Halloween! Halloween! Halloween! It’s Halloween!
*scream* *shake* *shiver* *whimper*
Happy Halloween! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)Happy Halloween to all! 🙂
Happy Hallowe’en
Happy Halloween! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)All posts by Lynette d'Arty-Cross
Happy Halloween! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
A Little Thanks for Good Wine and Other Things
Last weekend – Oct 12 – 14 – which was Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, M and I went to the Okanagan Valley, an area renowned for its fruit and wine. We in indulged in both and had a wonderful little mini-holiday!
The above photo will give you an idea of what it’s like. We stayed in Penticton, from which we launched our wine tasting adventure. I took the “featured image” photo at the top of the page from a winery on the Naramata Bench. You can tell that the weather was fabulous. I’ve borrowed the photo below, but it also can give you an idea of what this landscape is like – forested and rugged with lots of grapes!
I took the next photo from quite an elevation. If you enlarge it, you can see many of the plots of grapes.
We attended a major wine tasting where I learned to stick to just one kind to avoid getting a confused palate. Mine got confused anyway – typical!
M and I had a great dinner at the Borrowing Owl winery where I had my favourite dessert, creme brulee. Here is the photo I took. Yum!
The Okanagan produces some rather wonderful reds, such as the Black Hills Note Bene, a blend that I am in love with. M and I aren’t into the whole wine snobbery bit but we like to have fun with it and we also like to drink it! After all, for me, it’s an important part of my cultural history!
It was also important to remember to give thanks. Not only for the great wine, but also for each other, for our families, for our friends, and for many other things.
Do you have a wine experience you would like to share?
It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas … Wait … It’s Still September, Right?
(Photo credit: paparutzi)Am I hallucinating, or is it still September? Because yesterday, I went into one of the local hardware stores and what to my wondering eyes should appear but eight rows of Christmas lights, and icicles, and pre-lit Christmas trees. Just remove from box.
Standing there in my shorts and sandals, I was sure that I was experiencing some sort of flashback.
My gag reflex is working overtime but it seems I have to start swallowing some Christmas pudding already.
I’m no marketer, but are there really that many eager Christmas light buyers in September? Or is it as I suspect – that we have to suffer this nonsense every year because it’s being shoved down our throats? And earlier and earlier?
Next thing you know, Peter Rabbit‘s bunny trail is going to be covered in tinsel. He won’t know whether to crap an egg or lay a turd.
It’s nauseating. Pass the Christmas pudding.
We haven’t even had Thanksgiving or Hallowe’en yet. Ho ho ho.
And I’m offended and appalled at the idea of Remembrance Day poppies having to compete with candy canes and tiny reindeer. It’s crass, disrespectful and downright ignorant.
Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against Christmas. But commercial enterprises are trying to turn it into a year-round, debt-inducing crusade for stuff-buying.
Do I need to learn to accept the fact that Christmas has nothing whatsoever to do with spirituality, the winter solstice, family, food and fun and everything to do with masses of lucre and just shut up and stop whining?
Or should we be making our opposition – for many of us, anyway – to this charade known? Apparently, 68% of Americans don’t want to be exposed to Christmas advertising before Thanksgiving, which in their country, takes place at the end of November. I’m sure that in Canada, the numbers are similar.
Hang on a second. Let me throw up first, and then I’ll choke down some more Christmas pudding.
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This excellent post from Jennie Saia is a must-read for all women (and men)! Please pass this along and also take a look at Jennie’s blog. Thanks, Jennie!
Sometimes, I Hate Technology!
It’s true. Sometimes, I hate technology. When it works, it can be a lifesaver. When it doesn’t …. ARRGGHHH! It can truly make your life miserable.
My computer is old and then it caught a virus. It was on life support for a while, but then it recovered. And now it’s back on my desk, really looking like it would rather be anywhere else but there. But it won’t have to wait long – there’s a new one coming – and then it can enter a happy retirement somewhere, probably as my back-up.
So that’s my explanation for why I haven’t been reading the people I follow. My most sincere apologies! With an ailing computer and a surge in work, I haven’t been able to keep up.
But why didn’t I use my smartphone? Well, yes, I have a smartphone. But I don’t like reading from the small screen and I don’t like doing much typing from it either. And I don’t use my work computer for personal stuff. My employer keeps track of that sort of thing and I know people who use their work computers for personal stuff anyway, but the thought of my employer looking over my shoulder gives me the creeps.
In some ways, though, it was liberating to be a little disconnected. And I began to really notice the reaction of some people to the fact that my home computer was sick. They displayed a sort of panicked pity, like I had told them that I might die from a contagious, dread disease, and that they might, too.
I talked about this reaction with an acquaintance of mine who doesn’t even own a cell phone. She said that people have outright called her “strange” for not carrying around a phone and that she’s been asked how she can even get by without one. She has actually felt discriminated against because she chooses to go “tech-less.” Isn’t that her right?
I find Facebook annoying. There. I said it. I think I would rather visit a drive-through organ replacement outfit than use Facebook. And Twitter and Instagram? Not impressed. And I don’t see how people really have the time to use them, either. Multitasking? Studies show that that doesn’t really exist. We just wind up doing two or more things in a mediocre fashion.
And, yes, I know that these social media serve their purpose and have been helpful during times of crisis. I’m not saying that they shouldn’t exist.
But I have the right to not use it, and to say that I don’t use it without feeling stigmatized.
I recently read about a store that wanted to require its customers to “sign in” using Facebook and to also use it to register purchases. There was something of a backlash and the store relented. This was clearly a very aggressive attempt at marketing research, and it backfired.
But how long will this last? I like to have control over my privacy and my opinions. Wars have been fought for these rights. Are they being eroded in the most insidious way possible – because we’re slowly allowing it? Because our need for attention is outweighing the importance of our privacy and our own thoughts?
When it comes to technology, where do we draw the line? Or is it already too late?
Keeping up [Narcissistic] Appearances
I haven’t written about narcissism for quite a while now. Yesterday, however, it was brought to my attention again in a most direct way.
M was organizing the garage and came across two packages that I’d left on a shelf out there after the divorce. I had forgotten about them. M brought them in so that I could decide what to do with them. Both of them were from the ex-narcissist and I had put them in the garage because I didn’t want them in the house. I felt that I needed to hang on to them for a while in case there was more legal stuff from him, but I also felt that if I had them in the house, they might somehow contaminate the air.
Sound odd? I have to say that I don’t completely understand it myself. At the time, I still had furniture belonging to him in the house. But somehow, these parcels needed to be outside.
Perhaps it was because they were attempts to engage me, to ensnare me, to get me back.
One contained a book, a biography, and I’m fond of reading those, as Harry, the ex-narcissist, is aware. Inside the front cover was a letter. Yesterday I read it again and had it really brought home once more why he is such a dangerous person.
It was highly manipulative. It began by saying that he had read the book and thought I would like to, as well. He went on to claim that he was in therapy. Then it segued into a highly angry and very factually inaccurate lecture about what I had done to him: how I had abandoned him, betrayed him, and mislead him. That on our last evening together I had berated him and thrown a tantrum. That I had driven him to despair and suicide. That I had colluded with my counsellor to  bring him to his knees.
Want to know what really happened?
Here is how it went: while we were in a restaurant in another city, he started berating me for eating too much – this happened a lot –  and also started loudly commenting on the eating habits and sizes (they were completely normal) of the family seated across from us – also something that was happening more frequently.
When we left the restaurant and returned to the vehicle, he continued to harangue me about my weight until we stopped for gas. I went inside to pay – of course it was me paying – and when I came back out, he started shouting and  swearing at me about how I had slammed the vehicle door and that no one had ever done that to him before. I went around to the other side of the vehicle, picked up my suitcase and started walking away. At that point, a police officer who had witnessed Harry’s tirade stopped and asked me about what I was going to do and if I needed assistance. He left his number with me.
I found a hotel for the night and flew home the next day. The day after that, I informed Harry that I was divorcing him. This incident was the catalyst, the final straw, so to speak. That minuscule amount that just does you in. He had shouted at me for the last time.
But, back to the letter. After the lecture he went on about how we had had some good times together before Christmas. Reality: he came by in November to pick up some of his furniture; a good friend of mine did most of the interacting with him and another accompanied me when I went with him to his storage locker a couple of days later to pick up some things that he had “accidentally” taken from the house. I was never alone with him and never gave him one iota of encouragement, but according to him, we had had “good times” and I was sending positive signals for a reconciliation.
He then ended the letter by saying that he still loved me and wanted to get back together.
Its construction was interesting: get me to buy in by beginning with a subject of interest – biographies. The book was intended as a present. How can a present be bad? He followed this up by stating that he was in therapy. Great, right? Wrong. This was the thin edge of the wedge; he tried to take me off my guard and soften me up before going in for the kill.
He then attempted to elicit a response from me by writing a series of exaggerations and falsehoods couched in the emotional language of the pseudo- victim. He was betting that I would respond on several levels – that I would feel called to defend myself about his inaccuracies and falsehoods, that I would feel sorry for him, that I would feel guilty, that I would consider taking him back. His intent was to engage me in some sort of discourse and then make use of further manipulation – twist my thinking so that I could no longer tell the difference between reality and his fictional accounts.
The other parcel contained ceramics that do not belong to me; again, they were designed as an entry to further contact.
I have destroyed the letter. I am giving away the book and the ceramics.
If nothing else, this shows how careful one has to be when eliminating a narcissist from one’s life. It’s extremely important not to respond to their manipulative attempts at communication, even if it appears to be completely harmless. Tough to do, but completely necessary.
If you have been in a “relationship” with a narcissist, it is paramount that you cut the contact as soon as possible.
Appearances can be deceiving, and Harry is very, very good at keeping his up. Â After all, that’s how I got involved with him in the first place.
Related articles
- 8 Red Flags That You May Be Dating A Narcissist (Like The One I Married) (thoughtcatalog.com)
- A Word About Narcissism (200poundstolose.wordpress.com)
- Narcissism- Is your partner selfish, dominant and arrogant? (creativebeautyhealth.com)
- How to Spot a Narcissist (narcissistadvice.wordpress.com)
A Very Small Wedding in a Fabulous Place
So M and I tied the knot a little over a week ago!
We met our three sons (M has two; I have one) in Calgary and then went to Banff in Banff National Park where we got married.
We had some pictures taken with the Banff Springs Hotel in the background.
We stayed at the Post Hotel at Lake Louise, which is my favourite hotel in the world and features the most wonderful menu and wine list. (Sorry, I wasn’t able to upload a photo of the Post Hotel – arrrgg – the following picture shows Lake Louise and the Chateau Lake Louise Hotel where we had dinner.)
A great day was had at the nearby Emerald Lake, including lunch at the Emerald Lake Lodge followed by some walking around the lake. Two of our sons thought that it would be a good idea to jump into it – pretty cold, even in August!
Emerald Lake really is a very distinctive green; this is caused by minerals in the water from glacial run-off. All of the lakes in this region are impressive and varying shades of green and greenish-blue.
We had a fabulous dinner at the Chateau Lake Louise Hotel; M used to work there many years ago. He had fun taking a nostalgic walk around, remembering all the stuff he used to get up to and telling his sons about his life there on the hotel staff.
After our sons returned to their various parts of Canada – Ontario, British Columbia and Saskatchewan – (when the wait staff asked us where we were from, we were happy to say, “all over Canada!”) M and I spent some time on our own, as all newly married couples should do :).
Holidays and Other Things
So, I’m going to be away for a few days and will miss some of your posts, but I will be neglecting them for a good reason – M and I are tying the knot!
We will be staying at Lake Louise in Banff National Park with our boys (read adult men) where we will be enjoying great food, great scenery and, and, and.
See you all when I get back!
Betrayed
The dreams of adventure consumed her every night before sleep claimed her. Wrapped in the thick comforter as the heat from the downstairs fireplace lent the last vestiges of warmth before cooling, the ticking of the contracting timbers further lulled her entry.
The hero charging the menace and saving the town. The crowd cheering in grateful abandon.
The rescue of hundreds from a dense jungle.
The rush to save the boy trapped on an ice floe.
She had done it all.
And always, the gratitude, the beaming congratulations, the modest thanks.
Hard work in the morning. Helping her father with the hay, the sheep, the cows, running, hauling, pulling, sweating in the sun.
And, staying out of her mother’s grasp. The tight, hot kitchen with its endless jobs repulsed her. The real work was outside. But somehow, her mother’s company appealed to her, even as she hated it and fought it and forced herself to help her father.
Outside was important. There were many possibilities there. Â But you had to prove yourself. Prove your strength. Â Prove your mettle. Prove your unemotional goodness.
Inside was different and to be avoided at all costs. It wasn’t important. It was … Â it was … Â it was less.
But there anyway. Forced into it. Dragged into it. Her father ordering her back to the kitchen and telling her that her mother needed her.
Listening to her mother’s stories of long-ago dances when she was pretty and admired, the dream shifted. She became concerned about what she might wear to the jungle. How would she look? What would she do about her hair?
And later … Â she was the one being rescued from the jungle.
But still … but still. The desire for more!
To be able to choose. To choose to accept.
No. You’re a girl.
But working outside … yes.
No. You’re a girl.
She didn’t know when the crying started. Â Why are you crying, her father asked.
She couldn’t answer. Inarticulacy choked her. Shut off the air. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Â Women, her father muttered before stomping off.
Later, she dreamed that she was trapped on an ice floe.
There was no one to rescue her.
She
Being raised as she was it all seemed normal. No one around her hankered after more and she pretended not to, either.
She made do with the undercurrents of desire that at times made her jaw clench in frustration. A tiny square of soap from Barcelona. Â A coyote pin covered in rabbit fur, rubbed almost naked. Â A rock containing small, gold-coloured flecks that were pronounced as “real” and left in permanent idle uselessness on a mantel-shelf.
On her knees scrubbing the kitchen floor and hanging out the newly washed denims and shirts in the sun to dry, the barely controlled dreams charged each other in a mind-jumble. Â Her bed with its rough-smooth sheets and the extra pillows sometimes clenched between her legs and the hot water bottle against the cramps. The closet with many work clothes and one Sunday dress.
To leave. To get away.
To love. To experience a passion that could inspire novels.
To eat mysterious foods and drink from green bottles.
To wear silk. Even though she had only read about it and had never touched it in her life.
But.
How to get there.
Already her mother was eyeing the environment. Sizing, evaluating, casting off, considering.
The boy with the crooked leg. The screaming widower who already had four small ones. Â A friend from school – a brother, really. The men with the muscles and grins of youth who fished and hauled lumber. There were many of them.
She could envision all of them in her dreams, encoiled.
And not happening, nothing at all. Except scrubbing floors. And hanging fresh laundry in the sun. And killing chickens. And remembering when anything was possible.
Even staying.
In the Net! - Pictures and Stories of Life 