New Year's Eve

Mario and I aren't New Year's Eve people, we see no particular reason to party all night just because I need to buy a new calendar.

To put it in context, our wildest New Year's Eve was in 2003 or 2004. We went to an actual movie theatre (whoa...) to see "Cold Mountain". My parents were across town, seeing whichever Lord of the Rings movie was out that year. After both movies were over, they came over to our house, where we ordered pizza and watched TV. Wow...heady, crazy times.

Must say I'm looking forward to kissing 2006 goodbye. There were many great things in 2006, but there were also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too many bad things, thanks. I just want to put the whole thing behind me... 2007 can't possibly have as many nasty surprises for me!

My only resolution this year is to scrapbook more. What with all of the other crap in my life, in 2006 I completed exactly ONE layout. This will never do! Over the last couple of months, I have been purchasing different products and supplies, hoping that the prospect of new toys will push me to actually get out my stuff and play. I have brought home new cardstock, the occasional patterened paper, embellishments here and there.... this culminated in me losing my mind and buying a Cricut a few weeks ago. I think it's the Cricut that's going to do the trick; I did a one page layout the other day, and have all kinds of die-cut plans for another.

As for all those typical resolutions people make, well... as Calvin once said to Hobbes, "Why should I change, I'm perfect the way I am! The world should change to suit me!"

On picture frames and frame of mind

Yet another incremental step today towards becoming a grown-up.

For Christmas, my step father Kenny gave me two gorgeous, absolutely authentic MacAskill photographs. (how do I know they're authentic? Well, for starters, I own two fakes and I can see the difference. For another, my Daddy inherited about 15 originals, and Mum has collected about a dozen more over the years. There are several things to look for in an authentic, and these have it all)

Anyway, I digress. Kenny also gave me funds towards having them re-framed, so this morning I grabbed my real ones and my fakes, and then drove to my Mum's house to steal one of hers. She has had thier collection framed in three diffrent ways, depending on which room of the house they were to be displayed in. I love the way the ones in the living room look, so I took this to the framing shop as well.

(I promise I'm getting to the point.)

At the framing counter of my local craft superstore (YOU figure it out!), I explain what I want. I show the not-particularly-warm-and-friendly lady how it should look, and I stand back. First blow: they don't have the frame I want. Oh. Okay. What do you have that's similar?

Not a whole hell of a pile, I can tell you. She shows me about 20 different frames, but none of them come close to what I want and I reject them completely. Then she shows me one that, well, I don't hate, and that's really all it has going for it. But I have taken up a half hour of her time by this point, and I feel guilty about this, so I say okay. The total for the four peices comes to about $100 more than I thought it would, but I'm okay with that. What I'm NOT okay with is she expects me to pay the whole deal right now.

"What, before the work is even done??"

"That's our policy."

Oh. Okay, policy. I guess I understand policy. So I give her my money and I leave. I get to my car in the parking lot, and I think, "Go back."

But that part of me who is a Pleaser and a Conflict-Avoider and, between you and me, The Doormat, says "Oh, but it'll be fine. It's not what you wanted, but it'll be fine. Besides, you took up so much of her time!"

So I leave. During the drive home, and then later at home, the conflict keeps turning over in my mind. It's true that I'm not happy, but it's also true that I don't want to be a bother or offend her. Seriously, THIS is how my mind works. But then something in me just said "Uh-uh, no way, Im not happy, I don't want this, and that lady is bloody PAID to talk to me."

Total major life changing event for me, as pathetic as that sounds.

This afternoon, I went back in and said I'm sorry, but I changd my mind, I really had my heart set on having them framed a certain way and I just don't feel good about this. You should have seen the LOOK the cow gave me. Suffice it to say that I doubt I'll be receiving a holiday card from her next year.

I immediately drove to an actual framing shop (shout out to FrameQuest!!) where I was treated with friendliness, great service, and some really great suggestions for the framing. This man clearly understood what I wanted, and also wanted to make sure I was happy. SOLD. And although his price was yet another $100 higher than the first place, I was STILL sold. And when he asked for a small deposit, not everything, oh no we'd never ask you to pay in full before you are satisfied, I almost asked him on a date.

This whole (long) story may seem like no big deal to you, but for me it was a personal victory with myself. Too many times I have simply gone with the flow because it was easier. For me to consciously rock the boat, no matter how tiny that boat may be, is huge.

Beautiful Girl

Tonight I will tell you the story of a fairy princess, and all that came to pass.

Imagine a lovely, sexy, thirty year old blonde. Long hair. Long eyelashes. A raucous laugh that would make birds drop dead from the trees. My God can this girl laugh.

Imagine an outgoing, crazy, thoughtful, sweet, mischievous, innocent, hardworking, hardplaying angel. Do you see her yet? Is she as real to you as she is to me?

After almost three weeks in the hospital, weeks of desperation and false diagnoses, today this angel was finally told what was wrong with her. And this afternoon, her lower intestine was removed.

Removed.

Removed.

And, oh, how we cry for her. Our hearts don't break, they tear and bleed and scream and come apart in ugly ways. Our beautiful girl, damaged like this. She will be kept in a medically induced coma for the next two days, until her heroic, wonderful doctors can once more cut into her soft flesh with their cold instruments, finish that which they were forced to start.

I know about this surgery. Is it fate that brought me a client who represented an organization which provides support to people in this very situation? Is it fate? I calmly explain to my love, and then to the princess's father, what help is available to her. I explain how life altering and intensely personal this naked operation is. I explain that she can still have a full, normal, funny, sexy, sexual, delicious life.

But she is in a coma. I can't explain this to her.

And if she were awake, she still wouldn't hear me.

My heart is finally broken.

Early Morning

So here it is, 5:30 am on Christmas Eve. I've been up for about an hour, awake for about an hour and a half. This is pretty much par for the course for me; although I don't "feel" excited about Christmas, I know that's what woke me up today. I further know that I will be exhausted by 7pm, but what are you gonna do.

I do have a few last things to do today, thankfully very few of them involve shopping. I need to pick up Brian's room, not because he has made a mess of it but because I have. I store all of my craft things in his closet and they have a tendency not to get put away when I can simply dump them in his room and close the door. And then when he gets here, and has to gingerly step over piles of my crap to get in to bed, he'll say, "Mummy, are you EVER going to clean my room???"

Well, this morning I AM. I'll put all of my toys away so that he can actually get to his. (In my own defense, some of the scrapbook stuff strewn about is his...!)

I also need to tidy up the public areas of the house and give the bathroom a lick and a promise. (For those of you unfamiliar with this old fashioned expression, it means I'm going to do a half-assed cosmetic job of cleaning the bathroom. No actual licking will occur.)

Need to get myself together and hit church for eleven a.m. Haven't actually made it to a service in a while (cough) but today off I go, not because it is Christmas, but because both my mother and my sister will be giving the readings. They were recently confirmed in to the United Church, and our minister likes to include the newbies in the big celebrations that way. Love that.

After church, sadly, there WILL be a tiny bit of last minute shopping. Last night I realized that I had forgotten to get anything for Mario's stocking....For the first time in our family, the grown ups exchanged names, prior to this it has always been a gift giving frenzy. In any event, I ended up drawing Mario's name for his stocking. Knowing I was "forbidden" to purchase him an actual Christmas gift, I have been diligent about not buying anything for him, so thank goodness I rememebered last night that I AM suppposed to buy him a few little things!

After all these things are taken care of, I can sit back and actually enjoy the holiday. Mario and I will be going over to Mum's tonight to spend the evening, and my son will arrive there around 10 pm for his holidays with me. Can't wait, it's those moments that really make it a holiday.

Christmas Cards

Man, I wish I was organized enough to be a card-sender. Every year, right around the 20th of December (go figure) I start wishing that I too had sent out cards, complete with family photos, so my friends would know I am thinking of them.

Maybe it's because I never reciprocae with cards of my own, but I have noticed we received far fewer holiday cards this year than we have in the past. Is this a trend, of is it a simple result of my own personal laziness?

Regardless, I love them all....I get a huge kick out of receiving holiday cards from the people in my office, for example. I mean, I see them every day, they could just SAY the words, but they go to the additional effort of putting it on paper. I love that.

I only received three cards with photos this year. The first was from my friends Kelly & Sylvain, the photo shows them with their two kids. Kelly is massively pregnant, and although you can't see her belly in their picture, there are subtle changes to the contours of her beautiful face that weren't there when I saw her in person six weeks ago. So gorgeous to have photgraphic evidence of that softened yet more powerful look pregrant women get to their faces. Her eyes are wide open, sparkling, and excited.

The second photos came from Mario's daughter Ana, all pictures of her two little girls. Had a great deal of fun poring over how quickly these two beautiful children are changing....I myself haven't seen them in person in three years, the last time I saw them they were little monkeys who wanted to ride on my back, tell me childish secrets, and inexplicably call me "Miss Moo". Now in these holiday photos I see them lengthening, see their young faces maturing, see young ladies emerging. Impossible.

Hands down, though, my favourite holiday shots arrived in the mail today. My BFF Kelly sent three pictures, two of her gorgeous family taken in a field during a professional shoot this summer, and one casual picture of her, laughing. I snatched up and devoured that particular picture with my eyes; Kelly and I haven't seen each other in person in almost five years, despite many plans to do so. I love love LOVE the pictures of her with her husband and two children, but I was insinctively drawn to that laugh. I have seen it many times before, and I look forward to seeing it again. And while I held it between my two hands, I could easily imagine that the mirth on her face was once more caused by something I said. My God I miss that girl.

It's too late for me to get in to the Christmas swing-of-things. Maybe I'll send out January Cards instead....

It's A Wonderful Life

Christmas classic, and my personal favourite. It just isn't the holiday season until I have watched George Bailey grapple with his demons, and then experience his realization of what Life's Blessings truly are.

I watched it alone this year. Watched it at home as I wrapped Christmas gifts, and my love lay sleeping in his hospital room. And as the movie reached it's sappy but sapping conclusion, I wept with thankfulness and joy.

Mario's condition deteriorated this morning, and he underwent emergency surgery at 10 am. At noon, he was a groggy mewling kitten. By 8pm, he was a cantankerous old man, in a great deal of discomfort, bitching that he wants to come home.

THAT, more than anything, calmed me, let me know everything will be alright.

My blessings are innumerable, simple, and often forgotten. I have a job, food to eat and a warm home to shelter me from the weather. I have a son who loves, adores, and takes care of me with his constant faith and affection. I have good mittens, a comfy coat, and a reliable car when I venture out. When I need to hear a human voice, not only do I have a functioning telephone, I have many people I can call who will be happy to hear from me.

I have wonderful memories of the past, and beautiful, sacred dreams about the future. I can stand up and walk right now, if I so choose. I can see and I can hear. I know how to read.

I have found the man I was born to love, the man who makes me feel safe, makes my heart skip a beat when he looks at me, fills me with desire when I smell his skin, calms me with a gentle touch on my cheek.

I have found a man who feels those same things about me.

It's a wonderful life.

Never a dull moment...

It is 1:00 am, and I am home by myself. My love should be here. My son should be here.

Instead, my darling son is sleeping at my Mum's house a mile away in case I need to leave the house suddenly during the night. This evening my love was admitted to the hospital for both appendicitis AND a twisted bowel.

The ER doctor was somewhat floored that Mario should have two seemingly separate medical issues simultaneously; several doctors conferred and they now think the appendicitis (still low grade, by the way) caused the twisted bowel.... which, the MRI seems to show, has now corrected itself, also somewhat unbelievably.

For tonight, they are going to load him full of antibiotics and see if they can manage his appendix that way. In the morning, they will be able to determine if this course is working or if he needs surgery.

In our years together, there have been eight nights when we slept apart. Four were when he went to Detroit to visit his daughter and grand daughters, and the other four were due to my business trips; in none of those cases did I sleep well. I have never slept without him for any "serious" reason. And I really don't want to. Ever.

Which is why, rather than getting the sleep I need in order to be back at the hospital at 6 am, the most sensible course seemed to be sitting in the livingroom writing this.

In case you were wondering

I have written on this post that I lost my mother in January, and my father in April. I have since, in melancholy moments, gone on and on about Daddy, but have stayed silent regarding my mother.

Nothing weird going on. My two different reactions are based, primarily, on three significant differences: One, although my mother was always a huge part of my life, it was my father who raised me in the day-to-day way since I was seven. Second, although my mother's actual death was quite sudden and surprising, she had been ill for over a year. My father, at the time of his death, was in perfect health. As I remarked to someone at the funeral, "There isn't a damn thing wrong with him except he's dead."

And the third difference is one that only women can possibly understand. The mother/daughter relationship can often be a difficult one, where neither side completely understands the other. This does not indicate a lack of love, but an inability to foster deep intimacy, no matter how much each person might like it. That was, unfortunately, my relationship with my mother, and I am NOWHERE near being able or ready to delve in to it.

That being said, Mummy was truly something else, and I mean that in the good way. When she was 13, she read the Bible, the Qu'ran, the Talmud, and any other religius text she could get her hands on, just because she was curious. Not necessarily curious as it related to her own spiritual journey (although I'm sure they influenced her) but because she had a bright disposition that made her curious and accepting of those around her.

She was also one of the first ballerinas recruited in to the fledgling Royal Canadian Ballet. Mummy was an exceptional dancer, and they were ecstatic to snap her up at the age of eleven, when her skill and her height seemed to promise a wonderful future. It was only two years later that the "horrifying" truth became evident to everyone : she had finished growing by age eleven, and was forever destined to remain 4'10". How many 4'10" ballerinas have YOU seen? So that was the end of her dance career, and she gave up ballet entirely. Her whole life, though, she carried herself like a dancer, airily gliding across the floor, and she had posture like you would not believe. If my mother once, in the last fifty years, sat in anything but a completely upright position, I'll eat this laptop.

The day after her death, when Kenny, my brother, my aunt and I were looking through her things, we came across an old, faded pair of pink toe shoes, the toes worn away to expose the wood inside, the satin laces relaxed and limp. None of us had ever known she had kept her last pair of ballet slippers. Because we found them when we did, we were able to have them cremated with her. I'm glad of that.

She was with my step father Ken for over twenty five years, although they never actually got married. Ken would ask her every so often (probably more frequently in the early years) but she always said no, with a slighly softened version of, "Oh my God, why would we do THAT??"
You should also know that, waaaaaaay back in 1967, she didn't want to marry my father, either; she wanted to live with him, sure, and have babies, of course, but married?? "What do a piece of paper and an archaic ceremony have to do with love?"

Of course, in 1967, it wasn't exactly The Thing for the oldest daughter of a wealthy doctor NOT to have the benefit of the clergy, so she did have her one trip down the aisle, after all.

Towards the end of her life, she was actually musing about marrying Kenny after all these years. Because this was such a radical departure for her, I took this news with mixed emotion. I mean, why would she be changing her mind NOW? They never did make it legal, but what of it? They were as married as anyone could be for almost three decades, no twenty minute ceremony could have made the slightest difference to thier lives.

Hero

Let me first explain.... my Mummy, who was mother to Carleton and me, died in January. My Mum, on the other hand, is still very much with us. Technically, Mum is my "step mother', and mother to my "half sister" Louise... but in our family we don't believe in that kind of offensive language.



Mum never ceases to amaze me. About ten years ago, she started reminding (okay, nagging) Daddy that she had always wanted to learn to play piano. In her family of six children, there simply wasn't the money for luxuries like piano lessons when she was a child, but she still had the same dream....so fix it, David!!

For Christmas, Daddy rented her an electric piano for a year and arranged lessons. She diligently practiced, learning to read music in the process, and generally had a good time. At the end of the year, Daddy mildly asked if it was time for them to buy an actual piano. Mum, Daddy told me, looked at him like he had gone insane, and said, "No, I wanted to learn how to play piano, and I did. I'm done, thanks all the same."

Fast forward ten years. My father died in April, and Mum's world was changed forever. She mourns him every day, in a thousand different ways, but she (and all of us) must go on. So a few weeks ago, I go out for coffee with Mum, and she asks if I am working the evening of Nov 28 because, ummmm, she may, ummmm, invite me to, ummmm, something.

The woman wouldn't make eye contact with me. "What are you inviting me to, Mum ?"

"Oh.... nothing important....it's not a big deal..."

And so help me God, my first thought was that she was inviting me to a sex-toy party. I mean, why else wouldn't she answer my question?

"WHAT ARE YOU INVITING ME TO, MUM?????"

And so the shocking truth came out. It is well known in our family that Mum has also dreamed of tap dancing since she was 5 years old. So, in August, she secretly enrolled in lessons. Nov 28 was an "open class" night when family and friends could come observe a class.

WHAT??

Of course I attended on Nov 28. And so did Mario. And so did her five best friends.

And we all sat together in a row of hard plastic chairs in a drafty dance studio, watching my mother fulfill her dreams.

Watching the dozen dancers in her class, people ranging in age from 8 to 65, my heart was filled with her joy. Her joy in finally doing something she had always dreamed of. Her sense of humour when she got the steps wrong. Her sense of accomplishment.

And I saw My Mum, the strong and capable woman who raised me. But I also saw the Five Year Old, dreaming of clicking shoes.

I had never seen Her before. I thank God I didn't miss it.

My Mum is my hero, in all things and at all times.

More Stan

Literally just received a phone call about the Stan Rogers post I made a half hour ago, asking what my Favourite Stan Rogers songs are. My six all-time-how-could-I-choose-between-them-how-could-I-live-without-them favourites are:

The Bluenose
First Christmas
45 Years
The Jeannie C
Northwest Passage
Barrett's Privateers

Inexplicably, there is no sample of Bluenose or Barrett's on the website, but all the others are there, FAR too briefly. The duration on these clips doesn't allow you the luxury of getting in to the story of the song....and my God, could this man tell a story.

I can't narrow it down to one, but if I had to pick TWO Stan songs I couldn't live without, they would be First Christmas and 45 years. First Christmas just breaks my heart with its naked look at the holidays.... And then there's 45 Years.

When Stan was courting Ariel, he fell deeply in love. He asked her to marry him, and she said no because she had been down that path before and it hadn't worked out. He went home, wrote 45 Years in one sitting, went back and sang for her the next day, and she said yes. The imagery in this song (not captured in the website sample) haunts me to this day. To his dying day, my father could not hear this song without weeping. And this is my FATHER we're talking about.

http://www.lyricsondemand.com/s/stanrogerslyrics/yearslyrics.html



Go. Explore Stan. He will change your life.

Poet

In all my life, I have never heard a voice that moves me the way Stan Rogers does.

In the world of Canadian music, (I was going to say "in the world of Canadian folk music", but his reach is far greater) few --if any-- have been so influential and yet so little known. When I mention his name, I usually get blank stares. But if I hum a few bars of one of his songs, the usual response is, "Oh, I know that song! I love that song!"

I was first exposed to Stan's music as a small child, undoubtedly because he had married my Mummy's best friend Ariel, and so Mummy played his records regularly. I have vague memories of us being on vacation at my Aunt Geri's home in Ontario, and Ariel bringing her whole tribe to Grimsby so she could see my mother. I remember all us kids playing in the front yard on a hot, dry day, and Stan coming around the corner of the house to tell us to settle down and stop our yelling.

My one and only brush with this Canadian legend, and he was bawling us out. Good times.

In 1983, when I was 12, Stan was headed home from the Kerrville Folk Festival in Texas. A fire started in the restroom on Air Canada flight 797, which was then forced to land in Cincinatti. At the age of 33, he was one of 23 people who died of smoke inhalation. So now you know why airlines always stress the fact that you can't smoke in the bathroom. (truly, that accident is where that came from.)

From Wikipedia: "Although firm evidence is lacking, it has been reported that Rogers would probably have survived had he not engaged himself in seeing others safely off the airplane. Smoke had completely filled the cabin and Rogers stood by the exit, shouting "follow my voice". He was overcome by toxic fumes from foam in the seat cushions burning."



I then remember being 15 and at my mother's house, when my awakening to his music occurred. Mummy had one of his albums on the turntable (I wish I remember which one...) and I suddenly stopped and listened. It was no longer background music; I was hearing sounds and tones and stories and heartbreak and passion like I had never heard before. And finally, I remember my mother calling Ariel the next day, as I sat transfixed on the floor in front of the speakers, and saying, "You won't believe what Jennifer is doing...."

The following lyrics are from his song, "Northwest Passage". This song has widely been called "Canada's Second National Anthem". This song is a miracle.

And it's not even my favourite.

And although the lyrics are not "reproduced with permission", they are reproduced with respect and love. Go to www.stanrogers.net to hear this song and learn more about one of our national treasures.



Chorus: Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage
To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;
Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage
And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.

Westward from the Davis Strait 'tis there 'twas said to lie
The sea route to the Orient for which so many died;
Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones
And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

(chorus)

Three centuries thereafter, I take passage overland
In the footsteps of brave Kelso, where his "sea of flowers" began
Watching cities rise before me, then behind me sink again
This tardiest explorer, driving hard across the plain.


(chorus)

And through the night, behind the wheel, the mileage clicking west
I think upon Mackenzie, David Thompson and the rest
Who cracked the mountain ramparts and did show a path for me
To race the roaring Fraser to the sea.

(chorus)

How then am I so different from the first men through this way?
Like them, I left a settled life, I threw it all away.
To seek a Northwest Passage at the call of many men
To find there but the road back home again.

Tonight

Pretty tired, have been working both jobs all week and had excrutiatingly stressful day at my full time job today. Hey, it's just part of what I do... someday I'll EXPLAIN what I do, but not tonight.

My BFF wrote me today to tell me of the fire that destroyed her aunt's home. I look around my own home and thank God for all I have.

And tomorrow I will see my angel, my reason, my son. I will get that familiar, "Hullo, Mumma!!", and the hugs and kisses that come with that moment. And after the hug, he will say, "Mumma, you smell like you" with a sweet smile on his face.

And baby, you smell like you. What could be better.

Along with Mumma, my son also (inexplicably) calls me Am-ah. He started doing this about six months ago because it just sounded right to his imaginative 10 year old ears. And then we found out that "amah" is a Chinese word for a nursemaid or governess. And, in several Aboriginal languages in Canada, Amah means grandmother. Pretty cool coincidence, no?