It’s Not That Complicated

It’s not that complicated at all, actually.

I could guess with a 97% accuracy rate that the woman who was openly sobbing behind me in the dark theatre midway through It’s Complicated was/is clearly heartbroken. Probably teetering on a divorce, or longing for yesteryear and the ex that used to be the oh! But she was crying so hard (the kind where you can’t catch your breath without a gasp, like you’ve dove into a pool, skimmed the bottom and can’t make it to the surface fast enough). I was worried about her vulnerable state until I realized that we all came to see the movie for the same reason. To feel. Whatever the feeling might be, this is our universal connectedness.

I realized that the Sobbing Woman may have come to the movie seeking hope. Maybe she came to let herself cry in an acceptable place (even though she was crying in unacceptable parts of the movie).  We are conditioned to pull ourselves together and be pillars of the Earth, but perhaps Sobbing Woman has it right. Just cry your bloody eyes out so hard that eating popcorn feels like you’re swallowing gravel.

Yesterday, musician Staci Frenes posted this statement on Facebook: “Frost said poems start with a lump in the throat. I think songs do to—the ones worth writing, anyway.”

And bless the musicians that make the music allows us to feel and wallow in a swamp of satisfyingly depressing lyrics, guaranteed to pull out every tear.  And it’s so much easier to cry digitally now. Before, like in the 80s, you had to rewind that stupid Wham!  song and put your tears on hold as you fidgeted with the cassette player that would always rewind too far into the last song. And that last song would be an uppity Bananarama tune, which would totally kill the sad buzz.

When you think about it though, Frost and Frenes are both bang-on. The best memories of your life?  I bet they induce a lump in your throat. Poems, songs, pancake batter—they all need lumps to be memorable.  When I look back at 2009, it’s the lumps that dictate the best stories for me. And by best, I mean the moments that truly engaged my senses. The sensations, feelings, tastes, sounds and sights of 2009 that I remember with the most clarity are largely the lump-makers. Not because of sadness, but because they slammed my senses in an electrical way that can’t be rewired. And here they are, in no particular order:

The Best Feeling of 2009

When you meet a chimp for the first time, they are skeptical. It’s not like picking up a Cabbage Patch Kid. The chimps are sizing you up, and they have to warm to you before they reach a tentative hand in your direction. Even with the lure of warm milk and honey, whole bananas and strawberry yogurt—there’s a courting process to endure. Mikai was already latched to Chantal like Velcro, and the morning Chantal said I could go wake Mikai up, I was unsure if she would allow me to hold her. I folded the blanket back from her cage and as the sunlight filtered in, Mikai stirred. Her bright eyes opened, and as I unlocked the cage, she stood and reached for me. Her arms were outstretched and she pulled herself close to me, her arms tight around my neck. She yawned and inspected me (mostly my nostrils). When I smiled she ran her finger along my teeth and sighed. I had been accepted. I smoothed her upright hair and tugged her tiny t-shirt down as the mornings were so cold below the equator.  Mikai shivered a little and snuggled in closer. I stood there, stunned. I was in the Congo and holding an orphaned chimpanzee in my arms. Her diaper was full and wet and running down my clean t-shirt but I couldn’t care less. It was the best feeling of 2009, and possibly my life.

Best Sensation of 2009

I had always wondered about reflexology and thought the concept of all the body’s organs being mapped out on the bottom of our feet intriguing.  And so, I wandered along Dundas west, to Chinatown, sucking on a taro root bubble tea (because they’re good for the senses too). A client of mine had recommended a nameless place that was close to a bakery and a dim sum place. Which describes about three full blocks of Dundas west. I was to look for flourescent green footprints on the stairs, on the south side, east of Spadina. I found it almost immediately and bounded up the footprinted stairs.  I was served boiling hot tea that tasted like hamster shavings and told to place my feet in the wooden barrel with floating rose petals. I soaked, unaware of the pulverization that awaited me. Lisa had fingers like knives that perforated my bladder and gonads. But, despite the bouts of sheer agony, an overwhelming feeling of euphoria came with each pressure point. I let my copy of Toronto Life slide to the floor and examined the reflexology map on the wall. She pinpointed my sinuses and I could actually feel a nasal drip. When she touched on my right hip via my foot, I went to the moon. My bladder hot-spot made me think that I needed to schedule a tuck, the very next day. And then I fell asleep. I could feel Lisa’s hands and pressure points, but I was knocked out in a very bizarre reflexology coma. She shook me at the end of the treatment and asked if I had trouble sleeping. No, apparently I didn’t. Or maybe I wasn’t really sleeping when I thought I was. I walked out with new feet. They hummed and vibrated and my calves felt oxygenated. Definitely the best sensation of 2009.

Best Feeling of Elation of 2009

I’ve run seven or nine half-marathons. Maybe more. I lost track. I run six days a week, even when the cold threatens to crack my femurs, and the rain feels like needles against my exposed skin. I run against the wind chill that bites at my face, when there are heat advisories in effect, when there are smog alerts and when I have a head full of leftover champagne still bubbling inside. Like the Melissa Etheridge song (I Run For Life)—“I run for hope, I run to feel, I run for the truth, for all that is real.” (And also to keep myself from getting fat from my late-night steak and eggs habit.) Regardless of how many races I’ve run, I can easily intimidate myself into thinking that I will cramp up and collapse after the first mile. I register for a half-marathon and fret from that moment until the race is over.  This year I entered the Run For Water in Abbotsford, BC, just to see if I could still wing it. I do have intentions of running a full marathon (maybe that Great Wall of China one), and I have to periodically confirm that I still have the guts, gumption and cartilage to pull off 13 miles.

It was the hottest May 31st that Abbotsford had ever seen. I was saturated by the third mile, my iPod earphones were squeaking in my ears that were full of sweat. My shorts were already chafing my low back and I wondered why the hell I had subjected myself to such torture, again.  The route was scenic, but I had chills and probably should have been hooked up to an intravenous, but I carried on, buoyed by the likes of Pink, Jann Arden, Carole Pope, Anne Murray, The Killers and even Willie Nelson.

Elation comes in the last mile, when sweat is stinging your eyes like lemon juice and your lungs feel like they’re bleeding. When the heat off the pavement makes you want to throw up and your muscles are so spent they cramp as soon as you stop the running motion.  I reminded myself not to be so selfish, because I was running in support of a project that would provide clean drinking water to a village in Ethiopia. Surely I could run 13 miles for such a noble cause. I had just dumped 10  gallons of clean drinking water over my head—and there were humans who had never seen or tasted something so simple as clean water.

Elation. Finishing the race in 1:45:47. About 10 minutes off my personal best, set when I was much more svelte and regimented, but it wasn’t a race. It was for a greater cause than a personal best.

Greatest Heartbreaks of 2009

I watched a chimp die in the Congo. Ikia became the victim of a corrupt government that sloppily handled the extreme emergency of her situation. Officials hesitated on signing release documents and let critical decisions wait until Monday morning in hopes of finishing early on a Friday. Ikia arrived at the Lumbumbashi Airport, already in dire condition, dehydrated and malnourished, with no fight left in her. Poached from the wild jungles of Kalemi, she was sold for $200 US. She died less than 12 hours later at the J.A.C.K. sanctuary, unresponsive to the medical care she was given.

When I returned from the Congo, I was faced with an even greater heartbreak. Mila, my darling lab retriever was rapidly declining in health. She had been diagnosed with a cancer so invasive that it had enveloped her organs to the extent that surgery couldn’t be performed. Thoughts of lying with Mila in the grass, her stomach shaved and full of staples, still makes me ache. She was disoriented from painkillers, panting and anxious. The dog that I knew and loved, so full of life and puppy-like ways, was dying. I stroked her velvety ears and hoped she would just go quietly in her sleep.

I had already flown back to Toronto and learned through an email that Mila had to be put down. She had stopped eating. I had tears running down my neck. I still do when I think of her. But she comes to visit me in my dreams, and that reassures me that she is in a better place, full of ocean waves, pig’s ears and fat squirrels to chase.

Best Sounds of 2009

It will come as no surprise when I say Jann Arden’s Free was my repeat CD of 2009. When I moved back to Toronto, feeling like I was all bones, sinew and raw nerves, her songs did for me what It’s Complicated did for the Sobbing Woman.  I was feeling so much that I actually ran my Riverdale route one day with my earphones in and didn’t realize until I stopped running that I hadn’t turned my iPod on. That’s when you know your head is busy with white noise.

Sass Jordan released Dusk ‘til Dawn and “Awake” became my national anthem for October. And I’ll plug Carole Pope here too, even though Transcend was released in 2007, because her CD found a lot of airtime in 2009 too. “Edible Flower” is seductive, dangerous and makes me want to smoke cigarettes in bed.

The other best sound? The ferocious thunderstorms in Uganda that shook all of Entebbe in a frightening way. Lightning split Lake Victoria in such violent spikes in January. The thunder that followed made me feel like I was six all over again. But I had three dogs to shiver with—all of them piled on my single bed under the mosquito net.

The Best Things I Ate/Drank in 2009

Frog legs. Meatloaf sandwiches at Ted’s BBQ in Nashville. Heidi’s old-fashioned whiskey potion with Maker’s Mark, muddled cherries, oranges and brown sugar. Dolfin pink peppercorn dark chocolate. Le Gourmand chocolate chip walnut cookies every Saturday morning, chips still melted and gooey as I walk to the spa. Body Blitz Vitamin D shakes with banana and a bang of nutmeg. Bacon and cheese pancakes in Amsterdam after a month in the Congo.  Moules Frites at Spinnakers. Lamb burgers with Roquefort at the Rectory on Toronto Island. My mom’s Chex Mix. Ted Reader’s pulled pork and slaw cones. Mill Street Coffee Porter.  You know this list has no end, so I’ll stop here.

There are a lot of best feelings for 2009. And I didn’t even get to the books that moved me (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close — Jonathan Foer, Still Alice— Lisa Genova, Holding Still For As Long As Possible—Zoe Whittall, The Glass Castle—Jeannette Walls, Then We Came to the End—Joshua Ferris). Or the movies (The Strength of Water, Hannah Free, Snowcake, 500 Days of Summer).

As 2010 opens before us like a broad wingspan, the best we can do is feel. Every day, feel something.  Expose your senses to something wonderful. “Let life happen to you. Life is in the right, always.” –Rilke

To read Ikia’s story–https://julestorti.wordpress.com/2009/07/22/lessons-in-dying/

My tribute to Mila–https://julestorti.wordpress.com/2009/08/25/for-mila-the-very-best-dog-in-the-world/

Review of Jann Arden’s Freehttps://julestorti.wordpress.com/2009/09/30/jann-arden-attacks-the-architecture-of-the-human-heart/

Running Halfway–https://julestorti.wordpress.com/2009/06/01/running-half-way/

Why the Congo? https://julestorti.wordpress.com/2009/07/28/what-i-did-on-my-summer-vacation/

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Categories: Polyblogs in a Jar | Tags: , , , , | 12 Comments

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12 thoughts on “It’s Not That Complicated

  1. Great post. I enjoyed sharing highlights (and lowlights) of your 2009 but must ask: how was It’s Complicated?

    • Thanks, Rona. It’s Complicated is a success in that it leaves you rooting for all the characters. Each of them are wearing their beating hearts on their sleeve. Their vulnerabilities and fumbling desires push them into awkward teenage romance situations with outrageous outcomes. Go see it. Meryl Streep is so delightful. But don’t go see Leap Year. Amy Adams is a doe-eyed twit.

  2. 2009 was definitely a full year of every sort of journey for you. We all have our own lists of happy and sad, triumph and tragedy… yours is a fine one. You did a lot, list a lot, gained a lot and never stopped moving forward.

    Moving forward is what gets us through – kudos for your spirit of adventure and soul of caring. Best in 2010!

    Cheers to you, my friend 🙂
    xo

    • Thanks for your words, Pam. What I love most about the blog platform is that it allows us to accompany individuals on many journeys and vicarious adventures. I sometimes move sideways, but so do sidewinder snakes. And eventually they go forward too.

  3. That was great! Wow how much you have done!! Good job on the 1/2 marathon – it was a hot year for BC! I always feel like death in the first mile of a half myself but something makes me continue. You’re a wonderful writer. Wish you well in 2010.

    • Yes, that first mile is the most challenging. All the lactic acid seems to fill your legs with liquid cement! I breathe like I need a paper bag, suddenly have cramps in my side and am so parched I see an oasis in the distance. Mile two–I’m in my groove, my iPod volume goes up, my breathing is like poetry and my feet follow along with my fixated mind. Goodluck with your running this year!

  4. kay lefevre

    Well its just like me to focus on the food bits of your blog! Sounds like amazing food finds.
    Also enjoyed the running descriptions, oh boy did those feelings come back to me full force! If you can do 13 miles ..you can do 26..its all a head game. Trust me.
    The best line I’ve read in 2010 so far has been “When I smiled she ran her finger along my teeth and sighed. I had been accepted.” that was a hard hitting delivery, and I felt it good!

    • As romantic as that description sounded (it truly was my Dian Fossey and Digit moment, where he accepts her hand)–Mikai did chomp me several times shortly after that, eager to get into Chantal’s arms. Luckily I grew up with vicious biting hamsters, have sustained four dog bites and had a sister who was a really good biter too.
      I will meditate on the full marathon. There is one in the Yukon to that begins at midnight–you chase the setting sun. Cool, heh?

  5. Loved this!!

    Thanks for sharing your year, and for beautifully articulating the Frost sentiment with stories from your own life. So true, that the moments we most remember when we look back are the ones that made us feel more deeply than usual. Feel pain, feel elation, feel despair. And yet I’m struck with how often I try to avoid “feeling” so deeply. There’s a Feist song I like that says, “I feel it all, I feel it all…..my wings are wide, my wings are wide” So great.

    Those poets, they know stuff about the human heart……we should listen to them more often.

    • I try to find a new thought every day–a quote, a pivotal conversation, powerful song lyrics, a feeling: and the Frost line was a magnetic one.
      Poets and singers are so integral to our emotional framework. They give us permission to bleed from the inside out when lost in their words.
      Thanks for sharing, Staci.

  6. Naomi

    I laughed, I cried, I related. Thank you for sharing. Your “Bests” made me review my own 2009 and recognize my blessings, like my rescued dog whom I adore. Its oftentimes hard to remember my blessings when I’m bogged down by the outside world.
    “Music is my refuge. I can crawl into the space between the notes and turn my back to the world.” I have this quote on the wall by my piano…and it does my heart/head good to remember the lumps.

    • Hi Naomi–“I laughed, I cried, I related.” What a perfect response. I couldn’t ask for anything more. If you have dogs and musical talent you already have two of the most precious things on earth. I hope your 2010 is lumpy, you know, in the very best way.

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