we had in our third year of university. Now the reason I remember this so well is because I can't save a plant, maintain a plant or grow a plant - pathetic really. But this was Rhonda's plant and every time it was literally on death's door, I'd water it and it would grow back to life...almost instantaneously...no joke. So, when I asked the girls about it recently, all three of them couldn't remember the god damn plant. Now, I know what you're thinking, it was university and I was high all the time. Not true(ish). I'm telling you this really did happen, but sadly I have no proof of the memory other than what's inside my wee old head.

This week, my past came into my present in a very surreal way. I re-connected with someone I impacted in both good and bad ways (sadly, I think, more bad than good). Apparently, I hurt this person to a point where they harboured feelings for years, which is crushing because I know how horrible that can be. Fortunately we cleared everything up, I told the story from my point of view (now and then) and that person did the same for me.

Time is a funny and amazing thing. From my memory, I'm pretty sure I was explicit back then about my feelings and felt I articulated them in a way that person would understand. To be honest, I think it was just time and living life that caused that person to re-evaluate our situation.

Very few people have that opportunity in life to face someone or something from their past to let them know they've made an impact and reconcile, if need be. I think we both felt lucky and grateful for what happened this week. Sometimes I wish I had that chance myself, but I'm also happy to just keep moving forward, putting all my memories (tangible or not) in my basket of life.

Why I love my dad so much

I sent my "Check Yes or No" blog to my dad last night...this was his response in email today:

Hi Cheryl..... Nice blog....love George Strait he's a throw back to the "ole" Country...he just recently passed Conway Twitty for the most no one country hits which was 56. Check out "Murder on Music Row" with Alan Jackson ..That tells it all in a song.  Keep on listening to the good stuff....check Yes or No. Love Dad 

Do you not see why I love this man?  Shit, he's the best.

So, I went to YouTube to watch "Murder on Music Row" and found a version by George Strait and Alan Jackson...saweet.  After you watch and read, you'll see what I mean, dad is ALWAYS right about the lyrics to country music.  This song does say it all.  Listening to it and thinking about why my dad loves it make me teary (yes, I know...I'm in touch with my emotions).  Hope, on some level, you feel the same way....or at least see the perspective from a real musician.

And, of course, the lyrics:

Nobody saw them running
From 16th Avenue
They never found the fingerprints
Or the weapon that was used
But someone killed country music
Cut out its heart and soul
They got away with murder
Down on music row
The almight dollar
And the lust for worldwide fame
Slowly killed tradition
And for that, someone shouldhang ("Ahh, you tell 'em Alan")
They all say "Not Guilty!"
But the evidence will show
That murder was committed
Down on music row
For the steel guitars no longer cry
And the fiddles barely play
But drums and rock 'n' roll guitars
Are mixed up in your face
Ol' Hank wouldn't have a chance
On today's radio
Since they committed murder
Down on music row
They thought no one would miss it
Once it was dead and gone
They said no one would buy them ol'
Drinkin' and cheatin' songs ("Oh, but I still buy 'em")
Well there ain't no justice in it
And the hard facts are cold
Murder's been committed
Down on music row
Why they even tell the Possum
To pack up and go back home
There's been an awful murder
Down on music row

check yes or no

I'm sitting here watching the "George Strait All-Star Tribute" on TV and I'm completely in my element because no one loves country music more than this kid right here.  It's the one genre of music that people have a preconceived notion of what the audience demographic should look like...umm, did I mention I also still love cowboy boots?  Anyway, I'm not talking about the 'new stuff' like Montgomery-whatever-their-called, Carrie Underwood or even Shania Twain (in fact, Keith Urban & Tim McGraw might be my only exceptions to this rule). I'm talking about Waylon, Willie, Johnny, Charlie, Garth, Kenny, Dolly, Hank and George.  The stuff dad and I listened to growing up.  Sure they get a bad reputation for singing about simple things like trucks, booze and cheatin', but hells isn't that what life (and I mean real life) is all about?  Regardless, the thing I love about country music and the notion of the Grand Ole Opry is that there is something so very real and pure in the music and the lyrics.  Further proof of this for me, is the endless number of times dad has called me on the phone to say, "Cheryl, have you heard the new song and really listened to the lyrics of (insert country song here) - they're so true and beautiful".   And, he was always right.

Basically, the old stuff is not overproduced, over marketed or fabricated. I started thinking about this tonight when listening to one of my sweet favs of George's - a more recent song, "Check yes or no". 

It started way back in third grade
I used to sit beside Emmy Lou Hayes
A pink dress, a matching bow in her ponytail
She kissed me on the school bus, but told me not to tell
Next day I chased her around the playground
Across the monkey bars to the merry-go-round
And Emmy Lou got caught passing me a note, before the teacher took it, I read what she wrote:

Do you love me, do you wanna be my friend?
And if you do, well then don't be afraid to take me by the hand, if you want to.
I think this is how love goes, check yes or no

Now we're grown up and she's my wife
Still like two kids with stars in our eyes
Ain't much changed I still chase Emmy Lou
Up and down the hall, around the bed in our room
Last night I took her out in a white limousine
Twenty years together she still gets to me
Can't believe it's been that long ago
When we got started with just a little note

Isn't it incredible to know this is how we're introduced to love for the first time, and ideally wouldn't it be so quaint if it always remained, for all of us, this way: simple, honest and forthcoming.

ps - George might have the most adorable smile in the music biz.

happiness is...

Every now and then I get inspired to create a piece of "art" that encompasses a themed collection of memories that brought me significant happiness during a period of my life.  Like the collage of running bibs, maps and pics mounted above my bed from all my races over the last 10 years.  But unfortunately there are times when these pieces of art live only as a thought and never come to life.  Like the shadow-box of odds and ends from my hike on the Inca Trail, which would include my walking stick that supported me for four long days.

Today's art: no theme.  just happiness.  various things, in many forms and not from one particular event. It came to me from looking at pictures from yesterday - Todd, Matt, Mya and Cara skipping outside the house. Skipping.  hhhhhmmmm.  I started thinking about all the super duper simple teeny weeny things that make me scream with happy.  So this is next on my 'creative-to-do list', but one thing is for sure - if it comes to life in video form the soundtrack will be "Bubble Toes" by Jack Johnson.  I dare you to listen to that song and a) not feel happy and b) not move like a jellyfish.

stay tuned on my high-priced artwork.

how can you not love this season

So many people love the crispy cool air of Fall, the warm sweaters and getting cozy indoors. But in the span of three short weeks, this is the scene developing outside of my living room window.  The freshness, greenness, newness of Spring gives me optimism and excitement for all the new experiences that happen each year. 

Happy Spring, enjoy it Toronto before the smog seeps in.

Like a Rock

The weird thing about history is that it happens in the present moment. And it touched me yesterday in a way that I never believed would happen in my short lifetime.

I called home to catch up with my parents; dad answered the phone and I could tell something was wrong. He was irritable, frustrated and although he would never admit it...on some level, confused. He shared the news with me that the GM dealership that he's worked for the last 10 years received their letter from head office in Oshawa that they were one of 240 dealers to close their doors. While some of you may feel on a grander scale this was owed or deserving to the corporation, what you might forget is all the people in all the towns and communities across THIS country that work their ass off to make GM a success. These people, to some extent, have no impact on the decisions that have been made to bring the corporation to it's knees. Their pride and dedication is birthed from a desire to be providers to their family, to have a successful career and to have a company that employs people in that town and community.

Dad has worked for GM for 30+ years, previously at another dealership in my hometown. I grew up with General Motors. It's more than a car company to me - it represents my dad, it represents my family, it represents so many incredible childhood memories. When I was in elementary school, dad used to have to work the odd Saturday. My brother and I would go in with him to the office and we would sit in the cars in the showroom and pretend we were racing each other. We'd always fight over who got the camero with the top down. When I was sixteen, my first job was working the reception desk for 3 weeks in the summer and answering the switchboard for the salesmen, parts, service, finance and the used-car lot. I loved that job and listening to John, Robert, Big Jim and old Haddon talk about how cranky 'my old man was sitting upstairs in his office'. Even thinking back to that building I can say that GM has a rich smell - the combination of the oil, gas and rubber. And when I walk into a GM dealership anywhere in Canada now the smell is consistent and brings me back to Disco Street in Sydney, Nova Scotia. GM IS my dad and what he (and it) stand for - strength, hardworking, commitment and loyal. GM is my university education, my original home on Beechwood, it's the pool in my parents backyard, my family cars and even my value system.

In my adult life, my affinity for the company continued to grow when dad changed dealerships and went to work in Glace Bay, Nova Scotia for Carlo. Not only was dad seeing the happiest years of his life, but he had made an incredible friend. Carlo has been so good to me - from providing me with sexy Aleros and sassy Aveos, to taking care of my sweet Daws on drives from the Cape to Halifax. Carlo was a boss, a friend and a professional advice-taker to my dad. So, GM is way more than a big American company, a country music song, rugged trucks or construction workers. It is a touch, a smell, a family and a passion.

Carlo, remember that from big change, even tradegy, comes sunshine and strength. Hold on to your memories and everything you've built, be proud and strong.

This too shall pass and return again?

According to Wikipedia, “Eternal Return” is a concept which posits that the universe has been recurring, and will continue to recur in a self-similar form an infinite number of times. There is something within this concept (and the very little I know about it) that I find so incredibly gut-wrenching, yet completely stunning. Imagine if we could give the best (even the worst) moments of our life to the lives lived after ours or if we are living the life of those that already existed - what a mind-blowing thought. In an indirect way, I was introduced to this concept this past weekend and believe there is some connection with how it relates to my desire to live like a freebird.

As you know, I just spent the last six days in Los Angeles. It was, by far, a trip of a lifetime. Last year, I made a pact with myself to embrace my age and celebrate it each year in a big way. It began on my 34th with a solo trip to Machu Pichhu, and this year by sharing it in LA with some of my closest girlies. As you can imagine, the two experiences were vastly different, but remarkable in their own unique ways. While Peru was spiritual, LA was magical. From not skipping a beat with life-long friends (that I haven’t seen in years), to making new ones, experiencing different lifestyles, living 100% in the moment without fear of judgement, decision-making without inhibitions, learning new things from amazing new people and experiencing a surreal earthquake. The combination of the many events was remarkable, unforgettable and completely serendipitous.

As if I didn't know this already, this trip was affirmation that I’ve arrived at a place in my life where I’m beyond confident in my decisions and have not one regret. I feel that although my life and choices are different than those that my friends make, they are truly meant to be made for me and my little ole existence.

So while 'all of the above' may sound like complete fromage to you and you might think that it's a simple case of suffering from post-good-times-blues. How shall I say this... you're wrong. The friend that introduced me to the eternal return concept is a ‘true, professional writer’ - in a related conversation he told me that words are never good enough to express an energy you feel or even the chemistry between certain people. Kinda of sad hearing this from a writer, but he's so right. No matter how hard I try, I cannot express it in words.  I'm aware that the energy experienced in this past weekend was rare, but thankfully it comes around just enough that I know how and when to clutch it tightly. These tiny incredible sparks are fleeting and magical, not to be missed and savoured for your memory to remind you how painfully beautiful life really can be.  

When I started this blog back in April, I mentioned that I’ve wanted to mark my body with this too shall pass. On Friday, May 15, I walked into Zulu Tattoo and was happy to see that I got to lie on a medical bed, basically because I have passed out at the sight of a needle and blood many times in my life. Ironically, knowing where I 'was' and how happy I am at this stage, I never felt more relaxed lying there getting inked. It was euphorhic.

So, I pray that 'eternal return' does exist and that I’m re-enacting someone else's sweet ass life, only to pass it on proudly to the next.