Middle Pages

Geographies of Divorce: Never "my town" In 1981, James Taylor released a song called "Her town too" ( http://youtu.be/Be73MgBIhUM ) in which he expresses regret that his ex-wife is being excluded from social events because he holds greater social capital than she does amongst the people in the town where they once had a life together. When relationships end, it is a sad but true fact that people take sides, assets are split, and someone, if not both parties, must relocate. Taylor alludes to another type of collateral damage that I'm calling Geographies of Divorce . It's the shifting of boundaries, the renegotiation of territory, the displacement, isolation and the staggering trauma of homelessness that accompanies divorce. In my case Sweet Baby James can relax. The neighborhood I shared for almost 5 years with a man whose town it always was... was never MY town. But the geographies of divorce have tentacles that are still able to reach out and squee

Eight years ago this evening I had eight chicken breasts in the oven – Chicken Parmigiana - for a dinner party with a group of girlfriends, when the phone rang.  It was my mother calling to say that I should come home quickly. My father was in the hospital and had taken a turn for the worse. He wasn't going to make it, the doctor told her.  I phoned one friend to cancel the dinner and asked her to call the others. I wrapped the chicken and put it in the trunk of my car. I rummaged through my closet for a black dress, and told my 13-year-old daughter to do the same. Somehow we threw together things to put in a suitcase and drove 4 1/2 hours straight to the hospital where my father lay dying. He was still lucid when we arrived. He was genuinely surprised to see us. "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, apparently unaware that he had only hours to live. What could we say? That we were there because we wanted to be with him at the end of his life? That we were ther

She was the most Christ-like woman I have ever met . She tapped into a reserve of love and fortitude that was bottomless. She drew on a source of strength that could have only been divine. She supported friends and acquaintances through health challenges and through life’s storms, without referencing her own. On Valentine’s Day, she went home to be with the source of her infinite love and the lover of her soul. Time stood still for individuals on at least three continents as they learned, one by one, that  Alison Soulsby had gone to dance with her Saviour at the best Valentine’s Day Party ever . Alison in 2010 How sorry I am for you if you did not know Alison! How you would have been blessed to know this remarkable woman who never worried about running out of time or strength; a woman who wasn’t depleted by serving others but rather was energized: a woman who was still taking on new FaceBook friends just one day before moving into the Cornwall Hospice to die. I am certain that

It is amazing to me to see how far I have come in the five years since my marriage ended. Here is what I wrote four years ago this month under the weight of emotional pain which threatened to topple me.  I hardly recognize the hurting woman behind the words.  I wish I could tell "old me" that it would be alright...that as brutal as the end was, I would one day be grateful that it cleared the way for a bigger life and a bigger love, and a relationship with God that put all other relationships in perspective. ************************************************************** February 2011:  I'm donne with yeats Valentine's Day is around the corner.  Cheesy as it sounds, my husband and I actually did read poetry to each other every February 14th.  I probably started the tradition ten years ago.  We'd each hold a book of collected love poems and take turns reading our favourites to each other.  John Donne for me. William Butler Yeats for him. " ...on

July 2011 On a train to Krakow.  Ironically in this compartment of six seats, mine is the only one getting direct sunlight for the entire 3 hour trip from Warsaw.  Others, including my daughter, are resting comfortably, chatting, napping, reading.  I on the other hand have beads of perspiration racing down my face, uniting at the base of my throat to trickle down between my breasts.  My hair is wet.  My clothes are damp.  Even as I curse my choice of seat and indulge in a bit of self-pity, I am mindful of the cattle cars filed with Jews making this same trip to Auschwitz 70 years ago.  Heat. Panic. Fear. Blackness.  I am chastened by the thought of their misery. The conductor has taken our tickets after making a sour face.  He tells me in Polish that my tickets are for a cheaper train and that I ought not to be on this higher-priced train.  I know this already having asked several people on the platform if this was the right train to board…but I plead ignorance.  The four stra

Congratulations to me on having finally arrived at that wonderful place wherein it doesn't matter to me if people don't find me bright, interesting, engaging, articulate or attractive. I am finally -at 52 -happy with who I am. I have finally decided that I have things to say that are worth taking note of. To that end I have prepared a list of the most important lessons my life thus far has taught me. And here they are.  If they bless you or resonate with you, then the time spent jotting them down has been worthwhile. Heart Love generously. But be highly selective about who is the recipient of your generous love. God is vast enough and powerful enough to absorb rejection and exploitation. Your heart however is not. There will be those, even those closest to you, even those who claim to love you most, who will watch as you give generously and love generously to the point of depletion. And they will remain silent. They will wonder why you cannot give and love even more. Yes it’

Can I write happy?  I don’t know that I can.  Everything that I’ve ever written and been proud of came from intense sadness, overwhelming disappointment, or terrifying despair.  How can anything other than rich evocative relatable language emerge from those places? But this?  Such unfamiliar bliss.  Such unexpected contentment.  It is only mid-morning and my heart is already full of an entire day’s quota of happiness.  Already I’ve felt an embarrassment of riches. I've been the focus of a man's love and the focus of a dog’s adoring stare.  I’ve enjoyed breakfast in the company of a good book, and now I drink coffee with cream and sit beside a fire…its mellow flames rising to the same height as the snow that sits on my patio furniture outside. My daughter is asleep upstairs, so I am alone without the sadness of actually being alone.  She will come down eventually and take care of herself as adult children do. She won’t need me as she once did.  She will not insist on the