sight_unseen
“And should you ever falter
Feel separate
Lonely
Lost momentarily,
Please know who you are, and always will be
A part of this grand story
Of the greater we
I am always with you
As you are irrevocably
Eternally
A part of me”
#NeverFailToSeeTheBeautyInYourStory
A poem posted on twitter by Rachel Miner (@RachelMiner1)
March 12, 2019
Hope this finds you well,
-L
Dear Me,
So you are in love, real love. You love reading, texting, kissing, and crying. You love your family, you hate your family, you love your boyfriend, you hate yourself. You have recently discovered the world of dating, drinking, partying, and sex. You have four best friends, two divorced parents, one dog, one grandma, one brother, one sister. You are a Christian full of inner conflict. You are depressed and are struggling with life. Here is what I wish you would have known, wish you could have heard, and wish I could have told you.
When you drink and go out and kiss other boys while holding D’s hand, I would have asked you if that was really how you wanted to treat those who love you. I would have told you that being a designated driver has so many more pros on its list than drinking does. You can enjoy those warm summer nights through a clear lens, you can enjoy the company of a crowd, you can remember everything you said and did come Monday morning, you can be happy and celebrate without alcohol. I would have told you that you are worth being happy and sober.
When you spend time with D and feel like he is your whole world, I would have told you that you’re not wrong. I would have reminded you that as much as you love him and as much as he is your sun on cloudy days, you have a life outside of him. Don’t leave behind parts of yourself just to be in love. I would have asked you if how you treated him made you proud, and if it did, then tell him and show him what he means to you. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re too young to know what love is, you’re not. I would have told you that you are worth being loved this much.
When you and D break up, I would have told you to be honest with him. I would have told you it’s okay to cry because if you don’t cry now, you’ll be crying for years. I would have told you it’s an all in or all out situation. Be together, or be apart. Being together, but apart didn’t work for you guys and it broke your heart over and over and over again. When you guys work on your long-distance relationship the most important thing is communication. Talk to him honestly, don’t use “I love you” to fill gaps in conversations.
When your mom hits you for the first time, know that it’s not your fault. I would have told you that she does love you and she will love you how she should later in life. I would have told you that you get to choose who you love and you are not responsible for the actions of others. You don’t deserve this, and this is not on your shoulders. You are right in not trusting her, you are a good judge of character.
When your dad tells you with venom in his words that you’re just like your mother after you stayed over to look after your drunk step-cousin, family in your eyes but suspicion in his, I would have told you that he’s projecting. I would have told you to wait it out and to stay. It’s okay to be hurt but realize that he’s not mad at you, not really.
When you feel like you have nobody in your corner, know that you do. Know that there are people who will go to bat for you. Know that your real friends will come later in life and they will make a world of difference- wait just one year and you’ll see. The world stretches beyond these two broken homes and beyond these two small towns.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
I’d be lonely.
Friends would become acquaintances.
People don’t actually care how you’re doing even though they ask.
It’s not cool to care.
Saying no is good for you.
Coping skills are important.
Anxiety is real.
Honesty isn’t valued.
Depression will talk to you.
Loneliness can drown you.
Forever doesn’t really mean forever.
Politics do matter.
You do get to choose your family.
People are selfish.
The loudest voices win.
Self-harm isn’t only one type of behaviour.
Cynicism is a defence mechanism.
Depression and anxiety cloud your judgement and make you believe lies are your only reality.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
I fell in love when I was sixteen. It wasn’t the fleeting, teenage romance as depicted in novels and biopics, but the love of two souls who found contentment with each other; the deep, forever kind of love.
He was a hardworking farmboy- blonde hair, blue eyes, dimples, and enduring kindness. He was strong and steady but a worrier at the same time; somehow spontaneous but organized. A walking contradiction of sorts, if you will.
He made me feel as though the stars in his sky shone only for me. The first time we watched a movie together, he cried when he was leaving because he didn’t want to go. Our connection was instantaneous and it swept us away.
We spent all the minutes together that we possibly could. We talked, laughed, and cried together. We felt we could only be our true selves when we were together, and still to this day, I maintain that there’s nobody who knows me better even though many years have passed.
We grew up together but sooner than we wanted, the growing led to hurdles that turned into us growing apart. Distance played a part in this; I went to university and he stayed home to work. The difference in trajectories was our downfall.
Tenacious and stubborn as we were, we kept being drawn back together as if we couldn’t help ourselves. We didn’t know how to be apart. Though technically not together, we talked every day and spent time together every chance we had.
We shared our exciting news with each other first. We held each other and cried thinking of the other loving someone else. It wasn’t that we didn’t love each other or that we weren’t together, we just weren’t in love with each other anymore.
We didn’t date. We didn’t put the effort in. We just expected it to be how it always was. We relied on magic and circumstances. We pretended as long as we could. The spark wasn’t there. The care was, the passion was, the butterflies weren’t.
We finally dated other people. We asked each other for opinions and advice the entire time and the day we were single, we got together again. It was as if we were magnets.
Every time we were together, we entered this bubble that made it seem as if time stood still. We were still sixteen or seventeen, life hadn’t gotten in the way, and we were still invincible. We knew how the other would react, we knew what would get a reaction, we knew how to make each other laugh.
Deeper than that, we knew what the other needed to hear, we knew how to comfort and how to hold each other, we knew when to lighten the mood, and when to get the sparks flying. We calmed that piece inside of us that was unsettled everytime we were apart.
That bubble had a reverent kind of stillness in it, as if we could be two puzzle pieces that when coming together, shut out the rest of the world. With each other, we were no longer cynical young adults, we weren’t broke, we weren’t hurting, we weren’t worried. Together we could feel safe, loved, free, and relaxed.
Even after we no longer spent time together, receiving a text from him would bring a sense that all was right in the world. Every time a text was answered with what I knew he would say and with what he knew I needed to hear, that bubble surrounded my heart. I could hear the same thing from someone ten times over, or from ten different people, and it still wouldn’t resonate the same as it did when he said it.
Now that we’re living two very different stories after having promised each other forever, I can’t help but miss the timeless feeling I had when we were together. That feeling alone is enough to make me miss him, but do I miss him? Do I miss the bubble? Or do I miss the him that was in our bubble?
We aren’t the same people anymore and that has been one of the hardest truths to realize. We didn’t get to grow into the people we are today together. We don’t know each other anymore, and that phrase will never get any easier to say.
He’s married now and I’ve switched careers. I’m outspoken now in a way I never used to be. I’ve travelled across the country, and he’s travelled across the world. I drive the same car but I don’t wear his ring anymore. Some things remain unchanged, and some things will never be how they were.
We were never perfect, no matter how we might have thought we were. Rose-coloured glasses do exist and through them is how I see much of our tumultuous relationship. We didn’t have it all figured out and we weren’t as invincible as love had led us to believe.
He knows me in that immortal bubble, from 16-year-old me to 21-year-old me. I know that 16-year-old him loved the colour red and that 18-year-old him had a scar on his back from where his brother threw fencing pliers at him and that 21-year-old him worried about the debt he went into to buy farm machinery.
The challenge was getting to know me and getting to be content outside of that bubble, knowing I couldn’t step back inside to put all the pieces of me together again. I needed to find new glue and to find other things that soothe those pieces of my soul.
I’m blonde now, and my favourite colour is no longer blue. I don’t wear the same kind of deodorant and I’ve moved away from my sheltered and naive life. I’ve lost myself and found myself again.
The timing wasn’t right, we were too young, or the fates had other futures planned for us. Whichever reason you’d like to use is probably true. Now, I doubt we’d even find that same contentment if we were together. If we sat down to have a real conversation, I doubt we’d come away with that same sense of timelessness.
That bubble still exits somewhere, and in it, my stars still shine for him. I do believe that we still love each other, even if it is a different kind of love than the one we needed to be together. It’s more of a fondness for what we had together and an eternal wish that the other is happy and that their family stays healthy. We don’t know each other anymore, but now we don’t need to.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
This weekend unspeakable tragedy struck in small-town Saskatchewan. The Humboldt Broncos SJHL team bus was struck by a semi-truck. 16 people were killed in the accident.
The community has seen an incredible outpouring of support following the accident. Hotels offered free stays, restaurants supplied food, vehicle dealerships offered transportation, airlines offered flights, local businesses created merchandise to fundraise, and local churches offered open doors and listening ears.
#HumboldtStrong
#PrayForHumboldt
#PutYourSticksOut
Are some of the hashtags that were trending over the weekend.
There was a vigil Sunday night at the Elga Petersen Arena in Humboldt that was filled past capacity. Premier Scott Moe and Prime Minister Justin Trudeau were a few of the dignitaries present. It was a beautiful inter-denominational service.
All of the flags at schools and legislature buildings across the province were lowered to half-mast in respect. Lights across the country, including legislature buildings, art galleries, and Niagara Falls, were changed to green and yellow to honour the lost.
Recognition poured in from across the country and across the globe. NHL players and coaches posted tributes, gave donations, and paid visits to those involved. NHL and WHL games gathered funds from 50/50 draws and donated it. NHL teams across North America held moments of silence before their games, some played the Canadian anthem despite either team not being Canadian. Teams of all ages across the globe also held moments of silence in recognition. Most notably, in the Chicago Blackhawks vs. Winnipeg Jets game on Saturday, April 7th, both teams replaced the nameplates on their jerseys with “Broncos”.
Ellen Degeneres offered her condolences as did The Queen, Justin Trudeau, Donald Trump, Haley Wickenheiser, and musicians across North America.
Sunday night people began leaving hockey sticks outside on their front porch marked by the hashtag #PutYourStickOut with the thought that the Broncos players may need hockey sticks to play with, wherever they are. NHL teams joined the tribute along with city halls and even the Hockey Hall of Fame. Sticks were left out for the boys across North America, including the sunny states down South, just in case the boys wanted to play in the sun for once.
This tragedy has struck a chord with many. Hockey is such a part of Canadian culture that no one is left unaffected. Everyone has been a player, has parented a player, has befriended a player, has billeted a player, or has been a fan of a player.
At the time of writing this, the Go Fund Me page for the team has raised $7.7 million in 3 days. Simply astounding. This Go Fund Me was closed Wednesday April 18th, with over 15 million dollars raised in 12 days.
There is also a Wounded Warriors fundraiser to provide funds and help for the first responders involved in this tragedy.
My heart aches for all those involved. For the semi driver who will live with this sadness for the rest of his life, for the billet families who no longer need to buy Gatorade because their hockey player has left them, for the families who sent their sons towards better opportunities only to lose them, for the families of the coaches and team personnel who lost their providers and their partners, for the communities who lost their bright shining stars, for the kids who lost their heroes, and for the players who lost their friends and their brothers.
My heart goes out to the first responders, the EMTs, the STARS Air Ambulance personnel, the doctors, the nurses, the care aides, the anesthesiologists, and all the staff involved in the care of these individuals on the highway, in the air, on the road, and in the hospital. Thank you for your service to others.
As a reminder to all: help is available. Please do not hesitate to reach out and talk to someone if you feel you need it. Whether it be a friend, a family member, a co-worker, or an association, please reach out. You are not alone in this.
Doug Frechette wrote the following poem to honour the Broncos:
Chase the puck amongst the stars, boys.
I hope this finds you well,
-L
A while ago I made a post with a list of  Things I Just Can’t Handle. It included pet peeves of mine as well as things I just generally dislike. I figured I would counter that with a list of my favourite things! Check them out below:
I do have a top 5, and I can name them off at any given moment- the others are in no particular order. These are all things I love and things that make me really happy! If you find me and any one of these things in the same place at the same time, chances are I’ll have a smile on my face. Feel free to share things you love, things that make you happy, or your very favourite thing!
Hope this finds you well,
-L
Over the Christmas break, I finally had some time to spend with my grandma. I don’t spend as much time with her as I’d like to. My grandma is one of my very favourite people and we are quite close. She was chief babysitter for my siblings and I, we spent a large chunk of our time at her house- it was definitely our second home. One of our favourite things to do was to make “messes” in grandma’s kitchen. We would each wear the aprons grandma made for us, and she would let us add any ingredient we wanted to our bowls, and then we’d bake it. And I mean any ingredient- picture: coffee grounds, juice crystals, flour, salt, eggs, powdered milk, sprinkles, baking soda, sugar, crushed crackers, and baking powder, and any quantity of each. This would lead to funny-coloured miniature cakes that we then proceeded to foist upon our loving father, who suffered through many concoctions all the while telling his beaming children that they were delicious.
I still cook with this air of throwing things together much as I did then, whether this is due to my impatient nature or experience in grandma’s kitchen, I do not know. I can’t be bothered to measure ingredients, nor to follow a recipe. If I have something in mind I’ll turn to Pinterest, look at a couple recipes, and use pieces of each one to come up with my final dish. Have no fear, I don’t bake- too much preciseness is needed. I love to make casseroles, soups, and saucy dishes where give and take is totally acceptable.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard grandma talk about homemade cottage cheese perogies, called Wereneki(ver-REN-e-kah). Grandma comes from a Mennonite family and is fluent in Low German. She would make them, but since the kids didn’t like cottage cheese, we never tried them and she cooked store-bought perogies for us. Even though I never tried them, I was always curious.
Another way grandma kept us occupied at her house was by telling us stories from when she and grandpa were young or when they were our age; one grandma told us was about grandpa’s Aunt. She lived in her own home, at 104, the only concession to her age was having home care come in and lend a hand. When the home care lady stopped in one day, she asked Auntie what she’d had for dinner. Auntie replied that she’d had perogies. The home care lady asked where she’d bought them as she wasn’t satisfied with the ones she’d bought. Auntie scoffed at her and said that she didn’t buy them, she’d made them. So at 104 years old, Auntie had made perogies for her dinner and cleaned up after- all of which is no small chore. Grandpa’s family was English, but even they made homemade perogies.
I’d mentioned to my mom about how much I’d love to learn to make them. Now that I’m old enough to appreciate history and tradition, I wanted to spend more time with Grandma as I love learning from her. My grandma is now 87. She fell and broke her hip this past summer so she walks with a cane, she no longer lives in her farmhouse but lives in a granny suite built for her, attached to my mom’s house. She can’t see hardly anything and doesn’t drive herself. She has recently taken up knitting, which she hadn’t done in many years, claiming she can knit without having to see. She can’t read recipes anymore since the printing is notoriously small, so I knew she would appreciate the help and the lesson.
So one afternoon, mom had picked up the cottage cheese we needed from the city, and I came over to spend time, once again, in grandma’s kitchen. Once we’d mixed the filling and the ingredients for the dough could no longer be stirred with a spoon, it was time to get my hands dirty. As I began kneading the dough, grandma, mom, and I realized that I was already covered with flour and that there was going to be more flour involved. Grandma suggested an apron and went to the closet to get one. Mom went to her house and retrieved the one grandma had made for me more than a decade ago. The apron grandma came out with was her mother’s apron, my great-grandma Heppner’s. It was the classic blue gingham embroidered with flowers. She explained that even her brother wore it for many years to carve turkey for her family’s Christmas and Thanksgiving. I put it on, and when mom returned, she wore my apron since we were now working together. I was stretching and filling the dough circles and mom was rolling the dough and cutting circles.
The ones I made were a little misshapen but I’m sure that will improve with practice.
Traditionally, Wareneki are boiled and then served with farmer sausage and cream gravy. Once they were done we let them rest for a while and then threw them in the pot of boiling water. For the cream gravy, grandma soured some cream, we added black pepper, salt, and cooked it in a frying pan until it had thickened. Mom fried the farmer sausage, cooked some veggies, and we were done.
Before this, I hadn’t actually tried cottage cheese perogies because I don’t like cottage cheese. After spending all afternoon making them, the anticipation was too high so I couldn’t resist trying them. They were delicious! Now we’re planning a perogy making day for February break when we’re all home. My siblings are relatively picky eaters so we’ll also have other fillings besides the cottage cheese; this way we can spend time together and they can also learn.
I’m thinking I’ll make perogies quite often now that I know how- they aren’t too difficult and once you know how they really don’t take that much time. Some of the best perogies I’ve tried were filled with Saskatoon berries, so I’m excited to try some of those!
Another thing grandma made with the dry cottage cheese were cottage cheese pancakes called Glums Koki. You add eggs, flour, salt and pepper to make a batter and then fry until golden on both sides. Grandma eats hers with cracked black pepper on top, I prefer them with syrup and grandma thinks I’m a crazy person. I took home some leftover cottage cheese and gladly had these for supper the next day. Here’s the recipe:
   Glums Koki
I know a fair bit about the history and traditions on my dad’s Swedish side, but not so many from my mom’s German side. This was one of my most favourite afternoons.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
Everybody has something or some things that they just can’t handle. There are things that annoy, things that irk, and things that just shouldn’t be a thing. I don’t have a lot of patience so my list is fairly lengthy. I seem to have many pet peeves. (I will probably counter this list with another list, but of things that bring me joy) Here are some of mine, feel free to share yours!
I’m hoping this list doesn’t make me sound like too much of a jerk! I promise I am a nice, kind person. It took me a long time to be able to say anything negative out loud for fear of offending someone or not being liked, so in a way, this negative list is a positive! I feel like I can voice an opinion, even one as simple as things I don’t like.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
I hadn’t felt any sparkle in a very long time. Not the sparkle of joy, the sparkle of love, not even the sparkle of hope. No hope for the future, no hope for today, and certainly no hope for myself. My life has been awash in grey, different shades of grey, but still gloomy and monotone for so long. I can see joy and recognize it in others, I can see their sparkle and be envious of it, but try as I may I cannot generate that same sparkle in me. At least, until today.
You came with me to my appointment the other day, you came with me for blood work, and you came with me again today. You sat patiently by my side and prompted responses from me when needed. The doctor was terrible, and when she blindsided me by asking me to give myself a diagnosis, you were there. You sat as I haltingly stuttered the textbook symptoms of depression.
You see, I’ve lived with it so long I couldn’t identify them in myself anymore. I’m not sure I remember what it feels like to not be depressed and to not be living behind the invisible wall my mind has constructed. If I was handed a list of symptoms I’m sure I could pick out which ones I notice in my life but I’ve learned that they are just part of life for me. Not wanting to get out of bed and not having the energy for it is normal for me. Days go by where I realize I’ve been zombie walking through life without feeling a single thing. Nights where I’m up all night with maybe 2 hours of sleep are the norm. Needing caffeine to function during the day and alcohol to love myself in the evenings is just what I do. Negative self-talk is my inner monologue, there is no reprieve.
You sat me down after another night of being up late with me and you told me you were going to book an appointment with a doctor for me. You said that you would call, you would book the appointment, you would drive me there, and you would sit with me. You knew IÂ wouldn’t if I had to do it myself, and you were right. And I am ever so grateful that you were.
You have that sparkle that I wish I could find in myself. It speaks of hard work and determination, it speaks of selflessness and a heart of gold, it speaks of love and laughter, and now it speaks of our friendship. You’ve been telling me over the last couple days how proud you are of me, how I deserve to get better, how life can be so much more, and how there is a future beyond this current struggle. I could see you shining.
Today after going again to the doctor and then to the pharmacy, I finally have the medication we’ve been working towards getting for me. I know I’ve taken it before. Part of me still believes that I don’t deserve to get better, but today I can feel a sparkle. It’s a small sparkle, I don’t think anybody can see it but me. It’s a sparkle of hope. It’s hope that maybe I can get better, that I can feel the love people are showing me; hope that I can laugh with others around me and truly take part of the joy.
So love, keep sparkling.
It’s starting to rub off on me, I can feel that I have hope to one day sparkle with you. Imagine how much good we could do and how bright our days would be. There are so many more sparkles for us to discover along the way. Today I’m settling for the sparkle of hope.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
PS: If anyone is having these feelings, please reach out. You don’t have to be alone. Find friends or family, or talk to the good people over at Random Acts
I like to consider myself an avid reader, and as most avid readers, I like to buy books. Unlike most avid readers, I buy books and don’t read them. I love everything about books; the cover art, the font, the feel, the smell, the stories. I love everything about stories; the characters, the phrasing, the descriptions, the flow, the plot twits, the unravelling, the tone, the themes.
However, whenever I have time to read, I inevitably turn to books I’ve already read. I love the familiarity, I love enjoying a story knowing the outcome, and I love reliving it again and again. I love catching things I missed the first couple times. I always feel like I don’t have time to commit to a whole new book, and in it, a whole new world.
I was looking at my bookshelf the other day and decided to do a tally of how many books I have yet to adventure into! This is the list I came up with in the process:
If you have any suggestions for me to read or any comments or reviews on any of these you’ve read, leave me a comment.
Hope this finds you well,
-L
Sight Unseen 