The daughters of Dangerous Donny

With a borrowed truck, three chainsaws and some bodies, we successfully bucked up (a newfound term that I love to use as regularly as possible) approximately seven truckloads of wood, which are now piled high in my driveway. It took Dad, Uncle and a few wonderful other people roughly five straight hours of manual labour, but Ladies and gents, I will now survive the winter! With the exception of desperately needing winter tires, I say, bring it on snow!

The labourers were paid in soup (containing meat) and beer and will additionally have some hard alcohol in thanks. Because I am thankful that I can call friends and family at a moments notice to come help. Dad, especially, has always been great at that.

Admittedly, due to a blended family (I hate that word) I am not at all as close to my Dad as I had once been. All three of us girls have lived with our dad without the other two sisters at one point in time. Megan, Shawna and I have all been referred to as one the McNeil girls, knowing that Donny’s two other girls currently lived elsewhere. I was a teenager where for two weeks out of the month I essentially lived on my own, because Dad did shift work at Pope & Talbot Sawmill. I would see remnants of him during the week: A lit wood stove, dinner in the slow cooker and always an empty coffee cup by his recliner. Donny Mac, was the Dad my friends were afraid of, as he wasn’t hesitant to put you in your place, Daughter or friend. 

As children the three of us remember camping trips and fishing in his blue tin boat – he would recline in his snazzy chair and sip beer while three of us held out our rods. Chores growing up consisted of mowing our large yard and going for firewood.  Boy did he ever yell as us when we didn’t move the seat back after borrowing his car. Despite him working a lot, I never felt that he was absent from my life. Dad was never afraid to give up crap when needed, but also praise us when deserved.  

He’s now taken on the role of Grandpa for a few of my sister’s children, but he’s adopted the Dad name once again, with two step daughters and a son all who are in the same age groups as his grandchildren. This is no surprise as he was an amazing father growing up.

I think Shawna and Megan would agree that this has been justifiably difficult as for particular reasons that I would not care to get into. As you would know from a past post, us McNeil girls do not air our dirty laundry for the world to see. As Dad took on his new role and responsibility as well as a bit of crazy, it seemed that I started to unknowingly distance him from my life. I have absolutely no shortage of love in my life. There are so many friends and relatives who support and love me that  if this means that I need to take a few steps back to allow my Dad to be happy and his partner to be happy, then I’m okay with this. 

He still emails me, and we talk shop often, and I get advice from him as we both now work in the forestry industry, and he’s always here when I need him to be – like when I asked to borrow his truck, his chainsaw and his manpower for five hours firewood-ing. 

I simply feel more of a guest when I visit, Hugo stays at home (which almost never happens), photo’s on his wall are of the next generation of loves in his life rather than us three girls, and we don’t see each other in person as much as we once have. I still love him, and I know he loves me just as much and I know this is just how it needs to be for a little while.

In all honestly, choosing to not do this something ultimately made me happier, too. I think this is all part of adulating.

Kindly

Kirstin

If you want to fly, give everything up that weighs your down. - Unknown

All fall down

 

It’s safe to say that I’ve done a bad job on winterizing my life. Two night ago I was wide awake at 3am coming up with strategies on how I’m going to get enough wood, which is my main source of heat, to keep my house, my dog and myself warm for this very Northern season. A winter that typically lasts. Eight. Months. - But hey, I got the hot tub up and running!

The next morning my phone vibrates, and a very dear friend texts me and tells me that she will be receiving a severance package. The ever declining Albertan economy has forced my mom to take reduction in work hours, which she can survive off of, for now. My friend tells me she needs to take a trip to Alaska, as a loophole, as her permanent residency is in jeopardy (admittedly, the Alaska text message was inappropriately funny at the time). There’s the Bott family who lost their three children due to the fact that they were simply children being children. Those parents will feel horrible about every future happy event they incur for the rest of their lives, because to them, that means they have found a way to move forward in life without their daughters. A farming accident may have killed those girls, but guilt will kill those parents. They need support, not criticism.  And suddenly the firewood debacle seems quite minor.

I should be a more available. So many close friends and family members are quietly fighting with their own daemons. People are frantically treading to keep their head above the water, defeated from the adversity of life. And this is all done in private. We do not discuss our life hardships or battles. We do not hang our dirty laundry for the entire world to see and to judge. No, friends, we suffer and struggle in silence. We do not confess that life is, actually quite horrible at the moment, we especially do to not come clean about the mistakes that have created this difficult time; not until it’s overcome, anyway. Not until there is 20/20 hindsight and a moral to this event.

I’ve have had my own calamities in life and I wouldn’t have overcome them without being able to fall apart and have such an amazing support group to hold me together until I was able to mend myself. So, this is me being available. This is me actively offering to be your rock and help send out the positive energy. I provide support and empathy in every way I can and most importantly, without judgement. You can contact me and connect with me in any means available and I will help you put yourself back together, because we all fall down.

Kirstin 

 Maybe I love too much and maybe I show too little. - R.M Drake

Identity Theft

I’ve had those five o’clock highs. Those days where I get off work feeling fabulous, because I’ve rocked my work week; managers and supervisors were in silly moods, an employee said thank-you to for the extra work I did. Everything went so smoothly. I walk out of that office thinking, damn, I was made for this job, and I love my life.

And that’s the problem. At any job that I have ever had, my day at work seems to influence my evening at home. Heck, my week at work establishes my weekend. So when I have a bad day at work or a stressful work week my evenings are full of over analysing my job and my weekends comprise of work dreams and 3AM lists; my weekend will be overshadowed by the Monday to come.

I am not just an Office Girl. My career choice is not my identity. I’m an independent women and who enjoys yoga. I am a vegetarian who hikes. I’m a feminist, damnit! I am a runner. I am a wine connoisseur. To the point: I am a running wino. I love thrift-store jungles, Cheesies and country music. And I live to travel. So, when did the success of my job start determining my self-worth?

I've had this conversation with friends time and time again over coffee, wine, giggles and tears. Is this what adulting is because I would much rather care less and not give a shit about my job. And honestly, what's the worst that can happen at work, it's not like I can make a mistake and kill someone like most of my nurse friends.

It drives me nuts that the few error at a job neutralizes, no wait, negates how dedicated and invested I am to that job. I hate that I question my abilities when I am unable to get something done, be it a time problem or simply not knowing the answer. I have this mantra that I use at work: Will this matter in a year? No. It won’t. I honestly believe that I was made to change the world and I have yet to find a job where the work I was passionate in was positively impacting society in such that way.

And yet still my face become visibly flushed, heart palpitations occur and I’m flustered and panic when something happens at work that shouldn’t regardless of the severity of it. I have been That girl who cries at work (nobody wants to be That girl). So, how do I find that work-life balance and stop letting work impact my real life? Let’s just be clear I work to live, so how do I keep my life on those bad days?

-K 

I do yoga to relieve stress. Just kidding, I drink wine in yoga pants.