Why I do it all over again

Weather news song song snooze song song yawn stretch shower one boy two boy three boy four pants shirt socks sweater? just in case breakfast toast cereal yogourt juice sandwich Ziploc fruit snack note from school sign money hurry up toothbrush facecloth shoes coats hats mitts its that time again school bag lunch bag guitar case car seat belt have a good day traffic Tim’s construction babysitter diapers medicine for a runny nose car parking glass elevator good morning email telephone mail to do coffee ahhhhh meeting report meeting presentation good job thanks meeting delegate meeting decision meeting long time no see how are you? email telephone mail to do coffee ahhhhh babysitter one babysitter two babysitter three volleyball four traffic milk butter eggs one candy each that’s it outside leaves worms sandbox swing fall tears boo-boo kiss it all better hot chocolate homework cook eat clean homework I have no idea ask your teacher bath pyjama teeth daddy’s coming to get you play tickle one tickle two tickle three run away four snicker giggle guffaw snort blanket teddy once upon a time forehead kiss kiss kiss kiss eyes closed lights off don’t make me go back there toys lego cars sock computer bills email I miss you too facebook blog kill some zombies yawn stretch chit chat how was your day dear? shoulder rub chit chat green eyes smiling I love his eyes sigh dishes note list don’t forget tuck blanket cold feet pyjama bed warm hug cuddle g’night luv.

Canadian Bounty

Standing in the mist of the ocean, looking back towards a life that would soon be more than the proverbial million miles away, the woman held an orange: a gift upon boarding. Smelling the spicy peel of the long forbidden fruit, she dug her fingernail along its edge, not to peel it, but to mingle the scent with the salty air. She closed her eyes, and let the ship lull her into a familiar reverie of romance and adventure.

The woman was upon the decks of the famous RMS Queen Mary: a luxury cruise liner that had been sailing the North Atlantic Ocean since 1936. Built by John Brown and Co. she was designed to be the first of Cunard line for two-week express service. Christened on September 26, 1934 the traditionally liner was one of the fastest and most luxurious sailing the ocean at the time. There were grand ballrooms, salons, and even an indoor swimming pool among its berth. Now, there were no more dancers, no more musicians, no more whiskey and cigars in the staterooms.

In August of 1939, the wood panelling had been removed. The deck chairs stored. The silverware and linens packed away for safekeeping. The art-deco muted as the grand chandeliers were lowered. The last injury was to replace the passenger list with thousands of troops. The RMS Queen Mary would have at times seen over 15,000 soldiers, replacing her original 2139 guest capacity. The boasting of speed as a liner was not lost, as she found herself clipping across the Atlantic without convoy or escort. Her speed and grey camouflage earned her the nickname of “The Grey Ghost”. She was a soldier at war.

A silence had finally fallen on September 2, 1945. Almost a year later, the RMS Queen Mary held the other casualties of war, over two thousand of England’s daughters. With nickel bands on their fingers, and many swollen bellies and crying mouths, the liner left Liverpool August 4th, 1946 to land in Halifax seven days later. This was one of the last scheduled war efforts for the ship: to deliver England’s bounty to their awaiting soldier-grooms on Canadian soil.

The cabin doors muffled the common echoes of the voyage: tears for what was left behind; nerves emptying stomachs; wind blowing the whispers of Canadian dreams. Walking through the halls, the woman tried her best not to read the scrawls left by thousands of forlorn hands. She concentrated instead on the orange in her hand given to her upon arrival onboard. After over six years of rationing: one egg a week, an ounce and a half of butter, fruit was an unheard of luxury. She could still feel the scars on her fingers from weeks of picking rosehip buds that were to be boiled into syrup for babies. She couldn’t bring herself to do more than smell the gift. Then came the Canadian bounty.

What a land of plenty this Canada must be! It overwhelmed the senses one at a time. First were the sounds of giddy children, women gasping in awe. A glimpse around the corner gave way to an impressionist buffet of colours and textures. The salty air was whipped from lungs and replaced with heavenly aromas, tantalizing and rich. The plates were burdened by hoarding hands that couldn’t help but grab in case the offerings were reneged. Hungry mouths swallowed without letting the tastes register the long forgotten pleasures of such a sinful pleasure: food.

The hall was alive with the humming of mouths, in a frenzy of forgotten pleasure. Then it hit. Hard. One pause was all it took to cause the emaciated systems to react. The rolling waves, the frayed nerves, the morning sickness and gluttony sent many of the women scurrying to the rails, greenly cabin-bound for the rest of the journey.

By the time she made her way into the dining hall, tables upon tables of food lined the walls. Her plate was modest, afraid to spill anything piled too high. Her pace was slowed by the sheer emotion of the moment, savouring the joy of reuniting with a long lost friend. For the remainder of the voyage, she sat among the staggered seats, emptied by way of the rocking sea. For seven nights, she held close a single pungent pleasure. Out on the deck, by the light of the Northern stars, she peeled an orange and dreamed of her Canadian Blue Boy.

~ A note from Yuk-Sem: This text was written in summary of an interview that I had with my Grand-mother, Margaret Milburn Lacey Brunelle. She shared many stories with me about her time in England during World War II and how she married her Canadian beau. The beginning of her married life was often punctuated by stories about food, due largely to the rationing in England at the time. She described to me her voyage on the Queen Mary: “Oh my Lord! The food was all from Canada; it was supposedly rationed, but it was a laugh! All this food, with all these war-brides and children. There were so many seasick…I never got seasick so I had a grand time!”

From that premise, with other bits and pieces of information both from my Grand-ma and from history books, I pieced together this brief glimpse into her life.

White Picket Fence

I love the thrill, the high. I can’t get enough. Constant cravings. I try to stop, but I need more. Temptation. Excess. Desire.

Ice cream and pickles? What came to mind for you? Drugs, alcohol, food, material, adrenaline, love, success…

I love the thrill, the high. I can’t get enough. Constant cravings. I try to stop, but I need more. Temptation. Excess. Desire.

There comes a day when we realize that there is no white picket fence to mark the boundaries of our dreams. We are taught that there are no limits; we have every possibility in the world to make ourselves happy. Reach for the sky, build on your successes, love like there is no tomorrow. Have you ever questioned these ideals that we are fed? How do they make society better? How do they make you better?

When I told my son that he could do anything, that his happiness depended only on him, he looked at me and asked, “When will I know? When will I know that I am happy, that my glass is full and I am okay now?” I thought about it, and I couldn’t answer. There has always been something missing, something more to get, to do. Another goal, another dream. Isn’t that the point? Isn’t that what we call living?

Then I started to question my motivations. I wanted…I always wanted! More, better, bigger, not yet, not satisfied. Never happy with today, I work for a better tomorrow. Today is not the result of my life, it is just a stepping stone. When will we give ourselves permission to live our lives, today? To be happy with who I am, what I have, what I’ve done…today.

I have churned the idea to mush, and it always comes down to gluttony.
It is our new hero of success. Don’t think so? Think again. How do you measure success, status, security? What I have, what I’ve done, how much I have. How much more do you need to get there? There it is, never satisfied: gluttony.

Gluttony is not an all-you-can-eat buffet on a Wednesday night or the puking feeling after Thanksgiving supper at Aunt Martha’s. But they do exemplify the concept. We have needs as humans. We can satisfy our needs, but are we ever really satisfied? Gluttony is losing sight of moderation and indulging in pleasure instead of necessity. The pleasure is attained by excess. We consume more than is required, we want more than our fair share.
We want more time, more space, more money, more “stuff”.
The key term is “more", but WHEN is more too much? How are we to measure when we have reached our happy medium? Is there such a thing? When do I get to that line, that fence that allows me to say: I am good enough, I am happy enough, my cup is full enough. But do I really want to get there?
Aha!  There is the Montréal steak rub.

Are you up to the challenge? Can you live in moderation, exerting self-control and vigilance to satisfy needs without feeding wants? Be happy with who you are today, with what you have, with what you have done. Is that fence a line that you don’t mind not crossing?

Is gluttony our enemy? Or does it just have a bad rap? Where would you be without the drive to attain more, to go further, to reach higher? Do we just want to eat to feed our bodies, or do we want to enjoy the caramel pecan cheesecake drizzled with a raspberry coulis?

There might come a day when we realize that there is a white picket fence to mark the boundaries of our dreams, but from where I am sitting, the grass still looks greener on the other side. There is a “for sale” sign on the lot and hey, it’s hot outside and I’ve always wanted a pool.