ISLAND created by local Island women
gals
SHARING INSPIRATION, MOTIVATION, HUMOUR AND INFORMATION
Included
IN THIS ISSUE GIFTY SERBEH-DUNN
making a diямАerence
EMILY MADILL
ge ng uncomfortable
ALLY REES
calming the inner who?
MORGAN VAN BREDA
redefines hope
SALLY RAE DYCK
classic recipe makeover
CELEBRATING THE WOMEN OF VANCOUVER ISLAND AND THE GULF ISLANDS Volume I Issue I
ISLAND
created by local island women
gals
SHARING INSPIRATION, MOTIVATION, HUMOUR AND INFORMATION Volume I Issue I D’Arcy Island
“D’Arcy Island Marine Park is a tiny 83-hectare island park in Haro Strait, east of the Saanich Peninsula, off Vancouver Island. From 1894 until 1924, the island was used as a leper colony. Many tried to escape, but few survived. Although the buildings were demolished, ruins of the facilities are still visible. In 1961, D’Arcy Island was established as a marine park.”
In This Issue Editor’s Note
A proper introduction is in order
Highlands Gal
Meet Pattie Whitehouse, and learn about a local Island treasure
My Two Cents Worth
Beverley Mallette journeys through her ‘puzzle board of life’
Resident People Tweaker Ally Rees gives our inner doubts a kick in the pants
Colleen’s Corner
Colleen McCarthy’s vacation musings
The Gi of Learning
Ulla Jacobs, and how synchronicity led to a new way of living
Courtesy: G. Duval
3 4 5 6 7 8
Do you have a favourite Island photo you’d like to share? Send it to us at: stories@islandgals.ca and your photo may be on the cover of our next issue.
Cancer and Beyond
Terry Dance-Bennink shares her personal journey
Ask Audrey
Audrey Waldie tackles your problem pooch
Common DenoMENators
Let’s be honest, don’t they drive us all crazy?
Toni’s Treasures
Toni Graeme reminisces with tales of her treasures
Morgan van Breda
You will be profoundly touched by this Island Gal’s story
16 18 18 19 20
9 10
Denman Island Gal
22
Betrayal
Island Gal Discovery
13
Social Media
24 26
Ge ng Uncomfortable
14
Get Your Shriek On!
Kiki and Peaches
New adventures for two ‘middle agers’
Making a Difference
Gifty Serbeh-Dunn inspires others a continent away Joyce Bezusko, and how beauty from within inspires creative art Emily Madill’s path to newfound strength
Sally Rae Dyck, with a new twist on an old favourite Kate Larsen shares her pain of infidelity Lin Taylor gives us a short lesson in online ‘etiquette’ Linda Irvine pays homage to perfect shrieking
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created by local island women
gals
SHARING INSPIRATION, MOTIVATION, HUMOUR AND INFORMATION Volume I Issue 1
Copyright © 2011 Island Gals Media Group No portion of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission from the publisher. Island Gals does not endorse or represent any of the products or services in this publication. The views expressed in this publication are not necessarily those of the publisher. Island Gals is published four times a year. Printed in Victoria, B.C., Canada by Island Blue Print Company All inquiries may be made to: info@islandgals.ca
Publisher: Johanna Socha
Editor: Pattie Whitehouse
CELEBRATING THE WOMEN OF VANCOUVER ISLAND AND GULF ISLANDS 2
ISLANDgals.ca
taking chances
Publisher’s Note Johanna Socha
Significant changes seem to occur within the decades of a woman’s life; Or so is the case of mine. I can barely remember birth to age ten, except for a few scattered memories, and the envy I felt at my older sister’s head start into her teens. I do remember the freedom of not worrying what anyone thought. I would swing on the swing set in our backyard, and sing at the top of my lungs. What anyone thought, or whether I was in tune, was never a consideration. A popular song in the late sixties was, ‘Those Were the Days’ by Mary Hopkin. I was no more than five, but I knew every word and would sing this song over and over, to the amusement of our old Italian neighbour who would slip me a nickel to sing it again. I still wonder if I was any good. My teens were more turbulent. I still wonder why some teenage girls begin to lose their self esteem during this decade, while others gain strength. I was guilty of the first, and perhaps changes that occur within us emotionally and physically were to blame. Why does the acceptance of others become so important? Why does this void guide us to make decisions we may later regret? Now my envy was towards the girls my age who were slimmer, prettier, and had the confidence I lacked. I was happy to leave my teenage years behind. Twenties seemed to be years of confusion, having no idea what I wanted to be when I ‘grew up’, much less who I wanted to be. I did what many girls with similar confusions did; I married and had a wonderful son, who will always be the greatest pride of my life. Thirties seemed to be a most interesting time. Too old to use youth as an excuse for foolish behavior, and the beginnings of feeling like an adult. This decade seemed to bring on a different understanding of myself, as well as an awakening of an inner strength I didn’t realize I possessed. Many life changes occurred in my thirties; divorce, raising my son, going back to school, and the start of positively understanding exactly what kind of person I may actually be. I entered my fourties kicking and screaming, fearing the number and the stigma attached to it. It took a few years to realize that this ‘curse’ was actually a blessing. I have grown stronger, more appreciative, more patient with life’s stumbles, and less patient with life’s frivolities, more observant of other women, and how much there is to learn from them.
Now in my mid-forties, I still wonder what I want to be when I grow up. I don’t fear that question anymore, but rather try to appreciate and enjoy the challenge of trying to find out. My place of employment allowed me the opportunity to meet a diverse array of women over the last few years, and I began to pay more attention. From Toni Graeme (page 19), who fascinated me with her energy and spirit, to Ulla Jacobs (page 8), who had me questioning whether there was more I could do to keep my mind, body, and spirit healthy. Other fascinating local women began to cross my path, and I began to question these ‘chance’ encounters. Meeting Joyce Bezusko (page 13) and Gifty Serbeh-Dunn (page 10) at a local craft fair made me realize that inspiring women were right in my own back yard. Numerous women along the way who became more than casual acquaintances, but rather sources of inspiration. I remember one day thinking, “I wish I could have one big dinner party with all of these women. What a wonderful gathering of ideas and inspiration, ages and experiences this would be”. But this would be a fleeting moment, and these women deserved more than a one-time round table. They needed to be sources of inspiration for other women, as they were for me, and from this idea, Island Gals was born. Naturally, those feelings of self doubt from earlier decades resurfaced. But these same women provided me with immeasurable support, to which I am very grateful. I truly believe there is a profound reason why these women crossed my path. You will meet them and others in our first issue of Island Gals, and read about their own journeys and stumbles. It is my sincere hope that they touch your spirit as they have touched mine, and you join us in expanding our newly founded ‘dinner party’.
Island Gals would love to hear from you! Write to us with your comments at: publisher@islandgals.ca ISLANDgals.ca
3
Get Your Shriek On— An Ode to Perfect Shrieking I love my husband. He’s great to talk to. I talk to him more than I talk to anybody else. But there’s something missing in our conversations; something he simply can’t provide.
T
here’s this thing that women do. You’ll never see two men doing it; but you’ll often see large groups of women doing it; sometimes you’ll catch a lone woman on a phone doing it—apparently all alone. But she isn’t alone; on the other end of that line, there’s another woman doing exactly the same thing.
These conversations are what I’m talking about. John Gray’s new Venus on Fire Mars on Ice, explores the part hormones play in our relationships.
The activity, my female friends, is shrieking. Women everywhere are doing it because it feels so darn good. It’s more satisfying than the best chocolate cake, or the most intense orgasm.
Gray discusses a little hormone called oxytocin, discussing research that has “revealed that women release...oxytocin to cope with stress.” Oxytocin is “released in safe, cooperative, caring, supportive and nurturing situations.” In his “mother’s generation and before...a woman had the time and financial support to fill her day with an oxytocin-producing balance of nurturing and womanto-woman support.” (Eg: Shrieking, giggling, and chattering) Something we simply don’t have the time, or resources, for today.
Remember those conversations you’ve had with other women where you both talk really fast and shriek “Oh my GOD” and “You have GOT to be kidding me” and “You CAN’T be SERIOUS”?
We’re all crazy busy. We don’t have time to shave our legs, pluck our eyebrows, or read a book. Surely we can make time for a good phone shriek with a girlfriend—who understands us and shrieks right back.
What is this activity, why are women everywhere doing it, and just how satisfying is it?
excite
Hailing from Coquitlam, BC, Linda Irvine is the CEO of a tiny email marketing firm known as MeteorBytes. While skilled at database management and email marketing, she’s always dreamed of writing something more interesting than a workflow document. As Island Gals official “Off-Island Lady,” she plans to entertain readers with offisland slices of big city life.
So ladies, it’s time to get your shriek on
humour
ISLANDgals.ca
27
confide
My Two Cents Worth Fitting in this puzzle board called life
L
uckily, this octagonal peg, was many years ago, presented with an octagonal hole. Over the past decades many hours have been spent marveling at the possible alignment of the stars that brought about this stroke of good fortune. Going to school at a period in this country’s history when the curriculum and teaching practices suited my young self, I excelled in class. Learning came easily and when it didn’t, studying came easily. I had it made. The ‘Board’ was mine. This is by way of introducing myself to you; a plain young girl with a thirst for knowledge, who early in life found her way to the fountain. The End? Not even nearly.
Perhaps this is a sort of resume. I am applying or auditioning for a position in your life. The perfect end result would be that you turn out to be people who look forward to hearing from me via my column in this magazine. I want you to know the stories behind these things that I have done. My books are not books that have won prizes, nor have my drawings or paintings won awards. They are simply my attempts to communicate with the rest of the world. They are a way of leaving something behind so that when I have passed, people will know that I was here. And that while I was here, I ‘did’ things.
The shapes changed. The peg got rounder, the hole got squarer. Reality set in and puberty and adulthood raised their The trials and tribulations of parenting and step parenting ugly heads. A whirlwind of marriages, divorces, children, are some of the things that I want to share with you. I want grandchildren, births, weddings and funerals became the to do this seriously, gently, and with humour. order of the day. And slowly I became me, a senior citizen with a closet full of Having friends and being a friend “They are a way of unfinished projects, unfulfilled dreams, are fulfilling, and the importance of and only a finite amount of time in which being both, I’ve discovered, is learned leaving something to deal with them. behavior. Mentoring is such a gratifying behind so that when responsibility. This subject is near and dear So different from that clever youngster I I have passed, people will to my heart and I want to share it. once was, with forever still ahead. Had I continued on that very early path, this might be a sad story, but at some point I learned to ‘free fall’ and now I no longer give a tinker’s damn whether or not I fit into that square hole.
know that I was here, and that while I was here, I ‘did’ things.”
This is very liberating. In conversations with friends, I have discovered that not all are so liberated. Some are still agonizing over their failures, real or imagined. Still trying to please parents, siblings and spouses, at the expense of their own selves. They carry bits of guilt from indiscretions of the past. They carry anger and even hatred for perceived hurts along the way. Yuck. That almost became my fate, but I decided that no, that was not for me, and for reasons to be discussed in future columns, I opened my heart and head and all of that negative crap fell out. Whew! I am the author of several books and in the process of writing yet another. I am an artist who has had two successful shows. These are sentences one puts on a resume.
So, in exchange for a few minutes of your attention every once in a while, I will send out columns with a bit of wit and a bit of wisdom and hopefully, with a bit of what tickles our funny bones. I promise to work diligently to entertain you with descriptions of the time I buried a manuscript in my father’s grave, or the time I took a friend to a monastery for a cup of tea, or walked through a mall with toilet paper hanging out the back of my jeans, or . . . well, the list is long and getting longer as I am still ‘free falling’. Please join me. If there is something that you wish me to ramble or rant on about, please let me know. Write to me at: stories@islandgals.ca and I’ll do my best to tackle your issues, concerns, and give you my ‘two cents worth’.
Beverley Mallette
ISLANDgals.ca
explore
5
inspire
Cancer and Beyond
a personal journey
Terry Dance-Bennink writes about her recent journey through breast cancer and an acute case of diverticulitis. She reflects on her spiritual and physical challenges and practices that helped her face death and find new meaning in life. A former Vice-President Academic of an Ontario college, Terry moved to Victoria with her husband five years ago and enjoys writing and spiritual companionship.
April 1, 2010
I
t’s April Fool’s day. The day before Good Friday. My mammogram is booked for 11 a.m. at Victoria General Hospital, but I’m not worried. My breasts have never given me trouble – uterus yes, but not breasts.
The waiting room is crowded, but finally, a technician calls my name. As each breast is flattened like a pancake, I feel the pressure, but it’s uncomfortable more than painful and the woman is cheerful. Back to the waiting room I go, expecting the usual “you’re fine” and a quick exit. An hour crawls by as I skim a tattered Reader’s Digest. The technician calls me back in and re-examines my left breast. I feel the first twinge of anxiety. I return to the Reader’s Digest with blank eyes. “You need an ultrasound, dear,” she announces matter-offactly to the entire waiting room but looking straight at me. My stomach seizes. I enter the ultrasound room and a gentle woman rubs gel on my breast and moves the sensor around as she stares at the computer screen. She tells me it’s been a rough day. They’ve had a whole bunch of women diagnosed with suspicious lumps and she’s tired. The seconds tick by in a very silent room.
This hurts but everything is happening so fast, I’m almost numb. I practise my deep breathing and it’s over in three minutes. “What do you think it is?” I ask the doctor. “Do you really want to know?” he asks me. “We prefer to wait until the pathology report comes back in a week, but if you want my opinion now, I can give it to you.” “Yes, please,” I whisper feeling very cold on that hard examining table. “It’s cancer, I’m quite certain,” he declares. I stare at him in total shock, speechless. “You should see your G.P. as soon as you can and he’ll explain the next steps. You’ll probably need an MRI before surgery. ” And with that, he leaves the room with not even an “I’m very sorry.” The technician looks at me in sympathy and helps me get dressed. She’s supposed to give me some paperwork but forgets. It’s been a long day.
I walk out of the clinic in And with that, he leaves a stupor. Cancer? Me? Oh the room with not even my God. I’ve been visiting an “I’m very sorry.” and companioning seniors for years and witnessed death several times, including my mother’s. Is it my turn now? But I’m only 61. I fear the treatment, especially chemo, more than I do death. I watched Margaret, a close girlfriend, go through chemo last year. I walk slowly to the car where my husband, Theo, has been waiting for two hours. “I’ve got breast cancer,” I announce angrily and then burst into tears. He’s as stunned as I am and pats my leg gently as he drives home in silence.
“I need to call the radiologist,” she says quietly. “I just want him to check something.”
April 2, 2010
My stomach tightens again. The radiologist enters the room, looks at the screen and then feels my breast. “I see an irregular shape on the screen,” he says. “We need to do a biopsy to determine what it is. I can do it now or you can come back next week.”
It’s Good Friday today and all medical facilities are shut for the next four days. There’s nothing good about this Friday. I think of Jesus suffering alone in the garden of Gethsemane and have an inkling of how he felt. May I have his courage and faith. My biggest fear is losing control.
courage
Is there some hidden meaning in all this? I’ve been withdrawing from my work as an editor, personal historian and spiritual companion for a while now. I’ve felt increasingly flat, without my usual energy and optimism. A fallow period I’ve called it. Has my body been speaking to me?
“Now, please. Let’s get it over with,” I say without hesitation. The doctor inserts a needle to freeze part of my left breast and then uses a bigger needle to extract the tissue sample. 16
ISLANDgals.ca
April 3, 2010 I feel numb as if I’m in a tomb on this Holy Saturday. Last night, a violent windstorm left debris all over our garden. I call my sister, Maria, and a few close friends and tell them my news. I read The Last Lecture written by Randy Pausch as a legacy to his family before he died of pancreatic cancer at age 47. Perhaps I should get back to writing my own life story instead of editing other people’s memoirs?
April 6, 2010 Books are among my favourite companions, so I rush to the library and begin reading. I’m horrified to discover the long list of chemo side effects; worst of all is the nausea and brain fog. I grill my girlfriend, Margaret, who comforts me but confirms some of my fears. I decide I’m having none of it, unless my cancer is at an “I feel more in advanced stage. Surgery, radiation hormonal drug therapy, yes, but control now.” and no chemo. I feel more in control now.
hope
the aisles in a daze. All of a sudden, I feel a pain in my chest and very dizzy. I rush to a bench and sit down and burst into tears. Kind staff flock to my side and then locate my husband in the parking lot. My spiritual director tells me later that panic attacks stem from suppressed feelings. I’d not processed that word “invasive.”
April 10, 2010 I teach the Writing & Sharing Your Life Story program at First Met United all day, surprised by my ability to function normally. Girlfriends suggest supper afterwards, but I feel tired and withdrawn. I can’t put on a brave smile anymore. I visit an elder in hospital the next morning who’s dehydrated and delirious from morphine. Another elder friend in Peterborough dies later the same day.
I’m rescued by a compassionate nurse, Dorothy, at VGH’s Breast Health Clinic. A friend and breast cancer survivor told me about this free but not well“They mean well, had publicized resource. Theo and I visit but what I really need Dorothy on Monday and she walks us is someone to just through the entire process, promising to be there for me throughout my treatment.
That night I dream of Mum slumped over a table, dead. The next day, a friend urges me to “just change your thoughts.” Another tells me to “think positive.” I feel like spitting at both of listen to me.” them. As if it were that easy. They mean well, “Chemo is the pits,” she agrees. “But but what I really need is someone to just listen you’re not a victim. You can choose your treatment.” to me. I read Jon Kabat-Zinn’s Full Catastrophe Living and “But I can’t even handle an MRI – I’m claustrophobic!” I feel some small comfort. Just breathe, I tell myself, during moan. She tells me I can and I will. my daily meditation and long brisk walks. But the nameless anxiety in the pit of my stomach grows. April 12, 2010
April 8, 2010 For distraction, Theo and I go see the IMAX show about the Hubble Space Telescope. I’ve always been fascinated by astronomy and cosmology, but today, I’m overwhelmed. The photos of colliding galaxies and imploding black holes are awesome, but where is a loving God in all this? Am I living in a random, meaningless universe – a chaotic chemical soup? The Buddha says we are more than flashing thoughts and desires and aching bodies – we are like waves in an ocean, connected to all beings. But how do love and quantum physics fit together?
April 9, 2010 My G.P. calls me at home early in the morning with my biopsy results. “I’m afraid you have invasive ductal carcinoma,” he tells me. “We won’t know the stage or grade of your tumour until you have surgery,” he explains. I’m shocked by the word “invasive.” He’s booked an appointment for me with a well-known Victoria surgeon one week later to discuss a lumpectomy (a partial mastectomy). I’m grateful for his sympathy and fast action.
“Can you come down right now for your MRI? We’ve had a cancellation,” the VGH rep tells me over the phone. “Oh no!” I cry. “I can’t stand to be confined.” “Just come down and look at the machine. It’s not that bad and you can take an Ativan if you wish before you come,” she suggests kindly. So Theo, the perennial chauffeur, rushes me over to VGH. Feeling quite mellow, I get hooked up to an IV for the dye, and then climb onto the MRI table face down, with my naked boobs hanging vertically through two holes. Talk about a classy position! I’m slid backwards into the machine but my shoulders and head are left outside. I can still escape. Classical music in the background helps me calm down and breathe and I’m released in 15 minutes, hugely relieved and proud of myself. Perhaps this is how the future will unfold? Great anxiety followed by a not-so-fearful outcome? Just like my divorce 20 years ago. I was convinced I’d fall apart, but discovered I could live alone with integrity and courage after all.
An hour later, Theo drives me to Thrifty’s for our weekly food shopping. He stays in the car while I go up and down ISLANDgals.ca
To be continued in our next issue
strength
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ISLAND created by local Island women
gals
SHARING INSPIRATION, MOTIVATION, HUMOUR AND INFORMATION
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CELEBRATING AND CONNECTING THE WOMEN OF VANCOUVER ISLAND AND BEYOND