The Arrangement – Part IV

I finally came upon what I guessed to be the master bedroom.  A maid was busy cleaning and dusting the furniture.  The footage was four times that of any of the other rooms.  The walls were made up aas many of the other rooms paneled in mahogany.  All the furnishings were black and the canopy bed had a lovely red satin bedspread lying neatly upon it.

“Sorry, Ma’am,” the maid said, not once lifting her eyes to me.  “I thought you would be in the study.  I thought I should tidy up while you were busy.”

She scurried across the room and gathered her cleaning implements.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” I assured her, observing her nervous motions.  Her pale skin created an impression that she had been kept inside throughout the hot summer days.  She was quite young, possibly fifteen.  She wore a white dress with a pale blue apron and a bonnet on her head.  It was just like in the movies.

“Oh, but I have been told to make sure not to disturb you, ma’am.”

“You aren’t disturbing me in the least.  Go right ahead with what you were doing.”

I felt strange speaking to her in such a manner.  I wasn’t used to being treated with such royalty.  I sauntered over to the closet, curious as to what my new wardrobe looked like.  Dresses, shirts and pants were neatly  hung on hangers.  They were all black with traces of gold and silver.  Whoever I now was, I sure did have a preference to black.

From there, I headed through some doors which led me to a massive washroom with a sunken bathtub and marble floors.  Again the decor was void of white.  The floors matched the furniture of the bedroom and the sink and tub matched the bedspread.  It wasn’t exactly what I would have chosen for primary colors but in view of everything that was handed to me, I could hardly complain.

In one of the drawers I found a sweat suit, black, with silver stripes running down the side of the arms and legs.  I slipped into it.  I wasn’t sure what it was made of, but the material hugged my body with is soft touch.

Days passed by and the dream continued.  I had become familiar with the different rooms in the house, and discovered that I was now the owner of two publishing companies and two newspaper companies.  Being owner was a fairly relaxing position to be in, as most of the work was delegated to the Presidents.  Calls would come in from stock brokers requesting my opinion on investments, media requested interviews and charities requested donations.  Within no time I was on top of everything and enjoying everything I did with a passion.  When I wasn’t working, I would go to the club, which Him had mentioned I belonged to.  Glamorous as everything else in my life, it was a wonderful place to socialize with all the elite members.

It wasn’t until about three months into this dream that I began to miss my friends.  I never knew what had become of them.  I hadn’t even stopped before to wonder.  I was so wound up in shopping, working and working out that I had completely alienated myself from my own personal social live.  Then, it suddenly dawned on me that I had fallen prey to the existence I had been so against.  I had fallen in love with yuppyism.    I shuddered.

Copyrighted 1987

The Arrangement – Part III

continued…

I ran my hand down the side of my waist.  Not an ounce of fat remained.  My calves were pronounced, carefully dressed with golden laced black nylons.  My shoes were also black with gold streaks running through them.  My skirt fit tightly again my firm thighs and buttocks, the smooth leather caressing my skin.  My old sweatshirt had become an angora sweater embroidered with cold sequins which outlined the face of a panther.  My chewed up nails were transformed into long golden weapons filed to a point.

It had all just happened.  Just as I had stoop up.  It was like magic.  It was magic.

As I made my way out of the library, all eyes remained on me, following me through the doors.  I stopped in front of one of the door windows and stared at my reflection.  My face was the same, save for the wrinkles.  My hair was shining as it never had before like long gold strands carefully combed in gentle waves.

‘I must be dreaming,’ I thought.  It was the only plausible explanation for this.

A black limousine pulled up next to where I was Standing.  A tall man in uniform stepped out.

“Miss LaPointe?”

I looked at him curiously.

“That’s me” I responded.

“You requested that I pick you up at two thirty.”

“I did?”

“Do you not remember, Miss?”

“Not really, but that’s okay.”

I stepped into the stretch, feeling rather odd.  This was too confusing for me to ask questions.  I wouldn’t have know where to begin.

The chauffeur drove up a long driveway to a huge mansion.  He stepped out and walked over to open my door.  As he helped me get out he asked, “will you be needing the car later, Miss?”

I decided to play along.

“No thank you Charles,” I said.

“It’s Jim, Miss.”

“I’m sorry.  My memory fails me.”

As I walked up the steps to the door, a butler appeared on the steps.
Did you find the information you required, Miss?” he asked in his Irish accent.

“I believe I have.”

“Very well then, the den is set up as you like it.  There will be no calls for you today, as you requested earlier.”

“Thank you,” I replied, not sure what to make of it all.

I entered the house, temporarily paralyzed by the magnificence before me.  I didn’t know how I was going to get away with this.  I had no idea where any of the rooms were.  The only solution was to inspect the place and familiarize myself with it.

As I walked about, I was fascinated with each and every room.  Hand carved ceilings, mahogany walls, oak bookcases in the library.  There were ten rooms in the upper floor, every one as beautifully decorated as the next.

… to be continued

(copyrighted 1987)

The Arrangement – Part II

… continued…

“Do you know a lot about them?”

“A lot about them?” he repeated.

“I mean, do you know where they come from, a bit about their history?”

“Oh well, to tell you the truth, that’s hard to keep track of.  So many people come in and sell their jewellery.  Some tell me tories about them, some don’t.  I’m not in the antique business, so I really don’t pay much attention to the history.  I’m just a salesman.”

Regardless of his lack of knowledge, I still felt this was a story worth pursuing.  I would just have to do some extensive research and find someone who knows more about the issue.  As I looked down at the old jewellery, one particular ring caught my attention.

“May I see that ring for a moment?”

“Which one is that, ma’am?”

“The one with the emerald and two square diamonds on either side.”

“Oh yes, beautiful ring,” the older man said as he lifted it from the tray and handed it to me.  I held it carefully then tried it on.  It fit perfectly on my middle finger.

“How much is this?” I inquired.

“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“I that all?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I contemplated my expenses for a while, my bank statement running quickly through my head.  ‘What the hell’, I thought.  I hadn’t spoiled myself in some time.

“Okay, I’ll buy it.  Do you take cheques?”

“With two pieces of ID,” he advised.

“That’s no problem.  Who do I make it out to?”

The elder man spelled out the name of the store as I wrote it out carefully.

“Don’t bother with a bag.  I’ll wear it now,” I said.

The man handed me my bill and I left the store.

Wouldn’t you know it.  Here I was out on an assignment which was to make me money and I end up spending it.  No time for regrets though.

I went over to the reference library next and toyed around with the reference computers, searching for material on antique jewellery.  The place was packed with yuppies and would-be yuppies studying.  Toronto was full of them anywhere you went.  The generation who worships money and opulence.  Or was it rather decadence.  The two were too difficult for e to distinguish among this group.  But I was not to criticize, no matter how strong my sentiments against their needs were.  After all, even my own circle of friends fell into the same category.  They could never understand my persistence in following a career for the sheer love for it as opposed to the financial rewards it could reap.  They could never understand why I refused to dress within the Yuppie standards.  It was so simple.  I wanted to be an individual in a world where uniqueness was becoming extinct.

I travelled through the rows of books, picking the ones whose numbers matched those on my little reference sheet.  Soon after I was sitting behind a stack of books, open to various pages, as I jotted down pertinent information for my story.

Suddenly my hands began to shake uncontrollably, as my head felt as though sparks were igniting within it.  The pages of the books began to flip on their own.  I stared in amazement.  I peered around the room to check if anyone was taking notice of this strange phenomenon.  No one seemed to be distracted whatsoever.  A tingling sensation ran through my body as if the sparks were travelling downward, finally escaping through my toes.  The motion ceased, my hands were still.  I looked around again.  Still nothing.

I must have been hallucinating, I thought.  Perhaps I hadn’t been eating properly, or hadn’t been getting enough sleep, or both.  I wasn’t sure.  But I decided it was time to put away the books and head home for some rest.

It was only when I rose to my feet that I felt a thousand eyes staring at me.  My eyes travelled the length of the room.  It had not only been felt, it was true.  All eyes were upon me.  I looked down at my body, trying to locate the area of interest.  ‘It can’t be’, I thought.  My clothes were different.  But that wasn’t all.  So was my body.

… to be continued

 

(copyrighted 1987)

“Well this is somewhat embarrassing?” (wordpress) Not really – new take. My writing of 25 years ago – The Arrangement Part I

The Arrangement

I wrote this 25 years ago and found it at first embarrassing that I couldn’t remember my own story.  On the other hand, I was intrigued.  So these are stories I wrote while I was fighting my bulimia and fighting for my writing rights, taking a college course.  There are a few to come and it amazes me that I had the ability to write and have these ideas when I was so lost.  Just think if I had not been fighting my bulimia all those years what I could have achieved!!  To Older Laurie from the Younger Laurie – I saved these for you. And now here is to the new adventures of the old Laurie.  I am saying this because my favorite show is “The New Adventures of the Old Christine”. That show inspires me.

The Arrangement:

“I want you to do an article on antiques,” my boss said, sitting smugly behind his desk, his stained yellow hands holding a cigarette firmly between the index and thumb.  He blew a smoke ring in my direction.  “What kind of antiques would you like covered?”  I asked, as I slipped my finger through the ring automatically, as I had done so often as a child when my father was smoking.  “Anything.  Just do a piece.  You’re the reporter, you’re the one who should have the ideas.”
“I just thought maybe you’d have a preference.  There’s all…”

My boss interrupted me in his usual demeaning manner. “Just do it okay?  I don’t care what it is.  Just do it.”

“Yes sir,” I said as I stood up from the seat in front of him, saluting as I did so.  He rolled his eyes and waved me off. “Get out of here,” he said, with a smile appearing on his chubby face.

Good old Mr. Craig.  He was, forever, trying to conceal his humanity.  He pretended not to like anyone.  Somehow I doubted this was true.  But I was one of the few who held him in this regard.

I returned to my cluttered desk and stared at the ceiling.  An article on antiques, I thought.  Big deal.  I longed to be transferred out of the Entertainment department.  It was becoming a tedious affair.  No excitement lay in any of the assignments I was assigned to.  On the other hand, I was grateful to be employed by a newspaper.  I shouldn’t be so critical.

“Anything interesting up there?” John asked.

“Not really.  I’m just thinking.”

“That’s not good for you,” he jested.  John was assigned to book reviews.  His work was good and he loved what he was doing.

“New assignment?” he asked.

“Ya.  I have to write a piece on antiques, would you believe!”

“What kind of antiques?”

“Beats me.  Mr. Craig said he really doesn’t care.  I’m just trying to figure out what I’m going to choose,” I lied. I knew it would be futile to try to explain to him  my growing disinterest with the stories I was given.  Besides, it was my problem.

“Well, I’m out of here.  I’m going to go visit some old junk.”

“See you later,” John said.

“Right,” I replied, knowing later had no definite boundaries.

I walked along the crowded street, feeling the need for fresh air.  I was amazed at the multitude of loiterers for mid-morning.  To thin that the other half were scurrying beneath the ground in the subway stations and underground shopping centers intrigued me.

As I went along, I browsed through the shops along Yonge Street.  I was hoping my imagination would be stimulated in some way and perhaps I would be granted an idea on a focal point for my story.

I came across a small jewellery sho9p which specialized in Estate jewellery.  I went inside to look at some of the merchandise.  Memories of the days when I had managed a jewellery store flickered in my mind.  How grateful I was to be out of THAT business.

An older man I guessed to be in his mid-sixties appeared from a room at the back of the narrow store.  He wore bifocals, the old kind which had a half moon at the lower part of the lens.  He couldn’t have been more than five feet tall.

“Can I help you, young lady?” he asked in his foreign accent.   I wasn’t quite where it was from, though I did guess it to be of Germanic origin.

“Maybe you can,” I answered, suddenly realizing the potential of the merchandise before me.  “Are any of these pieces considered antique?”

“Yes, some.  Over here in this case I have a few rings and pendants claimed to be over one hundred years old.  Would you like to look at them?”

“Sure,” I said as I followed him to the far corner of the room.

…to be continued

 

(copyrighted 1987)

I Love Myself Now, and Now Can Love People

It’s a strange feeling.  I love myself.  And since I learned how to do this I learned how to love others, unconditionally.  It is truly the most amazing feeling I have had in my whole entire life.  This is not something you hear very often, and because of that I will say it again (or rather type it).  I LOVE MYSELF, and hence love others.  This is all I want to write. 🙂

Penny, Nickel, Dime and Quarter

I was reading a book by Bart Baggett and happily finished it tonight in the midst of watching the 100th Grey Cup on the web, with commentaries on the radio.  Yes, I am a person who needs to do many things at once.  Believe it or not, I focus better that way.  So while the Argos were winning against Calgary, I was reading the last pages of the book, which intrigued me.  Bart, in the book, spoke to sameness, sameness with exception, difference, and difference with exception.  The deal is you put three coins in front of someone and ask them how they relate.  I decided to place four in front of me: A penny, a nickel, a dime and a quarter.  (by the way they are eliminating the penny in February  of 2013 apparently in Canada).

Strangely enough I saw a strange correlation to the coins.  The penny was my youngest sister; different. Value had no meaning to me in terms of how much, it was just how I related the coins.  Then there was the dime.  That would be my second eldest sister.  Smaller, but much more value than the size.  I always loved the dime for that.  Then the quarter.  I had more value then any of the other coins, but it wasn’t about that.  It was about its size.  It stood out.  That would be my eldest sister.  Finally there was the nickel.  That was me.  I never felt the nickel belonged.  I believe that most people save mostly pennies, dimes and quarters, and nickels were useless, awkward, but still rounded out the number 5.  A kind coin, but not as noticeable as the others.  Last one you brought out of your purse.

Having thought this a strange but interesting exercise, I then brought it over to my neighbours, Lamont and Larry.  Lamont answered that they were different.  He specifically noted that the penny was a different colour, and the others were silver, but they had different values.  Difference with exception.

Larry, on the other hand, quickly stated that they were 41 cents.  Sameness.  No exception. Value.

So my view of it was also, like Lamont, difference with exception.  Size,  versus  value.

Lamont and I have been close for several years, and in an on and off relationship.  But there is one thing I do know; he will always be my best friend.  I guess this is part of the reason why.  We see things differently, but yet in the same way.  Difference with exception.

For more information on relationships, and compatibility, stay tuned.  My reading marathon had made me wiser in my building my knowledge of ways to learn who you are compatible with and who you should run away from.

That Is So Dangerous For Someone Like Me – I don’t belong on this earth

I had an interesting “chat” with a friend this evening and his problem seemed to stem from not feeling like he belonged on this earth.  I jokingly responded that maybe when NASA divulges their big “good news’ secret about Mars, it may be there is another world to live on.  His response to that was:  “The answer is right there Laurie, written down, I don’t need to look on Mars, just inside of me. But I need a guide for some parts of the journey, that’s where (Joseph) Campbell comes in. He laid out the network of paths in great detail, he shows how all religions, all philosophies lead back to the same place. So we know where it is, but you can’t walk another’s path. That’s where Zen comes in, it’s about authenticity, I have been very near to selling my soul to buy admission on the path. I needed a good reminder why that is so dangerous for someone like me.”
The key to those words were “why that is so dangerous for someone like me.”  I have felt that, so many times.  Now being free of my bulimia, I feel it even more.  I know what IS dangerous to me and am learning to avoid it, or understand it, and accept there will be the times I will have to face that which is “dangerous to me” face on and smack it in the face and stand up to it and tell “it” NO MORE!
I have to be thankful for the fact that my faith is strong and had been a huge part of my moving forward, and remaining on track of living out this life that I live on “this earth”.  Without my faith I may have sounded as lost as my friend, yet, there were times I felt this “I don’t belong on this earth” feeling.  Another friend, Bruxy, who was not only  my pastor, but a great friend, said: “none of us belong here, that is the reason we struggle with this meaning of existence.”  Having said that, I also posted a quote “God uses ordinary people to carry out His extraordinary plan”.  There was no name attached to that quote.  Just a website.  But to this my friend posted “guess I’m not ordinary enough for God.”

I disagree, because for God, as far as I am concerned, even the smallest of plans to Him are extraordinary.  It could be as simple as feeding the hungry, helping out a friend, loving someone who doesn’t feel loved and making sure they know they are, or random acts of kindest in general.  Extraordinary.  Why?  Because the people who do these “small” tasks are extraordinary.
I think if everyone knew there was a part of themselves that was indeed extraordinary from the “small” actions, there would be, and this being in context with my blog here, less eating disorders – and less of anything that hurts people.

My friend is a musician.  His extraordinary is sharing that talent.  He doesn’t see it.  I do though.  I see.  When you open your eyes to those around you creating extraordinary acts they don’t see, tell them.  And let them know that too look too much IS dangerous, and that they do belong on this earth, because that is part of your earth and they are a part of the life you are living – on this earth – and most likely they made a difference in your life.

I do belong on this earth, because I am not done with being extraordinary. 🙂

Half A Big Mac And A Moment Of Heaven

I just had one of my cravings of 34 years!  Back when I was 16 I worked at McDonald’s I loved my Big Mac.  I loved it so much it was one of the reasons that I ended up from a 130 lb fit young teenager to a 165 lb McDonald’s poster child.  All in two months.  It was horrifying as I was at that time at an age where being “fat” was not desirable, but worse yet, I had been moved from my friends in London, Ontario to Montreal, and at that age you may as well have put me in Siberia!  The new school had no sports, and we even managed to get into bars where, although we danced, we also consumed more beer than the dancing could burn off for calories.  Alas, I still love my Big Mac, but it’s a treat, and I can’t even eat a whole one anymore.  So I cut it  in half and share the rest with my best friends – Rolly, Jenny and BingBing (my dogs). 

I’ve come a long way from needing the fries and the milkshake along with it.  It’s my treat.  I don’t deny myself anything anymore but I know the proportions I can eat without feeling full and being satisfied.  My life is feeling “full” with so many other things now rather than food.  Much more enjoyable things!  I am writing my book again – completing it – after having been inspired by typing someone else’s manuscript.

I completed my course for my next career – one I had 13 years ago, and going back to because I loved it.  I only changed over because at that time it wasn’t paying enough to support the family.  Now I’m on my own, it will do just fine for me.  My riches are not in anticipating millions of dollars in my bank account, but they are my family, my friends, my animals, and most of all me.  Because you have to start with you to be able to love all those around you fully and absolutely, and unconditionally.

I am so looking forward to this stage in my life.  I feel much more motivated, and no small thanks to my counselor!! She was amazing in getting me through the loss of a marriage, the loss of a business, and the reconstructing of the relationship with my children, my sisters, and my parents.  I could say I should have gone to a counselor long ago, but I always believe things happen for a purpose and when they happen, the timing is right.  I believe that fully.

So my half a Big Mac was a moment in “heaven” so to speak.  But these days, I have more than moments in heaven on earth.  There are more and more longer periods of this happening and they make me smile, and grateful, and they have nothing to do with food.  Letting go of my eating disorder, combined with the help I got, has truly made my life much more valuable.

It is, by the way, amazing what you can start to accomplish when you realize your true value.  And the things you can do that you never thought you could.  Heck, I’m even cold calling for sales for my friend now and loving it!!  Who would have thunk?

p.s. do you remember this?

“Two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese pickles onion on a sesame seed bun.:

And backwards (which I still remember and can say it by heart!!)

“Bun seed sesame a on onion pickles cheese lettuce sauce special patties beef all two.”

The Dance

This song by Garth Brooks has to be the most wonderful song I ever heard.  Other than his Maria for Christmas time.  Those two songs bring a tear to my eye each time.  The latter I will blog about around Christmas because it’s too early for that right now.  So dancing being my theme tonight, I’ll focus on his song “The Dance”.  I’ve only loved twice in my life other than my children and my animals.

Now what is weird is the love for the two men in my life were the bulimic triggers in my life.  Not my children, or my animals.  Wait, a third.  Trying to prove myself to them in business.

Yes.  Trying to prove myself.  Maybe even to my parents.  I hated that feeling.  Any feeling I HATE triggered the feeling of wanting to eat and yes, throw up the feeling.

I only wanted  them to dance with me.

My father taught me how to dance.  Really dance.  The type of dance that says you trust.  You hold the hand of the man you love and you let him lead.  The one time you want him to lead.  NO not you.  HIM.  His fingers tell you when to spin, when to turn, when to pull close, when to pull away.  Magically his fingers tell you.

It’s almost like meeting toe to toe like in the movie The Story of Us.

I’m here and there in this blog, but three things I know if you love someone:
Actions mean more than words

Touching toes when you have had an argument means everything will be okay

Dancing holding hands and knowing what those fingers and hand gestures are saying means you know

When anyone one, even one falls to the wayside it means something is wrong.  It’s up to one or the other to say help.  But even to that it may never help the problem… but even so.. there is always the song … The Dance

Because… I wouldn’t have changed a thing and I’m glad I didn’t know how the chips would fall both times… “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the…. the dance”.

Because I wouldn’t have…. most likely… even given my heart out.

Not likely to again…. twice bitten now too shy.  But doesn’t mean I can’t love.  Just more so now my animals.  It’s safe now.
And my parents, sisters… safe zone.

But to my two loves, thanks for the memories.

And I still dance to a new tune 🙂

Every Time That It Rains I Feel Like Dancing

It’s raining out tonight…

Peeps are strange.  When you are starting to pull your life together some of them want to knock it down.  Even those you think would be there building up your confidence.  But then you realize that the ones that are trying to break that wall you are climbing are those that don’t want to climb that wall next to you.  They are just satisfied with the bottom of the wall and don’t like to see you climb!!

I am a recovered bulimic, so people like this around me are hard to deal with.  Why?  because I feel their sorrow and self-deception and their unwillingness to understand that their  way out.

I did so much in my life even as a bulimic.  Just think, now that I’m feeling that I can understand (not control, understand which is more powerful) why I was bulimic and moving forward… what a force!!

I feel bad for those who wallow in their past, who can’t see that there is a future, no matter what age you are.  More so, it’s sad that those who are your age at 50 might feel there is nothing left to live for and give up.  I won’t.  I refuse.

And for some reason the ones that are negative about my new love for life, my new energy is something that they feel is just a joke makes me all the more committed to show that they are wrong.  I suppose sometimes negative motivation works, but while I’m proving to them that they can’t bring me down, I don’t want them around!!  I’ll just make actions speak louder than words and maybe in some way show them that they too can pull out of the rut, the gutter, the place they think is just okay.  NOTHING IS JUST OKAY.  This life is too beautiful to make it JUST OKAY!!

And I FEEL LIKE DANCING!!!

Just where do you find someone who wants to dance with you and feel this young while you are doing it?

Oh wait… Dad did with me today to 80’s music today and he’s 80.    Love you Dad!!