by Heather Plett | Nov 2, 2006 | Uncategorized
Nope, I will not promise you a post every day (especially since I already missed yesterday). Normally I’d be happy to – in fact, I often post every day. But this month, I need the freedom to sulk and pout, and just be uncreative and occasionally uncommunicative. Yes, sometimes I might be found curled up in my bed with the covers over my head instead of at the computer being all friendly. It’s not the pending winter – no, I rather enjoyed the fresh layer of snow. It’s not the restlessness I talked about a little while ago. It’s not even my sleepy soul.
It’s something else entirely, and I’m dying to talk about it, but I can’t. Let’s just say it’s ugly and unpleasant, and my name will probably be dragged through the mud a few times in the coming months and perhaps even years. And, starting next week, I will probably need to make a few too many trips to another province.
I’ll just say that sometimes it’s really, really hard being in management. Most of the time, I enjoy being in a position of leadership, but some days, it’s not worth the “big bucks”. Some days, I just want to be a working stiff who shows up in the morning, counts widgets, and then goes home at the end of the day. Some mornings, when I wake up from a nightmare brought on by all of this like I did this morning, I’d rather stay in bed.
On another note entirely, I’ve been reading Torch by Cheryl Strayed (recommended by Laura before she disappeared from the face of the earth under the allegations that she was a fake), and I have to say the woman (Cheryl Strayed, that is) knows how to get alot of things right. Like grief, for example. Like the deep trench left in your life after the loss of a parent. And like the betrayal you feel when you watch a parent move on to another relationship.
Here’s a quote:
“…as the weeks passed and then turned to months, Claire’s sorrow thickened, deepened. She came to see that her grief did not have an end, or if it did, she would not be delivered there. Grief was not a road or a river or a sea but a world, and she would have to live there now. The world was different for each person, for her and for Joshua and for Bruce. She couldn’t say what Joshua’s or Bruce’s was, but hers was a place vast and wide. It was everywhere, went on forever. The sky at night in a place famous for its night sky: Montana or the Sahara Desert. And her face eternally tipped up to that sky.”
by Heather Plett | Nov 1, 2006 | Uncategorized
Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, but everyone had their own ideas about costumes this year, so it was a fairly motley crew of trick-or-treaters at our house tonight.
I love Halloween, even on a cold snow-covered night like tonight. I like the cheerfulness of children on the street, I like opening my door to neighbours, I like sneaking peeks into other people’s homes (who knew that our bachelor neighbour played the organ?), I like costumes, I like jack-o-lanterns, I like candy, I like wandering around outside with my kids, and I like the momentary feeling of community on our block.
The children are growing up, though. Nikki and Julie made plans with their friends (which included roaming the richer neighbourhoods because they give out better loot), so it was only Maddie and I making our way around the block. Nonetheless, it was a treat walking around with her, listening to her chat happily to everyone she met on the street and remembering to say Thank You (and then proudly reporting to me “Mom, I remembered my manners at FOUR houses in a row!”)
Some days, I think my heart will burst with love for these children I’ve been entrusted with.
by Heather Plett | Oct 31, 2006 | Uncategorized
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of my third grade teacher who gave me a sparkly pink change purse when I won the spelling bee.
There’s a little piece of my best childhood friend who lived a mile down the road, just close enough to get to by bike or horse, even though we had to sneak quietly past the skunk house.
There’s a little piece of her dad who used to tickle me on the couch with the two remaining fingers on his hand.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the boy who used to call me “mighty heif”, with a hint of admiration, because I acted like a tomboy at recess time.
There’s a little piece of the girl-bully who yelled at me when I missed the ball in the outfield and blamed me for losing the game.
There’s a little piece of my best friend in high school who called me “hez” in a best-friend kind of way.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of all the children I used to baby-sit, and their parents who paid me my first real money.
There’s a little piece of my high school physics teacher who knew how to “slap ‘em into moles” and make science come alive.
There’s a little piece of my brother who gave me two hundred dollars to go on a high school band trip to Toronto because my parents couldn’t afford it.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the mean boss in Banff who made fun of anyone who couldn’t make a sink sparkle or fold a towel with precision.
There’s a little piece of the friend who told me that God is like a mountain, and might look different depending what side you’re standing on.
There’s a little piece of the professor who told me he looked forward to meeting me again in the writers’ circuit some day.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the man who raped me in my bed and then climbed back out the window through which he’d come.
There’s a little piece of the seventy-something woman my sister and I met in Switzerland, who still backpacked the world and was climbing the mountain to find a campsite.
There’s a little piece of my husband’s grandma who bought me a new sewing machine and came to see my play at the Fringe Festival.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the boss who mentored me and gave me my first shot at management because she believed I could do it.
There’s a little piece of my sister who stood up to the mean nurse at the hospital and wouldn’t leave my side in the middle of the night.
There’s a little piece of the grown-up girl-bully from Ottawa who belittled me for releasing a report to the media, even though it was the right thing to do.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of my son, who cuddled with me only from the inside and never got to call me mom.
There’s a little piece of my husband, who made me laugh so hard the first time I met him, I think I snorted coke out my nose. (As in coca-cola.)
There’s a little piece of my dad, who used to sing “Like a bird” at the top of his lungs, and always ended with “bonk-i-bonk-bonk”.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of my daughters who make me get up in the middle of the night to clean up puke, but always seem to make it feel worth the effort.
There’s a little piece of the stranger on the street who stopped to hug me when the pain of a toothache seemed too much to bear.
There’s a little piece of the friend who told me she knew, the minute we met, that we were meant for friendship.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the bishop I met in Tanzania, who shared his bread with me and told me the greatest downfall of the western church is rock-n-roll music.
There’s a little piece of my friends from church who showed up to stuff envelopes when few other people would make the time.
There’s a little piece of the first editor who told me my work was worth publishing, and then sent me a cheque.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
There’s a little piece of the first person who visited my blog and made me feel like I’d found a new home.
There’s a little piece of the “real” writer who dismissed nearly everything I pour my heart into, and left me feeling like a bruised child.
There’s a little piece of my mom who showers her love by feeding me delicious things and caring for my children.
There’s a little piece of you in me.
A million little pieces from a million different friendships and chance encounters.
All sharing space inside me to make me
Who I am.
Thank you for giving your piece.
by Heather Plett | Oct 28, 2006 | Uncategorized
Nine year old Julie has three close friends at school – R, T, and C. All three of them were at her camping birthday party in June. All three of them were planning to join Julie at tonight’s costume party at our church. All week at school, they’d talked about the costumes they’d wear and the fun they’d have. That was until the world changed for little T.
On Thursday, T was pulled out of class by her aunt. Her friends all knew it had something to do with her mom who’d been sick lately, with breast cancer. On Friday morning, the teacher told the class that T’s mom had died and T wouldn’t be in school for awhile.
Our home is full of sadness again. Julie is our compassionate little girl who does things like buy all her friends and sister (and half the kids in her class) treats at the bake sale at school yesterday, because she wouldn’t want to enjoy them alone. Her little heart is broken for her friend. And my heart is broken for both Julie and her friend. Not only does T not have a mom anymore, she doesn’t have a dad in the picture either. According to Julie, his departure has something to do with drugs. Unfortunately, we don’t know the family enough to know if there’s a strong support system around T and her brother and sister. I wish I knew. If not, I wish I could find that little girl, take her into my home, and protect her somehow. But, because T has left her family home and is apparently with her uncle right now, we don’t even know where to find her.
I hate it when I know there is a little girl hurting, and Julie would do almost anything to comfort her, and we can do nothing. I tried to phone the school yesterday to see if they had contact information, but by the time I thought of it, the office was closed.
Last night, I crawled into bed with Julie, and we cried and prayed, and cried and prayed some more. It was all we could do. Unfortunately, it didn’t feel like enough.
by Heather Plett | Oct 27, 2006 | Uncategorized
For lack of anything better to write, here’s a list of the little treasures on my desk (and bookshelf and filing cabinet) and the little stories that go with them:
– A pottery figurine of a child lying on the floor leaning on an open book and gazing at a globe. This was a gift from my sister ccap, because she understands things about me and shares a common love of both reading and traveling.
– A Russian matryoshka doll which my brother Dwight and sister-in-law Lorna brought back from Russia. I love nesting dolls, and it is particularly significant to me because I once wrote a play (and had it produced) called “Wooden Dolls” which is about the various versions of ourselves we keep hidden inside the polished exterior.
– A magic eight ball. Ask a question, shake it, and the answer will appear. I bought it for fun when ccap and I were in New York City. I wanted some simple answers to my many questions.
– A black and white picture of me and my girls.
– A mini wooden artist’s model, because I’ve always dreamt of being an artist some day.
– A carved wooden bowl that has an elephant leaning over as if to drink from the centre of the bowl. I bought it in Tanzania and I use it as a candy bowl.
– A family picture that’s a few years old and should be replaced. Maddie’s still a baby in the picture. All three girls are wearing the matching purple dresses I made for them one Christmas. That’s the last time I sewed them matching outfits.
– A small translucent globe. I got this as a parting gift when I left my last job because they knew I was coming to work for an organization involved in international development and that I would do some globe-trotting.
– A small yellow cab, also bought in New York City, just because I loved all the yellow cabs in that fascinating city.
– A squeeze toy, also shaped like a globe. (Are you sensing a trend here?)
– A couple of plants that I’ve managed to keep alive for 2 and a half years (nearly a record!) One is actually a whole collection of plants in one pot – it was sent to me by a friend of mine on my first day of work here and it is still looking quite healthy.
– An inukshuk that was presented to me as a thank you gift for speaking at a communications conference. I spoke about crisis communications after my experience with communicating about SARS (I managed media relations at the lab where it was tested). Just recently, I met someone who’d been at that conference and she actually remembered something I said, so at least I made an impression on one person.
– An orange squishy toy/stress ball that my friend Jo-Anne gave me when she left work to start a new job. She was hoping for less stress in her life.
– A goofy-faced toy that speaks when you slam it against something. It usually says “You’re bothering me!” Maddie loves to play with it when she visits my office.
– A small plastic monkey. My friend and colleague Kelly gave it to me when we got through the huge challenge of communicating to the public that the lab was beginning to use monkeys to test deadly diseases like AIDS and SARS (we had to call them “non human primates” in all the communication material, because it sounded more scientific and less like cute fuzzy animals).
– A beautiful carved gourd that I bought in Africa. It has designs and animals (elephants, rhinos, and zebras) carved all around it. I bought it when I went to the market in downtown Nairobi with my friend C-L. To me, it holds memories of Africa.
– A pottery bowl that I made when I was learning how to use a pottery wheel (sadly, I never became proficient). It’s full of lentils and beans and rice, and for me it represents a begging bowl. Buddhist monks use begging bowls to go out into the streets of the village to beg for their daily portion of food. It represents their commitment to living simple lives and asking for only what they need and no more. It’s also about having trust that they will be provided for. I strive to live more like that, so I have the begging bowl to remind me.
I love all these little treasures gathered around me because each one of them tells a little story of my life and many of them are connected to special people. Sometimes I use them for ice-breakers when I facilitate workshops – each participant is asked to pick out an object and explain to the group how that object represents their life. It always seems to open up interesting stories.
What’s on YOUR desk?
