Breathe deep.

It is just shy of 1 am on Wednesday, July 4th. By early evening, I will be on a flight to France, where I will be spending a month and a half, studying and performing in a summer program. Honestly? I am terrified.
I've been thinking about why I am so unexcited about going and I believe it stems back to the last opera that I performed, in April. For some reason, my voice gave out on me in my first aria. Now, it is a role that is incredibly difficult, one of the hardest for my voice type, and yet, I was not expecting this. Only by the grace of God was I able to make it through the rest of the opera, but this scared me. And I am nervous about performing again.
For me, music and God are incredibly closely intertwined. Take one away, and I am left scrambling to make sense of life. I have to admit, my walk with God has not been as on fire as it should be lately and I truly think that my previous opera disaster is a large part of that simple fact.
I practice in an old Lutheran church. Today, when I went to practice, it was later in the day and with the lights off in the chapel, it was dark but inviting. The light coming in through the stained glass windows was enough to make one feel hugged by the warm glow, in the midst of the dark pews. I laid down on the floor and looked up at the ceiling. Have you ever looked to the ceiling of an older church? It reminds me of a rib cage. As a singer, I know and understand the intricate workings of the breath, how the diaphragm is involved, how the intercostal muscles work and how it all fits together to give you the optimum breath support. In singing, breath equals life. Breath gives life to the voice and if you do not understand how to fully utilize your breathing, it will fall short. Your pitch will flatten or you will lose the brilliance. The musicality will not be there. Something will not work and though the audience may not be able to pint point what it is, they will know that something is not quite right. As I gazed into the ceiling, laying in the hazy glow of the stained glass and sang my favorite hymn, I couldn't help but tie breathing in singing with the ribs of the ceiling. Somehow the importance of God in my life all made so much sense again. The ribs of the ceiling reminded me that I cannot truly breathe without HIM, I cannot be truly happy with HIM in my life, without fully seeking HIM. Because for me, God is always in my life. Where I run into trouble is when I become a bit apathetic and stop pursuing Him. I need to pursue again. This is my problem. Pursing God in my life is like knowing how to use your breath properly when you sing. If I do not pursue Him, something is not right in my life. Something is off and though I may not be able to pinpoint what it is, I know that something is off. And as I sang my favorite line "I sing because I'm happy, I sing because I'm free" I realized that I truly have not been happy since that opera back in April. I am too hard on myself. Here I am with this amazing opportunity to study in France and I am terrified and grumpy about it. No more. I am praying fervently for an attitude change.
I hope and pray that I go forward with a smile in my heart and a lifted spirit, knowing that I was chosen into this program for a reason. I will go forward, thinking of the ribs... I will breathe deep, taking in new positivity and life with each and every breath.
Blessings on you all this summer, I hope it is joyous and full of adventure
xoxo,
Deena

how far is too far?

I recently had someone in my life disown me due mainly to distance and a situation that I was not given the chance to clarify. This has left me feeling incredibly disheartened and upset. The person that I called to talk this through with reminded me that this really has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the other person and how they perceive friendship and I have to agree. But wow did it hurt. How can someone put a distance rule on friendship?
Then I looked at my own life. About 6 months ago, I stopped contacting someone whom I thought was a good friend. If they were to contact me again, I would willingly let them back into my life with open arms. I wouldn't shut them out forever. At the time, I was going through one of the darkest valleys of my life. I needed the distance and I think this person did too. But I know that one day we will be ok again. I would never cut this person out of my life forever. I find that incredibly unfair and difficult.
As someone who is striving to live the life of an opera singer, I need to say that I am incredibly grateful for every one of you. Opera is a lonely life when you finally make a career from it and I know that I have some amazing friends, whom I mainly stay in touch with via facebook, that will be with me for life. Thank you for that. Some of you I have only met once or in a foreign country. The fact that you do not let distance or the fact that we've only met once squash our friendship means a lot to me. One of you in particular, I worked with in a musical. We were never very close, and yet you continue to encourage me on a regular basis via facebook, maintaining an interest in my life 5 years after we've met. That means a lot.
I appreciate all of you. I love all of you. Thank you for never giving up on me. Thank you for supporting me through prayers, thoughts and notes. Thank you for thinking that I am worthy of your friendship. I appreciate it more than you will ever know.
Blessings and love,
Deena

candid (maybe it's time to open up and be honest...)

I recently read Portia di Rossi's book Unbearable Lightness, about her struggle with an intense eating disorder. This has given me to courage to finally open up about mine. Something that I have hidden for years.

Last week I didn't look forward to ballet class. I was indifferent. I always try to get there early so that I have enough time to change and throw my hair up without feeling rushed. I hate feeling rushed. I arrived right when half of the class before me had been let go of. About 5 small framed 20ish year old girls rushed into the small, cramped space that is the Opera Atelier girls 'change room', unapologetically. I was soon forced out into the hallway, where I attempted as best as I could, to put on my tights and body suit under the skirt that I had worn to work. As I stood there, in the doorway to the change room, struggling in this attempt, I couldn't help but notice one of the perfect ballerinas from the advanced class openly staring at me. Obviously in disgust. I know I don't look like a ballet dancer. I'm an opera singer and with my voice type, I will always have a bit of meat on me. As I glanced in her direction, she openly challenged me. She kept staring. She never looked away. But her face said it all. "What do you think you are doing here?" Putting on tights and spandex is never something that I enjoy. But after taking ballet there for over a year, I was beginning to feel comfortable with my peers. But this one girl... and her look... they destroyed me. And I felt like a fat loser.
It's funny. Lately I have had a lot of people telling me that I look great. I ran into a friend last night that I hadn't seen in about eight months, someone who would never lie to me. One of the first things out of her mouth was how great I looked. I unbelievingly thanked her. How can I look great? Have you seen this giant keg of fat that sits in front of me at all times? I am a disgusting monster. How in the world can you say that I look great?
I have struggled with the thought that I am fat for my entire life. It started with the bullying at school. One girl decided to make my life a living hell, and she singlehandedly lead me down a path to destructive behavior, depression and suicidal thoughts. I came out of high school thinking that I was fat, worthless and that I would never be loved. And I know that you cannot live in the past forever... but it is difficult to change the emotional habits of a lifetime. When you grow up hearing these comments, it is all but impossible to forget them.
In college, it was no better. I was soon diagnosed with a muscle disorder called firbomyalgia. With the fibro, I learned that I was dangerously allergic to wheat and a few other things. I was diagnosed with insomnia, depression, chronic fatigue, IBS. There were certain foods that I was intolerable to, which simply means that if I eat them, my stomach goes into a rage and I end up in the bathroom in incredible amounts of pain for who knows how long. It is not pleasant. But I knew that I was fat. I knew that I would only find worth if I was thin. This is what the media tells us. This is what my peers showed me. So I would eat the foods that would cause my IBS to act up. I would binge, but not wanting to purge because I am a singer and throwing up is damaging to the vocal folds, I would consume the 'in between' foods that I couldn't really tolerate and end up in the bathroom in extreme amounts of pain. Simply trying to induce my own personal laxatives to get the disgusting mess that I had just consumed out of my body.
I suddenly, through no choice of my own, was restricted on what I was allowed to eat. I couldn't eat wheat. I had lived on pasta, bread and pizza. What do I eat now? I starved. I 'forgot' to eat. Or I would wind up in a narrow tunnel where I would eat the same thing for a week, get sick of it and forget that there were other foods out there. I would starve myself. Forget. And the binge. And induce the IBS.
When I moved to Toronto, I found health food stores with sweet treats that I could eat that were gluten free. Because I felt like I had deprived myself for so long, I would buy them almost daily, telling myself that it was ok to have one chocolate a day. Then cursing myself when I would eat the entire container of cookies... but then tell myself that it was ok... I deserved it for some reason... because it was gluten free, and poor me, I'm not allowed to eat gluten. What a hard life I lived.
It was also easy to starve when I first moved to Toronto because I felt very unwelcome by my new roommate. She scared me. I was nervous to be around her. Nervous that I had done something wrong and she would suddenly fly off the handle in a fit of rage at me, which happened often, even though I tried the best that I could to be as courteous as possible. It seemed that I had always done something wrong. As she always sat at the kitchen table, doing homework or flirting with men via online dating sites, I was afraid to go into the kitchen. For just about 2 and a half years I walked on egg shells. And I starved. And I binged. Living in that stressful environment, eating the way that I was, I obviously gained more weight. I was now over 200 pounds. And I was disgusted. I didn't love myself. I never had really.
I felt the pressure of my goal choice as an opera singer. I knew deep down that a famous soprano had been fired for not being able to fit into a dress. I knew that the pressures to look more like movie stars was starting to happen, due to the live in HD operas now being showen in the movie theaters. I felt the pressure. And I buckled under its weight.
Not only this, but I felt pressure from my family. I love my Mom more than anything. But I have always felt pressure from her to be thinner than I am. I remember coming home from Toronto to visit, and she put her arms around me and quite literally, as we hugged, felt my stomach. I recoiled in horror. Really? REALLY!? I remember crying, at the age of 24 or 25 in Melanie Lynn, as we shopped. I had commented on how, due to ballet, my legs were getting more toned. And she patted my protruding belly and said 'now you just have to get rid of this'. And I cried. And I didn't talk to her for the rest of the day. I know she doesn't mean any harm by it. She is small by nature. Even my Dad, the last time I talked to him, said 'how's the weight loss going?'. I wanted to throw down the phone and scream. I love my Dad. But we have not had the easiest past. And as he is grossly overweight and not doing a thing about it, I wanted to scream at him and tell him where to go and how to get there. I suppressed that and made some witty comment. But I felt like a failure. Because it is not going well. I am binging. I am starving. And it is not well.
A big part of my problem lately has been my muscle disorder. I am in constant pain. And let me tell you, when you are in constant pain and constantly exhausted, the hardest thing in the world is to work out. I have recently moved, and since moving, I have been eating better. But now that I am eating better, I still have no energy and am in constant pain, so working out hasn't been happening as much. I feel like I am gaining weight again. And though I am now under the 200 pound mark, I hover around it like a terrible beacon. And I hate it.
I look in the mirror and I hate myself. I hate myself for the way that I look. For the layer of fat that comes up over my jeans. For the way that people look at me. I saw a very fit regular at work the other day checking out my flabby arms with disgust. Again, that is engrained in my mind. Never to leave.
Part of my mental struggle is that I have now found pills that will help me ingest wheat. But in my family, we refer to this as 'cheating'. This word choice has mentally defeated and deflated me. Anytime I want to eat something using these pills, I feel like I am failing. Like I am doing something terrible. Like I am a giant, fat, failure for choosing to eat something that my body obviously is going to reject. I grew up hearing and learning that failure wasn't an option. I feel like a failure every day that I get up and look in the mirror and know that I have disappointed my family by being fat. This is difficult to live with.
I also feel like a failure because I know that a lot of people look up to me. They think that I am this perfect little Christian girl who can do no wrong. I struggle on a daily basis to believe that God could love this ugly blob. And I hardly ever get to the point where I truly believe it. How can I allow someone else to love me when I don't even love myself?
So I struggle. I have been better since moving. It has been good for me. But I still struggle. Mentally. I struggle. I long for love, but who would love this? I long to feel like I fit in, but I never do.
Reading Portia's book has been helpful to me, but there is a danger for someone with an eating disorder to read a book about eating disorders. I found myself thinking 'that's a good idea!' when she was talking about her destructive behavior.
And so I open up to you. And I ask for help. For prayers. For guidance. I open up so that I cannot hide in this any longer. I open up so that maybe I won't feel like a failure, but will be able to feel accepted. I open up so that maybe my struggle can help you to open up.
Blessings,
Deena

realizations

I realized today that I consider myself to be a burden on other people. Even writing this, I feel like... oh... what a burden it will be for other people to read this. Then why do I write? No idea.
I look into my future, into the possibility of marriage, and I feel sorry for my future husband, who will have to deal not only with my over dramatic emotions, but my crippling fibromyalgia as well. And I feel like a burden.
I feel like a burden on my family. The simple fact that certain family members never call me, makes me feel like they would just rather not deal with the burden that I am. Yet they have to put up with me... well.. because they are family.
Why do I feel this way? What has happened in my life to make me feel like the biggest burden in the world? Is it the fibromyalgia? Life has definitely become more complicated since being diagnosed with it 7 years ago. But something within me knows that before I was diagnosed, I still felt this way, with my friends... so what is it...
Maybe, probably, it is my misconception of myself. Like the rest of the world, I have a very tainted view of who I am. It is usually not that great.
I was talking with a friend the other day about love and relationships. He said that he fears that he does not have the capacity to love. My fear is that I do not have the capacity to trust that you, the guy in my life, has the capacity to love me. Or wants to love me, for that matter. But why? Why is this my struggle? Everyone has the right to be loved. Why do I feel unworthy?
Sigh. I am feeling better. But these new struggles keep emerging on a daily basis.
Maybe some people are just made to feel the weight of the world on their shoulders, and others are meant to be happy and joyous at all occasions... I wish there was a happy medium. Lets try to find that happy medium.
love
Deena

guilty

I've been feeling guilty. I believe that this is why I have felt such despair as of late.
But I did not become aware of, and therefor acknowledge this guilt until recently, when I finally admitted to myself what was really bothering me. What was the root of it all.
On Wednesday morning, sadly at work, I bawled. I wept like I have not wept in years. It was in this moment that I finally gave voice to my current struggles, the struggles that had been suffocating me. That morning, I finally told someone about the demons in my head, the clouds of debt and unworthiness that had been following me, since returning from my summer of travel. My insecurity in my new life, my knew being.
I came back from Italy a different person. More aware of who I am, more in tune with my feelings and inner longings. But I also came back to a new life. Two days after returning, I moved. But days after, I was traveling again, not giving myself a chance to welcome this new life, this new freedom from the chains that I had felt in my old living situation, which had weighed me down for almost three years.
When I walked into my door at the end of my travels, the song Catalyst by Anna Nalick was playing on my iPhone, 3 cats ran to greet me, and I felt instantly, utterly alone. This, along with one other unmentionable circumstance, was the start for me. The start of this month of despair. Of unmanageable anger and grief. Yet no tears came. No gut wrenching, deep soul cleaning tears would form. My insides became harder and harder.
For once in my life, it seems, I reached out to people. I did not want to go through what I was going through. The odd thing is that the Christian friends that I reached out to, though they prayed for me, they were not THERE for me. They did not call. They did not check in. I reached out and felt alone. I did not know that they were praying. There was no communication. This destroyed me more. And I thought to myself... this is why people say that the church fails them.
A handful of incredible other friends were there for me, though. They reached out to me, in the same way that I would have reached out to them if I had been in the same boat. Dropping their plans and taking me out for supper, just to talk to me and be with me over veggie burgers and mashed potatoes. They stayed up with me till 1 am on my bed, while we talked and cried and laughed, even though they had to get up early the next morning, even though they were going through their own struggles. There were people that were there. To these people, and you know who you are, I am incredibly grateful. To the others that I reached out to, I am thankful for the prayers. Incredibly important. Yet I needed verbal communication. I needed you. Maybe I was at fault, because I didn't communicate that. Yet... I feel that I did... Sometimes we need to not expect things from people. Then there will be no disappointment when they do not react in the way that we wish for them to.
On Wednesday morning, I woke up. And I cried. I finally told my Mom about my fears, my feelings of inadequacy, my feelings of worthlessness, the thoughts that I will never amount to anything... yet the thing that really hit me was how guilty I felt about feeling so down about all of these seemingly minute things, when, in my mind, other people, other friends, they have REAL problems. I felt guilty for feeling the very real feelings that I was harboring on the inside.
The ironic thing is that I sat this summer in the courtyard of the convent in Italy, with a dear friend, ten years my junior, as tears splashed on my shirt and she admitted to me that she felt angry about the feelings that she had about certain things. And I told her, with complete certainty, that her feelings are real. That if she feels these feelings, then no one could tell her otherwise. They are real. And true. And she is allowed to feel how she feels. And that it is OK.
Last night a friend told me the same thing.
Why do we allow guilt to destroy us? I hadn't admitted my feelings about these things, very real feelings, because I felt guilty. And this month nearly destroyed me. But getting these things off of my chest, finally vocalizing them, suddenly I was better. The burden was lifted. The weight was suddenly shared. Friends came around me and yoked themselves to me and helped me carry the burden. I am forever grateful.
We need to be open with people. We need to talk. We need to be real. In the wake of all of the bullying and pain that is at the forefront of the news today, there is a desperate need for people to open up to other people, but also for people to be there for those around them. If these certain friends hadn't been there for me, I don't know what I would have done.
Open up. Encourage people. Be there for those people around you. Hanging out with a depressed person can be incredibly discouraging and even down right annoying. But when they get through what they are going through, they will look back and be able to thank you for giving up your time for them in the way that you did. For being there for them when no one else was. It is incredibly important that we give of our time for our friends. Reach out to them. You have no idea what friend is sitting at home tonight, on thanksgiving Sunday, with nowhere to go, feeling sad and alone. Pick up the phone. Call someone. Write a letter. Encourage someone. Smile at a stranger. Be a light. Treat others the way that you want to be treated. Be the difference that you want to see in the world.
Happy thanksgiving and lots of love
Deena

take my photo off the wall if it just won't sing for you...

Sometimes a circumstance will happen in our lives that, for some reason or another, can completely alter who we are for a period of time, no matter what we do to try to stop that from happening. Something happened in the past month that has made me completely question who I am... and my worth in life... and my beauty. And I despise the fact that I let this happen. That I allowed this one person to dictate my beauty and my worth to me... as a Christian, I know that it is important, nay vital, to find our my worth in Christ, not in people, not in guys. I have some friends who feel that life is not happy or complete unless they are in a relationship. I grew out of that mindset a long time ago, and have been, for the most part, content in my singleness for a long time. Even putting up walls in order to not have a relationship for fear of being hurt.
When you let someone into your life, it is a completely vulnerable thing. And you choose, in the moment, how far you will let them in. If you decide to just let go of all pretenses, be completely real and honest and live in the moment, it can be extremely scary, especially if this is the first time that you have ever entered into a relationship like this... and I think that if the relationship goes south once you have opened up this much, it can be devastating. The guy may not feel it. He may be content to move on and find someone new right away. The girl? The girl will be in pieces for months, if not years. I am in pieces.
But then I have to wonder... before I met this person, I was a confident, strong willed young woman, with a purpose and a plan for life... how has the demise of this quasi-relationship made me second guess my own worth and beauty? Why do we, as women, put our worth into the hands of guys and relationships? We look to men for approval. We need them to tell us that we are beautiful, that we are worth more than we think. We need them to pursue us and fight for us. And if they even look at us the wrong way, it can destroy the entire day. What is wrong with us? (the collective 'us'. I realize a lot of women have worked through this, but I feel that we have all been tainted by these thoughts and feelings to some extent in our lives). How have we been programed into felling this way?
Of course we can blame the media. It is just like how we blame the media for the fact that we all feel like we are 100 pounds over weight and ugly. But I think that it is deeper than that. The brilliant Eleanor Roosevelt once said that, "No one can make you feel inferior without your consent", which I agree to be completely true. So why do we allow people to make us feel unloved? Ugly? Anytime we do, we are giving consent to the unknown person behind a certain advertisement, to an ex boyfriend, whatever. Why does the worlds opinion of us matter so much? Why are we so uncertain of our own beauty?
When I was younger, I used to make a lot of lists (I still do...). One of these lists was a 'to do' list and it made it to the wall beside my bed back at home. I haven't technically lived at home since I was 18 and it was never taken down for some reason. I see it whenever I go home and there are basic things on it like clean the bathroom and practice singing. Some of these things are crossed off and some aren't. One that isn't, that for some reason, my little teenage brain thought that I could actually put on a 'to do' list was this: become friends with yourself. What I didn't realize at the time was that we are our own worst enemies. And that becoming friends with ourselves, actually liking who we are as an individual, is something that takes time and depending on who you are, can be a daily struggle. But it is a daily struggle that we must endure and not push off to the side. We need to be able to look into the mirror and see someone that we like, our own self prescribed flaws and all. Because if we don't, we end up giving 'them', the world, the advertisers, the ex's, we give them too much power over our lives. In reality, God and I am in control of my life. We need to not let others make us feel less than beautiful, less than worthy.
I think these thoughts will come to all of us at some point in our lives. I know a man in his 60's who has made a fantastic name for himself. He is wealthy and worked his way there from nothing. He has, what appears, to be a good life. Yet he is incredibly depressed. Feels alone and worthless. So what should he do? What do I do, as I struggle daily with this crushing depression that I haven't felt for years? When you are depressed and feeling worthless, the last thing that you want to do is reach out to anyone. Yet we need to fight this nonsense and reach out to the people around us, the people who love us. Because they ARE there. And as a dear friend reminded me the other day, we need to think about the blessings in our lives.
Surround yourself with people who uplift you. Who see worth in you. It will rub off. Your thoughts about yourself will change for the better. Let them support you and help you to become the person that you were always intended to be. The confident, beautiful woman who IS worthy of love. In this, allow yourself to delve deeper into your relationship with God as well, if you are a Christian. It is truly in Him who we find our worth. And really, He has given us the ultimate gift of life and love. God is love. There is no denying that. One of my favorite quotes of all time is by Soren Kierkegaard; "Now, with God's help, I shall become myself". Let's allow that to be true in our lives.
Blessings and love
Deena

currently listening to: Look What You've Done by Jet
currently reading: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte, Giacomo Puccini by Conrad Wilson

Doctors and new beginnings...

I am grumpy. But it's a different grumpy... a weird grumpy. A grumpy I have never known before.
Today, after church, I had to go to the doctor to have an incredibly evasive test done. (everything is fine, don't worry). But it's the type of test that, if/when you have it done for the very first time, you feel so utterly and completely violated afterwards... and after finding out that everything is going to be ok, you become weary with relief. Incredibly drained because all of the worry and fear that you were trying to ignore suddenly disappears and you feel... different. Free. But in a not so free way. It is hard to explain. It is the type of thing where, after it is done, you go back to your apartment, curl up in an afghan with your cat and cry and sleep. This has been my day.
It is extremely psychological. And for someone who thinks too much about everything to begin with (but really, what girl doesn't?), it was exhausting. This is why I am grumpy. This is why I feel disgusting today. This is why I walked to work in an old t-shirt and sweat pants... and why I yelled at a man in my head for calling me beautiful, when I know darn well that I'm not (at least today). But this yelling in my head (I am the epitome of passive-aggressive) made me stop for a second and think.
Most of the people that we meet in our day, or interact with in our day, have no idea what we have already experienced. The people that I encountered later at work, had no clue that I had just had an emotionally draining day. The people whom I communicated with through facebook and e-mail didn't either. No idea. I have a problem with suffering in silence. There are a lot of things I simply choose not to complain about or talk about, because I do not see the point. Yet then, how are people to know or understand when I am dealing with something big in my life?
I go through life thinking that everyone should be able to read my thoughts. How naive. Looking back, I really think that this behavior came about when I was first diagnosed with firbomyalgia. When I was first diagnosed, I complained all the time, wanted people to pity me. Then something changed. After reading a verse in the Bible, in the book of John, my attitude changed. I tried to complain less. I had a new outlook on life, on my condition. But this being said, I stopped asking for help, even though I needed it. I think I grew to be silently proud. One of my ex's was perfect for me. He learned not to ask if he could help me, but just do things for me, grabbing heavy loads of out my hands, opening doors for me (though I tried not to let him), always giving me a seat if there was only one available (and when I tried not to let him, making me). It was good for me. After we broke up, I went back to my old habits though. Though this was 7 years ago, I am still in conflict with these habits.
I am so open with every part of my life, you all know that if you want to know something about me, no matter how personal, all you have to do is ask. Yet I am too prideful to ask for help... and I expect it from people... and get upset when they do not help me, even though I do not ask them. I just want them to know. I very much dislike that I am like this... can you please pray for me to change this mindset, to change my ways? It will take a while... but with God's help, I shall become myself. The person I am meant to be. One little annoying nuance at a time. I long to be the woman that He desires me to be. This is why I ask for your help. This is why I write. This is why I communicate with all of you. As someone who works almost all of the time, I need a lot of alone time to be able to survive. You, my friends whom I have met over the years, you have become a community that I can rely on and I am so blessed to have every one of you in my life. Thank you.
Much love,
Deena

growing...

As most of you know, I have been through the ringer in the past few months.
Setting foot in Toronto after a fantastic trip to Saskatchewan, I was completely naive to what lay ahead of me. While visiting my old Bible College in Sask, I had prayed for brokeness. This, God granted me. I was greatly encouraged and extremely broken during one particular chapel experience that I will never forget. This, however, was just the tip of the ice burg. I was blissfully unaware that when you ask God for something like brokeness, and He thinks that you are ready for it... you'd better be prepared for what lies ahead. And I am extremely grateful.
As my life kept being challenged and changed and the tears kept pouring over the last few months, I found myself drawing deeper and deeper to my Savior. But I also found myself learning more and more about myself.
One of the most incredible things that I have taken from this experience is a renewed sense of emotions. As I have drawn closer to my Lord, I have found that my emotions have become more raw and exposed. My heart breaks over little things that I see in the world and bubbles with joyous laughter over the most ridiculous (I laughed the other day for 5 minutes, with tears rolling down my face over the word 'hearty'. As in 'hearty soup'). And I am loving every minute of this. I also feel like my eyes have been opened. I am more friendly, making more of an effort with customers at work... I'm beginning to remember and realize that if I can make their day a little bit better, than this is something that I would like to do.
On Wednesday, a regular came into the shop. We've never really chatted with her, but she comes in quite frequently and has always been pleasant with us. I was alone, and she came in on the phone, with tears streaming down her face. She was speaking in another language, but unabashedly approached me and ordered her tea As she continued to weep, I felt myself tearing up as well. I have no idea what was going on, I have no clue why she was this upset. But I was touched that she was humble enough to share this emotion openly in front of me. As I handed her her tea, I handed her a note that simply said 'I hope your day gets better :o) " and she smiled a tearful smile at me and mouthed the words 'thank you'. As she left, my eyes welled up again. It feels as if I am so in tune with my Creator that I am getting a small glimpse into His heart. And I love it and am thankful for it.
I was reminded yesterday of a newer song by one of my favorite Christian bands, Downhere. The chorus goes:
Here I am, Lord send me,
All of my life, I make an offering,
Here I am, Lord send me,
Somehow my story, Is part of your plan,
Here I am"
I love that. Somehow my story, is part of Your plan... WOW. That's kind of amazing. Somehow He uses me, in ways that I cannot fathom. I want to be open and willing to be used.
Thank You Lord for these reminders in my life, and my new found heightened emotion. It is all a blessing.
thank You Father!
Blessings,
Deena

Morbid thoughts

I've been thinking a lot about death lately. To the point where, last night at work, I asked an acquaintance if he would come to my funeral if I died. His response "for sure I would, I liked you as a person. Would you sing "Michael Row the Boat Ashore" at mine?" made me laugh.
I've been thinking a lot about my upcoming summer and how much flying I have to do. For the first time in a long time, I am actually anxious about all of these flights, simply because there have been so many accidents lately. Not only this though, the dreaded G20 summit is coming. Toronto is freaking out.
I don't know much about the G20, nor do I want to. But what I can tell you is this: Most Torontonians that I have talked to are afraid that our city is going to be changed in drastic ways after it takes place. Businesses are being shut down, dorm students are being moved, subway lines are closing... I work in the financial district, right in the heart of it. Earlier this year, a plot to blow up the buildings surrounding us was uncovered before anything drastic could happen, but this has always stayed in my mind. What if they hadn't found out? I don't like playing the 'what if' card. But these thoughts swirl. Sometimes I wonder.
Terrorists groups have gone so far as to post disturbing videos on YouTube about which buildings they are going to target. In a recent one, red skull and cross bones were shown all over a downtown map, targeting both of the buildings that I work in. This is, suffice it to say, a little unnerving. Granted, both jobs will not be taking place on this weekend I am sure. I am also not even here that weekend, I will be celebrating a dear friends wedding in Saskatchewan. But I am still nervous. For my friends. For this city that I have learned to love.
Task forces are being trained, chemical warfare specialists are being brought in... police riot lines and snipers are ready to go. It is scary. There is a feeling in the air that is not like Toronto. Usually we walk around with an air of pride in this city. It really is, I hate to admit, a great place to live. Now there is the feeling on tension. Disdain. Fear or, at the least, concern, in what is to come. Perhaps nothing. Maybe nothing will happen. But there is always the possibility that someone will miss something and bad things will take place... There have been warning bombs already set off at banks in Ottawa. What is to say that in the next few weeks we, in the downtown financial district, will not also be hit like this? I ask you to pray for my city. Keep us and the G20 summit in your prayers. Thank you so much.
I have written all of this in order to justify what I am about to write... I don't have a will, I don't have any sort of 'goodbye' to my family if something does go wrong in my life. Consider the following as such. I have been meaning for a while to write something. You never know what will happen. Here is the generic, to my friends and family if something ever happens to me, letter. No morbid thoughts. Just the desire to get these feelings out there: (i just need to say, this is NOT in any way a suicide note. k? Don't think that. This is just a little something about the thoughts going through my head lately. Don't worry about me, I am very happy with my life! :o)
I have, possibly naively, dared to believe lately that I am destined for greatness. I look back throughout my life and can see moments when I clearly could have died. Moments when God has grabbed me and held on to me, kept me safe. I believe that He has a great plan for me and that I am meant to touch the world with my life. But what if I die tomorrow? We don't know. We have no idea what is going to happen to us, or when God is going to call us home. Strict Catholic Italians do not understand the idea of making plans for the future. They truly believe that God is in control of every aspect of their lives and that they go against Him if they decided to make plans, for, say, supper in next Friday. I too believe that God is in control of every aspect of my life, but I dare to make plans. He often changes them though... :o) Sometimes I think that the Catholic Italian way of thinking is the better route.
I pray that I die while fast asleep, much later on in my life (like... 82. I would like to die when I am 82 years old, if we get to choose. Which we don't), but what if I am meant to leave sooner? We don't know. We cannot focus on such things or we will become paranoid drones, but the thought passes over my mind occasionally and so I wonder. I wonder if I died tomorrow, how many people would be touched. I wonder if I have done enough in my almost 26 years to impact anyone around me. I hope and pray that I have. That I have done enough. I hope and pray that when I do leave this earth, that if we have ever had a fight, if I have ever been selfish with you (which I'm sure I have, given my track record), if I have ever hurt you, be it intentionally (oh the thought) or unintentionally, that you would please forgive me. I hope and pray that you can remember the good about me, and not the bad. I hope and pray you are able to see the good through the bad, because sometimes I am unable and wonder, at those moments, if there is any good at all. I am learning to believe that I am an ok person. I hope you believe this too. I am sorry for any grief, for any heart ache, for any pain that our friendship has brought upon you, because of me. This was never my intent. I hope and pray that our friendship, our relationship, the love that we share, has brought some joy to your life, to your heart. I hope and pray that I have been able to make you laugh, make you think about things in a different way, but most importantly, helped you to see God.
If anything should happen, be it a pre-G20 bomb warning, be it a plane crash, whatever it is. If I die before being able to talk to you again... I thank each and every one of you for being a part of my life. You have all touched me in some way, shape or form. My life has been molded by you, my friends, my acquaintances, my relationships. You have all helped me to become a better person. Thank you for that.
If God decides to take me home before I am an old woman, you may be upset. But I do not want this. I want yo to celebrate my life. I want you to remember the passion and drive that got me through every day. I want you to remember that, above all, whenever He calls me home, I know and believe that this was my time. God's will is great. His desires are perfect. His timing is impeccable. And He does not make mistakes.
I love you all.
Many blessings :o)
ci vediamo!
Deena
(p.s. Mom gets Java, Jeff gets my iPhone and computer and keyboard and Sheena gets her first choice of my c.d.'s and movies. But Mel Harder gets all of my opera books/c.ds/dvds :o)

Sometimes I feel like the fat kid in gym class...

and I WAS the fat kid in gym class that never got chosen... so I know what I'm talking about!
As a 'baby dramatic soprano' (as my friend and I call me), or a spinto at this point, if you prefer, I often feel like the 'fat kid in gym class'. While all of your other friends are getting chosen and picked, you have to sit back and wait... wait for someone to call on you... as a baby dramatic, this can take years and you feel like you are falling behind the crowd. Even though, in reality, you are the one with the voice that will fill the Met Opera... when all of your other friends get summer gigs and have paying roles in choruses, etc, this truth seems to evade your mind...
I cannot even begin to tell you the amount of blessings that God has thrown onto me in the past month. And when I say thrown, I mean thrown. It has not been an easy journey. There has been much stress and worry... and then I finally hear God, though He's been telling me this all along... don't worry. I have this. I finally started to put my faith and trust in God... something that is difficult for me, as with everyone, to do. And yet... the outcome has been tremendous. Even now... I have to be out of my place by July 1st. A friend recently asked me to live with her and I have said yes. We are hoping and praying to get a spot in her building and are going to wait it out until a spot becomes available. We thought we had a place there on Saturday but 2 hours before we were going to see it, the woman called to tell us it had been taken. Talk about sudden stress. Ok Lord... I'm going to be homeless for the month of July at least... now what do I do? Sunday, I come home from church. Feeling a little less stressed out, trusting Him. I had prayed that morning "You have brought me through so much, why would I not trust You with my life now?" All this past year, I have been auditioning for summer programs. But no one has taken me. I knew that I had been wait listed for the one program in Italy that I had auditioned for, but I had written it off. Only 6 singers are chosen. Why in the world would I get in? I'm a baby dramatic. Like I said, no one wants to work with me yet. My audition tape was not great. I have grown in leaps and bounds since I sent it. Why would they want me? All along I have kept telling myself 'I just need one person to believe in me... that's the start of it... one person to give me a chance'. Sunday afternoon, I received my chance. I opened my e-mail and to my shock and amazement, it read "Congratulations! Someone has dropped out and you were the next in line! Welcome to the Casalmaggiore International Summer Festival In Italy!" and i'm like.... ummm... i'm sorry!?
The whole time I had been thinking... God, where do I live for the month of July? His answer: Italy. Surprise! Suddenly, friends started stepping up to bat. My dear friend and his sister are allowing me and my cat to live with them the few days that I will be here in July, and she has even offered me her room and she will make alternate arrangements. Java is free to stay there while I am gone. And Lord willing my new roommate and I will have a place for August. Tonight at my other good friends house, her lovely mom tells me that I can store all of my stuff in their garage and basement, free of charge for the month of July. No problems, and they will even help me move it all. WHAT!? God just keeps taking care of me... The summer program is amazing and all of these people are coming out of the wood works to just continually bless me...
I know that when you trust and have faith, the journey isn't always going to be easy. But take it from me... if you can learn to trust in God and have faith throughout the difficult times, to keep your eyes on Him and praise Him in the midst... the troubles just don't seem that bad anymore. I know I will falter in this. I realize this won't always seem so easy. Even throughout this, it hasn't been an easy road and I have faltered... but I've kept going, I've kept choosing to trust, which honestly, is all that I can do. And like always, He did not do what I thought He would. But He blessed me in even greater ways. I am no longer the fat kid in gym class. I have my start. What a fantastic start it will be :o) Thank You Lord!
Blessings and love
Deena

Dreams

Sometimes I do not want to write. But I will be laying in bed and this need washes over me, and I have to wake up my computer and let my hands find the keys that they are meant to. I cannot explain it. I cannot force it. It just simply happens.
Lately I have not wanted to write. I have fought the feeling, the need, the desire. I do not want to share my thoughts with the world. Because the world does not need to know what I am currently thinking. Then I receive a call from a friend, thanking me for sharing my heart. Thanking me for being so honest. And I am reminded why I do this. I do it to get the words outside of me. Once they are no longer in me, they are living. The thoughts are real, they latch on to some obscure truth and become a reality. I cannot stop it. This has to happen. Sometimes, sometimes... sometimes these thoughts touch other people. I write because I am selfish. I write because I am selfless.
I have recently felt a huge need to let go of someone whom I care about very much. I am so in love with this person, that letting go of them has sunk me into the deepest pit of despair that I have been in in six years. And it feels terrible. And oddly freeing. I have never been able to trust God with this person. What a horrible thing for me. I held on. Tightly. For dear life. This person to me is a dream. Some truth out there that I longed to grasp, to hold on to, to never let go of. A dream that I passionately desired (and still do desire). But I had to let go... because it was not right. Holding onto him was not right. It was not Godly. This kills me.
I do not know if I will end up with this person. Though, until two weeks ago, this was one of two truths that I believed with all of my heart. I do not know if we will end up being one of those couples that Gabriel García Márquez or Jane Austen wrote about in Love In The Time of Cholera or Persuasion. I do not know that we have a happy ending. This terrifies me. I hope and pray with all my heart that we end up together in the end. That we get our happy ending. This is what I long for, what I desire.
Circumstances, life, keeps us apart. Maybe it is for the best. Our futures do not line up. In the slightest.
As I was thinking about this tonight, something odd and wonderful hit me. As I've said, I have been sure of two things for the past few years. One was that I was supposed to be with this man. The other was that I am supposed to be an opera singer. Yet this sometimes did waver.
When I was younger and going off to college, I had two dreams. I was unsure of which to entertain. One was to become involved in music in some capacity and the other was to become a missionary to Africa. I have a deep heart for that continent. Oddly enough, God has lead this man to be a missionary. I have wondered, especially as of late, if I ended up making the wrong choice. Maybe I didn't quite hear God right? Maybe I misunderstood?
This man's mother and I keep in contact. As I questioned myself and opened up to her lately, she was harsh enough and kind enough to tell me the truth about becoming a missionary. After learning the things that one has to go through in order to even get to the mission field, I realized with a broken heart, that this is something that I would never even be able to do. Due to my many health issues and weird food allergies, there is no possible way that I would even pass the tests to be eligible to go. Even if I gave up the one dream for the other, I would not be able to join him on the field. This realization has destroyed me.
Yet tonight I realized something else. For a long time, I wanted to play the piano. This was my passion. Then I was diagnosed with carpel tunnel and tendonitis... making it pretty impossible to make this a career. This is how I started singing more seriously. I have always said that singing chose me, I did not choose it. But I have also always wondered if it was the right decision... now that I have learned about the difficulty of being able to become a missionary to foreign countries, I have realized that singing is the right thing. It is where I am supposed to minister. This is both frightening and enlightening.
In letting go of one dream, I find myself easier able to embrace the other.
I am still heart broken. Still in the deepest pit of depression that I have been in in years. Yet I know it will get better... my stash of pain killers is safely hidden in my roommates room. I have my eyes re-focused on God. Together, we will get through this. Though the tears keep falling... one day they will stop. One day I will understand why this all has happened. I will talk to this man again and he will give me answers to many currently unanswered questions. We will remain friends. I will always love him. Maybe one day... when we are old and gray... we will find each other again.
One can only dream :o)

Ants

When I was younger, I used to have these moments of terror. I would go out into the backyard, where, under my brothers bedroom window was a flower bed where my Mom predictably always grew the same type of flowers every summer, while also tending to the 2 bushes that hibernated during the winter. This flower bed, however, was always infested with ants in the one corner. For some reason, they just loved it there and no matter what my Mom would do, they always found their way back to that one corner. Their home. During my reigns of terror, I would stomp on the ants, killing as many as possible, feeling completely in control. As soon as the massacre was over, I would immediately be flooded with a feeling of guilt as I watched the other ants swarm around their brothers and sisters, dragging their smushed up bodies back to the corner. I felt terrible. What had I done? My moments or terror did not last very long. Eventually my wonderfully fine tuned conscience won over and I would step over as many ants as possible, not wanting to kill any more of them. Hoping that by sparing these ones, I would somehow be freed from the guilt of killing so many.
To this day, if I see a spider or a fly, I have a difficult time killing them and will only do it in extreme circumstances (These extreme circumstances being things such as: a fear of the spider crawling into my mouth as I sleep, or a fly not leaving me alone for an hour... mosquitoes, poor souls, are exempt from this however, and will always get squashed. It is a sad truth. I have no patience for them). As I finished reading the beautiful novel, The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, tonight, a thought washed over me. Were my moments of terror as a pre-teen brought on by the need to feel in control? To feel important? In these poor ants lives, I was a giant monster and in these moments, I was extremely important and in control. I do not think that I have control issues necessarily, but I do like to have a handle of things and become a little agitated when I do not know what is going on (who am I kidding? Control issues abound in my life).
This must be why I am thrown out of sorts when something happens that is beyond my control, but affects me deeply. Which is what has been going on as of late. Through a series of events (or non-events really...), I have come to the heartbreaking conclusion that the man that is always at the back of my mind when another guy asks me out, the man whom I always want to tell exciting things to when they happen, the man that I one day wanted to walk down a long aisle towards... when this man seemingly forgot that I existed... I realized that this is truly not the man for me. This realization was simultaneously terrifying and heart breaking. I was not in control of this situation. It bothered me. This is one of the main things that bothers me about relationships. I realize that it is not possible for one person to be in control, but I think it is important to share control. This was not happening in this instance. He had all of the control, held all of the cards. It was not right.
Though I am heartbroken and still feeling completely guilty about those ants, I realize that he is not the one for me. At least not in this moment, and may not be for years to come. Because when you care about someone, you want to talk to them. You want to start conversation with them. You want to see them. You want to share important and exciting things that are happening in your life with them. This was not happening on his end, yet it was happening on my end in abundance. Maybe I scared him away. Sometimes I think that maybe he just got caught up in school... But I of all people understand getting caught up in school. And I KNOW without a shadow of a doubt that you can make time for important people.
I guess I was not important. Once again I was not good enough. Once again love glanced in my direction, then looked the other way. Once again, I lost control.
But I have a friend who says that I will be okay. That, and the promises and hope of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ get me through. I will be okay. Maybe not today, definitely not tomorrow, but someday. One day. In time.
Blessings and love
Deena

first love

I don't think that you ever forget your first love. I met mine when I was 16, but didn't start a relationship until a few years later. It was long distance for 2 years and though we never actually saw each other during that time (but have since), we were extremely emotionally involved. He would call multiple times a day (much to the chagrin of his family because of the expensive phone bills. Calling over seas... not cheap). But the sweetest thing I remember about this time is the letters. We used to write each other 30 to 50 page letters. We couldn't stop. We would write down everything that happened in our day, not wanting the other person to miss out on anything. As I was working a secretary job at the time (and wasn't really busy at all), the letters got longer and longer... soon gifts were involved and it was such a wonderful time in my life. I actually used to scent my letters with my perfume (gag, I know. Pathetic) and one guy actually walked into his room once, picked up the letter, smelled it, put it down and walked out. haha! I never will forget that. He wrote me a poem to tell me that he loved me and kept calling nervously to see if I had received that one special letter yet. I carried that letter around with me for days, showing it to anyone and everyone who would pay attention. Everything felt so happy... so right.
Now, this person and I have obviously ended it. He is actually the only ex that I keep in touch with and he is engaged to be married within a few short months. I know that he and his new wife are going to be very happy together and are much more better suited for each other. He and I have both grown and changed and I know that we could never work in a relationship now and I wouldn't want to be in a relationship with him now anyway. I don't miss him in a romantic way, but I do miss this time in my life... who we were back then, who we were together.
A good friend took me for lunch and a movie today. He let me pick the movie and well... honestly there wasn't much that I wanted to see so I was mean to him and chose Dear John (he'll deny it, but he wanted to see it too. I promise). It is a movie based on a novel by Nicholas Sparks and we all know what that means: someone is going to die at the end. I was ready for a sad ending and was not disappointed. But I had forgotten something going into this movie... it is about a young couple, in love obviously, and the guy is in the army. He gets sent to Afghanistan.
Without realizing what was happening, I was living the relationship of my past on screen. Obviously there were major differences. But the letters... the truth... the army... the loneliness of both of them away from each other... it felt too real. I can remember the day that I found out that my ex had joined the army. I can also remember the day that he told me that he was going to fight in Iraq and then Afghanistan. I was living in a dorm room at the time. I ran to find my roommate and fell in a heap at her feet, in tears whimpering and asking 'not everyone who goes to Iraq dies, right? Tell me they don't all die!' The army is what ultimately did us in. He actually met someone who was in a similar field, we eventually drifted... There were tears on my side for many months. But we remained friends and when my family traveled across the ocean to visit his, it wasn't awkward. We had a nice catch up on the pier outside his house, looking up at the stars that are so different from the ones that I know. I won't forget that night. But it had been long over before then. At that point, it was two good friends catching up. And that was that.
After watching this movie, a lot of emotions rushed back in and overtook me. And I realize that I am not over this. It is not that I'm not over him: I am. But he was my first love. That's something that I will keep with me forever. Not to blame any one person for the dysfunctional way that I am in relationships, but I always thought that my problems stemmed from someone else... a relationship that ended only a few years ago. But as I look further back, I can see that there is much more pain there from this relationship as well. It wasn't his fault. Our ending was mostly mutual. I understood. He understood. It was right. Case closed. But I have baggage. Baggage that I do not want to revisit. Baggage that I am afraid to open, because I am afraid that the truth of what I find hiding in the folds is going to overpower me. I don't know that I am strong enough for that right now.
It seems impossible to put into words what I am feeling right now... But I do know this. I know that I am happy for him and his bride. They make an incredible couple and I wish them all the best. I also know that I have to be strong and root through the rubble to find the truth to this mixed up emotion that is presently overtaking me. Because right now... it just does not make sense.
Blessings and love
Deena

4 bad habits and a plane ride

(apologies for my suddenly pessimistic attitude, I have been reading Julie & Julie by Julie Powell lately and she is incredibly pessimistic towards herself, but in a funny and quirky way. Please note that this is how I mean this next hodgepodge of words that have been haphazardly strewn together. I hope you can make some sense of it all for surely I cannot)
I do not enjoy flying. I never have. Generally the flight is uneventful but every so often we have bad turbulence and my body just goes into panic mode. The funny thing is that my brain doesn't. I'm not nervous. I'm not anxious. Somehow my body does not realize this. My trip back to Toronto from Calgary today was not one of these flights. Thank goodness.
It was, however, a typical flying day for me. Every time I fly back to Toronto from Calgary, my flight leaves fairly early in the morning to make up for the 2 hour time difference on the other end. Makes sense. As a result, I look less than perfect on these flights. I basically roll out of bed, attempt half heartedly to cover up any horrible blemishes, pull a brush through my now slept on (therefore flat and greasy) hair and throw on whatever clothes I haven't packed. I am amazing. Once I get to the airport, I silently curse all of the women who look like they just spent hours at the salon. Perfect. (ok we all know I don't curse, not even under my breath or generally in my mind, so this is just a slight exaggeration, forgive me)
The plane ride was, as stated, uneventful. I watched some of the food network (a current addiction, and as I do not get it here in Toronto, I had to get one last viewing in), slept on and off and read a bit. All the while, my hair getting greasier and greasier. I felt great. Like a star.
As I sat there, feeling like I just may possibly be the most disgusting person on the planet, I caught a whiff of my new, too expensive but amazing, perfume and felt a little bit better about myself. But then I realized that I have 4 bad habits, brought up with me from childhood that I need to stop. They bring me down. They really, truly, are my downfall in life.
As someone who goes to (and gets rejected from) many auditions, I often think of what the auditioner looks for. I know it is more than just how I sound, but appearance as well (I'm proud to say that in my latest rejection letter, I was told that though I am a horrid singer, I looked fabulous. I may be paraphrasing). This is no New Years resolution. None of that junk. These are 4 struggles that I have been dealing with my entire life. Help me to stop. I beg you.
1. I pick my nails. Yes, you read that correctly. I do not chew my nails. I pick at them. The cuticles especially. I know. I am a monster. It gets bad. Really bad. Painful. I feel like my red and oozing fingers are just calling out to the world like a neon sign "help me! make her stop!". This is unacceptable as I am in a profession that requires me to use my hands. Not that a lot of people will notice but... I mean really... I doubt that Musetta picks at her nails. My finger nails themselves are generally in pretty good shape... but this causes a problem for number 2...
2. This is absolutely disgusting. If you didn't think I was a monster before, you will now. Anyone who knows me and spends time with me on a regular basis is probably used to the fact by now that I always have some sort of disgusting scabby red mark on my face... because I cannot help but pick at my pimples. Any or of bump on my face or person... if it is there, it must be gone. I cannot handle it. This goes hand in hand with the dreaded "c" word that I can't stand. Obviously this is a big no no. Often this is why I feel so hideous (we all know I'm kidding about all of this, yes? Good. Now that we're on the right page...)
3. While we are dealing with the face, a more minor problem is my lips (are my lips? They are plural... Carolyn, help me out here...) They are constantly dry. As a result, I am constantly chewing on them, which I KNOW makes them dryer. What is my problem? Am I just an awkwardly nervous person?
4. I cannot stop twirling my hair. I am constantly touching it. Playing with it. Running my hands through it. Which makes it prematurely greasy. And brittle. Which means I need more hair cuts than I should. Which also means that though I can start the day with a fantastic, full bodied head of hair, I end the day with a greasy limp mess.
It really is a fabulous life. As I was washing my hands in the bathroom and cursing the perfect model beside me under my breath (see disclaimer above) after the flight, I glanced in the mirror and thought ok. I guess I don't look that bad. It's always better than we think.
Night guys
Blessings
Deena

Let the failing begin...

Well, it's already happened, as I assured you it would. My so called resolutions have already headed out the window. Mainly the 'to lose weight/get in shape' and 'get to bed earlier' ones. Yet I think you'll be happy to know that I have some fantastic excuses for my current failure. Ready? Lets start with the later. Actually... it may be easier to start with the first.
Mom and I went to this fantastic restaurant today called the Pasu Sheep Farm. It is quaint country vista, nestled into the foothills of central Alberta. Just a mere fifteen minute drive from the home I grew up in, it is a perfect location for two hungry women to venture and so we did. They have a wonderful little gift shop, with a lot of sweaters and trinkets, the first made of alpaca and sheep wool. Brilliant. The restaurant itself needs a bit of an upgrade. But the old wood, African artwork and home style yet classy food made it incredibly inviting. The owners are from South Africa, hence the aforementioned art. I cannot honestly remember the last time I was there. I'm sure it hasn't been 9 years (like I am leading myself to believe...) The last time I remember being there (though I am positive I have been there since), I was with my best friend from high school. We went out there because, obviously, my flavor of the week was working as a cook. In fact, he actually bought our lunches, which was incredibly sweet of him. I had forgotten about that until I entered the building.
I had also forgotten about the incredible and mouth watering wild mushroom soup. 9 years later and I can still remember the delicious flavors exploding in my mouth. This soup, I exclaimed to my Mom, had to be in my belly. Now. So you can understand my problem. This soup, though extremely delicious, is also made out of heavy cream and butter. Yum. A great and healthy choice if I do say so myself. We both knew that the soup would not fill us up, so we both ordered other things as well. Now, because it is a sheep farm, Pasu has a lot of lamb on the menu. Neither Mom nor I am a huge fan of lamb. I am a bit of a picky eater and do have some food allergies (though I did bring some pills to help me eat wheat, which was smart because....). Well... Mom and I both ordered the chicken pot pie. Believe me. It was worth the extra pound. I am not going to lie. But I did feel a bit guilty. I keep reminding myself that I do not eat like this in Toronto. So why then do I allow myself to eat like this now that I am home? After a shared pot of tea and our gorgeous meal, we snooped and browsed through the gift shop, when Mom and I both took part in the 'buy one get one half off' sale because really, how can you pass that up? (This also ties into my resolve to be better with my money. Thankfully, however, Mom paid. Bless her heart). I'm not going to lie, my Mom bought me the most amazing wool toque EVER. You think yours is better? I beg to differ. (note the attached and very professional picture)
This all ties in to why I am up late. I was feeling a bit of a mushroom and chicken coma by the time we got home and was sprawled out, exhausted for most of the evening on the couch, reading Julie & Julia. Well, around 10:15 I started to feel guilty. So I crawled downstairs to do a yoga video that is supposed to be for beginners, but I must argue that is it not. After practically crying from frustration (ok I honestly flew through it better than I ever have before. But this is not saying much), I limped my sorry butt back to the couch, where I just had to finish the chapter I was reading. Because honestly, it was about killing lobsters and really... I was quite disgusted with the whole thing and wanted to get through it fast. I think if I put the book down knowing that I was going to have to pick it up to read that again... I would never pick it up. C'est la vie. These are my excuses... an amazing restaurant with brilliant soup. And a chapter on killing lobsters. I feel they are valid. Tomorrow is a new day, I will not let today's shameful display affect me too deeply, because I really did have a fantastic time with my Mom. So, I consider today to be a win. (Though it's only the second and you and I both know that I failed miserably). Here's to tomorrow :o)
cheers
(how amazing is my wool hat!?)
blessings and love
De
(it'll also make your life to know that behind my head is a giant poster of Brian Littrell from the Backstreet Boys. Yes. I know. My head was strategically placed)

it's too late to write but...

I figured I would.
Oh New Years. 2010. WEIRD. The time for resolutions... people vowing to change things in their lives for the better, knowing that they will give up or forget about these changes within a matter of weeks. I don't like making resolutions. Though I do it every year. Haha. I just so happen to be one of those people who always fails at them. Go figure. I can't commit! (but really, what other than my belief in Christ and my passion for singing can I commit to?) But this year... as per usual... I am going to try... care to help?
Lets see... what resolutions will I fail at this year? Good question. I guess I will just make them up as I go along... though one I know for sure.
One of my closest friends is getting married June 26th. Though I don't know if I've made the cut to be in the bridal party or not (I would love it, but I'm determined not to be upset if I don't make it in... because really... how pathetic would I be if I was angry about this? It's her wedding! Sheesh! She can do what she wants!)... either way, I am going to this wedding. And I want to look good. Better than I do right now. So of course, my first resolution is the same as most other peoples out there... to lose weight. (this includes working out, ballet, swimming, gym, eating right)
I would also like to do a thorough clean up of my room. I have a bunch of clothes that could and should go to good will. I have a bunch of stuff that should just be thrown out, yet I'm a pack rat and am sentimental so I have a difficult time with this. But in the weeks to come, I will not be working quite as many hours as I usually do, so I figure that this will be the perfect time to tackle this project and to get a good start on the losing weight one as well.
I also would like to eat out less. In Toronto it is very common to eat out a lot. But I find that I spend so much money in one week, simply eating out, it is ridiculous. Plus you never know for sure what is going into the food and with my sensitivities to certain foods, it would be much better for me in the long run if I just cooked a lot more.
what else... I always say this one too, but I would like to keep in better contact with my friends.
I also would like to spend less time on the computer, read more, and go to bed earlier. Now this is pathetic to be writing this down because it is currently 2:22 am and I am on the computer writing this... sheesh Deena sheesh.
You're right. I should just go to bed. I think I am going to do this... but I would love some accountability in these things. (Especially the weight/eating better thing). I'll write about it... keep you updated, but I would love it if you would like to help me out with this.
Alright... bed time... what are your failed resolutions going to look like? :o)
blessings and love
Deena

Bernard Pivot

A beautiful and snowy day today, I braved the roads to catch up with 3 of my dear friends, whom I haven't seen about a year. First stop was Smitty's in Airdrie with a wonderful friend from college. It was great to catch up and chat with her. She is one of the few who doesn't have facebook and seldom frequents the internet at all. As I do not have much time for the phone, we often stay out of touch for long periods of time. It's a shame. After a delightful brunch, I headed into Calgary to meet up with an old roommate/good friend of mine from Toronto. It was also great to see and catch up with her. She keeps me laughing the whole time, which is a joy. She is such a strong person and always an inspiration to me. Then we 'tag teamed' off, where after 2 hours at the Applebees just off of Country Hills, my first year roommate and lifelong best friend came to visit and swapped places. This dear friend is such a constant reminder of Gods grace in my life. Her passion for Christ is inspiring and I long to be more like her, to have more faith, to live completely by faith. She has a very gentle spirit and kind heart. Three very different women, yet all equally beautiful people. It was a good day. I want to share some of what I learned from each of them today, but I fear that this would be getting just too personal into their lives. Lets just say that I was greatly challenged today, for the better.
Tonight Mom and I watched Serendipity (poor Mom, she had to listen to me saying "I was there!" throughout the entire show). I adore the movie, though hadn't seen it in a while. (Got it for Christmas). It was a calm evening. Nice. Peaceful.
As I don't have much to report, I decided it's time to do another rendition of the Bernard Pivot questionnaire (which is based on Proust's questionnaire, which I will likely do at some point)

1. What is your favorite word? hope
   
2. What is your least favorite word? hate (and a certain word that starts with 'c' that makes me itchy when I hear it)
   
3. What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Mozart and Puccini
   
4. What turns you off? cursing, smoking
   
5. What is your favorite curse word? haha see above. My brother once jokingly told me that 'debit' should be a new curse word. I still laugh whenever I hear that word. So... debit.
   
6. What sound or noise do you love? laughter, rain
   
7. What sound or noise do you hate? the subway screeching to a halt, arguing/fighting
   
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? I would like to own my own coffee shop one day
   
9. What profession would you not like to do? pump gas or work fast food. I don't think that these jobs are beneath me, don't get me wrong. I just think that the fumes from the gas would make me pass out and I would weigh 300 pounds if I worked fast food... and anything having to do with sewage. Yuck.
   
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? It does exist. I'd like to hear Him say "well done good and faithful servant".
    

Night!
Blessings
Deena

Good friends and ice cube trays

I'm reading the book Julie & Julia by Julie Powell. I asked for the book for Christmas and we just happened to watch the movie this Christmas as well (fantastic movie). I finished another book that I had been gnawing on forever, and the day after watching the movie, I started the book. It's a great book... if you can over look JP's major use of a certain word that starts with F and her random comments about sex. Which I find slightly intriguing to say the least, because she is able to be talking about cannibalism or bone marrow and then BAM. Sex. Awkward. If you are able to get past these parts, and I am barely able to do so, it is a good book. I think the thing that keeps me going with it is her writing style. I think that it is brilliant. I digress. She talks about blogging, because, if you know the story at all, she decides to cook through Julia Child's first cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and blog about it all, through an entire year. She makes a comment about how many things in our lives are mundane and ordinary. But it seems that if you write it down somewhere, someone, sometime, will come along and read it, no matter how boring. Someone will be interested. We all blog to seem more important. Suddenly our mundane lives become important, have some sort of false value. I found this interesting. Am I just convincing myself that I am blogging for therapeutic reasons? Am I really just searching for a sense of belonging, a feeling of importance? Either way... the saga continues. In other news...
It was a beautiful day out today. Though much colder than it looked, as Mom and I found out when we bundled up to go for a walk and turned back to the house at the end of our back alley way. Cold. I went for supper with my high school best friend tonight. It was great to see her. We're not the best at keeping in touch, but she's one of these people that I know will always be in my life. You know those people? I think they are important. She will be one of the first people I call when I get engaged. When I get an opera gig. If/when (ack) I find out I'm pregnant. Though we don't chat often, she has been there for me through many trials, including thousands of those mild emergencies that one goes through during high school. (Oh my gosh, HE DOESN'T LIKE ME!??! what am I going to do!? My life is over..... wait. I'm still in that mindset. Goodness) If you've read the previous blog, I mentioned those people in my life that I have treated like crap and yet are still around... she is one of these people. I have pushed her away. We've had our spats (always my fault). Yet she's stood by me. The memories that we have together are irreplaceable. I truly cherish this dear friend and am so thankful to have her in my life. I used to sing in the Kwanis Music Festival every year. Every time I would perform, she would give me a note before I left, cheering me on, encouraging me, telling me to 'just breathe'. Sometimes she would even come with me to silently cheer me on, beside my Mom, in the pews of the tiny church that we would sing in. I find that now, as I do my auditions for summer programs, operas, masters degrees, every time I wish I had one of these notes. But each time, I hear in my head, her telling me to 'just breathe'. And I do. And it works. Certain friends come and go in your life. They are there for certain chapters and then slowly vanish, through no ones fault. This is just what happens. Some of these friends are priceless. This is one of the priceless friends. I'm grateful that she hasn't given up on me, in spite of all of my faults. When we find friends like this, we need to hold on to them. They are truly priceless. Once you lose one, it can sometimes be impossible to fill that void.
In other news...
When I got into bed tonight, I saw something that made me think... when is it time (or do we have to?) to give up things that ex's have given you? Due to the odd shape of my room and the placement of hot air vents, my bed is a few feet from one wall, slightly in the middle of my room. This space between my bed and wall holds my night stand, but also has become a bit of a dumping ground for things that I want to hold on to, but don't know what to do with. In my third year of college, I was seeing this guy. He helped me move into a flat that I was going to be staying in over the summer, and in helping with this move, he gave me a few things. A bowl, cup, etc... among the things that he gave me (bless his heart) were 2 blue ice cube trays. Because apparently everyone loves ice. These trays somehow have made it to the landfill between my bed and wall. There they have sat... for 3 years at least... not having moved once. Still in their original see through plastic wrap... what do I do with these? I've used the bowl and mug and am able to use these without thinking of this guy anymore. But these trays... every time I look at them, I think of him. AWKWARD. This guy and I no longer talk. Correction. I no longer talk to him. He still tries to talk to me. But he is married and kind of creepy and I'm not having it. I digress yet again. So... what do we do with this stuff? Another guy I know and maybe went on two dates with... gave me a little stuffed animal. I realized today, to my dismay, that this little bear is with me in Toronto, proudly standing on one of my shelves (propping up books to keep them from falling), yet this guy and I are long since over, he is also married and they are expecting a baby. Is this weird? Is it weird to hold on to these things? Out of all of the ex's that I have (don't worry, the list isn't THAT long), there are maybe 2 that I still harbor any feelings from, neither of which really gave me much, both of whom have long moved on. I have moved on as well, but I still have that little twinge in my heart when I think of them, you know? Anyways... I guess I wrote all of that to say... is it weird/ok/indifferent and whatever, to hold on to these things when I hold no real emotional attachment to them? (and does anyone want/need plastic blue, never been used, still in the original package, ice cube trays?)
Night and blessings
Deena

subtle reminders...

Today was a busy but relaxing day. Full of loads of physical pain, but much laughter and joy as well.
Mom and I went shopping today, to a new mall that has opened within half an hour from our house, which is fabulous because we are used to driving about an hour through heavy traffic to get to a mall with shops that we like. It was my first time there today. We didn't even make it through the whole mall. It was quite lovely actually.
Upon arrival, Mom and I first spotted one of our favorite stores. A store really for women who are a bit more mature than me, or who are working jobs which require you to look professional all the time. I have been searching for good performance tops for a long time, so I decided to look for some of those and Mom browsed around as well. The woman helping us was a gem. You could tell that she truly enjoyed her job, she was helping us find all sorts of treasures and at one point, when I thought I had found all I could find, she lead me around the store, holding out shirts, with me saying 'yes or no', and then picking out my size for me when i did say yes. We actually found a few more tops from me, due to her diligence in helping us. She was lovely, friendly, nice. The other mall that we used to go to all the time has the same store. There was a lady in this store that we always seemed to get. For some reason, she rubbed me the wrong way. She hovered. There was just something about her that bothered me and I never looked forward to going to that store, though it is one of my favorites. This lady at the new mall, however, was a gem and I would definitely go back again. First impressions can mean a lot. It is funny what people remember about you or about a place.
A friend from my college was working at a store there as well and we stopped by to say hi. I'm actually going to go from brunch with her on Wednesday and I am rather looking forward to it! It was funny because one of the first things she said to me after we hugged was 'still playing with your hair I see?". To my chagrin, I was... currently... doing just that... haha. I find it hilarious what other people remember about me. If I was to tell you what I thought she would remember about me, it would not be that I tend to twirl my hair incessantly. But this got me to thinking... her and I have had some bad spats in the past. All of which I could blame on myself. Yet somehow this girl still cares for me, likes who I am, is excited to see me and wants to hang out with me. How is this possible? I hope, in the years to come, if we lose touch or if I die, or something happens... that she is able to remember the good and forget the bad. I hope this for all of my friendships. But then I think... in how many of my friendships does the good outweigh the bad? All of them, I hope. But some... I wonder. This frightens me and challenges me. To become a better friend. I have been given multiple chances by many of my friends... something that I appreciate and try not to take for granted. But I realize in some friendships I have done just that. I feel guilty just thinking about it. So this is a challenge for me, for you, for everyone. To not take those around us for granted. To truly care about them. To ask them how they are doing and mean to. To take time to actually listen to what they have to say, not control and take over the entire conversation. To look them in the eyes, to love them, the cherish. To hug them or hold them when they need to cry. To celebrate with them. Lets try. Lets try to love others as we wish to be loved. Just a thought. Might make for a better world, one person at a time. Everyone needs someone. I'd like to be that someone for a few people in my lifetime. Wouldn't you?
Blessings
De

I like to write...

I don't know that I'm great at it. My English skills have definitely decreased since being drilled over and over about how to write by Mr. Persaud in high school. But I do like to write. I find it relaxing and stress free. After a recent trip to see my brilliant natural pathic doctor, I've decided that I need to write more. She told me that my body is doing well (which is the first time in a LONG time that I have heard this news), but that I am dealing with too much stress. I am not one to readily let go of the things that are going on in my life. But I do find that if I am able to find the time to sit down at write about them, 'talk them through' (with myself, if you will), I am a bit less stressed out about them.
A few years ago, I tried to write every day. Just to see what would happen. Of course, I failed at this. Haha. I have a problem with commitment. So I am not going to set a specific goal. But I am going to write more. About life. About my constant struggle to get in shape and feel healthier. About singing and my daily studying. About striving to be a better Christian and over all person. Of course a few boys will pop in every now and then :o) but I will try my best to leave arguments with friends and family out of the picture.
So, today I start.
It has been a lazy day. Waking up late, spending too much time on the computer in the morning, checking the e-mails and playing a few games. I finished the book Bel Canto today, by Ann Patchett. For me, starting this book was like pulling teeth. I read about 8 books at a time, and it was very difficult for me to keep with this one for long. I was board after about 100 pages. Finally, though, I was determined to finish it, and as I kept going on with it, it did get more and more interesting. Though the ending left me feeling nothing but terrible (because it did not have the happy ending I had wished), I find myself wanting to explore more of Mrs. Patchett's novels. I feel that I will one day.
I long to practice. However, I am very loud and when I am at home, there is an unspoken agreement that I do not practice when my Dad is home. Tomorrow... tomorrow he goes back to work. Tomorrow, however, Mom and I are planning on going to the mall. But I need to practice. Maybe I will get up early. It's been a lazy lazy day. My body is sore from doing an hour of intense yoga yesterday, but I am determined to do more today. Instead of yoga, however, I am doing this... haha. Go figure :o) My body feels a bit weird and I have a bit of a headache. Normal things for someone with fibromyalgia, but very annoying things as well.
I should get to it. Doing some yoga. Maybe then some more reading or studying my Italian. Yes, this is what I need to do. Study the Italian.
My pastor said a while back that he thinks it is hilarious how many people blog about their lives. He jokingly said that he has read some of these blogs and honestly... they are not that interesting! It's true. I apologize if you read this and are bored to tears. I am choosing to write about my day to day life and a therapeutic way to de-stress. If I bore you... don't keep reading :o)
Have a fantastic day.
blessings,
Deena