My family is very superstitious. We believe in things that don’t have any form of scientific proof and follow our heart over our mind. For the most part, we are on the overtly religious end of the superstitious spectrum. My brother-in-law is a pastor and the whole family regularly attends church. This ‘religious trait’ is prominent in most members of the family, other than my Nan.
Something you need to know about her is that she is not my real, biological grandmother. She was married before and has six children of her own and met my grandfather after my grandma past away. So this story involves her biological family and has spread over onto my side, used as a story to creep us out.
One night she heard a rattling in the kitchen and Nan woke up. She thought that someone might be trying to break in so she got up out of bed and went to investigate. To her relief, there at the table sat her son, Jim. She asked him what he was doing there at such a late hour and he said that he just stopped in for a minute to say good-bye, but he had to hurry because he had to go see Marie. Nan sat down with him and talked for a little while and he kept on repeating that he had to go. Nan thought this was weird, if he had to go then he should just leave, and she had no idea who this Marie was, but she let it go and talked to him for a few minutes before he said he really had to leave. An eerie feeling came over her as she bid him good-night and she knew that something strange was going on… but she brushed it off and went back to bed.
The next morning Nan got a phone call telling her that Jim had died at around midnight the night before- two hours before he had visited.
Nan, being superstitious, automatically assumed that she had seen her son’s ghost, who’d wanted to say his final good-bye before heading off into the unknown. But she couldn’t get who this Marie he’d been talking about and why he was in such a hurry to leave. Nan had never known of a Marie. My grandfather told her that it was just a weird dream, and she reluctantly started to believe him.
A few days later at the funeral, Nan was approached by a woman who said that her name was Marie. She warned Nan and told her that what she was about to tell her might sound really weird but she had to know if she had been dreaming. She told Nan that she had been Jim’s girlfriend and that she thought she had seen him the night of his death, a few hours after he had died. She said that he claimed he’d just come from his mother’s house and was in a hurry to leave. Awestruck, Nan had confirmed that she thought she had seen Jim the night of this death as well. The two women instantly knew that it was no coincidence. And at that moment, Nan knew that she and Marie had both seen the ghost of her son; wanting to say his final good-byes to the people he loved.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Cupid's Arrow
I love Valentine’s Day. Some people say that it’s cheesy and a cash-grab but I absolutely love it. It’s the time of year when you can see couple’s starting to form in high schools. Spring doesn’t seem so far away and people a just happier.
But my love for Valentine’s Day stems from a much younger age then teen romance and the feeling of Spring being right around the corner. I was four. Staring at the fridge with a dazed longing when a thought came over me which I spoke aloud to my parents, “I want a dog.” My sister was at school at the time and I had just come indoors from the frigid January air. Still bundled up in my hot-pint winter jacket and burning from the change in air the thought possessed me. I remember coming out of my daze and looking up at my parents to see what they thought and they softly laughed and told me that they would think about it.
My next part of this memory flashes forward a couple of weeks to Valentine’s Day. I was sitting in the back driver’s side seat of my parents golden car. My legs were so short that only my feet reach over the end of the seat and the seat belt pushes up against my chin which drove me mad. I didn’t know why I was there, only that I was curious that I didn’t know where we were. We drove and drove to what seemed like forever for a four-year-old when finally my Mom got out of the car and left my father and me to wait. We waited and waited. I could tell that something was off with my Dad. I think it was my first bout of intuition telling me that something exciting was going to happen.
And then it did.
I remember seeing Mom carrying this big, green, suit-case shaped thing and thinking that it was weird for her to carry something that looked so heavy and not have Dad help her at all. She came to the car, opened the back door across from me and put the case down on the seat and said “Why don’t you peak inside…” I leaned forward and stretched myself to look inside the front door of the case and there sat my soon-to-be best friend Cupid. It was instant love. One you hear about and hope that it will happen to you. We were immediate friends. Her dark brown hair was the softest thing I’d ever felt. And her big brown eyes looked up at me with excitement and curiosity. Little did I know that we would grow up together and learn about life from each other. We were soul mates who protected each other and listened to each other’s problems. Our relationship flourished over sixteen years until she had finally run her course. The thought of having her put down still upsets me; but every Valentine’s Day I think back on the time I got to spend with my best friend and feel the comfort I once felt with her by my side.
But my love for Valentine’s Day stems from a much younger age then teen romance and the feeling of Spring being right around the corner. I was four. Staring at the fridge with a dazed longing when a thought came over me which I spoke aloud to my parents, “I want a dog.” My sister was at school at the time and I had just come indoors from the frigid January air. Still bundled up in my hot-pint winter jacket and burning from the change in air the thought possessed me. I remember coming out of my daze and looking up at my parents to see what they thought and they softly laughed and told me that they would think about it.
My next part of this memory flashes forward a couple of weeks to Valentine’s Day. I was sitting in the back driver’s side seat of my parents golden car. My legs were so short that only my feet reach over the end of the seat and the seat belt pushes up against my chin which drove me mad. I didn’t know why I was there, only that I was curious that I didn’t know where we were. We drove and drove to what seemed like forever for a four-year-old when finally my Mom got out of the car and left my father and me to wait. We waited and waited. I could tell that something was off with my Dad. I think it was my first bout of intuition telling me that something exciting was going to happen.
And then it did.
I remember seeing Mom carrying this big, green, suit-case shaped thing and thinking that it was weird for her to carry something that looked so heavy and not have Dad help her at all. She came to the car, opened the back door across from me and put the case down on the seat and said “Why don’t you peak inside…” I leaned forward and stretched myself to look inside the front door of the case and there sat my soon-to-be best friend Cupid. It was instant love. One you hear about and hope that it will happen to you. We were immediate friends. Her dark brown hair was the softest thing I’d ever felt. And her big brown eyes looked up at me with excitement and curiosity. Little did I know that we would grow up together and learn about life from each other. We were soul mates who protected each other and listened to each other’s problems. Our relationship flourished over sixteen years until she had finally run her course. The thought of having her put down still upsets me; but every Valentine’s Day I think back on the time I got to spend with my best friend and feel the comfort I once felt with her by my side.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Where dreams are made
It seems like a long time since I've been in a natural environment. Something that was created by God and not tainted by the hands of man. Something pure and flawless in its essence. Going back and thinking of these places inspires me. I'm so overwhelmed with how the modern world works that I honestly forget what it means to just be.
The most natural place for me has been unvisited for many years, except maybe by the lawn mower a couple times. My memories of this place are brilliant. I crave the opportunity to go back there on a sun-filled day, with only myself and waste hours starring at the sky. In that endlessness there was no worry about tomorrow or regrets about the past. I was purely in-tune with life and fearless as to what might lie ahead. You could smell the purity in the place. You could smell the excitement of the water moving out towards the ocean and never to return. It was a place of meditation on the most primitive level. Something that you cannot be taught, but something you must experience to believe.
The field of grass was as endless and as intoxicating as the sky above. The grass was every shade of green and sometimes growing higher than I was tall. It was a complex mosaic of sharp and soft textures. It was woven out into a perfect place to fall. It felt like I was born there, like out of the entire world this was where I was supposed to be. I wanted to bathe in this grass. I wanted to nuzzle up in it and escape everything else. This patch by the water was never mowed. It would grow with me throughout the summer and would come sharply back to life each spring. Its reliability was comforting. Just knowing that even though we would be apart throughout the winter, it would still be perfect when I returned.
There was a rock that was completely surrounded by water and just big enough to stand on. I would balance on that rock a few feet out into the lake and be completely satisfied with the world. Freedom was found out there on that rock. Freedom was in the wind wrapping itself around me and then dashing of on a great adventure. Freedom was there when I would slip into the lake and soak my clothes in water. Freedom was there when I when the sun poured onto my face and let me feel its heart. The freedom I found there gave me strength. And let me know that at the most simple level, that life is good.
Writing this makes me want to go back here. If not sometime soon then in the future with my family. This place has taken a part in defining me. It has inserted itself into the places where I find relaxation and will continue to follow me throughout life no matter where I go.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Sloppy Joe's
When you go through the drive-through of your favourite fast food restaurants, you may not realize what goes on behind the scenes. Other than the fact that it’s naturally not healthy and that pimpley kid making your french fries needs a haircut, you might not even give it a second thought. If you are ever one of the lucky people who gets to work at a fast food joint you’ll probably know what I’m talking about; and if you’ve never worked in a grease basket I apologize in advance for potentially ruining your fantasy about the world of fast food.
The rules stand as thus: wash your hands, move fast and always smile at the customers. These rules don’t always go in that order, and as you will see these rules only act as a guideline.
Let’s start with wash your hands. Every time you walk into the kitchen, or cooking area, you wash your hands. After you handle cash, you wash your hands. Seems to be like a sound theory right? Well… not so much. The problem with the rule ending at wash your hands is that when everyone is running around super busy and it’s +40◦ in the kitchen you are not on you’re A game. On top of being overwhelmed, you are covered in sweat. Head to toe. And the parts of you that aren’t covered in sweat are covered in grease. Yum.
The ‘move fast’ rule comes into play throughout your entire shift. Sometimes there are rushes and orders can’t be put through fast enough. Sometimes you’re short staff so you need to make up for it in speed. Other times you just want to avoid being harassed by your supervisor so you get the hell out ASAP. No matter why you’re flying around quickly, one thing is bound to happen, mistakes. I’ve seen food being dropped on the floor to only be picked up and put back on the customer’s tray. Even worse I witnessed a girl that was so busy that she put her hand in the deep fryer to pick up something she had dropped. If that’s not an obvious sign that moving like lightning will screw you up in some way then I don’t know what is.
Smiling at the customers may seem easy enough on most days. But I’ve witnessed the worst of the worst. Not to mention co-workers taking on some disgusting revenge. One particular incident I had a customer throw a hot burger at me, I delt with the situation with a smile (secretly swearing at him in my head) and told him we would fix his order. I found out later on that my friend had seen it and hawked a loogy on his burger and into his drink. Disgusting I know. But I can’t help appreciating my friend for taking some sort of stand against the way that customer lashed out.
Throughout this gross, greasy experience I got to realize that sometimes your work isn’t what makes things worthwhile, it’s the friends that have to go through it with you. Your jobs aren’t going to always define who you are right away, but they will lead you to the person you will become. I don’t regret working there; I think I’m more thankful for the experience and memories that I get to keep with me forever, no matter how many hot burgers get thrown my way.
The rules stand as thus: wash your hands, move fast and always smile at the customers. These rules don’t always go in that order, and as you will see these rules only act as a guideline.
Let’s start with wash your hands. Every time you walk into the kitchen, or cooking area, you wash your hands. After you handle cash, you wash your hands. Seems to be like a sound theory right? Well… not so much. The problem with the rule ending at wash your hands is that when everyone is running around super busy and it’s +40◦ in the kitchen you are not on you’re A game. On top of being overwhelmed, you are covered in sweat. Head to toe. And the parts of you that aren’t covered in sweat are covered in grease. Yum.
The ‘move fast’ rule comes into play throughout your entire shift. Sometimes there are rushes and orders can’t be put through fast enough. Sometimes you’re short staff so you need to make up for it in speed. Other times you just want to avoid being harassed by your supervisor so you get the hell out ASAP. No matter why you’re flying around quickly, one thing is bound to happen, mistakes. I’ve seen food being dropped on the floor to only be picked up and put back on the customer’s tray. Even worse I witnessed a girl that was so busy that she put her hand in the deep fryer to pick up something she had dropped. If that’s not an obvious sign that moving like lightning will screw you up in some way then I don’t know what is.
Smiling at the customers may seem easy enough on most days. But I’ve witnessed the worst of the worst. Not to mention co-workers taking on some disgusting revenge. One particular incident I had a customer throw a hot burger at me, I delt with the situation with a smile (secretly swearing at him in my head) and told him we would fix his order. I found out later on that my friend had seen it and hawked a loogy on his burger and into his drink. Disgusting I know. But I can’t help appreciating my friend for taking some sort of stand against the way that customer lashed out.
Throughout this gross, greasy experience I got to realize that sometimes your work isn’t what makes things worthwhile, it’s the friends that have to go through it with you. Your jobs aren’t going to always define who you are right away, but they will lead you to the person you will become. I don’t regret working there; I think I’m more thankful for the experience and memories that I get to keep with me forever, no matter how many hot burgers get thrown my way.
The change
On the outside I’m just a normal twenty-one year old girl; brown hair, green eyes and just over five feet tall. I belong to the average Canadian family with a mother, a father and a sister. I live at home with my parents in a house on a lake. We’ve got three dogs that all come from different places and entered our lives at different times for different reasons.
When you get inside things start to get interesting. Everything is mixed up together into one big pot and when that’s all put together you get to see who I really am. This concoction has created someone who is still learning to understanding what is going on around her, someone who relies heavily on her family for strength, and someone who tries to see life for what it really is.
The most recent event in my life that completely altered me happened around a year ago. It created a deep rooted anger and frustration that I am still trying to cope with. My view on the world completely changed, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’m exhausted most of the time; I’m a home-body and I barely have the energy to deal with the normal dramatic episodes of a twenty-one year old.
You hear stories about people who’ve gotten sick and feel bad for them. It’s near impossible to predict what it’s like until you or someone you love has gone through it. I was told it is like when an emergency happens and the people directly affected don’t react the way that people outside the danger-zone do. This is exactly how I seem to feel most of the time. My strength has allowed me to return to school and strive for normality. This god-awful experience has been horrendous for my family and close friends. They keep telling me to take things slowly and that if I need to take more time to finish my degree then that’s fine. But honestly it’s not. When I was told about having a brain tumor I decided I was going to continue living a normal life. I don’t know what I was thinking to make myself such an outrageous promise. My life has changed so much in the past year that it’s difficult for me to even connect the dots between the two. I look at people and think about what their honest priorities are in their life and I tend to like them less. I am constantly searching for comfort from my family when I have my regular melt-downs from the magnitude of my situation. My family has turned into my rock throughout my illness. Friends have withered and become unreliable but I always know that my family will be there for me when I’m in the hospital and when I’m home and healthy again.
Those days of the narcissism and complete ignorance seem well in my past and I look forward to the day when I can honestly say that I’m healthy again. I know that no matter what my future holds my family will be there to hold my hand and bring me home.
When you get inside things start to get interesting. Everything is mixed up together into one big pot and when that’s all put together you get to see who I really am. This concoction has created someone who is still learning to understanding what is going on around her, someone who relies heavily on her family for strength, and someone who tries to see life for what it really is.
The most recent event in my life that completely altered me happened around a year ago. It created a deep rooted anger and frustration that I am still trying to cope with. My view on the world completely changed, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’m exhausted most of the time; I’m a home-body and I barely have the energy to deal with the normal dramatic episodes of a twenty-one year old.
You hear stories about people who’ve gotten sick and feel bad for them. It’s near impossible to predict what it’s like until you or someone you love has gone through it. I was told it is like when an emergency happens and the people directly affected don’t react the way that people outside the danger-zone do. This is exactly how I seem to feel most of the time. My strength has allowed me to return to school and strive for normality. This god-awful experience has been horrendous for my family and close friends. They keep telling me to take things slowly and that if I need to take more time to finish my degree then that’s fine. But honestly it’s not. When I was told about having a brain tumor I decided I was going to continue living a normal life. I don’t know what I was thinking to make myself such an outrageous promise. My life has changed so much in the past year that it’s difficult for me to even connect the dots between the two. I look at people and think about what their honest priorities are in their life and I tend to like them less. I am constantly searching for comfort from my family when I have my regular melt-downs from the magnitude of my situation. My family has turned into my rock throughout my illness. Friends have withered and become unreliable but I always know that my family will be there for me when I’m in the hospital and when I’m home and healthy again.
Those days of the narcissism and complete ignorance seem well in my past and I look forward to the day when I can honestly say that I’m healthy again. I know that no matter what my future holds my family will be there to hold my hand and bring me home.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Blind date
Hopefully this will be a lovely relationship that allows us to grow closer and become best buds.
More about me... I'm a sarcastic and semi-outgoing person who has turned into a homebody. I am head-over-heels in love with my dogs and am currently so busy with school my social life is non-existent. You'll soon realize just how big of a geek I am and either love or hate me. That's your choice. Either way I'll still be here writing about whatever grabs my attention or bogs down my mind.
Cheers,
Melissa
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