girl power inc.

i blame it all on noah.

him and his frigging ark.

everything set up for all the pairs.

guaran-frigging-teed that as they sailed away someone pointed to a lonely figure standing on a rock, glowering beneath her umbrella. “dad! dad! we forgot auntie tilley!”

to which noah replied “no, child. we didn’t forget auntie tilley. but she’s a single and we’ve only got place settings for twelve. you know how your mother gets when she’s got to squeeze an extra in down at the end.”

my last blog of 2015, “party of one, at christmas”, struck a chord. (i was going to say “struck a nerve” but then i thought “chord” has more resonance.) i heard from tens and tens of readers. many, but not all, were also singles. and many, like me, were not bemoaning their single status. most of them liked it! but what we all shared was the struggle of living single in a double world. (oh barbara mandrell. what a country song that would be.)

the double world is like the ark. it’s a bicycle built for two, when what some of us long for is a unicycle lane.

the double world wants to put a finite time on grief. it wants the broken hearted to move on like a smelly drunk. it wants to treat the singles as if being single is a condition which must be cured. it prescribes dating websites and recommends striking up conversations with strangers in the grocery store while fondling avocados. it doesn’t seem to comprehend that being single by choice is a choice.

it isn’t easy. it’s difficult to wean oneself off the “you complete me. you had me at hello” fairytale. i confess that there have been many times in my life when i have isolated myself and stayed at home rather than face an outing on my own. although perhaps that has more to do with being an introvert.

i also heard from some wonderful souls who were single not by choice. sweet folks who lost their loves to death. to divorce. people who found the love but didn’t get the happy ending.

and that got me to thinking.

i wrote in my last blog about taking myself out to dinner. wining and dining myself, complete with champagne toasts and sparkly gifts.

what if i’m the one i’ve been waiting for? and what if life pulls the rug out before i get the chance to properly show my self how much i care?

even as i write these words i can’t believe i’m writing these words. in 2016 i am not going to be a party of one. i’m going to be a party for one. the scariest thing is to show up alone. scarier still, is to show up for oneself. for my only self. and this isn’t one of those how to fix your life and be a better person kind of blogs. this is a new years resolution of sorts, to my self. like all resolutions, it can take on more resonance ( i just love what that word means) by sharing.

even as i write these words i am sitting on my sofa beneath the quilt on a saturday afternoon and i have just had a really good cry over the last episode of “downton abbey.” more than anything i want to stay here and perhaps have another really good weep over “the making of a murderer.” but i am going to rise up off my arse and go to a party and a yoga class at nova yoga.

by my self.

and i am going to eat cake.

this isn’t a “you too can feel good and fix your life” kind of a blog. if it was i would be able to offer five easy steps toward how to love being single.

step #1: there are no five easy ways to do anything.

steps 2, 3, 4 & 5: see step #1.

for those of us singles who weathered the storm of pressure from the double world who want all the new year’s celebrations geared for numbers easily divided by two: congratulations and well done!

i had been toying with an idea that for next new year’s eve i was going to find a restaurant that had a big round table and would take reservations for ones. and we could all sit around the round table and feel quite happy about needing place settings in odd numbers.

but then i thought oh dear god. the tsunami of valentine’s is just around the corner.

got to batten the hatches again. so soon.

unless…

 

it becomes a bit of a slog, sometimes, being the single person during the holidays. during this time of year i feel, as must every other single, as if i am the only one in all the world. the only single, ever.

most events, especially those for new year’s eve, are marketed for pairings of two. this year i debated buying myself two tickets to the dinner i really want to attend. i could eat twice as much. drink twice as much. take turns sitting opposite myself. toast myself. bring two outfits.

all of my happily and unhappily paired friends, of course, are always inclusive with their plans. oh, me and him, and him and her, and him and him, are booked in for dinner, and you are most welcome to join! but i can never shake the feeling that i am being tucked in at the kiddies table: the place for the cat ladies, maidenly aunts, and toddlers. i hate toddlers. they’re so childish.

the step ladder i used when hanging my drapes has been sitting in the living room for over a month, so yesterday i decorated it, in lieu of a tree. this year i have a yuletide step-ladder. when i rise in the morning, traipse downstairs, make myself my morning coffee and sit in my old archie bunker chair, i really enjoy the fact that i have a yuletide step-ladder.

but then i began to wonder if i am, in fact, a yuletide step-ladder. a quirky kind of misfit. is it wrong to wear a mistletoe headband and hang about the grocery store in trembling anticipation?

and it isn’t about being the single. being the single is fine and dandy. it’s really more about the extreme commercialism that somehow seems to miss the fact that “the singles” exist. it’s about the jewelry store ads. must i go to the jewelry store, buy myself a bauble, wrap it, then get on bended knee and present it to myself? but wait! maybe i can do that at new year’s eve when i have dinner with myself. i can get on bended knee in the crowded restaurant, propose to myself, say yes, (or no, who knows.) and everyone will look on and applaud. (or commiserate, depending on what the answer turns out to be.)

it’s about all the ads which seem to think that everyone has a happy family, no one gets drunk, the tree never falls over, all the prezzies appear beneath the tree magically wrapped and the credit card never spontaneously bursts into flames. everyone’s in love, no one has a broken heart and no one’s out of a job. where are all the ads with the real people in them?

in my ad, the single lady awakes, traipses downstairs to make the morning coffee. she discovers that she is out of cream. the cats roll around on the floor howling with starvation because even though the bowl is full of dry food, the single lady is all out of the good cracking wet stuff. the lady considers whether to get dressed but throws caution to the wind, shoving bare feet into boots, hoping the nighty gown doesn’t hang down (too far) beneath the winter coat, falls flat on her arse on the way to the corner store and once there discovers she has forgotten to bring her debit card. lady trudges home. lady trudges back to store. upon arriving back at home lady discovers that wonderful neighbour has shovelled and salted her driveway! that’s my kind of christmas gift! that’s my kind of ad.

for the party of one, there are dreaded questions, no matter how high one’s own esteem of oneself. “what did you get?” (it’s really difficult to surprise oneself with gifts unless skilled at shopping when loaded.) “how’s your love life?” (singles need to retaliate and start asking the marrieds “when is the last time you had sex?”) “when are you going to find yourself a good man?” (no thanks, i prefer to stick to the bad ones.) “would you like to meet my cousin when he gets out?” (hmmm….)

i have had an amazing year, filled with highs and lows. i am grateful to my core. for those of us who are the singles, sometimes we chose it that way, sometimes it turned out that way. sometimes a brandy in front of the telly watching “dial m for murder” is perfect. sometimes when i contemplate ringing the place where i want to spend new year’s eve and booking a ticket for one i feel a little sad. but maybe they have a table there built for the singles.

it could be a party of ones.

 

 

in the controversial 1981 movie “a whale for the killing” (based on the farley mowat book of the same name) a stranded whale becomes a polarizing symbol. it becomes both a target and a mission in a small newfoundland community. many may not remember the movie now, especially in our new tourism industry where whales are balletic stars of sea and screen.

it’s not too shabby a time to be a humble comedy hack, i was thinking just yesterday. my job is to hunker down in a room with a bunch of other comedy hacks and dream up hitherto unknown ways to make people laugh. if i am successful with my work, a bunch of random strangers will sit in a theatre and intermittently burst into spontaneous laughter. if i fail, the worst that will happen is that no one laughs. although, sometimes comedians will say “i killed it out there.” or: “i died out there.” but no one gets killed. no one dies in comedy. (although secretly deep in my soul sometimes i die a little when people don’t laugh but that’s another blog for another day.)

with the sudden and brutal cutting of the city of st. john’s arts funding, coupled with staggering tax increases for small businesses and home owners, it has indeed felt as if something has died. no one is laughing. it feels as if, having run, crawled, swam, struggled to bring the professional arts into the light, while residing within a city that promotes itself as a cultural destination, the artists were slain just before the finish line. the world can watch all the technicolour tourism commercials where the happy clothes dance in the wind, the sea rolls with elegant flourishes along the rugged coast, impish children toss a sculpin back and forth. but without the professional artists, this will be a barren place. many of us were watching anxiously as the new cabinet under our new government was sworn in. we are always so desperate to see that our portfolio is not considered the ‘throwaway’ or the ‘training ground’, that it is taken seriously. thus we were caught completely off guard with the shoe thrown from another direction. many individual artists and companies will not recover from this freddy kruger slash.

the city claims that halving the arts budget will save just over 1 million dollars. but in fact, studies abound and research proves that every dollar invested into the professional arts generates at least three dollars of revenue in return, so i consider that the city has just robbed itself of approximately 3 million dollars in off-shoot revenue.

the professional arts are indefinable, intangible, intrenched, intrinsic, it’s a life, a calling, a living, a passion, a cross to bear. the artist and the art, is priceless, is invaluable. because we refuse to be disposable we will not go quietly into that good night. but the night is upon us. and whether we choose to go quietly or not may be the only choice left to us.

the whales will be the last performers. their jumping, twisting, dancing and songs the only remaining artistry. unpaid. no per diems necessary. except in the movie the whale got killed.