For Sara

Several years ago, a group of strangers gathered at another stranger's house, bearing gifts of wine, cake and friendship. Then, we called ourselves the Twitter Ladies as we'd "met" on Twitter - all of us, save one, transplants to the Friendly City in which we live.

That first evening was hilarious - no sooner had we kicked off our shoes at the door, we were kicking off our nerves and our fears and our sense of weird about being in a stranger's home with women from the internet.

We swiftly assigned nicknames and monikers with the ease of new friends aiming to become long-term ones (mostly this was to differentiate between the Jens, who became Baker Jen, Nurse Jen and Preacher Jen, respectively) Our numbers have fluctuated over the years and we are now the Quinte Women's Respite Commission, which makes me giggle even typing it. We are each other's respite, for sure.

Sara was the youngest of us, then and remains the youngest of us now. She is impossibly beautiful and gentle-voiced. She chooses her words with absolute care and moves without any superfluous gestures whatsoever. She is a writer, a teacher, a community activist, a traveller, a dreamer.

Sara, Kyle and the aptly-named Jasper the Dog

She is my friend.

And she is also leaving.

Sara and her travelling-partner-for-life,  Kyle are both gypsies at heart. At month's end, they are heading to Alberta, having gamely spent their first year as a couple here in Ontario. Those of us who love her (and him) wish them nothing but oodles of luck as they embark on this very exciting adventure. But....we will miss her. I am the Storyteller of the group and of course, I have some things to tell her:


1. I am proud of you, my friend. This is a big deal, moving away from all that is familiar and all those who are dear. Though I know your heart has longed to return to the province of your childhood, I know too, how hard it is to leave behind the woman you've grown into here, in the pretty city by the Bay. I know that it has been a privilege to watch her. Now, I'll just have to do so through my computer.

2. Pictures. Take lots of 'em. Document the awesome views and the mundane moments...but not so much that you forget to live in them, either. Share them, love. With those who've made a similar journey and who have sepia-washed memories of their own, and with those still dreaming of becoming someone more, in a different place.

3. Miss us. Miss the loud and the messy of our lives, spilled out onto every table we've gathered around. Miss the laughter and the bawdy humour of women who maybe freak you out a little, but who adore you and see in you, our younger selves. Miss the magic of belonging to something bigger than you, than all of us -  the women who surround you in your journey are all facets of your own heart. And all of us will miss you.

A photo of Sara and Kyle's new home, that I shamelessly pinched
from her blog. That's the kind of friend I am.

Steady as you go, Skipper. Carry our love in the pockets of your heart.

Meeting Jason...

*One of my new favourite phrases, as I settle into my 40s, is "That God. He's so funny."

I am not a particularly religious person. By that, I suppose I mean that I am not a regular church-goer and my faith, while strengthening, is often fraught with doubt and questions. Despite them, every once in awhile, I receive a gentle nudge from the universe - one that lets me know that I am on the right path. I call that God, but whatever floats your boat works for me, too.

This piece, lifted directly from my Facebook wall shortly before Christmas, 2014, is a vivid and pointed "steady as you go, Skipper" moment, given to me by a lonely, troubled stranger on a rainy winter's night. *

I have been given the enormous privilege of being one of a Circle of Accompaniment for my dear friend, Jen, who is seeking ministry with the United Church of Canada. Tonight's meeting was the first of many with her circle and it was interesting. Even MORE interesting? What happened before:

Before the meeting began, I volunteered to open the church's locked side door to those attending. A lone man appeared, seeking the pastor, or he muttered, "someone to talk to," hastily yanking his tattered hat from his head as I ushered him in, out of the rain.

Together, we searched the meeting rooms, interrupted some strangers, but found no pastor. At a loss, I gestured to the bench in the foyer and so he eased himself down and then looked up at me.
"I just need someone to...listen, " he said quietly. And so I sat, too.

Opening up...

 

 

He said nothing for awhile, so I didn't, either. To be honest, I was a little bit afraid of him and his need and worried that perhaps I shouldn't have let him in. This was not my church, or my home and its congregation were strangers to me. I tried not to fidget and willed someone - anyone - to come and tell me, tell us, what to do.

"You know what's hard?" he asked, turning a battered face to mine, eyes blazing.

I shook my head.

"That there is no place for me to go, when I need to. The library will close soon and I have no money for coffee. I don't want a fucking coffee anyway, I just want someone to take these thoughts out of my head for awhile. Where's the pastor, that's what I want to know. WHERE THE HELL IS HE?"

"I don't know. But...I have a cell phone. Is there anyone you'd like to call?"

"Look at me! Do I look like the kind of person whose call would be answered?"

I blinked, afraid. "Uh...well, maybe not. You look sort of scary and mad. But you SOUND like someone who's smart and aware. And you need those thoughts out of your head, right? You could call up anyone and leave them on their voice mail, if they don't pick up."

With a loud bark, he BURST out laughing, and I jolted, which made him laugh even harder. I chuckled along, in that "ha-ha-holy-shit-you-freak-me-out" kind of way, until he stopped and then stuck out his hand for mine. "I'm Jason. Who are you?"

"I'm Liz."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're not to supposed to encourage the crazy people, Liz?"

"Well...yeah. But I can't seem to help myself. It's a curse, really."

Jason pitched over laughing again, while I sat there trying to figure out what to DO. And then he got up, jammed his hat back on his head and turned to haul me to my feet. I asked him what he was going to do.

"I'm going to go now, Liz. It was a pleasure meeting you. Thanks for making me laugh. I can probably hang onto my head until I get to the next church."

"Well, good luck. And Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, too. And hey, if anyone ever tells you to stop talking to the crazy people, you tell 'em to go f*ck themselves. Got it?"

Got it.

That God. He's so funny.

Welcome, Sailors!

And so...a new journey begins.

I "retired" my old blog "Life With Bellymonster" in August of 2014. At that time, the stories I wanted to share were not mine to tell. Most of them still aren't, though perhaps one day, they will be.

However, it  became apparent, by the rapid and almost immediate lengthening of my Facebook status updates, that I simply cannot NOT blog. Somewhere, I still needed a place to share the extraordinary lessons I am learning as I move through my days. They are not always happy ones, but nor are they always hard. I have also discovered, in sharing, that the lessons are not only mine: there is much to be said for letting another's story change one's own.

Safe harbour

Mostly, I hope that this space will become a harbour of sorts - where I can share and reflect upon the stories others bring to my sphere. And where you can dip your feet and heart in, every now and again, for some inspiration, or simply, a shoring-up.