Let me have this

I went to a funeral today, a funeral for an 85 year old man I had only met three times, my cousin Diane's father-in-law. He had a rather pronounced hearing loss, so conversation involved quite a bit of shouting, but once you had shouted, he answered you in a perfectly clear, humourous voice. The guy was the real deal, and an absolute scream. The last time I saw him was Boxing Day, at a post-Christmas party. For whatever reason, we had all donned Mardi Gras beads, and he went right along with it, wearing ropes of purple, gold, and green.

His name was Joe. Of course it was.

Joe was awfully attached to his farm, and the peace and quiet it afforded. He was happiest outdoors, be it hunting, gathering berries, gardening, or simply walking alone in the woods. About a year ago, a vision problem forced him to give up his driver's licence. Diane and her husband Rick, who live here in town, did the only thing they could think of: they bought the house next to theirs, to allow Joe his own independence and freedom, but also allow them to keep an eye on him.

His response? "I'm too young for that."

For a year, Joe would spend a few days at the house here in town before getting grumpy, and they would drive him back to the farm. Then, after a few days of worrying about him, they would go to the farm and bring him back. This is called love.

I'm still not sure what had been wrong with his eyesight, but he had it corrected, and last week he got his driver's licence back. He immediately decided it was time to high tail it back to the farm. He had been forcing hyacinth blooms in his house here in town, and loaded them it to the car a few days ago so that he could enjoy their sunshiny blooms at the farm....after all, that was where he lived.

He spent a great day in the farm, tending to the little things that needed to be done. He placed the purple hyacinths on the kitchen table, then went out to split and stack a cord of wood. When he was done, he went in to the house for a nice cup of tea, undoubtedly admiring his winter flowers. Then, as was his wont, he took a little nap on the chesterfield.

And never woke.

Dear Lord, when it is my turn, let me have this.

Happy Birthday, Lambie

Today was also my sister's 22nd birthday. Twenty two. This baby whom I once held in my arms actually said to me over long-distance tonight, "Ugh...twenty two...I'm getting old."

I said, "Louise, you know I'm thirty seven, RIGHT???" I could hear her backpedalling from here: "Oh, I'm not saying you're old, it's just, you know, I can't believe I'm 22 already."

22 already....okay, I can remember feeling that way. I remember that moment in your twenties when you realize the world is hurtling towards you at a speed you can't control. But the experience of my thirties also reminds me of the day you finally realize that the speed at which time passes isn't important. What's important is finding your own place, and your own speed, in all that goes on around you.

I know that particular moment is far in Louise's future. But I also know she'll get there, she'll have that "A-ha" moment like I had. So although we currently live in different worlds, I know someday we will exist in the same one.

And speaking of different worlds, don't forget I was 15 the day she was born, almost a "grownup" myself. She is my sister, we are on even ground.But I changed her diapers, I gave her her bottle, I watched Pee-Wee's Playhouse with her, I babysat her, I took her to McDonald's as a treat, I brushed through her long long hair for hours when lice infected her elementary school, I read her bedtime stories, and I kissed her goodnight. She may be my sister, but she was also my first baby.

Love to you, Lambie.

Bad dream = Bad day

Photo is actually from a GOOD day, not the day described below.

It is rare that I have a nightmare, but when I do, I go full tilt.

I went to bed last night in a good mood, then read my book for a bit which put me in a better mood. By the time I turned off the light, the bed was nice and warm so my mood was further improved.

I woke up at 5:00 am in tears, after finally managing to wrench myself out of a terrible nightmare. I cried quietly to myself for a few miuntes, then got up to use the bathroom, thinking the act of physically getting up would help me shake it off. No such luck. I climbed back in with Mario and woke him up with the words, "Honey, I had a bad dream...." He put his arms around me and I lost it, completely and spectacularly.

One of two things then happened: either I never actually fell totally back to sleep and I lay there mulling the dream over, or, more likely, I fell asleep and got dumped right back in to the same dream.

Woke up weepy at 7 am. Had a hard time putting on makeup because, although I wasn't crying, I just couldn't keep my eyes from leaking. I felt like I had been physically beaten and was exhausted.

Finally, in the car on the way to work, Mario said, "Aren't you going to tell me what your dream was?"

I started to cry again. Damn it I hate nightmares. I blurted out, "I dreamed that you left me because you got tired of me."

Listen, the fully awake part of me knows that he would never leave me. The half asleep part of me, on the other hand, could not be consoled. Took me until noon to shake it off completely. Yucky.

Love is a gameshow?

Mario and I don't make a point of watching the "Deal or No Deal" gameshow; I think we have seen it six times in our lives. But if we have the TV on, flipping channels, and come across it, there's a reasonable chance we'll stop to look.

Like now.

I don't get a particular thrill out of the program, but out of the things it says about Mario and me. In this game of chance, when things are looking dicey for the player, we will say to each other, "What would you do? Take the deal or keep playing, possibly losing everything?"

My answer is invariably, "Dude, I would sooooo walk with the cash I have now, it's too stressful to play those kinds of odds."

And his response is invariably, "Screw it, let it ride. Blaze of glory, baby."

From a personality point of view, he and I are at completely different ends of the spectrum. Thank God we somehow found each other in the middle. Love you, baby.

And how was your Saturday?

Tonight, when my son went to bed at 10pm, I lay down with him for a minute. If you are a parent, you are saying, "Minute, my ass", and you are right. It is 1:21 am and I just woke up.

Brian and I had an awesome Saturday, billed as "Brian & Amah's Day of FUN". We have had three or four of these in the past two years, and essentially what it amounts to is a day of yes. If he wants to go to the amusement park, the answer is yes. Have ice cream for breakfast, yes. Go for a walk in the woods, yes. You get the idea, a day of anything his little heart can dream up.

This highligts of this particular Day of FUN (and "fun" must be capitalized because you kinda have to shout it) were affected slightly by the impossibly cold and windy weather. We started off at 9:30 this morning by picking up a new Lego set, along with sauerkraut hotdogs and yummy fruit concoctions at Orange Julius around 10:15am. Back to the house to construct said Lego and surf StarWars related web sites. This afternoon, we went to the movies and ate the delicious, salty, bright yellow popcorn you just can't make at home. We came home to change, and finished our day off with a seven course dinner from The Windjammer, one of Canada's greatest restaurants, conveniently located in "my" hotel.

Brian loves the Windjammer, and the Windjammer loves him. He is such an adventurous soul when it comes to food that the kitchen staff has universally adopted him as a pet, they get such a charge out of dreaming up new, enticing little tidbits for him to try.

Tonight, he had a quenelle of lobster & cream cheese on potato crisp, wild mushroom risotto with smoked duck, five onion bisque, lobster in white chocolate, apple & ginger sorbet, prime rib, and Chocolate Bruno. He also tried the Arctic char confit I had instead of the risotto, and the venison I had as my main course. He loved every bite, and as each course ended he would give me his gastronomical opinion of each dish, while looking forward to whatever new thing was about to be placed before him.

I love that about him, his openness to all things new. The lobster in white chocolate wasn't on our menu, it was a surprise course the kitchen had prepared for us. And even though I know the dish sounds bizarre, he never hesitated for a second, he trusted the chef and his trust was well founded. That stuff was the bomb.

All of this culminated in us driving home tonight in a food coma. Brian knew that, as part of our day of FUN, he could stay up as late as he wanted, but as soon as we got in the door he said, "Mumma, come lay with me, I want to go to bed." Of course he did, poor bugger, he had just sat through seven courses! And of course I was going to go cuddle, it's his day to decide what he wants. He wanted me.

Best day.

Full circle

When I was a little girl, waaaaaaaaaaay back in the late 70's, I remember going over to my friend Anne's house (name changed to protect the innocent and embarrassed) to listen to our 45's and records. Yes, "records". Look it up.

I was nine, so my parents would have been, let's see, in their early thirties. Anne's parents were at least fifteen years older than that.... and trust me, when you yourself are that young, a fifteen year age gap in parents is like a century.

In my house, our sleek black Sony turntable sat on top of a small glass and chrome table in our living room, and my parents listened to Donna Summers, Fleetwood Mac, and Supertramp. In Anne's house, the turntable was housed inside a monolithic but wooden cabinet with built-in mesh speakers kept in their parlor. The storage space underneath swung open to reveal their prized collection of Anne Murray, Roger Whittaker, and Nana Mouskouri.

Dude. So not cool. I remember being horrified at how old it all seemed.

Let's now rocket to the present. In my job, I don't work directly with celebrities, I work with thier "people". It's still pretty interesting, though. Some of my clients have included the Tragically Hip, Our Lady Peace, the Stones, Snoop Dogg, blah blah blah, etc etc etc.

Today I found out I might get to work "with" another musician. And I almost had to flipping sit down, I was so excited.

I.
Might Get.
To Work.
"With."
Gordon Farking Lightfoot.


I am so excited I am a giddy little girl. And oh man, if you don't see the irony in this, then you're not paying attention.



PS. Did I mention Gordon Lightfoot??????

Change of address

How cool is this: my brother the musician is moving in to Glenn Gould's penthouse. For those of you unfamiliar, Glenn Gould was a nice (but slightly weird) Canadian boy who grew up to become one of the greatest pianists of the 20th century. I feel good vibes for my brother with this change of address.

The change of address I am NOT getting good vibes from is apparently going on inside my laptop. For reasons unknown to yours truly, the computer has somehow decided I am a proud citizen of the United Kingdom. Anytime I google, my query results always end in " .uk " and I can't make it stop. Anybody know what I did????

Black and White

I saw a story on NewsNet today that first made me roll my eyes, then gasp, then launched me in to a full-on stupor. I only saw the story briefly, mind you, so forgive me any minor errors.

Apparently there is a politician in Virginia who has come out and said that African Americans need to "get over" slavery. The state has some kind of 400th anniversary coming up, so some local groups had proposed that this was a reasonable time for the state to apologize for their role in slavery, which prompted buddy's comments.

To be fair, he backed up this astounding statement with the fact that no one currently alive had anything to do with slavery, kind of insinuating that it is silly for a black man to eye whitey with a "you hurt my people" kind of mentality.

Can you imagine being that naive, or that prone to publicly saying whatever comes in to your head without thinking it through?

Of course no one alive today had anything to do with slavery. But let's not forget that slavery is, by and large, how the first African Americans got to North America. Ninety eight percent of the people currently on our continent didn't "start" here, we all came from Away. But there's a huge difference between me telling you, ".... and things got kind of rough in Scotland, so my ancestors came here", and a black person saying, "....and everything was happy and peaceful in my ancestors' village until some white guys with guns showed up, rounded up the men of the village, and sold them. More than half of them died on the trip to America, but hey, we all need to start the American Dream somewhere."

That being said, an idealistic part of me actually does agree with his comment. "Look, I didn't do that horrid thing and never would, so let's be friends and forget about all that bad shit." Unfortunately, that type of argument only works at the one-on-one level, and it only works if the people involved in the discussion don't have racist leanings.

The way African Americans were treated in the past needs to be recognized and acknowledged. Okay, okay, slavery has been over for a long time. But it also seems to me that less than 50 years ago Rosa Parks sat with her stomach churning and her calves shaking, while she tried to maintain her dignity on a bus. And I'm sorry, but somebody needs to apologize for THAT at the very least, so step up.

And just to compound the problem, this same politician (and I truly don't doubt he was well-meaning in all of this) supported his argument by saying blaming white folks for slavery is like blaming Jews for killing Christ.

Aww dude, come ON. It's not hard to tell someone is desperate when that argument comes up. Let's put it in context. Jesus was an actual historic person, no one denies that, but I will leave his spiritual signifigance up to you. Did Jews have a role in his murder? Well DUH. But let's not forget that we are maybe talking about seven people who happened to be Jewish, and Jesus Himself was a Jew, and they certainly didn't do it alone, they had a bunch of Romans with them as well. So should be blame Italian people for killing Him? Should we walk past a synagogue and say, "Those people killed the Saviour." ? And to put in context with today's world, should we say that because a few nut-jobs blew up a building, it is the fault of Islam?

Of course not, it's utterly ridiculous.

But what happened to Jesus is not what happened to African Americans, alright??? Jesus was one guy, and what ended his life was a one-off deal. It may suck, but it was the culmination of three or four months of plotting against one person for a specific reason. It was not 400 years of subjegation, murder, forced labour, family separation and cultural death.

At the end of the day, I'm sorry buddy in Virginia is an idiot. I'm also sorry that people like him think they can invoke the "J" word to support any argument they choose.

And just to put things in context, I am a 37 year old white woman, who is a Christian and a Canadian. You know, Canada, that place black people dreamed of when they were enslaved. So maybe the way I look at history is different than some guy in Virginia. All I know is that what was done to African Americans ( and, going further back, to Africans) was wrong. Should we beat ourselves up about it? No. Should we say we're sorry? Yes.

Check this out

Here's a list of 100 things to do in Canada before you die, which I stumbled across on Alan Doyle's blog. (Love Alan, love Great Big Sea....)


http://www.canada.com/nationalpost/specials/posttravel/story.html?id=19ddd953-7576-4059-96cf-730b4f95c866

Very happy to report that I can cross 34 of those off my list. I sincerely had forgotten how many cool things I have seen and done in the last fifteen years or so. Reading this was a bit of an awakening. At the same time, it certainly indicates that I need to get moving on the other 56 ! (that's right, 56, not the mathematically correct 66....at least 10 are so sports-centric that I have no interest in even suggesting I'll do them!)

The Garden War

Let me once more state that I am possibly North America's worst gardener. In three years, my entire vegetable yield has been two dozen carrots, one meal's worth of green beans, two salads worth of lettuce, seventeen strawberries, and about a dozen tomatoes. Seriously, that's three years worth. Granted, I grow my vegetables in containers and I only plant a few of them, but still. My actual produce output is wildly out of proportion with how much I actually have planted with high hopes, and ended up swearing at three months later.

From a floral point of view, I only have one, narrow, pathetic little bed by the front door... Each spring, Brian and I take a stroll through a local nursery, and buy whatever annuals appeal to us at the time. One year it was petunias and pansies, one year it was dahlias and some red stuff. And Mario will never forget the year it wasn't flowers at all, but those two dozen carrots I mentioned before. (Maaaaaaaaaan, did I take flak for THAT.)

I tell you these shameful facts in order to put things in context. I am a terrible gardener, but I keep at it because I enjoy it. I love adding compost each spring, love the look of freshly laid mulch, love stopping by the front door on my way in the house to pull out a weed or two. Love it all.

I just suck at it.

Which leads us to The Garden War. I have long eyed our front yard and envisioned replacing most of the predictable grass with flowers, shrubs, and yes, vegetables. Mario, understandably, wants to hear nothing about this. I suspect that, if my previous efforts had revealed a spectacular Green Thumb, he would be more open to the idea. But as things currently stand, it is a huge point of contention between us.

Please spare me the whole "why don't you do that in your back yard" thing. When I sit outside during the summer, I don't sit on the patio in the back, I sit on our deck in the front. Always have, and conceivably always will. So shouldn't the front be the place where I can look out over my beautiful garden?

You know I'm using the phrase "beautiful garden" loosely, right?

Ramble

1. Am in a not-so stellar mood right now, kind of leaning towards the bitchy side. No real reason for this.

2. Had both my son and my step-father here this weekend. Awesome. Last night we all worked together, cracking open a million left-over mixed nuts from Christmas, which I then threw in to my crock pot with a bit of butter, some assorted free flowing spice, and cooked for three hours. Divine.

3. If Bill Clinton re-entered political life, I would move to the States for the privilege of voting for him. Last summer we found out (at the last minute) that he would be speaking a mere three hours from here, and there were still a few tickets available. We seriously considered changing our vacation plans so we could go hear him....and we didn't even know what he would be speaking about.

4. Currently 10 pm in my little corner of the world, and Mario has to be in to work around 4:30 am tomorrow to prepare for a radio broadcast / publicity thing in our lobby at 5:30. I am going to start gently suggesting he go to bed....guarantee that within the half hour I will be a shrill harpy.

5. Watched "An Inconvenient Truth" this afternoon with Brian. What a movie, I was blown away. And am now scared shitless.

6. Started reading yet another gardening book today. It's like a sickness, this obsession I have with all things plant related. The ironic part is that I am a terrible gardener who kills 90%of everything I touch. But a girl can still dream.

7. I tend to keep my fingernails quite long, but every now and again I go through this stage where they all seem to break, which is currently the case. All of my fingernails are now the same length as my fingers, except my left pinky which is still in its cocaine-spoon glory. No, I've never tried cocaine, I just find the nail hilarious. I know I should cut it to match the rest, but it cracks me up.

8. We are behind on the laundry, and I am lazy as hell. Today, rather than wash my nylons, I bought more. Anything to put it off for another day or two.

9. My mind is a bizarre labyrinth. Today I got thinking about the book, "The Long Winter", by Laura Ingalls Wilder. (my favourite Laura book, by the way.) I asked myself what I would do if I could travel back in time and take the family something to help get them through that terrible winter, but was limited to what I could reasonably carry on my person. A case of canned tuna for the protein? Several bottles of One-A-Day, or even Flintstones Chewables, to help with the scurvy? Gore-tex?

10. YOU listen to these bizarre thoughts so that Mario doesn't have to. He thanks you.

11. Last ramble for tonight, but #10 reminded me of a conversation I had with Mario a few months ago. I was looking at my hand (not the nails, ha ha) and I said, "Why are there five fingers? Where did that number come from, why not four or six? And even if there is a reason to have five fingers, why do we have five toes? I see how having an opposable thumb comes in handy, but if I have an opposable big toe, I don't want to know about it.

"And for that matter, why are our feet so small compared to the rest of our bodies? If you were going to build a machine shaped like a person, you would never try to balance it on something so small. Why aren't our feet BIGGER?"

"How come, besides fingers and toes, everything in our bodies comes in ones or twos? One mouth, two ears, one pancreas, two ovaries, one liver, two lungs. How come? And how come, for everything we have two of -- eyes, lungs, kidneys, testicles-- we can get by with just one?

"And did you ever notice that the things we only have one of seem to follow a straight line down the middle of our bodies, for the most part? One brain, one nose (but two nostrils!), one mouth, one heart, one stomach, one uterus...."

At this point Mario just couldn't take it anymore. "Oh, come on, what do you want, TWO uteruses?? You couldn't even MOVE if you were pregnant with two uteruses pointing in two different directions!!"

So I said, "Well, if I had the big feet I could!"

Janie

Not to be maudlin, but today is the one year mark since Mummy died. I called my brother Carleton tonight, and he didn't answer the phone by saying hello. The first thing he said was,

"I know."

This bloody well sucks.

Just an observation

Prior to this site, I maintained another blog where I really let it all hang out...whatever fool thing came in to my mind, and whatever fool language (ahem), I just typed it all down and put it out there.

But then I realized there were other things I wanted to say, and other ways I wanted to express myself, and so I began here. DISCLAIMER: I am not suggesting other site was "The Proud Home of the F Word" or "SpankMePink.com", I'm just saying I tended to talk about other things....usually along the lines of how grotty dirty my oven was, or how much I enjoyed the Stones concert. Nothing too shocking, okay??

This site has been, by and large, much kinder and gentler. And it still will be, when that's how I'm feeling. Over the last few days, things have come in to my head that I have considered posting, but then thought, "Oh, but that doesn't 'fit' your blog, this blog is meant to be more reflective."

Excuse me? It's my damn blog and I'll say damn if I feel like it. I may even haul out the F word (although I promise it will never become The Proud Home Of )

So here's to the Word that I currently consider the most important: Begin.

Everything I have ever written here is 100% who I am and how I felt. But there's a whole big pile of other things that I feel, see, do, and think. And that's okay.

Something else for me to do

Carleton this past summer, jamming with another band at our family reunion.

We just finished watching the DVD that comes with my brother's band's latest CD (Automotive, by Automan.ca )

I really enjoyed it, especially the part where Carleton talks about how he came to the guitar, when he was 11. (I personally think he was 10, but I'll have to check that.) He talks about sitting on the front porch of our cottage, where my grandfather was strumming an acoustic, and he asked if he could have a try. His life changed that afternoon. And I saw it. And we HAVE PICTURES. We actually have pictures of the first time he held a guitar and his own personal light came on.

But, as usual, I digress, photographic triumph notwithstanding. Seeing the DVD was a bit of a wake-up call for me. I own and (snort!) "administer" his official website, which to date has involved me registering the site, and posting a photo and a blurb about how this is the only official site. (Hmmm....kind of like Becky has done....)

I haven't done any more because, frankly, I don't know how to do anything else! I have reached the outer limits of my technological knowledge, but seriously: it's time for me to get my ass in gear.

What's that word for 2007 again? Oh yeah....BEGIN.

Sunday Night

I got home from work at 8pm. The table was set, the wine was open, and the delicious smells coming out of the kitchen were unbelievable. I gorged myself on Mario's wonderful cooking; not two minutes ago I shucked my jeans in favour of a pair of sweatpants. I mean, I ATE.

And that's all I have to say tonight!

One thing leads to another

When Mummy died last January, my stepfather gave me her good china. I sincerely love these dishes, but, like most people, have very few memories of it actually gracing our table; it was generally considered too good to be used more than once a year. And although I reject that mentality completely, I must also admit that I haven't used it in the last year, either.

Well, one thing leads to another. Yesterday we purchased a complete set of fine crystal glassware. Mario wanted it because he appreciates beauty and quality. I wanted it because it would give us something exceptional enough to be placed on the same table as the china.

China leads to stemware. And now I realize we actually need a china cabinet for these beautiful treasures. I look at our narrow dining room, and our massive dining room table, and think the two will never coexist in the same space. China leads to stemware leads to china cabinet leads to new diningroom table.

The acquisition of things seems to only ever lead to the acquisition of more things. What's wrong with this picture?

Love this

This is Mario's absolute favourite picture of Brian and me. It was yet another rainy day during our 2005 vacation to Newfoundland. Despite the pouring rain, we ventured down to the beach to appreciate yet another mood of the sea.

On the way back, the rain slowed to a light drizzle. I don't know what went through his head, but Brian started a crazy little dance on our way back to the campsite. With a bit of a "when in Rome" mentality, I joined in. And, unknown to us, Mario snapped this picture.

It reminds me of a great (but soggy) vacation. It reminds me of countless other good times our little blended family has experienced together. It reminds me that Tilley Hats rule. It reminds me that, sometimes, everyone needs to dance in the rain.

Lazy Day

Oh man, today just isn't my day to be useful. I have to go back to work tomorrow (Boo-urns!) so I am protesting by being as unproductive as possible today. I did finish another scrapbook page this morning, and I suppose that counts towards being productive... but at the same time, I am currently too lazy to actually get out my camera so I can post it here. Maybe later. Maybe not.

I just spent more than an hour "checking in with my girls", a euphamism for reading all my favourite blogs. Forest Sister, Rosie, Ali, Donna, Lisa, Louise, the list (sadly) goes on and on. Which reminds me....First, totally loving Lisa Bearnson's "year in review" video, although I am pea green at all the cool places she visited last year. Second, is Becky EVER going to do anything with her web site? And thirdly, no more Donald Trump for yours truly, I'm with Rosie all the way!!

I also watched A Prairie Home Companion this morning, which I enjoyed but am quite certain I didn't understand. We are planning to watch Jarhead tonight (which I keep referring to as Jughead.)

Mario is currently on the phone with his son in Portugal. I get such a kick out of hearing him speak Portuguese. Friggin language makes ZERO sense to me. I have a relatively good grasp on all the romance languages, but Portuguese is completely beyond me. I used to thumb through our Portuguese encyclopedia until I found a word I was sure I understood, like airporto, and then try to make sense out of the entry. Then I would translate what I had just read to Mario and he would piss himself laughing.

Anyway, that's enough rambling for now. I should get back to being dead useless....

Five.

Four.


Three.


Two.


One.

Happy New Year from Jenn & Mario.

Peace out.