I had a dream

I woke up this morning from a horrible dream. I left off cornering Tets in my grandmother's out building, pleading with him to tell me where my children were and him giving me that look that he reserves for folks when he is playing the martyr.

What a way to wake up. When he visits my stress level goes up no matter what he is actually doing. It's all that he has done and might do that puts me on edge.

In this dream I was leaving him, escaping to my grandmother's house; which is essentially what I did in real life.

Leaving wasn't easy. I wasn't physically abused but his mental difficulty with me and the actions he took to satisfy his intense jealousy and hatred of me did scare me.

He followed me to work, not at a distance, but right on my heels, getting into the same cab, pulling me back in when I tried to get out, finally I convinced the driver not to drive us and got out and continiued to the Skytrain.

He followed me up the escalator. I told him then if he followed me, I was leaving him. He continiued all the way to work. At work I called a big 6'3 Scotsman I knew, husband of a friend and an acquaintance of Tets, I asked him to somehow help me with the situation. They went out for beers that night but that was the extent of the help available.

He came home at all hours of the day from his work 2 hours driving time away to catch me in the act of cheating. The only person I was cheating on him with was our daughter who was less than one year old.

He went through the trash in the apartment building to search for clues of my supposed infidelity. I can't imagine what the guards thought of him. They knew my movements, who was in and out of the building; they had to have known he was crazy.

Finally, I had had enough and I planned my escape. I was supposed to be moving from Bangkok to Japan to live with his parents, Bangkok was getting dangerous, with a side trip home to the U.S. so I could visit my family. I changed the plans and moved the date of the flight forward, to Boston no return.

The day before the flight we had a councilling session. We had been seeing a relationship councilor for months before our first daughter was born. It was there, with our councilor, that I told him we were leaving the next day and not returning to Japan.

I would have liked to have use less shock and awe tactics but I was afraid. He had been so irrational lately, I had no idea what he would do. I thought that given only one day, he wouldn't manage to do much.

I can't remember that last day. I was so stressed out and scared that something would happen. My friends, the tall Scotsman and his big American wife, drove us to the airport. Tets came with us and saw us off.

When the plane took off, I was headed toward uncertainty but I had left behind crazy and was feeling much better.

When he visits these type of anxieties have a way of cropping back up. He unsettles me. I always look forward to his arrival, some time for myself away from the kids, but there is always the nervous feeling I get leaving them with him. I honestly don't think he'd take them away, his visits have shown him how incapable he is of handling them. But a part of him hates me so much he could do it for spite.

So I dreamt of leaving him and loosing the kids. It's not the first time. I can look across the road and see his car in my yard and I know that their passports are safely tucked away where he wouldn't look.

Fat of the land

I am preoccupied by something that really doesn't affect me: fat. Its a touchy topic no matter what side of the scale you are on. If you are fat then you become uncomfortable around those who aren't (although those people are becoming a minority group in North America). If you are thin you have to deal with how others look at you with disdain and envy.

I think about fat, read about fat and watch the media for any news about fat. I am not sure why? I used to be bigger than my current weight but I have never been fat and have never been on a diet to loose weight. I have, in my adult years, been satisfied and even content with my body despite it's many flaws.

It seems to me that it must be a cultural artifact in my psyche; this fat obsession. Perhaps a Lamarkian learned trait; my mother and sister were always dieting. Whatever it is, I know I am not alone in my preoccupation.

A room with a view

This afternoon while I waited for one child to take a nap and held my hand up to the other child to silence her while I was on the phone conducting an interview, I decided to take a night off. The father of my children is visiting and that gives me two more reasons to get out of the house: 1 I have a built in babysitter and 2 I can't stand to watch his ineptness with the children.

I took the shortest route to freedom I could find and walked across the road to The DesBarres Manor Inn. The manor house is huge and I am the only occupant; neither guests or staff are around. It seems like this might be an unsettling Shining-esque situation but it reminds me more of the nights I spent as the sole occupant of our small hospital when I was a kid. Then there were nurses but I still felt like a singular event in the house/hospital.

My intention has been to read and write without an ear listening for cries or the cessation of breathe. I have gone out for snacks and returned home for my camera only to find the kids sitting at my computer watching a DVD with their father no where in sight. I assumed he might call out when he heard the door close again but I heard nothing. Perhaps I should be worried. I am confident that my 5-year-old can keep things on track. Plus I can see the house from my room at the Inn.

I am on the 3rd floor of the Manor, my windows look out towards Guysborough Harbour and also across the road to my house. My house was built as an office for the lawyer that lived in this fine manor house circa 1837. My room here has a lovely big bed with a white comforter embellished with musical notes. There's a leather arm chair, a brocade armchair, bureau, writing desk, seaman's chest, and some other furniture including a TV which rather ruins the look of the room but most guests, other than me, prefer to have the infernal thing around.

When I walked in, what most took my attention was the bathroom. I love a good bathroom; the one I have at home would certainly not qualify. I took a shower and then a bath admiring how the upper most tiles had a nice motif. I noticed my reflection in the tubs enamel and pondered it. When I got out of the tub I saw myself in the oversized mirror and when I looked over my shoulder I was surprised to see how freckled my butt was. When did it last possibly see the sun? Overall, the mirror looked good to me. I've never been too fussy about that sort of thing but I have wondered recently if this almost 40 year old body is one I would willingly expose to the scrutiny of a young man.

Recently, there has been a young man that I feel might have been showing some interest in me. I stayed awake most of last night wondering if I was right in this assumption, if I would dare to ask him if he was interested, and if he said yes would I follow through? And then I wondered why I had to wonder about such things. He is single, I am single so why should I feel bothered about how much older I am than him? This has yet to be resolved but will be one way or another in the next few weeks.

And then there is Big Daddy. Hannah has desperately been waiting for her father's visit with great anticipation. She was more excited about daddy than about Santa. I was happy, and not in a generous way, when Hannah told me that Daddy was boring. I have been staying away from home as much as possible while he is here to both minimalise my annoyance with him and to help Hannah appreciate her mother more; both very selfish aims but it seems to be working. I have always represented him in an indifferent and often cheery light to the children knowing that given the proper amount of time and lack of care he would tarnish his own image in their hearts and minds. I am just surprised it has happened so soon.

While Big Daddy is here, I have been tooling around town, out and about more. This has provided some good blog fodder.

On Boxing Day I went to a dance at the Erinville Firehall. When I arrived with my recently reaquainted friend, a man who had I had dated 20 years before when we were both still in High School, we were two in a crowd of four. I was driving so I couldn't even drink to take the edge off the boredom and it looked like a long night.

After about ½ an hour and old friend of my friend showed up. He sat with us and the men took a walk down memory lane while my head swivelled whenever anyone entered the room. I searched the faces imploring them to be someone I might know or someone I might want to know.

Close to 11 pm the room started to fill. Mostly collegd aged kids home for Christmas. We sat and watched them. We sat and talked about them. The new old friend commented that he was once like them 15 years ago-now married with three kids ranging in age from 13 to 9. I said we looked like some movie detailing middle aged life. I wasn't ready to start singing 'Glory Days' just yet.

Eventually, I got out on the dance floor with the friend I had come to the dance with. I saw a few people I knew and danced with a young guy who I had recently put in the paper. While dancing with him I wondered if I would ever be the one looking back on the Glory Days or would I just keep living them. I hope it's the latter.

The following night I went out to the local performance center to see a band I had recently interviewed over the phone. I saw a few people I knew but had come alone and sat alone. At first I felt a little selfconscious about being by myself but after the music started it didn't bother me anymore. I talked to someone about some paper related stuff and fell back into the happy little niche I had made for myself in this town.

Yesterday, my vacationing friend and I went for a morning walk at TorBay beach. It was brisk and beautiful, a truly inspiring place. From the beach we went to visit a little waterfall near New Harbour; a small secret place. The roar of the water was devine and the smell of the trees is the best unbottled fragarance.

My friend and I have not seen each other in the 20 years before this past week and I think we have made a friendship that we certainly never had before in our hormonally charged teens. It's great to make old friends new. I wonder who I'll get reaquainted with next.

My Job

It has come to my attention, on more than one occasion, that people don't really know how a modern newspaper works. It seems likely that some people think we are still setting type and rolling ink. Although I know not all my acquaintances who wonder what I do at the magical paper factory will read this, I hope a few do and will have a greater understanding of 'My Job'.

I am going to start at the end...production day. This is the day when I inhabit the office for 10 hours straight editing the paper. Editing means reading through the entire paper, several times, looking for typos, misinformation or any other glaringly obvious screw ups; wrong font (size and type), incorrect names with pictures, etc. This is done on a computer in a program specifically made for magazine and newspaper publications. It's called InDesign.

On average we publish a 16 page paper but occasionally we go to 20 or 24 pages. By some quirk of the publisher, we always have to add four pages. And when we add those four pages we have to fill them. That is where the other side of my job comes in; as the writer.

Throughout the week I look for interesting things to write about. Some times it is glaringly obvious what I will write as in School Board meetings (dull and long) and Municipal Council meetings (dull and short). I attend these meetings and write an article which we then insert into the paper. Other pieces, aka articles, involve telephone or face to face interviews. I ask the questions, and write the answers in a hopefully skillful and entertaining manner.

That is essentially it.

At the end of production day, the graphic designer, who is the person who creates the ads you love and the layout of the paper, sends the paper to our publisher via the internet. There is no printing of papers at our office.

The following day, our drivers deliver the paper throughout the county; and it's a big county.

That's how you get your paper. But my work isn't quiet done. After production day I have one more job left; upload day. I take the paper and load articles onto our website and post the full paper for digital subscribers in a PDF file. Last week the PDF didn't work and I am the closest thing to a comp tech at work and I don't know how to fix this problem. We'll be seeking additional help in the New Year.

So now you know how to publish a newspaper; the Coles notes version. Just wanted to keep you all informed. It's my job.

A venting post: Big Daddy

Sometimes I wish I wasn't so damn nice. This visit of Big Daddy is really getting under my skin. I am not sure why but one possibility is that I have finally gotten over my personal fantasies about him-both the murder and marriage related ones.

Usually it takes more than 3 days before I want him out of my house and back in Bangkok but today he said something in conversation with my f ather and step-mother that just irked me to the extent that I can hardly look at him.

It was a discussion about his own parents; his mother is taking English Lessons in the hopes of one day meeting with her only grandchildren, my kids. He told his mom to keep living for 15 more years then the kids could travel and they could finally meet their youngest grandchild and become reacquainted with their first, whom they had known only as a baby.

My blood boiled. Playing for sympathy and martyrdom for himself and family-so unfortunate that I am not letting his parents experience the grandparent hood they so richly deserve and yearn for.

At first I was going to say nothing; let things slide- I didn't want a fight. But I hate having him always coming across as the victim in this relationship.

So I said, "I offered to take the girls to Bangkok last year to meet with your parents but you didn't want me to come."

He thought for a second and said,"Yes, well it's too dangerous."

I responded, "It wasn't at the time and that was not your reason for not wanting me to come."

He didn't pursue the line of conversation and nether did I.

Last year when I had offered to fly half way round the world and bring his kids to his doorstep, his reaction after thinking about my proposal for 3 weeks was, "You threw away Bangkok so you shouldn't come back here."

And now I had to hear him talk about how his parents had to live for 15 more years if they had any hope of seeing their grandchildren when they could have seen them in Bangkok last August.

Livid is not word enough to describe how I felt.
And now I have several more days of his visit and I have already had enough.

Cat Fight

The other day I was privy to a little cattiness on the wall of one of my Facebook acquaintances. My friend, had indicated how excited she was about a guest speaker she was hosting at work, another Facebooker, who shall henceforth be known as Cat Woman, commented:
Before you learned of Shauntay Grants' visit..did you know who she was and what she does?

My bitch meter was automatically alerted and I felt incensed for my friend. Why was this woman trying to take her down, question her intelligence? Why did she find it necessary to take something good, happy and bright and turn it into something hurtful?

Friend's reply:Yes.

Me: and even if she didn't, there would always have been a time in our lives when we hadn't known of her yet.

Cat woman: What???I'm going to only drink one glass of wine and read that again cause it didn't make sense with glasses or maybe it was just the grammar or lack of.

I can't really speak to my grammar, I don't usually have a grammatical filter on my Facebook posts. I am a writer but I need my spell/grammar check function. My grammar, was clearly not the point I was trying to make but I found it amusing that Cat Woman would take the opportunity to aim her venom at yet another woman, one she did not even know.

Where has this attitude of women against women come from? A friend of mine suggested there were some feminists theories about that but after a not very intensive search on the net, I have not found any profound answers.

Today I went to a memorial service for the national day of remembrance and action on violence against women. I had already started this post when I blogged off to attend the service and in the back of my mind I thought, “How can women expect men to respect us and afford us peace if we can not do it amongst ourselves?” I am not saying that catty women justify some male attitudes about violence against women, just that it is, in a small way, not helping the situation. It's hard to respect a group who don't respect themselves.

Women will never all get along but it would be fabulous if we could stop trying to pull each other down. One day an unknown woman pulled her car up next to my house as she was leaving the nearby tourist office. She rolled down her window and called out to me on my front yard, “That hair colour looks really good on you.” “Thanks,” I said.

I try to never miss an opportunity to pay a compliment, befriend a lonely soul, or speak up for people I feel are being denigrated. When I left the memorial service today, preparing to come home and finish this piece, there was a vibrant rainbow encompassing the Guysborough sky. Trite as it seems, it gave me hope that women might start being a little nicer to each other.