Dearest Readers,<\/p>\n
Much of my family has gathered together here in Montreal for the birth of my eldest sister’s first child. It’s a monumental event for all of us. First baby of the first born. First baby out of four women. First boy. We’re all a little mental right now. In a good way.<\/p>\n
My mother arrived on the scene yesterday and with her brought baby pictures of my sister and me, her first two children, born 19 months apart. My older sister and I were very close and it was just us two until #3 came along two and a half years later. Many of the photographs show us hugging or sitting closely or playing together.<\/p>\n
One picture is a wintry scene, taken in the Yukon in December 1973 when I was just two years old. Every Christmas we would head into the bush to find a tree for decorating. My father would chop it down and we’d haul it back to the house for trimming. This became a ritual that involved a number of families. I remember it fondly.<\/p>\n
At least I thought<\/em> I did. In the picture my sister is eating snow and looking quite content. I look… distressed. The caption on the back, written by my mother, says, “Celia is not<\/em><\/strong> too happy, in fact disliked the whole outing intensely.”<\/p>\n When the caption was read out loud I responded, “Story of my life.” My sister’s partner said, “Really?”<\/p>\n Really. I was not a very happy kid. I was a miserable teenager. In my twenties I tried<\/em> to be happy but never really succeeded. So, yes, I really did dislike the whole outing intensely. The “outing” being life in general.<\/p>\n When did it change? When I hit rock bottom at age 27. I began to walk the Healing Path, which involved getting serious about a Spiritual Practice. Only this devotion to Higher Guidance has brought me what I never had my whole life but sought desperately to find: Peace.<\/p>\n