Life is a Bowl of...June 30, 1999

Life is a Bowl of...June 30, 1999

While at the grocery store yesterday, I happened upon a display of fresh, local strawberries. They were firm in texture, bright in color, and there seemed to be a box there with my name on it. One thing about the Northern Atlantic region is that strawberries flourish here in late June. They grow so heartily that one single berry is often a mouthful. The berries I beheld yesterday were certainly representative of this. After purchasing a box, I decided to save them for an evening snack, wanting to savour their asthetics for just a little while. Once the evening came, I found myself not hungry, and decided that the berries would make an excellent breakfast.

So began my day, with a large bowl heaped with fresh strawberries, covered lightly in sugar, and doused gingerly with table cream. I could not help but feel a bit hedonistic, but it was a very pleasant way to start the day. Aside from overfilling my tummy and providing me with the day's first nourishment, the berries elicited a favourite childhood memory.

For quite a few consecutive summers as a child, it was a family ritual to go berry picking every late June. My parents would collect every single item from the kitchen that could be fashioned into a container (sparing the dog dishes), bundled their reluctant children into the car (it was work, after all), and headed to a U-Pick only a few miles from our house. The days were usually bright and breezy, and upon entering the enormous fields full of ripe berries, the wind would carry their scent so strong that my mouth would water from anticipation. I would troddle down one of the dozens of paths, empty ice cream container in hand, and find a spot all to myself. It was usually a place that had been seldom parused, with huge berries just hanging from the stems. I always ate more than I picked. I could not resist stuffing my mouth with that tangy, juicy, sweetness until my belly burst, my mouth was numb from several first squishes of berry, and my hands were crimson red.

On these days, and, indeed today, life is a bowl of strawberries.

In the wake of her conversation with The Goddess yesterday, I received a phone message from my sister asking very respectfully if we could talk. Taking this as a positive sign, I guardedly called her back early this evening and made arrangements to see her after I finished working with a client. I decided to bring the dogs with me as I knew she missed them and they may help to ease the tension. Animals are very healing after all. I just cannot take care of my sister's need to have a dog.

After she doaded over Reekie and Moo for a few minutes, our conversation began. It was fairly brief, but overall, positive. There were two firsts that resulted from this conversation. One was that she took responsibility for the way she interacts with me. The other was that she was able to stay on that vein and not epilogue with phrases that always start with "but you do this....".

I felt elated that for the first time she did not turn issues around onto me, but sad as well as she sobbed with confusion, stating she does not know why I am the target for her stuff all the time. I told her that she needed to find those answers in herself, as I could not find them for her. She told me that she wanted very much to have a positive relationship with me, and that our being apart tears her up. It does for me, too.

We decided to try to take things slowly, and agreed to go to the Canada Day fireworks together with the kids tomorrow evening. I just keep saying to myself "baby steps, baby steps".

I have a fear, however, that she will start projecting onto The Goddess both in revenge and in an effort not to project onto me. I am so thankful that The Goddess is in a position to be able to deal with that constructively. Her specialty is with women in crisis after all. One thing about Ms. Crabtree, she is always in a crisis. I love you, Ms. Crabtree.

...Blessed Be