Emotional Tornadoes

They start innocent enough. A little stress here. A minor annoyance there.

Then, suddenly they're off.

Emotional tornadoes.

Before you know it, they're raging. Their "take no prisoners" force sucks in everything and everyone in their path. One minute it's a calm and clear day. The next, your house is spinning and the cows are flying.

I'm trying to make a concerted effort to detach, detach, detach.

Developing an attitude of gratitude

In an effort to stop watching life's double feature, affectionately known as "Pity Party," I recently started keeping a gratitude journal.

Once a day -- usually before bed -- I write at least five things I'm grateful for.

Gratitude shows pity the door.

Being thankful for what I have, rather than what I don't have or have lost, really helps me put things in perspective.

Going from "poor me" to "lucky me" actually makes me a happier person to be around.

Today I'm grateful for:

1) The arrival of spring. Someone I know saw a crocus. A billion more can't be far behind.
2) Good health. There's nothing else, really.
3) Clarity.
4) Starbucks Tall XH Soy Latte
5) The beheaded Lindt bunny in my freezer, waiting for me.

Listening with your heart

I spent the hours between 6 and 8 a.m. in the atrium at SickKids, answering phones for Radiothon.

The place was electric, even at that time of day. The charismatic hosts from three of the city's biggest radio stations were battling it out to see who could get more Miracle Club members during their power hours. I even got interviewed on CFRB.

But the real highlight was a little girl named Caitlin.

She was eleven years old, with flaming red hair and a thousand watt smile.

This sweet girl has been in and out of SickKids her whole life. She's had twenty operations. She'll probably have twenty more. It's more than any child should have to bear.

She arrived with her brother. He was probably 14. He had the awkwardness of a teenager. Bad skin. Baseball hat. Hair just a little too long.

If you saw him on the street, you'd probably think he was a skateboarder. A punk. But appearances deceive.

After Caitlin told her story, DJ Bill Carroll turned to her brother and said, "What do you think of all this?"

He looked Bill square in the eye and said, "If I could do anything to take her pain away, I would. I'm bigger and stronger. I'd take it all so she wouldn't have to suffer."

Whoa.

There wasn't a dry eye.

Caitlin threw her arms around her brother and hugged him tight.

How do you raise children like that?

Business Decisions

Raise your hand if you've ever been laid off.

Raise your hand if you've ever had to lay someone off.

Both suck.

Making fun

As I get older, I find I'm actually starting to enjoy the things I used to make fun of.

I call it the Disco Bowling phenomenon.

You think, "How much fun could a person have in rented shoes," until suddenly you're prancing down a lane under black lights, wagging your finger at a competitor and mouthing, "You're going down in a blaze of glory," to the tune of your favourite rock anthem. Yup, you're the girl who loves disco bowling and you're not too proud to admit it.

I'm also the girl who loves ABBA, Barry Manilow and now, dare I say it, Anne Murray.

I found myself watching Anne and friends on CBC television last night. I knew every word to every one of her songs. It was a special focusing on her Duets album, so the show was lousy with some of the best voices in music, like my girl kd lang, the incredible Emmylou Harris and the ever-soulful, always hysterical Jann Arden.

Life's too short to want to saw my wrists off to the mournful tunes of Tori Amos. When I unwind, I need a little happy. I need a little Anne.

Christ is risen. Let's eat.

As you'd expect, one of the holiest days in the liturgical canon was celebrated with Timbits and stale pound cake.

As part of her gig as chief kitchen wench for the Catholic Women's League, my Mom was responsible for arriving at the Easter Vigil service an hour early, and setting up the after service luncheon. I came along as her disgruntled sidekick.

The Vigil itself was an endurance contest.

It lasted for two solid hours and contained all the elements of a really good guilt fest. There was mass candle lighting, at least five separate readings, three adult baptisms and confirmations, and some rousing, if off key, hymn singing.

My Mom, in her unfailing positivity, had demanded that we set up the luncheon for 80 -- a number that I grew increasingly more sceptical of as the service inched its way to a conclusion. Because I wanted to bolt, I assumed everyone else wanted to, as well.

But it turns out she was right.

In fact, never underestimate the power of free food to draw a crowd.

The hall was full, people really seemed to be enjoying themselves, and my Mom was a star. I was really proud of my Mom as she ably stick-handled the other grey hairs to serve the parched and peckish crowd.

There's lots of joy in life's little things.

I'm grateful for that lesson this Easter time.

Thank Good It's Friday

I'm trying to work up a bit of enthusiasm about the long drive northward for Easter weekend.

My Mom's really looking forward to the visit, but I'm still tired from the assault on Montreal. In truth, she probably wouldn't miss me too much, what with her three-hour-a-day pre-Easter church habit.

I've been getting some of my own religious inspiration of late from listening to Bach's Magnificat.

Talk about a terrific piece of music. The version I've been listening to is from the Academy of Ancient Music and the choir from King's College, Cambridge.

I put it on and my spirit soars. I can actually feel it lightening my load. When the pressures of life press down on your shoulders, it's nice to have a guy like Bach to remind you that you're not going it alone.

Maybe Bach would fancy a little trip to North Bay.