Keira-anne.com

…but this song has been my only saving grace, and I can’t count how many times I’ve listened to it since yesterday. Thank you for sharing it with me, R.

Photo: chunter01 on Flickr

Photo: serhio on Flickr

Beach bum at Great Slave Lake, N.W.T.

Eastern Europe in the 1920s was less than glamourous, but that’s not to say it wasn’t a time of great beauty. On July 11, 1924, a sunny summer day in Poland, a baby girl was born. Her name was Hildegard “Hilda” Willemina Korber, one of nine children born to a poor farmer and his wife. As she and her brothers and sisters grew up, they all learned the value of hard work and the importance of family while relying on strength and resilience to get them all through the Second World War. Despite her humble beginnings, however, her loveliness was not lost on everyone – and certainly not on one young man from Czechoslovakia.

Fishing at Great Slave Lake, N.W.T.

When Hilda and Karl first met each other in their 20s, it was love at first sight – for Karl. Being that he was four years her junior, Hilda was largely reluctant and refused his advances and declarations of love. Karl moved to Canada and found himself working both in Ontario and the Northwest Territories, saving up every penny he earned.

Finally, after four long years, Hilda agreed to marry Karl and found herself in Canada in the late summer of 1954 at the age of 30. Three months later, they were married and embarked on a lifelong journey of love together on November 3, 1954. The newlyweds set up a home in Yellowknife where Karl worked in local mines while Hilda tended to their small but snug home. It didn’t take long to add to their duo, and almost to the date of their one-year wedding anniversary, Katrina Elizabeth Chalupa was born. Less than a year later, Anne Mary Chalupa came long.

Katrina grew up and became my mom, Anne grew up and became my aunt, so naturally Karl and Hilda were affectionately known by me as Opa and Oma.

Anne Mary Chalupa, Hilda Chalupa, Katrina Chalupa (Yellowknife, circa early-1960s)

Last night I picked up the phone to call my mom and pick at her memory. As I’ve been making my way through changes in my life, self-discovery and attempting to pinpoint the issues that impact who I am today, I’ve realized that reconnecting with my past is an important part of that process. There is perhaps nothing as unique as a daughter’s relationship to her mother, and also to that mother’s mother. I wanted to know more about my Oma, I wanted my mom to remember and I wanted her to share with me what all three of us ladies had in common.

Katrina Chalupa and Hilda Chalupa (Yellowknife, circa mid-1960s)

My Oma was a woman with a great deal of love for her daughters and much devotion and respect for her husband. She was deeply sympathetic and sensitive and had a tendency to cry easily, much like my mother and I. Another characteristic that passes through all three of us is the deep-seated desire to nurture. As I have grown into a young woman, I have become predisposed to overfunctioning.

Overfunctioning is a frequent trait of eldest children and is generally a learned behavior. It tends to be what happens when one is either consciously or subconciously expected to set positive examples, take care of everything and everyone, all the while “keeping it together” without showing any sort of vulnerability. While overfunctioning isn’t necessarily a negative characteristic, the pendulum of this behavior can easily swing too far in the wrong direction, as it has in my life.

Keira-Anne, Hilda Chalupa (Port Hardy, circa early-1980s)

After talking with my mom at great length last night, it started to become more clear how this pattern – my “normal” and natural way of dealing with anxiety – has developed through the generations. As a young girl in Poland, my Oma was expected to work hard, contribute to the household and most likely had to often look out for herself in a home of 11 people.

When my mother was a child, she often took care of many of the younger neighbourhood children, paid attention to them, played with them and even walked many to and from school. As my mom grew older and eventually became a married woman, she would often find herself in the position of being the responsible adult in the marriage – as many women frequently do. Before long, overfunctioning became her survival tactic and this behavior was inevitably passed on to her first born daughter, yours truly.

Photo: tempest_kat on Flickr. Katrina Mellis, Keira-Anne (Vancouver, circa 2008)

While many of the deck’s cards are stacked against me as a chronic overfunctioner, restoring balance to my life is possible. I am willing to do the work. We overfunctioners have a tendency to be resistant to change and have an incredibly difficult time remaining objective and level-headed in times of high anxiety. The bottom line, however, is that if I am overfunctioning all the time for others, I am underfunctioning for myself.

Modifying my behavior – a behavior that simply isn’t working for me – will be a constant, lifelong challenge. There’ll be setbacks coupled with achievements and times when I don’t see the point in changing. The work, however, is anything but disheartening. Though facing up to who I truly am, the good and the bad, may not always be pretty, I’m unearthing a great deal of beauty and freedom in reconnecting with my past and the amazing people that helped impact the woman that I am today.

I love beds. I think about being in one all the time.

Most people dread Sundays but I have grown to love them in recent weeks. While I tend not to sleep in, and instead run errands, visit with friends or hop to the gym on weekends, I find myself back in bed before not too long.

They say (whoever they are) that you’re only supposed to use your bed for sleep and other, ahem, noctural activities. I, on the other hand, use it for everything short of eating or painting my fingernails.

It’s a comfy place to be. This past Sunday, as the sun was setting over Vancouver Island, my entire bedroom was flooded with radiant gold light, and it was impossible to feel anything but amazing.

I read in bed. I write in bed. I blog in bed. I watch TV and movies on my laptop in bed. I knit in bed. I talk on the phone in bed. Last night I was so cold from the weather and tired from the workday that, not long after my muscle-relaxing warm bath, I found myself back in bed – before 8pm, I might add.

Maybe it means I’m getting old. Maybe it means I don’t know how to go out and have fun. But, at the very least, I’m warm and comfortable in my own little haven of pillows and down feathers while I do (or don’t).

(Hey, at least I didn’t write about my search for the perfect french fry.)

I’m starting to notice a phenomenon.

On Saturday I went to the gym for my circuit training class, and because I had left my iPod at home, snatched up a tattered copy of Elle Canada to read on the stairclimber. As I flipped through the pages – some stuck together – I came across what is your typical Q&A column where women had written in with their various relationship problems, seeking words of wisdom.

As I scanned over first the questions and second the answers, I was amazed. “Do these women really believe that this is what they’re supposed to do to fix what’s wrong?” Some of the so-called advice astounded me in its absurd logic.

Photo: jamielondonboy on Flickr

Several hours later, I found myself wandering the downtown Chapters with a friend. While her and I both managed to grab a cheap beach read for ourselves, we browsed the store since we had nowhere else to be. By the time we reached the third floor – and often dreaded self-help section – I couldn’t help but notice the large volume of books dedicated solely to women and their “dysfunctional” relationships.

As I scanned over titles such as the classic Men Are From Mars… Women Are From Venus, Why Men Love Bitches and the soon-to-be movie He’s Just Not That Into You, I noticed more than their splashy, brightly coloured covers. Not only were these books aimed to sucker in hurting women everywhere, they all smelled of complete bullshit.

Heartache and heartbreak are great for the economy.

Photo: mollybob on Flickr

I turned to my friend and reiterated to her what I’d thought just hours before at the gym: “Seriously, do women read these and consider them the Holy Grail of relationship advice? I think that’s unfortunate.” Why do I think it’s unfortunate? Any back covers or inside pages I scanned for their purported insight all point to the same issues – that women screw up, pick the wrong men and just need to find “the right kind of guy” instead of the so-called toxic ones.

How about this instead? Women don’t always screw up (but neither do men), sometimes we don’t always consciously “pick” the ones we do and just because a man is broken doesn’t mean he isn’t “the right kind of guy.” Perhaps instead of trying to change how women relate to potential suitors in their lives, they need to re-think how they relate to themselves.

Less of We, More of Me

As women, we have the right to feel empowered, the right to take care of ourselves and the right to make the best choices as we see fit. Playing the blame game gets no one anywhere, so perhaps it’s time to take responsibility for our own actions and choices. Some are so quick to label men as “toxic,” but if that’s true, then we as women are equally capable of being toxic.

Focus on yourself, on your growth and your development. Instead of over-thinking and overanalyzing the differences, I think it’s time to instead appreciate the delicate distinctions between men and women and how we all function – within relationships and, more importantly, as individiuals.

Video: Amelia Burrows on Flickr

I work at a fast-paced law firm, so handling mass quantities of paper on a daily basis can be expected. Between preparing case citations, legal arguments and client documents, it should come as no surprise that receiving a wicked paper cut happens on at least a weekly basis. While I generally have a high pain tolerance, I won’t deny a momentary whimper and an instant of feeling sad for my poor little finger when it happens.

As I arrived home Friday afternoon and proceeded to think about the tiny slice that had struck me across my left palm earlier that day, I recognized a blatant correlation between paper cuts and my loss of objectivity through anxiety attacks.

Like a paper cut, losing objectivity through anxiety is generally caused by something small and mostly insignificant – not unlike a piece of paper – and yet feels as though it causes a great deal of damage instantly. The second the pain hits, it’s seemingly excruciating when, in reality, it’s just a tiny nick that will likely be mostly healed over and forgotten within hours. In the moment, however, getting our minds off the pain seems next to impossible.

Photo: Angie Torres on Flickr

Friday afternoon and later that evening were times of high anxiety for me. Some of it was likely fueled by the margaritas, but most of it sprung out of the monumental personal work that I’ve been toiling through. After what I felt to be a major breakthrough in counselling two weeks ago, I was sure that I had since acquired a great deal of “infinite wisdom.” In my mind, I presumed that because I’d found the root of my problems, my issues would no longer be issues with me. I could not have been more wrong.

Not long before that work day ended, I found myself with an emotional paper cut and soon after felt so angry at myself for failing the first test. What I instead realized was that I didn’t fail my first test – feeling anxiety is a perfectly normal response. What I did with that anxiety dictated whether I passed or failed.

I can choose to have a freak-out, lash out or overreact. Or, I can choose to shed a few tears because of the intense emotional state, step back and ask myself a few grounding questions:

Normally when I breathe a few breaths and question myself, the answers become rather clear. And while I truly am starting to find the answers that I’m looking for, it’s not as simple as I bargained for. I’m starting to realize that much of how I react or behave is rooted in past emotional issues. The truth is that our emotional issues generally must be processed up through the generations so that they won’t impact our current circumstances or be passed down through the generations.

Now comes the huge task of reconnecting with those issues and finding the teenaged Keira-Anne again.

It’s Sunday and it’s sunny and I’m terminally bored. You probably are too, so watch an episode of DJH for fun, okay?

“C’mon, you know I really like you…”

“Okay.”

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Once upon a time, Amy Burrows had a birthday, so Alissa (whose little girl is cute enough to make me think maybe I do want to have kids again), Lindsay and I surprised her… SURPRISE! And so, the four senoritas made their way to Las Margaritas in Kitsilano to celebrate.

Pitcher number one: lime. Pitcher number two: raspberry peach. Pitcher number three: strawberry raspberry (but was supposed to be pineapple coconut – we were just brought the wrong flavour).

Amy can’t go to a Mexican restaurant for her birthday and not expect a tequila shooter.

Best damn nachos ever!

Our waitress brought Amy a slice of really yummy chocolate cake and made her wear a sombrero…

…so we all got in on the action.

While the big day isn’t technically until tomorrow, I wish Amy the happiest of birthdays. She’s one special lady that I am most honoured and excited to celebrate because she defines the word “friend” in so many ways. Finding women who are honest, trustworthy and true can be as rare as finding diamonds, but Amy is most certainly one of the few.

Thanks for all the wonderful memories, pizza dates, puppy play dates, t-shirt making dates, Twilight dates, GUNS!, cookie baking dates, Michael Bublé dates and everything else that is to come. You are one special woman and I never want you to forget that.

Since my favourite busybody, Rebecca, was otherwise occupied with preparations for this weekend’s WordCamp Whistler, she asked yours truly to slip into her shoes and check out the second annual Taste BC last night at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in downtown Vancouver.

A large number of BC wineries and restaurants participated in this great event to support the BC Children’s Hospital – Oak Tree Clinic.

While I wish I could tempt and tease you all with in-depth reviews of everything I came across that I enjoyed, the truth is that this blog post would turn into a novel.

The winner of Rebecca’s contest was none other than my pal Lindsay.

The Hyatt’s grand ballroom was packed with other “foodies” like me, wine glasses in hand, prepared to indulge and delight their senses. Amy was my date for the night, so between the two of us (plus Lindsay and her comrade Laura), we knew we were in for a fun night.

One of the first samples of my evening was from Forbidden Fruit Wines, an organic vineyard from Cawston. Their pride and joy should easily be their “Earthseries” 2007 Sauvignon Blanc, designated to promote sustainability of our planet with partial proceeds going to the David Suzuki Foundation.

Wild sockeye salmon on artisan bread with hot smoked salmon, sea salt and mustard cream cheese from Two Chefs And A Table. I’m pretty sure my tongue melted.

“Hippie Juice” wine basket prize – all wines from Vancouver Island and the southern Gulf Islands.

I also really loved talking with the proprietor of Averill Creek Vineyard, Andy Johnston, who clearly has a passion for his craft. I’m looking forward to summer BBQs paired with their 2006 Pinot Gris (the 2006 Pinot Noir also did a nice little dance in my mouth).

Amy’s bright red satin number went well with Sympathy For The Devil‘s 2005 Merlot, with vineyards in both the Okanagan and California’s Napa Valley. And yes – you guessed it – the brand is a partnership with the Rolling Stones. I’m dying to try their Pinot Noir icewine!

The Benton Brothers were on hand with a selection of local artisan cheese, including some from Little Qualicum Cheeseworks on Vancouver Island.

Tucked in the far corner, Lindsay and I discovered the Fort Wine Co. out of Fort Langley. Many fruit-based wines simply taste fruity, but theirs were earthy and true. The 2007 Isle Queen Blackberry dessert wine – made with naturally-grown blackberries from the Queen Charlotte Islands – is unbelievable!

A chocolate fountain with decadent truffles from Rogers Chocolates? Um, okay!

Amy told me that I simply had to try the tonic water at the Fentimans booth, but I was skeptical. As it turns out, she was right. Created through a process of brewing and fermenting with natural herbs, Fentimans’ time-honoured tradition produces something unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. Zesty, tingly and completely delicious. Dash in a bit of gin and you’ve got yourself a fantastic Friday night!

It goes without saying that the four of us had an amazing time and the event it certainly something I’d like to check out again next year. I owe a huge thank you to Rebecca for the honour. To read a more in-depth review, head over to Miss604.com.

If you’re interested in trying any (or at least most) of the wines featured at Taste BC, visit your local Liberty Wine Merchants shop.