Anything we love, that loves us in return, never dies: A tribute to Dexter

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened - Anatole France

In February 2002, a little guy called Dexter came into my life. I grew up with Boxers and always wanted another one but University living and then working my way into a career wasn't very conducive to having a pet.  Finally I had a home and a big enough garden and decided it was time for my very own Boxer. Little did I know the bond that would be formed with him.

It's amazing how quickly time flies and how much you forget. I guess that living in the moment (a good thing) means that you don't necessarily need to dwell on the past so it is only now, that Dexter is gone, that I find myself consumed by memories and in going through the thousands of photos and videos I have of him I realize how much I had forgotten.

Dexter, a brindle Boxer (whose registered name was actually Royce Ambach's Aleksii) came from the Tanyati line of Boxers, who are still being bred today. One look at any of the Tanyati Boxers and the resemblance is immediate. He was named after the main cartoon character from Dexter's Lab because he was a quirky little guy, with an active imagination, boundless energy and a happy face. The name was quite appropriate. Anybody who knows Boxers understand their boundless energy and a constant need to lick everything. You would often find Dexter standing beside me happily licking my jeans without a care in the world nor any intention of stopping. I constantly walked around the house with a huge wet patch on my pants due to excessive Boxer love.

In the beginning, life for Dexter was much like that of any dog in South Africa. In the mornings I put him and his sister Jessie (another Boxer who joined us a year after Dexter) outside and I went to work. The two of them had the run of the garden and a very large water bowl (we call it a swimming pool) during the day and when I went out at night. I taught them to sit on the step at the front door when I was driving into or out of the driveway until the gate had closed and they were very good at that. After a while, the sound of the gate opening would result in two Boxers sitting patiently on the front step. At night though, they would both sleep indoors and Dexter would climb under the duvet with me and curl up against my legs. Once fully grown he was a big boy and I am not ashamed to say that there were times that we spooned. Dexter loved being warm and his favorite thing would be to curl up and be covered with a blanket or fully stretched out on the couch.

A few months later I moved into a house that had a cottage on the property and my sister and her husband moved in. For a few years my mom stayed with us too. Later, I would work from home and still do today. This meant, that from a young age, our dogs were hardly ever left alone for more than a few hours; they always had some form of human company at home with them.  And we were, for the better part of every day, with them.

In 2004 I met Keith and with him came Troy, our Golden Retriever. That completed the family. And that's how it's been ever since.

In 2008 Dexter hurt his back leg and couldn't put any pressure on it. He had torn a cruciate ligament in his knee which is common in dogs and needed surgery to repair it. This involved breaking the leg, inserting a metal plate and screws and months of restricted movement and care. He healed well, just in time to make the trip from South Africa to Canada to his new home. Dexter loved living in Canada, there was lots of snow, squirrels and great long walks that we didn't typically do in South Africa.

Keith even taught him to walk off-leash, as long as he carried it himself.

Because of the pressure he had put on his good leg while the affected one healed, the second cruciate tore in 2010. this is also pretty common and Dexter had a second surgery to repair the other leg. Again he healed well but he was always plagued with arthritis that didn't particularly seem to bother him especially when a squirrel was in sight.

About a month ago Dexter starting exhibiting strange symptoms, circling, tilting his head, vomiting, and we took him to the vet who thought he had a vestibular syndrome which is like a middle ear infection. When that didn't get better we did blood tests and found that his thyroid was very low which seemed to explain all the symptoms. After two weeks of thyroid treatment he was no better. By this time Dexter was struggling to stand up or walk, he would spend most of his day lying in his bed next to me or on the floor, I would help him walk or carry him and at night I would sleep on the floor next to him so that when he tried to move and couldn't, I was there to help him. Through all of this he kept his happy face, wagging his tail when I walked into the room, eating as though there were no tomorrow and always licking my hand or the bed. In my mind, he would get better so that we could explore stem cell therapy that I wanted to do on his arthritic legs.  Last Friday morning we woke up early and I carried him outside and then back in again. I knew that when I took him to see the vet that morning that he wouldn't come home and I sobbed as he snored in my lap. I took a video of him sleeping so that I would never forget that beautiful sound. We took him to see the neurologist who did a bunch of tests and said that it was most likely that Dexter had a brain tumor that was causing the symptoms and that we were suddenly catapulted into a moment when a "decision" needed to be made. Nobody ever wants to hear those words; how the hell do you just decide? There was no way that I could let him go without knowing for sure if the problem was benign and treatable so we scheduled an MRI for the next day.

On Saturday morning we fetched Dexter from the vet. We had left him there because he was getting dehydrated. He had had a good night, and stood up on his own to go out. We drove to the MRI centre and were early so we walked on the grass and lay beside each other for a while. He seemed better, he was still struggling with his legs but he was walking. Keith and I gave him lots of love and he happily licked my hand. The MRI took about an hour and images were sent via email to the neurologist who called me to confirm the diagnosis. My little boy, my best friend, my dester-malester had a tumour that was pressing down on his brain and spinal cord. The thing I feared the most was right in front of me. I knew that to wake him up would be for me, to subject him to surgery or treatment would be so that I could have him next to me just a little longer,  doing nothing would mean a quick progression that could include pain and suffering. So the choice we made was for him. We let him go, and we sobbed as we stood next to him rubbing his tummy and stroking his beautiful, soft face as we said goodbye.

The devastation I feel right now can only be described as big as the love I felt for Dexter. He was my shadow, he went where I went. He was outside the shower door when I climbed out, he got up when I did, and 40kg of Dexter slept curled up on my lap every night in front of the television. There are no words to describe the loss that I feel without his immense presence. He was a big dog, a gentle giant with an incredible soul.

In my moments of grief I have beat myself up about my decision, but I know that I did the right thing and that this guilt stems only from the fact that I desperately miss him and want him to still be here. But that would mean that he would be here without the ability to walk around freely or go outside. He would be here for my company only and that is not why we share our lives with our animals. In a way, the fact that he was already asleep is probably a blessing, rather than have to wait for the day, or decide which one, to take him back to the vet.

Though it's only been a few days I am starting to feel better. I know deep down inside that everything is OK and the way it's mean to be.  


There will never be another Dexter, but there will be others. I could not imagine my life without a (Boxer) dog in it.

There is a video on my Facebook page that embodies all that Dexter was. Take a moment to watch it, make sure you see the end, it's worth it.

Dexter 

I thank you for 10 and a half years of unwavering love, slobbery kisses, comfort in hard times, a pillow on the hard floor, excitement when I got home, someone to miss when I was away and a million things more. A part of me died when you died but that's OK, because that part was always yours. I will never be the same; I am better for having you.

My 2011

My high school teacher once made us write down our predictions for the coming year on a piece of paper and then held on to it until the next year when we could review them to see how close we were to the truth. I carried on doing that for a number of years, I would seal them in an envelope on Dec 31st and then as technology developed would password-protect a file on my hard drive. I realized last night that I hadn't done that in a while; I guess it wasn't really that important to know what the year was going to bring.

2011, like most of my years, has been challenging and life-altering. We brought in the New Year with an amazing group of friends, the same ones we traveled to Mexico with in May to witness a beautiful wedding, friends who rushed to the hospital when I needed them, who we ate with, laughed with, shared Christmas with and who we will see out the year with. Full circle.

If it were up to me, that circle would include a lot more people all over the world. Whilst a part of me blames South Africa for splitting us up, I am so grateful for the opportunity we have had to live in this amazing country and the ability to expand the family of friends that I would never have met, had we not decided to leave.

Keith had a stroke in June. It burst the bubble I was living in and woke me up to some very necessary changes. While watching one of Anderson Cooper's shows, I identified strongly with him when during an interview with his mother he said that his life is defined by loss. The idea that I could lose Keith was devastating, not that it should have been any surprise, yet it once again woke me up to the fact that nothing lasts forever; a lesson one would have thought I had fully learned already. Coupled with the realization that this included my dogs sent me spiraling. If I am every in doubt about anything, there is one single person that I know will set me straight and I turned to her immediately. She told me that a health crisis is a call for transformation and I should heed that call. So I did.

I quit my job this year. It was a very hard decision. It was the easiest decision. It was the right decision.

The world continues to change and yet I still believe that it is exactly the way it's meant to be.

Here's to all of my friends and family, for liking my Facebook posts, for reading my Tweets and my Blog, for keeping in contact via email, sms and skype, for listening to me, laughing with me, crying with me, for irritating me, for loving me. Here's to Keith, who keeps me content and sane, and to my three fur children who love me as unconditionally as it should be.

Here's to 2012.

Ramblings about some lady who made me sad!

I haven't blogged for a while, mainly for two reasons. The first is that Google and Blogger and god knows who else merged and mixed and changed and for the longest time I just couldn't get into my blog to edit it! I also lost my list of subscribers (all 11 of you) and for a moment I lost interest. I joined Twitter, I'm on Facebook, everyone kinda knows what's going on most of the time anyway!

Last night I went to a meeting out near the airport. I took a bus to the subway station after the meeting and at one of the stops, a young woman got on with her dog. She was warmly dressed, her dog had a tee-shirt on, she was holding a book that she was in the middle of reading, a water bottle and a piece of cardboard. I watched her chatting to the bus driver and looked at the dog who was obviously very comfortable on the very noisy and bumpy bus. They both got off at the subway station and we went underground, everyone boarding the train downtown. Woman and her dog walked to a bench and sat down. She gave him/her some water and she opened up her book. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed her and it didn't seem like it. Everyone was busy doing their thing, the young guy playing games on his iPad, the guy reading his Chinese newspaper, the old lady eating her cut up apple pieces from a plastic bag and me, staring at the Woman and her dog feeling incredibly sad. I wondered if she had anywhere to go, a place to sleep, food to eat? She didn't look malnourished at all and I asked myself if I offered her some money if I would be insulting her having made an assumption by her piece of cardboard that she was possibly homeless and hungry. Maybe she was, or maybe she is part of the Occupy group and is protesting by choice? Did I have any right to ask?

As the train doors closed and we began to move, I silently asked myself if my thoughts were wasted if I wasn't prepared to do anything about them. Maybe just the fact that I noticed was enough? I changed the song on my iPod and thought about the fact that I was on my way home to a warm house, a home-cooked meal and irrelevant TV that I would probably watch till 1am. What struck me was that I had not looked at her and felt grateful for what I had, I only felt sad for what I perceived she did not. I wonder if there is a difference?

It may be exceptionally judgmental of me to sit here and debate whether someone else is content or not. For me what is important is that I take the time to look around and see things, and sometimes they make me think. We rush around consumed by so much that is trivial, small things make us crazy and cause us not to see anything around us.

I'd like to think that at some point, someone has noticed me either walking down the street, or sitting on a train and that caused them to think something about themselves. I don't need them to come over and tell me anything.  Maybe one day I'll read about it.

Blut ist dicker als Wasser

As written in Wikipedia: "Blood is thicker than water" generally means that the bonds of family and common ancestry are stronger than those bonds between unrelated people (such as friendship).

It first appeared in the medieval German beast epic Reinhart Fuchs (c. 1180 'Reynald the Fox') by Heinrich der Glichezaere, whose words in English read, 'Kin-blood is not spoilt by water.' In 1412, the English priest John Lydgate observed in 'Troy Book,' 'For naturally blood will be of kind/ Drawn-to blood, where he may it find.' More recently, Aldous Huxley's 'Ninth Philosopher's Song' (1920) gave the saying quite a different turn with 'Blood, as all men know, than water's thicker/ But water's wider, thank the Lord, than blood.' 

I had lunch with a friend today and the topic turned to her father with whom she has had little or no contact for some time and my mother with whom I often wish I had little or no contact. Even though she said I could use her name I choose not to so for the purpose of today's blog will refer to her as Themis. Themis has two young children and motherhood has significantly impacted her life. I was surprised to hear that her career, one that she brilliantly excels at, may take a backseat to motherhood. Not that that's a bad thing. 

This wasn't the first time that Themis voiced her concern at the fact that her father has never met her youngest child but the fear of his toxicity has kept her from establishing any contact. "Toxic" is Themis' and my word to describe our parents who are victims, who blame the world for the consequences of their lives, who become nasty when they need attention; our parents. It's just a word, it's a word that we both understand, it could be substituted by a multitude of words more or less fitting. Those that know our parents, will get it. 

I asked her if she wanted her father to know her kids for her kid's sake, for hers or for her fathers? Her kids don't know him now, so have nothing to lose by not knowing him, wont miss someone they never knew. You may argue that it is important for a child to have parents, siblings and grandparents but I respond that it is never important enough when the relationships and impact of those relationships are toxic. And at that young age you have a choice. My father died when I was so young that it's almost like he never existed. I cant miss someone that was never there (stay with me......he was, but he left early enough that there wasn't that much of an impact). I cant say that I even missed having a father figure around, he was never there, I didn't know any different. My sister died two years ago. She was there. She was a huge part of my life. I will never get over losing her. Therein lies a difference.

So we've established that it's possibly not about the kids. Is it important to Themis that her kids meet and know her father? It came out that she may be looking for his approval. But bringing him into her kid's life is risky because he has no boundaries or filter and the chances are that she will have to cut him off again and what impact will that have on the kids? Are they young enough to forget (like I was when my father died) or will it cause some form of emotional stress? Is that worth her father's approval for producing two such beautiful children? Finally, is it important to her father to meet his grandchildren? Neither of us could answer that. If he wasn't a particularly good parent, could he be a particularly good grandparent? 

These are questions that we are faced with all the time, in various ways and forms. They are unique to each of us and unless we are in a specific situation we have no right to judge nor opine. Themis will do what is right for her, for her children and for her father. Or she may not and in that case, we are grateful to the existence of therapists and friends (absolution!) all over the world. The only advise that I could offer is this; do whatever will cause you the least amount of regret when he is gone. 

So is blood really thicker than water? Are the bonds of ancestry truly stronger than those between uncommon people? Keith and I have no blood connection yet our bond is infinitely stronger than my relationship with my mother. If blood is the bond, then the bond would only exist between offspring (to each other and their parents (and cousins?)) but not between spouses because to be of a blood bond would mean an incestuous marriage of sorts (and almost certain genetic affliction).  Wait a second.....so there CAN be that bond without blood......that's what I thought (or is that why divorce/break-up is so easy/acceptable - because the bond is not of blood?). Why is it OK to break the bond when it's not blood, but we are judged when we choose to break those that are?

Maybe I see it differently because of the dysfunctional (toxic?) and fragmented family that I have experienced. Maybe it's a defense mechanism because I covet the large family units, the "Brothers & Sisters" of the world. I have created my own family from uncommon-non-blood people. My friends are my family. Keith's family are my family. Themis is my family. 

I have a great Aunt Bessie who never had children and with whom we were close until my mother had one of her alienation episodes and drove her away. I was a kid and I didn't realize the importance of family (blood) but recently started to wonder about her. I wondered if she had died alone. I felt bad about that. It suddenly came to me last week to email the home where I knew she had lived and was absolutely (pleasantly) surprised to find out that the is alive and as well as can be for a mid 90-something woman. I wrote her a long newsy email and asked that it be read to her. There is a connection and it can only have been bourne of blood. Upon hearing this story, Themis immediately responded that I obviously wanted her to have her dad spend time with her kids. But that was not my point because the opposite of that holds true for me too. I have an Aunt in Israel, my father's sister who I barely know. She and my mother had a falling out (surprised?). She has constantly asked what she has ever done to me to make me ignore her. Truth is she has never done anything to me but just because we are blood doesn't mean that we are family. She knows nothing about my life and I know nothing about hers. Yet I feel a connection to great Aunt Bessie. I wonder if it's because she never had any children and my father's sister has kids, grand kids and great grand kids. 

This is how I see it. "Family" is whatever you define it to be. It could be a group of people affiliated by blood, affinity or co-residence (as defined by the Latin word). It could be defined by your religious or spiritual beliefs.  It could be any of us, it could be all of us, it could be none of us.  What's important is that we have the choice to define who we interact with (family), who we turn to in times of need (family), who we call first when something exciting happens (family), who we share with (family), who we fight with (family), who we need (family) and who needs us (family). 

I love my family. Every non-blood one of them. 

Let nobody judge our choices.

What's it all about?

As I continue to read REWORK, I come across really good statements, that once again, taken out of the context of the book have a lot more meaning to me than possibly intended by the authors. 

You want to feel that if you stopped doing what you do, people would notice

 

In the context of the book this refers to the work we do. The book asks if you really love your job and if not, why aren't you doing something else? That's a whole topic on it's own and a question I am currently asking myself. But it's not the focus of my blog today. 

I've written before about the time-line and the mind-fuck that it is to me.  Try follow my line of thought......

 

I am essentially the end of a genetic line. My mother is the only daughter of her parents. Her father had a brother and a sister. His brother had one daughter. His sister never had any children. There ends his family name when my mother and her first cousin married and took on their husband's names. 

 

My father had one sister. She married and her children took on their father's family name. My father had a son and a daughter.  My sister passed away but even if she hadn't and had had children, they would have taken their father's family name. 

I am the end of the line, and the chances of me fathering a child are remote. My family name ends when I die. 

Now this is not to say that there aren't other people in the world with the same family name as mine, or as my grandfather's. But we aren't related; we just have the same name. 

Or are we?

The only way that I got here with the family name that I have was because someone with the same family name as mine had a kid, and they had a kid, and these kids were all boys who carried the name forward. I wonder if someone, 150 years ago sat in their cave and asked themselves what would happen if they didn't have a son, if their family name would disappear. Is it an internal and natural instinct that causes us to procreate? 

I think the real question is: "Does it matter after I'm gone?"

What matters the most to me, is that when I am, somebody notices.

REWORK

I have never been a fan of business and self-help books. When I read, I prefer to launch myself into a fictional world where I can imagine the characters and absorb myself into something other than what I do from day to day. I read a lot. Sometimes I read two books at a time and there is nothing better than the feel and smell of a book and its pages. It is for this reason, by the way, that I will continue to resist those horrible little electronic ebook readers for as long as I can (or until they stop publishing the real thing). Advancements in technology is great but there are some things that should be left alone, and one of those are books!

Anyway, I digress. The purpose of this blog is to talk about a book I am currently reading called Rework, by Jason Fried and David Heinemeier Hansson. As I said earlier, I stay away from the business-type books. I read Malcolm Gladwell's books because everyone said I should and I yawned, not quite understanding why the world goes gaga over things that really are common sense. But I guess the issue is that often someone needs to point those out to us. Back to Rework. This is one of the best non-fictional books I have ever read. I think it speaks to me because it is so simple and because I identify with so many aspects of it. In fact, I recognise many of my own behaviours and working traits in this book and quite frankly, that makes me proud because this is one book that really makes sense to me. Its all about business today and how to get ahead but not in the traditional sense of the word. It certainly doesn't prescribe to "Vision, Mission, Objectives", something I have turned my nose up at for years. 

There are some fantastic one-liners and I thought I would list them as they come up. My next few blogs will comprise these one-liners.

The real world isn't a place, it's an excuse. It's a justification for not trying. It has nothing to do with you. 

I love this, and taken out of the context of the book can mean so many things. We are so governed by the "real-world" today. I watch the news in amazement most nights, especially at America who claims to be the land of the free yet has become so unbelievably prescriptive and judgmental. (and yes, I realise that in that statement lies my very own judgement but then this is my blog and I can say what I like :-)) You can't take a picture of your kid in the bath because some idiot at Walmart who develops the pics will report you for child abuse, you cant read an old story-tale about Noddy and Big Ears because they have an inappropriate homosexual infatuation with eachother and referring to the Gollywog is racist. There is something wrong with everything, you can't eat this, you can't use that, you shouldn't go here, you should never do that. How did our parents and theirs before them function without all the sensory and information-sharing overload. It's a wonder we even exist. The real world seems to me to becoming less and less of a free place than ever before. It's easier to just go with the pack these days than to be someone different.  It's sad to think that if we continually believe that we should do and say as they do in the real world, we may all just become exactly like eachother.

MMXI

Welcome to 2011, a common year in the Gregorian calender according to Wikipedia, and if we didn't know already; the current year. Wiki further explains that it is the 2011th year of the Common Era or the Anno Domini designation. This is also the eleventh year of the third millennium and of the 21st century and the second of the 2010s decade. The Jews (5771; oy vey the agony), the Mayans (didn't have enough space on the wheel to go past 2012), the Chinese (XinMao - Rabbit Stew) and a host of other believers might not agree. For me, it's just another day.

2010 was a hard year for me, but a good one. Friendships ended, began, strengthened. Issues cropped up, were resolved, lead to a change in plans. Through everything, we kept a roof over our head and food on the table. We saw 2011 in with good friends, champagne and sushi, the best dance music (real house), and my 7th opportunity to say "Happy New Year" to Keith, Dexter, Troy and Jessie - my world.

When I was in school, I remember my English teacher having us answer a set of questions and seal them in an envelope. He gave them back to us a year later to compare our predictions to reality. For many years I continued the tradition, sealing my predictions in an envelope (and later a password protected document on my hard drive), and opening them on Dec 31st each year. I haven't done that in a while. 

I don't do resolutions. It's just another day. But I do have hopes for the coming months. If you do believe in the stars and new beginnings, in the numbers and the Universe then I hope that the new year, albeit it a Common one, continues to allow us all the experiences we need, deserve, sometimes don't want but are all necessary to remind us that we are free and alive. To those that are not, we will remember you. 

To all, a happy MMXI

Genographically Yours

A while back I blogged about surfing the timeline and how I struggle to get my head around the fact that as I age, I take the place that people before me held and younger people take the place where I once was and like a conveyer belt life moves on.

Total mindfuck.

My friends Petra and Adam (siblings) gave me a gift of a National Geographic Project Kit. The Genographic Project is a project that uses DNA analysis techniques to map the migratory patterns of human beings over the past 60,000 years. It's pretty fascinating. According to their website, "Where do you really come from? And how did you get to where you live today? DNA studies suggest that all humans today descend from a group of African ancestors who—about 60,000 years ago—began a remarkable journey."

I dutifully swabbed my cheek (rubbing so vigorously that I made the inside of my cheek bleed) and sent off my samples. Results came in today, I've posted them for anyone that feels the interest in reading but here's the thing that totally adds to the mindfuck of the conveyer-belt-timeline; 43,654 years ago this guy (or girl) was somewhere on the earth, doing god knows what but nevertheless someone that happened to be an ancestor of mine. His (or her) actions lead to me being here. The same is said of another he or she 12,530 years ago. I know for sure that approximately 36 and a half years ago one Joan Susan Reiter and Joss Reiter caused my existence. Seriously, it's all just too much to think about.

RESULTS

Your Y-chromosome results identify you as a member of haplogroup J2 (M172).

The genetic markers that define your ancestral history reach back roughly 60,000 years to the first common marker of all non-African men, M168, and follow your lineage to present day, ending with M172, the defining marker of haplogroup J2.

If you look at the map highlighting your ancestors' route, you will see that members of haplogroup J2 carry the following Y-chromosome markers:

M168 > P143 > M89 > L15 > P123 > M304 > M172

(Less is known about some markers than others. What is known about your journey is reflected below.)

Today, descendants of this line appear in the highest frequencies in the Middle East, North Africa, and Ethiopia, and at a much lower frequency in Europe, where it is observed exclusively in the Mediterranean area. Approximately 20 percent of the males in southern Italy carry the marker, along with ten percent of men in southern Spain.

What's a haplogroup, and why do geneticists concentrate on the Y-chromosome in their search for markers? For that matter, what's a marker?

Each of us carries DNA that is a combination of genes passed from both our mother and father, giving us traits that range from eye color and height to athleticism and disease susceptibility. One exception is the Y-chromosome, which is passed directly from father to son, unchanged, from generation to generation.

Unchanged, that is unless a mutation—a random, naturally occurring, usually harmless change—occurs. The mutation, known as a marker, acts as a beacon; it can be mapped through generations because it will be passed down from the man in whom it occurred to his sons, their sons, and every male in his family for thousands of years.

In some instances there may be more than one mutational event that defines a particular branch on the tree. What this means is that any of these markers can be used to determine your particular haplogroup, since every individual who has one of these markers also has the others.

When geneticists identify such a marker, they try to figure out when it first occurred, and in which geographic region of the world. Each marker is essentially the beginning of a new lineage on the family tree of the human race. Tracking the lineages provides a picture of how small tribes of modern humans in Africa tens of thousands of years ago diversified and spread to populate the world.

A haplogroup is defined by a series of markers that are shared by other men who carry the same random mutations. The markers trace the path your ancestors took as they moved out of Africa. It's difficult to know how many men worldwide belong to any particular haplogroup, or even how many haplogroups there are, because scientists simply don't have enough data yet.

One of the goals of the five-year Genographic Project is to build a large enough database of anthropological genetic data to answer some of these questions. To achieve this, project team members are traveling to all corners of the world to collect more than 100,000 DNA samples from indigenous populations. In addition, we encourage you to contribute your anonymous results to the project database, helping our geneticists reveal more of the answers to our ancient past.

Keep checking these pages; as more information is received, more may be learned about your own genetic history.

Your Ancestral Journey: What We Know Now

M168: Your Earliest Ancestor

Fast Facts

Time of Emergence: Roughly 50,000 years ago

Place of Origin: Africa

Climate: Temporary retreat of Ice Age; Africa moves from drought to warmer temperatures and moister conditions

Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: Approximately 10,000

Tools and Skills: Stone tools; earliest evidence of art and advanced conceptual skills

Skeletal and archaeological evidence suggest that anatomically modern humans evolved in Africa around 200,000 years ago, and began moving out of Africa to colonize the rest of the world around 60,000 years ago.

The man who gave rise to the first genetic marker in your lineage probably lived in northeast Africa in the region of the Rift Valley, perhaps in present-day Ethiopia, Kenya, or Tanzania, some 31,000 to 79,000 years ago. Scientists put the most likely date for when he lived at around 50,000 years ago. His descendants became the only lineage to survive outside of Africa, making him the common ancestor of every non-African man living today.

But why would man have first ventured out of the familiar African hunting grounds and into unexplored lands? It is likely that a fluctuation in climate may have provided the impetus for your ancestors' exodus out of Africa.

The African ice age was characterized by drought rather than by cold. It was around 50,000 years ago that the ice sheets of northern Europe began to melt, introducing a period of warmer temperatures and moister climate in Africa. Parts of the inhospitable Sahara briefly became habitable. As the drought-ridden desert changed to a savanna, the animals hunted by your ancestors expanded their range and began moving through the newly emerging green corridor of grasslands. Your nomadic ancestors followed the good weather and the animals they hunted, although the exact route they followed remains to be determined.

In addition to a favorable change in climate, around this same time there was a great leap forward in modern humans' intellectual capacity. Many scientists believe that the emergence of language gave us a huge advantage over other early human species. Improved tools and weapons, the ability to plan ahead and cooperate with one another, and an increased capacity to exploit resources in ways we hadn't been able to earlier, all allowed modern humans to rapidly migrate to new territories, exploit new resources, and replace other hominids.

M89: Moving Through the Middle East

Fast Facts

Time of Emergence: 45,000 years ago

Place: Northern Africa or the Middle East

Climate: Middle East: Semi-arid grass plains

Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: Tens of thousands

Tools and Skills: Stone, ivory, wood tools

The next male ancestor in your ancestral lineage is the man who gave rise to M89, a marker found in 90 to 95 percent of all non-Africans. This man was born around 45,000 years ago in northern Africa or the Middle East.

The first people to leave Africa likely followed a coastal route that eventually ended in Australia. Your ancestors followed the expanding grasslands and plentiful game to the Middle East and beyond, and were part of the second great wave of migration out of Africa.

Beginning about 40,000 years ago, the climate shifted once again and became colder and more arid. Drought hit Africa and the grasslands reverted to desert, and for the next 20,000 years, the Saharan Gateway was effectively closed. With the desert impassable, your ancestors had two options: remain in the Middle East, or move on. Retreat back to the home continent was not an option.

While many of the descendants of M89 remained in the Middle East, others continued to follow the great herds of buffalo, antelope, woolly mammoths, and other game through what is now modern-day Iran to the vast steppes of Central Asia.

These semi-arid grass-covered plains formed an ancient "superhighway" stretching from eastern France to Korea. Your ancestors, having migrated north out of Africa into the Middle East, then traveled both east and west along this Central Asian superhighway. A smaller group continued moving north from the Middle East to Anatolia and the Balkans, trading familiar grasslands for forests and high country.

M304: The Spread of Agriculture

Fast Facts

Time of Emergence:15,000 to 10,000 years ago

Place of origin: Fertile Crescent

Climate: Ice Age ending

Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: Millions

Language: Unknown—earliest evidence of modern language families

Tools and Skills: Neolithic Revolution

The patriarch of M304 was a descendant of the M89 Middle Eastern Clan. He was born between 15,000 to 10,000 years ago in the Fertile Crescent, a region that extends from the Mediterranean Sea to the Persian Gulf where the Euphrates and Tigris rivers form an extremely rich floodplain. Today the region includes all or part of Israel, the West Bank, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq.

The descendants of this man played a crucial role in modern human development. They pioneered the first Neolithic Revolution, the point at which humans changed from nomadic hunter-gatherers to settled agriculturists. The end of the last ice age around 10,000 years ago, and the subsequent shift in climate to one more conducive to plant production, probably helped spur the discovery of how to grow food.

Control over their food supply marks a major turning point for the human species: the beginning of civilization. Occupying a single territory required more complex social organization, moving from the kinship ties of a small tribe to the more elaborate relations of a larger community. It spurred trade, writing, and calendars, and pioneered the rise of modern sedentary communities and cities.

The M304 marker appears at its highest frequencies in the Middle East, North Africa, and Ethiopia. In Europe, it is seen only in the Mediterranean region.

M172: Toward the Mediterranean

Fast Facts

Time of Emergence: 10,000 years ago

Place of Origin: Fertile Crescent

Climate: Ice Age ending

Estimated Number of Homo sapiens: A few million

Language: Unknown

Tools and Skills: Neolithic

Your ancestors left a physical footprint that matches their genetic journey. Artifacts from ancient towns such as Jericho, also known as Tell el-Sultan, a site close to present day Jerusalem, provide evidence of permanent human settlements to around 8500 B.C. The sites also suggest the transition from hunter-gatherer to settled life occurred relatively suddenly.

The M172 marker defines a major subset of M304, which arose from the M89 lineage. It is found today in North Africa, the Middle East, and southern Europe. In southern Italy it occurs at frequencies of 20 percent, and in southern Spain, 10 percent of the population carries this marker. Both M304 and its subgroup M172 are found at a combined frequency of around 30 percent amongst Jewish individuals.

The early farming successes of these lineages spawned population booms and encouraged migration throughout much of the Mediterranean world.

This is where your genetic trail, as we know it today ends. However, be sure to revisit these pages. As additional data are collected and analyzed, more will be learned about your place in the history of the men and women who first populated the Earth. We will be updating these stories throughout the life of the project.

When Grampa Killed Grandma

It's been a while since I blogged and I keep on thinking I should be writing more often because the intention of this blog was to keep a record of my life since leaving big bad South Africa but then I think that there is nothing that interesting to say. Life has become pretty routine. We are fast approaching our 2 year anniversary in Toronto and it sometimes feels like we have been here forever. I desperately miss my friends and family but there are days now when I am sitting around a table eating dinner with friends, drinking copious amounts of wine and I suddenly stop and think to myself "wow.....these are my friends too". We've even made some enemies, well I couldn't quite call them that, but I would say that friendships have ended. Now that's when you know you are settled in!

It's summer in Toronto and I never thought I would experience this kind of heat in Canada. My friend Jen warned me about this before I even arrived and I thought to myself that it cant be hotter than the Highveld heat in South Africa. Boy was I mistaken, temperatures this past week have hit the 40s (Celsius) with the humidity. It's unbearable, it feels tropical and the only place I want to be is in a horizontal position next to a pool. We have resisted putting on the central air but even the poor dogs weren't coping so now we are satisfactorily cooled indoors. Keith is loving it, spending his time on the lake in the evenings sailing with his friend Dom and I venture out every now and then for a schvitz!

We have been following the FIFA World Cup back in South Africa and I am very proud to see what a positive impact has been made by the country. We are proudly flying the South African flag outside our house.

Of course life in Lawrence's house isn't much fun if there isn't any drama so here is today's story. As most of you know Keith likes to fix up houses and has been doing this for a number of years. This has meant us moving at least every 18 months or so and I was under no illusion that what happened in South Africa, would happen in Canada. We'd been living here for just over 18 months and Keith was getting bored so it became time to sell and move on. I cant say I was truly happy about this as I really love living on this street where we have made the majority of our friends. We listed the house in the winter but didn't get any offers so we took it off the market. At the time we had bought something else that was conditional on the sale of our house and naturally that fell through. I wasn't too unhappy about the whole situation. We listed the house again in the Spring and this time not only did it sell within 10 days, it sold for the asking price which is pretty good for these times. We then went into a flat panic to find something else because we only had 60 days before closing. Keith must have looked at about 30 properties and nothing caught our eye. We thought this would be an opportunity to try out a new neighborhood but each time kept coming back to Cabbagetown where we are settled and happy to the point that we are on a first name basis with Mark the Butcher, Domingo the Green Grocer and even Andy, the Postman! We put in an offer here, another one there, got rejected, went back and so it went but no exciting sales. Finally a house came on the market very close to where we live and we grabbed it. We thought all was said and done and Keith immediately got online and started ordering chandeliers and other necessities for the new house. And then it all fell apart......

We got a call about three weeks ago that the purchaser of our house had lost his job (he was fired) and now informed us that he would not be buying our house anymore and we could return his deposit to x address. We politely informed him that we had a firm and binding Agreement and that we would be doing no such thing. Boy, did the fun then start. I wish I could publish some of the emails he has sent that have gone from begging and pleading, to vicious, to offensive to bordering on the insane. Alas, these are possibly soon to be used in litigation and can't compromise us winning vast amounts of money in damages because if he doesn't buy our house, we don't buy the one we purchased and if we sue him, the person we bought from sues us. Could it be any messier? I won't say much more except for the fact that we are due to move in a week and are nowhere near a resolution (at the time of writing this), blood pressures are high, anxiety is causing major strain and this is not something I would wish on anyone. It happens rarely, and it happened to happen to us! It sucks.

My mother is up to her usual tricks which means that she is costing me money once again and I complained to a friend today over coffee about the constant drama. I have a long-time friend who has all his/her siblings alive and well, as well as parents, a grandparent or two, children, jobs, a house, cars....and rarely seems to ever suffer any drama. For just a moment, I wouldn't mind a little of that. My friend responded that it aint always so peachy on the inside and went on to relate a story of a family much like that, with little drama or problems and the seemingly perfect life. This was until Grandpa murdered Grandma, went to jail and proceeded to set himself alight at Grandma's grave when he was paroled. I know there is more to this story, and I know it is tragic but I burst into laughter in the middle of Starbucks. I guess I'll keep my life just as it is. If my mother murders anyone at Sandringham Gardens Ill be sure to let you know.

I think that's it for now. I'll try be better at updating more often.

Adios

Poetry

I was looking through some old files for a document that I need and came across an old worn book with the words "PRIVATE" scratched into the cover. When I was a teenager I was a huge Jim Morrison fan, I read all his books and poetry, listened to his music, had posters of him all over the place and wore tight tee-shirts and jeans just like him. At some point I decided that I would be a poet just like him too. And inside the tattered old book is my poetry. It's all totally entertaining, the teenager trying to come up with something original out of the depths of despair of being a teenager (yes, most of my poetry was quite morbid and full of self-pity!). And not very good. But hey, here's some of it....

Dad
Memories of days long past
Begin to fade.
The mental picture crumbled
long before.

Yearning for a father stronger grow
Beneath the
Anger
And frustration.

Outward strong I seem to be,
Yet inside flow tears of sorrow
For someone I can't
Remember.


In God We Trust?
Events:
Experienced to learn from.
(The details become clearer much later)
But during is when beliefs falter
And then need be reassured.

In times of need for guiding hands,
One looks for something meaningful
In a God that we all trust.
(or do we?)

Varsity Wall
The echoes fill the building,
They bounce off concrete walls,
And amid the smells of morning feast,
The incessant noise of hurrying feet,
Education calls.

I sit alone yet part of them,
A group of people who,
(Some would rather be elsewhere)
Share a common goal.

And yet someday,
When degrees are held,
And roads diverged,
Most cherished friendships (from these echos)
Shall linger still.


And this one is my favorite because I know exactly who I wrote it for. I hope she reads my blog 'cos she'd be tickled pink (and by the way, she is still married to "someone else" today).

Why is it?
Why is it that I always seem to lose,
To someone else?
Why is it that she doesn't notice me,
But someone else?
Why is it that I love her so and she loves,
Someone else?
Why is it, can you answer me,
Why is it?
I know you love her....
But her not me,
Just let me finish please.
I know you love her endlessly,
But she loves someone else.
Someone else.
Oh, how I hate him so,
You mustn't fight,
You cannot win,
Just let her love him.
I can't, I love...
But she not you,
She loves someone else.

Living in crime-infested Toronto

I left South Africa exactly 18 months ago in search of a new life and with the hopes of escaping the horrific crime that Johannesburg had become subject to. To date, life in Toronto has been quiet, safe and free of the stories that I used to hear on an almost daily basis back home. Until this week…

Keith and I were watching the news on Tuesday evening when the headlines came on and we both leaned forward in our seats, horrified at what was taking the lead in that night’s news.

The following was copied later off of a Star newspaper headline:

“Father retrieves stolen stroller in Craigslist sting
Pricey prams are a hot commodity, as Toronto dad learns just hours after a theft”

The basic story reported that a stroller (pram) had been stolen from the front porch of this family’s home at about 1am. The parents had heard a noise and after finding out that the pram was gone, dad quickly logged onto the Internet and began to scour Craigslist for clues. For those that don’t know, Craigslist is an online resource where you can find pretty much anything and is widely used in North America. Lo and behold, at approximately 3am, someone posted a pram for sale, one that sounded oddly familiar to this dad. To cut a long story short, he made plans to meet the seller and ended up retrieving the stolen pram. The Star newspaper article referenced above further went on to say that “There aren’t solid numbers on stroller theft in Toronto, but pram pillaging is enough of a problem that an alert was issued last October in 11 Division, which encompasses High Park and the Junction. After a rash of thefts and two arrests, police suggested that strollers be kept inside or locked up”.

God bless Toronto. May the crimes committed always be opportunistic and for financial gain, without harm to those affected. May the news headlines continue to entertain those that have seen much worse.

P.S. Just in. A horse got stuck in some river and an anonymous donor paid for a helicopter to rescue it and fly it back to safety. I wonder if they will repeat it on the 11pm news later tonight?

Where have you been?

I haven’t blogged in a while. Every time I think about updating my blog I realize that I don’t really have anything earth shattering to say. I guess that must mean that we’ve settled into a happy, routine life. I follow a few blogs, one of them nauseatingly irritating due to an exceptional high level of daily “pat me on the back’s” and that’s the last thing that I would want to do. Who cares what I do every day? Just because blogging is the in thing, doesn’t mean that everyone wants to read about you (or me). Anyway, here’s an update on the last few months (just in case you were wondering)…

I last wrote in October so I’ll try and think about interesting and poignant things that have happened since. I turned 36 in November. It’s actually a nice number and I don’t mind at all being on the closer side to 40; my 30s have been tough years. At some point I thought that I may be having an almost-mid-life-crisis but quickly realised that I just hate my job that I love. Explaining that would be tedious and not something I choose to put in writing at this time.

December brought the long-expected visit of Cherise and Simon and a very well deserved break from the love that I hate but love. Work over the preceding months had been more stressful than ever before mostly due to a nasty client and incredibly bad preparation in a project that ended up becoming my problem. I loved having Cherise and Simon see our life, meet our friends and just enjoyed being together. I loved waking them up in the mornings. I loved seeing them lounging around. We did little more than relax, eat and catch up. Knowing that Toronto would never be their first destination of choice I was so grateful that we were reason enough to spend the money and time.

We took our own holiday shortly after Cherise and Simon went home to South Africa. We travelled to Mexico and spend a fantastic week or so in Playa Del Carmen. It was just what we needed, sun, the pool and a constant flow of alcohol. Did I mention that we were drunk before we even reached the hotel and remained that way for the entire duration of the trip?

Our second winter in Toronto has been a breeze (or maybe a slight chill). We barely had any snow until February and it all seems to be over already. I must be honest; I think I would have preferred a little more snow. It’s pretty and makes winter “feel like winter”. But I’m ok with the fact that its over. Keith has bought himself a 32-foot sailboat and I’m looking forward to being ferried privately to and from the island.  

As I write this I am looking at a snoring Dexter with a bruised leg and slice from knee to ankle. Poor guy tore his cruciate ligament in his right leg two years ago and had major surgery to correct it just before we emigrated. Surgery involved removing the damaged ligaments, breaking the leg (or rather cutting through the bone) and attaching a steel plate and 8 screws to realign his two leg bones (femur and tibia).  The recovery was slow and long, involving 4 months of restricted activity and rehab. Those months of relying on the good leg resulted in the other cruciate tearing a few months ago. We tried conservative treatment of rest and anti-inflammatories because I didn’t want to put him through another surgery but it was inevitable. He had his $4000 (things really are so much more expensive here) surgery last Friday and so far is doing really well. He really is a trooper, seems to be relatively pain-free and resolved to the fact that he will need to heal for a while. Our house isn’t as contusive to this kind of rehab as was our house in Johannesburg because of all the stairs, which means that I have to carry him up and down. But in a few months I know he will be jumping around as if nothing had ever happened.

Daniel came to visit last weekend. What a treat and I was so grateful that he would happily hop on a plane arriving Friday night and leaving Sunday just to come and spend some time with me in between his business in the US. Daniel and I have always travelled well together, we’ve done Sydney, London and other fun things (even a Hindu wedding in Durban where I had to put out so that we had a place to sleep) and rarely tire of each other. We walked around Toronto, we ate and went to gym and we caught up.

Im sure that much more has happened but unless I blog daily, Ive already forgotten! If I remember anything I'll be sure to update you. My 14 registered blog readers are also all Facebook friends so chances are you already know it all!

I think it’s time to wrap things up. I’ll end with good news. We finally became permanent residents last week. While in the grand scheme of things it was relatively quick and painless, it felt long and painful for us. We are one final step towards Canadian citizenship and that feels really cool.

Kitty

Every time I look at you the world just melts away
All my troubles all my fears dissolve in your affections
You've seen me at my weakest but you take me as I am
And when I fall you offer me a softer place to land

You stay the course you hold the line you keep it all together
You're the one true thing I know I can believe in
You're all the things that I desire, you save me, you complete me
You're the one true thing I know I can believe

I get mad so easy but you give me room to breathe
No matter what I say or do 'cause you're to good to fight about it
Even when I have to push just to see how far you'll go
You wont stoop down to battle but you never turn to go

Your love is just the antidote when nothing else will cure me
There are times I cant decide when I cant tell up from down
You make me feel less crazy when otherwise I'd drown
But you pick me up and brush me off and tell me I'm OK
Sometimes thats just what we need to get us through the day

Sarah McLachlan - Push

Cherise

I know that you do it because you don't have the emotional attachment that I do. I know it's easier that way. But it doesn't mean that it's easy.

Thank you for always taking her calls.
Thank you for responding to her SMS's.
Thank you for buying groceries and supplies.
Thank you for buying her airtime.
Thank you for talking to Lynette, and Moshe, and the doctors.
Thank you for paying the bills.
Thank you for sorting out Medihelp and the Pharmacy.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for visiting.
Thank for you storing everything in your garage.
Thank you for delivering and unpacking.
Thank you for your spreadsheet.
Thank you Simon.

Thank you for taking care of my mom. I can't wait for you to come play.

One Year On

I arrived in Toronto one year ago today. I remember speaking to people that had emigrated and they warned me that it would not easy. I was told to be patient, that my sense of values and morals in the South African context would take time to change and adapt to a more liberal Canadian one, that it could take up to three or four years for me to settle down and feel at home. How wrong they were!

I have always wanted to live in Canada. Something drew me here. Every time I came to visit I felt like this was home, not South Africa. I felt like I belonged here. My friends got tired of me saying that I was going to live in Canada. Nobody believed that I would actually do it. But I did, and boy does it feel good.

September was a rush and it felt like any other business trip. Thank god for Lisa who gave me her apartment in the very plush Yorkville. I arrived in style. A week later I was off to Russia and India on business. Before I left a dog bit me.

Keith and the dogs arrived in October and so did the first snow. The dogs loved it. We spent the next few weeks searching for a home and it was a crazy time. At first we were so disappointed in what we could afford but then we started seeing places that we liked and so the negotiations began. After looking at 64 houses, and losing two we finally had an offer accepted on Ontario Street in Cabbagetown. Little did we know how much that decision would affect our lives.

We moved in November and it was so good to have all our things from South Africa in their rightful place in our home. It gave us the stability we needed. We felt at home. We met our neighbours that day and within days they invited us to spend Christmas with them.

Doreen came to visit in December and we spent New Years together. I got my drivers license even though it was snowing like crazy that day. The three-month reality that I had been warned about hit and I realized that I was not in South Africa anymore and I missed my friends. I started to romanticize South Africa yet I knew that I didn’t want to go back. I was not in any way unhappy; I was lonely. Of course I had Keith and the dogs, but I am a social guy and I need people around me. Working from home wasn’t helping.

In January I flew to New York to surprise my niece and I reconnected with an old friend from South Africa. We carried on settling into our home and life, and Keith started renovating our house. We started meeting the people on the street and started going out. We were slowly making friends.

February brought heartbreak with news of the death of my sister. Within hours of hearing I was on a plane back to South Africa. My friends rallied around me and the week spent in Johannesburg is a blur. I didn’t have to lift a finger and for that I am eternally grateful. The love and friendship I experienced from people all over the world made me realize how lucky I am. Being in Johannesburg was awful and I couldn’t wait to come home.

March brought the promise of Spring but the cold lingered. It was a long month yet the winter had not been that bad. We had actually enjoyed it.

April was STILL cold! I started running.

Neil and Olga arrived in May. What a treat to have them come and spend time with us. Neil shopped, and shopped, and then shopped a little more. He also did some shopping. We explored, we ate, and we rode our bikes. Neil shopped.

June and July were beautiful months; warm days and nights that seemed to go on forever. We started sitting out on the front porch in the afternoons drinking wine and eating cheese and neighbours would join us. It became a regular thing and people would stop and talk to us and some even asked what they had to do to join the club. Would it be the same had we have bought on another street? I visited Germany and Holland. I fell in love with Amsterdam. I visited Merle, Sid and the twins in Vancouver.

We went back to South Africa in August. This time it was partly for work and partly for fun. We surprised our friends and family and it was so wonderful being with them. It was like we never left; yet it didn’t feel like home anymore. There is no doubt that we will never go back. I saw Nicki in San Francisco. It was so good to connect.

It’s September now. It gets dark earlier and there is a chill in the morning air. We have an amazing circle of friends here; some that feel like we have known them forever. I marvel at the thought that if we had never come here, we would never have met them. And that would just be tragic.

We are happy. We are content. Keith and my relationship has only strengthened. We just celebrated 5 years together. We are free and safe. We walk our dogs through the neighbourhood and in the parks. We ride bikes and take the subway.

I just read this to Keith. He told me to wrap it up. Im done.

Dear Baruch

You will probably never read this but that’s ok because while it’s directed at you, it’s not for you. You changed your Facebook status from ‘married’ to ‘single’ barely hours after she died so I cant expect you to ‘get it’. This letter is for me; it’s for my sister.

I don’t doubt for a second that you loved her. I am grateful that she found love, marriage and happiness with you because many people rejected her for being so fat. That’s the truth. Your relationship was certainly passionate; I remember hearing you screaming at each other when you would fight and I remember you crying when she was in hospital. You lead a simple life together, you were never able to give her everything she wanted, and often your lack of ambition or ability to sustain your employment frustrated her but she loved you. I wish you had supported her more in her attempts to control her health. Suddenly you are exercising and eating well, why didn’t you do it when she was trying so hard?

I am not angry with you. I am not angry that you lied and I am not angry that I had to find out about your engagement via Facebook. Your actions don’t surprise me but they disappoint me yet I realize that it is my own expectation that you have failed and who am I to place those expectations on you? There is no point in you mourning forever, my mother is a prime example of what a mess that can be and I have no right to stand in your way of a future, a wife and children. I wonder if you have ever thought how things would be if the circumstances were reversed? How would your family feel if it were you that died and if my sister got engaged 5 months after your death? Would your friends congratulate her? Would it matter if she were planning a wedding when your grave lay bare without even a tombstone? It matters to me.

Do you ever think that if you had died, you would have left her penniless? Does your fiance know that I furnished your home; does she know where all the money you have now, more than you ever had before, came from? Did that money buy her engagement ring? Do your parents remember that they refused to help you when you were stranded in Israel? I brought you home, I put a roof over your head for almost 4 years, and I paid off your car. I did it willingly; I did it for my sister who I loved more than you will ever know. I did it because I had the means. I would do it again. Will you remember?

As I write this, and read through it, and edit it, I realize how little it matters. It’s been eating me up inside but it really doesn’t matter, does it? What matters is that she is gone; some say she is in a better place, others say it was her time. I don’t know. What I know is that everything I have written above doesn’t really matter.

I miss her every day.

I dream about her every night. There is an empty hole inside me that doesn’t want to go away and I’m not sure it ever will. It goes wherever I go. I would give anything to have her back as selfish as that may be. I hope that she is in a better place. I hope that death is not the end. I hope she hears me when I talk to her. I hope she feels me when I cry. There was nothing left unsaid, but there is still so much I have to say.

I miss her every day.

Contractually Yours

I think that you need to have faith in order to question it, so if I am questioning it, then I must have faith.

I grew up in a traditionally orthodox Jewish home. In my late teens I became quite religious, to the point that some of my family joked that I was well on my way to becoming a Rabbi. Little did they know what I was getting up to late at night, and that becoming a Rabbi was never an option. The religious phase came and went, but at least I can say that I gave it a try. If asked, I would say that I prefer cheese with my burger and that’s why I strayed.

In my mid twenties I found myself talking to an amazing therapist who taught me about self-exploration and different views on the world. In between talking about my childhood, my father and mother and my various “issues”, we discussed Buddhism, Taoism, Judaism, Christianity, Spirituality, Metaphysics and I read books, lots of them. The advise given to me was to take all the bits of the things that I had read that made sense to me, to put them together and create my own belief.

I soon met an amazing woman named Fran and together with my friend Cherise and two others we went on an exploration that amazed and thrilled me. Our weekly meetings consisted of all things unknown, we explored the Merkabah, Light Work, Channeling, Tarot, I studied Wicca, we meditated, we met in dark places, we spoke to Egyptologists, we ate very garlicky chicken, we made spells and bought crystals and we formed opinions on what we believed. We played for just over two years.

And so I created my own version of my faith.

I have always said that there has to be more to life than what we experience on a day-to-day basis, because if there isn’t, then I struggle to see the point and I would rather bow out gracefully right now than endure the mundane activities of most days. So for me, there has to be something that exists outside of what we know. And that something belongs in a spiritual realm. It must be pretty good on the other side, because no one has come back to complain.

I believe in too many things to write it all down here but the most important is that I believe in sacred contracts and in the fact that things are exactly the way they are meant to be. This does not mean that we don’t have free choice; in fact it is because of free choice that I don’t truly believe in religion anymore because why offer free choice and then punish you for the choices you make. But that is a discussion for another time and place.

I believe that we come into this world having pre-determined certain experiences and relationships. I say certain, because I also believe that some happen by chance or because of someone else’s contract. Our souls are far greater than we could ever imagine or understand, we exist on multiple planes and in multiple dimensions at the same time; in fact the past, the present and the future are all happening right now.

For example, I believe that the part of my soul that exists in this life entered into an agreement with the part of my father’s soul that existed in this life to have the experience that it did. That’s why him dying the way he did, at the time that he did, is ok. I believe that I similarly have contracts with each and every person that I feel a connection with, because somewhere there is a lesson for one of us. Sometimes the lesson is for me, sometimes I’m just a conduit and sometimes it teaches us both.

But despite the fact that this feels right for me I don’t always believe, and sometimes I question. I miss my sister more than any words can describe. I don’t feel that I can get past the fact that she is gone and I think about her every day. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night because she haunts my mind so vividly. It’s not that I’ve suddenly realized how important she was to me and it’s not that I am having regrets about things not said or done. It is all about the fact that there is a humongous void in my life that I feel every day, the possibility that she is actually dead (the harshest way to describe it) is one that I struggle to accept and come to terms with. But, if I truly do believe in what I say I do, then I have to accept that this was a sacred contract that came to it’s rightful end at a time chosen by either me, my sister or both of us, in a time and place far removed from this world. I have to accept that whilst I may not understand it now, that in time I will come to understand or I will understand it when I leave this life, before I make my contracts for the next.

The part of me that still believes, is the part that helps me go on, laugh, enjoy, love and live despite that horrible emptiness, loss and sadness.
The other part of me questions.

I guess that’s what it’s really all about.

The more we ask, the more we are forced to evaluate our existence, make decisions, form opinions and hopefully realize how lucky we truly are and live the opportunities we have to the fullest.

Sunday, bloody Sunday (or not quite)

Sunday started off as most days do, with some cleaning.

We then got our bikes and joined Lou and Deb for a ride around the city, stopping off at the Danforth for brunch and making our way home through the beautiful Rosedale suburb.

We walked the dogs. After about an hour we slowly made our way home.

And ended off the day with cheese and wine on the front porch.

Being neighbourly (sp!)

Keith is on a course this week and anyone who knows me, knows that the way to my heart is directly through my stomach (Stephan - NO FAT COMMENTS! Have a bit of dust). This means that I get a cooked meal every night and on nights that I dont, I buy it ready made. Cooking has never been something I enjoyed nor was I ever good at it. Sure, I can make something; but usually only palatable to me. I have this need to do everything well, I am extremely hard on myself so when I have tried to cook it has always been elaborate and complicated dishes that rarely turn out as Jamie (Oliver) would have wanted. I realised that simple is better. Anyway, there is a great little deli/caterer down the street so on Monday Keith got lamb shank and on Tuesday he got lamb curry and on Wednesday he announced that I had better cook something! So on Wednesday I bought a raw chicken, I really did, and I googled "roast chicken" and watched a YouTube video on how to truss and roast it and I did, I really did. I went for my daily run and when I got back Keith was sitting on the steps of the front porch with our neighbour having a glass of wine and a "kuier". I joined them, and so did our friends two doors down and two hours later we were still chatting and drinking and watching the people and the dogs walk by. Long story short - we ended up sharing and thoroughly enjoying my roast chicken (secret secret recipe) and roast potatoes. And a bottle of white, and two bottles of red and half a bottle of grapa. I have never seen Keith that drunk before, it was very cute.

Today I decided to try my hand at my culenary skills again, this time it was home made fish burgers and fries. Keith got home at 6 and two hours later there were 9 people sitting on the front steps of our house drinking wine, playing with Petra's 11 week old Pug, chatting to people and dogs walking past and eating fish burgers and fries.

I've noticed when I go for my run, or when we walk the dogs that it is pretty commonplace in Cabbagetown for people to sit out on their front porch in the evenings, when the sun is out till 9pm.

It still amazes me and I hope that I never take this for granted.