Happy Bunny vs. Angry Bunny

Today is Sunday, and it’s a really beautiful day outside. We have lovely Sunday plans: farmer’s market in the morning, brunch with the family and then a friend is getting married – I’m entirely honoured to be invited to attend her incredible event. (While also thinking of another friend out west who was recently married, and wishing I could have been there.)


The past week has been hectic, with appointments flying out of the unicorn’s butt in magical rainbow bursts. Sorry, that’s weird, I saw a picture the other day and it made me laugh. But really, that’s just weird.

It’s been busy. I’m trying to implement some kind of push-back routine into my life, that involves things like mistletoe injections, coffee colonics, juicing, fresh garlic, Vitamin C IV treatments (more on that later), visiting naturopaths, going to acupuncture clinics, trying to connect with a social worker, and maybe even moving from my most loved apartment since the neighbour downstairs is a chain-smoker who won’t be stopping anytime soon.

So, we’re pushing.

One thing is different in me, so I’m going to talk about it now. I have been getting very angry. First I was(still kinda am) a little angry with Dr. Canada for his bleak perspective of this situation. Then I became very angry with my downstairs neighbour who won’t take his smoking outside. And then, I became angry with my upstairs neighbour who kept us up all night with moving and other loud activities. And then, I became angry on a friend’s behalf over something someone said, which I think no one else even noticed or would have cared about.

It’s not like I’m taking my anger out on these people. But Zsolt gets an earful.

And it’s not like I’m walking around angry every second, because there are awesome things happening too . It’s just that I get ANGRY quickly. My fuse has been cut very short. I suppose my ability to recover still remains, but it’s hard to shake off this deep bubbling anger – it’s like a lava that wants to explode and keeps looking for avenues of eruption. I’m not really sure where to direct the energy. Can I tell-off an innocent stranger, neighbour or doctor just because I’m a walking time-bomb of emotion? No.

So where does it go? I literally have no idea. Ideas are welcome.

But in the meanwhile some good things are happening too. The other day I wore an awesome outfit that included a green shirt, black skirt and a bright orange belt. I felt so very pretty, and that was a good help because it was also the day I went for the diagnosis. But even amongst that crap, I am pleased with that lovely outfit. (So you can see now how often I dress up:. not enough!)

Last night was a lantern festival here. It’s amazing to walk through the darkness and let your eyes settle onto these randomly glowing lanterns and light sculptures. I felt outside of myself and lost in that night-feeling. It’s a wonderful thing.

Blogging will be taking another step forward in this beloved neighbourhood, Vanier, where I live, and I’m so excited to be involved! More on that later.

And then just this morning my friend Ian Kirkpatrick said he’ll work on my book cover! I’m absolutely thrilled. We met Ian and his gorgeous/brilliant wife back when we first moved to England. Since then his art has seemed to explode in all kinds of cool directions. It’s wonderful to see your friends succeed.

Oh, and tomorrow I’ll be meeting with a very well established erotic romance author and friend to talk ebooks. Exciting!!!

I’ve started an email list for anyone who wants to be notified when my crowd funding goes live in September. Seeing the names pile up on that list makes me realize that this is real, and that is awesome. I want this to be REAL. If you want to read about the book, you can do so here (I’ll soon be posting excerpts). If you want to sign up for an email once we get rolling with the campaign, you can do that here too!

And now: Time for a farmer’s market!!

Where do the memories go?

Last Friday involved a lot of heavy lifting. (Not for me, of course. There’s to be no heavy lifting with my right lymph node-less arm, but for Zsolt and my father.) We were collecting the last of the furniture from my grandmother’s old apartment in Montreal.

It is so strange to see the place empty. This is where we used to sit in a giant circle with the family and catch up. This is where she used to put chocolate bunnies filled with marshmallow on the table for the kids. This is where she made her sugar cream, baked her cookies, and did her work for the Alzheimer’s Society.

As you may know, Zsolt and I are growing in optimism that we’ll soon move out of my parents house. And as you know, we upped and left our previous place (and previous furniture – except the mattress, which was impossible to offload) back in England. So the collection of free and gently used furniture is a very welcome thing.

But it’s a little strange to have this nest of Lulu’s old stuff, waiting to be turned into ‘our stuff’ as we move into a new home. It’s strange because I look at the sofa that was hers, and I can remember sitting on it when we visited, and it’s been in her home for so long . . . and it makes me wonder, “Is Lulu in this sofa? Is this sofa part of her?”

Same goes for the kitchen table where we’d eat the take-away St Hubert chicken and gravy – a Forget Family Favourite. Or the dishes on which she’d serve meals back when she was better, less worried, and still cooking for guests.

So we have a household worth of furniture, and her apartment is now essentially bare. Empty. Sold.

“Is she in that apartment? Is she in the bits and pieces we take away?”

Where is she now?

Well I’m not qualified to answer that last question. But as for the others, I reckon she’s not in that empty apartment, and she’s not in the cushions of her old sofa. Mostly, I figure, she’s right deep in our memories and our hearts – the good and the bad, the woman as a whole. She’s in the memories. And as for her soul? Well, Lulu believed in heaven, so that’s where she’s bound to have gone.

Looking at the empty rooms, the bare floors, the naked shelves . . . I can feel that she’s not here anymore. Lulu is somewhere else. We get to keep her memory in the knickknacks and the photos . . . but she is not here anymore. She’s moved on.

And so shall we.

It couldn’t be easy on my mother and her sisters to pack away their mother’s life. But maybe they’ve come to the same conclusion, that Lulu’s life does not rest in her things. The objects and furniture are memories, good emotions, happy moments . . . but they are not her.

It’s not easy to say goodbye to a person you loved. But once you realize they’ve already left, I suppose it becomes just that little bit easier. (I’m not saying it’s entirely easy, and I’m not saying I don’t miss her . . . but she’s not in that apartment, I know it for sure. So I have to imagine she’s somewhere else far better, with my grandfather and her siblings. And they’re having a laugh with those angle wings on and acting some ridiculous pantomime like back in the old days. Why not? Anything is possible.)


P.S. Today (Monday) Zsolt and I are steam-cleaning Lulu’s old furniture. It’s been a while since they’ve been cleaned, plus she used to smoke. So we’re out here in the backyard with this foaming, splashy, steamy machine trying to fix things up real nice. Her furniture is becoming our furniture, and so it takes on another life.

P.P.S. That’s a photograph of Lulu (Lucienne) and Benoit. Aren’t they a handsome couple?