Dear Diary – Week 2 – 2023

Tags

dear diary, family, holiday, humour

Dear Diary – I took the boys for our annual shearing, and what a mop of hair on the floor when our favourite stylist was done! Youngest Son is scheduled for Grad photos mid-January…and I just wanted a change.

Now that my bangs are shorter and thinner, I can actually see myself in the mirror. I haven’t decided if I like it or not. It’s probably a good sign that the people who saw me this week noticed nothing! So at least it’s not worse than where I started.

A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life.

Coco Chanel

Dear Diary – I finished Mom’s Gnome post-Christmas. Unfortunately, Little Gnome got into the pile of candy Eldest Son brought, and put himself in a candy coma.

Dear Diary – It’s a shame people don’t know how to spell; we’ve come to rely on “Spellcheck” too much. I’ll never forget one of my law teachers talking about an administrator who sent out “trail date notices” instead of “trial date notices” because she relied on Spellcheck.

Eldest Son received a new game, or rather an old one. It was, apparently, popular in the 1980’s but I had never heard of it: Airport. But whoever produced the game ought to have proofread the cards more carefully. I’m pretty sure Deijing and Cario are not countries.

I hate spelling errors so much. You mix up two letters and suddenly your post is urined.

Unknown

Dear Diary – There was a thing on Facebook that said the most popular song on your 23rd birthday will predict to your 2023!

I don’t like my song.

It’s too close to home given what September may (or may not) bring – the sudden and painful first step of Youngest Son leaving the nest for college or Uni.

Unless he doesn’t pass English, in which case, the nest may be full a little longer.

Either way, while it’s true that Youngest Son will always hold a special place in my heart and I love him dearly, the song also held dark and disturbing imagery of a suffocating “Smother Mother“.

We were as one, babe
For a moment in time
And it seemed everlasting
That you would always be mine
Now you want to be free
So I’m lettin’ you fly
‘Cause I know in my heart babe
Our love will never die

No you’ll always be a part of me
I’m part of you indefinitely
Boy don’t you know you can’t escape me
Oh darlin’ ’cause you’ll always be my baby
And we’ll linger on
Time can’t erase a feelin’ this strong
No way you’re never gonna shake me
Oh darlin’ cause you’ll always be my baby

Mariah Carey, Always Be My Baby

Dear Diary – I helped Mom with her quest in life to rid the house of extra crap downsize by bringing home a new piece of furniture. Well, it’s an old piece of furniture but new for me!

I was convinced it would have to wait until another trip to come home because I had all the crap luggage I had brought for the post-Christmas vacation at my folks, as well as the bin of crap stuff Eldest Son picked up for me at the house, because I forgot crap stuff.

Eldest Son was undeterred.

It was a proud Mommy Moment – I have taught my boys how to pack, like a game of Tetris. They not only safely installed the wash stand and buckled it in, but packed all the other stuff in too.

I was tossing the final things in the backseat when I noticed a black blob amongst a collection of fluffy, white circles on the underside of the stand. I blew on the blob…and it moved.

“There’s a spider on that washstand,” I announced. With panic rising in my voice, I also announced, “it’s alive and there are egg sacs. Someone’s got to kill it or get it out! NOW! … Dad?”.

Dad may have considered it “just a little guy” but I disagreed strongly. I stared at the black blob through the open car door as Eldest Son wrestled with the seatbelt, willing the spider to hang tight. “If you lose that spider, I’m not going home,” I declared, still staring. I stared right up until the stand was outside my car. Dad brushed off the spider and the fluff, which turned out to be just fluff and not babies. In my defence, I wasn’t getting close to confirm it.

Disaster averted, the furniture reinstated, I said my good-byes and headed home.

Eldest Son was driving separately and while we left at the same time, we had different stops to make on the way out of town.

We were nearly an hour into our drive when Eldest Son called to see where we were. Did we want to meet for a bite halfway?

Ah….yes!!

I could see his little blue car pulling into the service center as we pulled off the highway. We grabbed a bite. It was a lovely way to round out the holiday…time with my boys.

I wish I had taken a photo.

I watched his little blue car pull away and head for the highway while I pumped gas and I whispered blessings over him.

Now I’m back at home, trying to eliminate tissue paper sparkles and cracker crumbs from the carpet, pack up the decorations, and restore a sense of “normality” at home.

I haven’t been very successful.

Or terribly motivated!

Last night, I found the missing piece for the Swedish Angel Chimes, something I took from my grandparents’ box of decorations. My parents had one too and I remember watching the candles dance and listening to the angels chiming when I was little.

I lit the candles and just sat watching for awhile.

I felt sad and I finally figured out why.

It wasn’t so much because the season was over and I was packing all the pretty things away. It was because I miss the people who made that season special and magical.

I guess there was another truth in my 2023 song by Mariah:

No, you’ll always be a part of me
I’m part of you, indefinitely.

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 40

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family

Dear Diary – It’s Week 40, the same number of weeks as the average gestation period for humans. Even though I might feel like it, I am not a sleep-deprived new Mom. I’m slowly recovering from the Death Flu of last week. In addition to regaining some energy (and sadly, appetite that wants dessert), I’ve been left with a burning chest. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon and I’m simply sitting on the couch. I was very fortunate to speak to my Dr. and I’m on an inhaler. This happened last time I tried this new medication and I’m going to go out on a limb and say, this one is NOT for me!

Last Thursday, I crawled from my bed…to the couch, where I consumed gingerale, crackers, and the entire mini series “Angel of Darkness”.

Since then, I’ve banished the “darkness” and have tackled multiple piles of crap and corners of crud. I’m reclaiming the house after all the in-house shuffling during covid to accomodate work, school, and whatever it is that I do! With some shuffling in the office, I made room for the desk that was in the middle of the bedroom. Now all my sewing is in one room, and my bedroom is once again a bedroom. Plus I have a trunk full of crap to donate. Just in time for a new furnace (hopefully tomorrow – he has yet to confirm but we agreed to his suggeste date, so he might just show up. And, hopefully, I will be dressed). Also just in time for Thanksgiving. Eldest Son might be bringing his girlfriend for a night and I couldn’t let her see the house in the shape it was in. Between covid, illnesses and sewing my brains out, the house is clean, but not tidy.

But it’s well on the way!

You never get a second chance to make a first impression.

Will Rogers

Dear Diary – Do you ever get the feeling that something isn’t right? Intuition? Premonition? Sixth Sense? Nonesense. Whatever you call it, I starting feeling it Friday morning.

Normally, I drive Youngest Son to school, but I was still nursing a headache and had told him the night before he was on his own. I planned to get up in time to say “bye”, but he left 15 minutes early. I only know this because I heard the door slam on his way out. I raced to the window but by the time I got there, he was already out of sight. I went back to bed and thought nothing of it.

Until lunchtime, right around the time he’d be leaving the school.

And then he didn’t come home.

I dismissed the feeling and tried to reason why he’d be so late. But he isn’t a doddler and the time for his online co-op placement was fast approaching. Was the timetable impacted by an assembly? Was co-op in-class today? Had he been kidnapped by pirates and sold into slavery?

The school confirmed no assembly. I left a voicemail for his co-op teacher puttered aimlessly the rest of the afternoon.

The teacher called after school. It was business as usual, so where was Youngest Son? The teacher contacted his placement supervisor and called me back. The Supervisor had received a message from Youngest Son saying he would be late because he had “taken the wrong bus and was a long way from home”.

My heart sunk. He could be anywhere in the city…in any direction. I had no way of finding out!

Except…

I had received a text from an unknown person, which I had to tap to open so I completely ignored it. I opened it now. While I couldn’t read the full message, I saw a couple street names, my home and cell number and phrases like “bus left”, “Hudson” and “their son is there”.

I grabbed my keys, slapping a “Call me!” note on the front door, and headed to the nearby Mall with a Hudson’s Bay store.

Inside I was racing to that store. Outside, I was crawling because it was Friday afternoon in the city. I prayed between heated sighs and low growls. I sounded like Marg Simpson. I knew it; I didn’t care! DIdn’t these stupid people know I needed to get my child?

I frantically hobbled around the store several times, then the Mall. I don’t know if there were even any good sales on! I even had a salesclerk try paging him several times. The first time, she asked him to come to the Estee Lauder counter. I rolled my eyes. I don’t know too many teenage boys who know what Estee Lauder is?

But after nearly an hour, no Youngest Son. With a knot in my stomach the size of a basketball, I called Hubby to come home, and crawled my way there too. I hit every red light. When I got stopped by a freight train, just blocks from home, I actually screamed. Not a high-pitched scream like I’d been frightened by a spider, but something ferocious and feral. The intensity of it scared me, but I once again felt more in control of the terror clawing on the periphery.

My heart sunk when I saw my note still on the door. One more tour of the neighbourhood, then I called the police.

I had just started to reheat a cup of tea in the microwave (since tea is stereotypically consumed by those in distress), when the police officers arrived. The microwave continued to snark chirp throughout the first phase of questioning.

It wasn’t until the officer opened the weird message fully, that I realized it was from Youngest Son on his computer, and I knew exactly where he was. I had gone to the wrong mall! It had crossed my mind, but in my haste, I had stupidly dismissed it and wasted so much time!

The officers asked for a recent photo so they could share it with mall security and police in the area. Youngest Son has resisted having his photo taken for years. Any “recent” photos would have a hand, a burger, something over his face.

Hubby arrived home and we found a photo. We texted a few folks who we had informed so they could be praying. Our pastor and long-time friend called to say he was on his way…to the mall.

And we waited. I rocked in the rocking chair, squeaking a 4/4 rock beat, irritating everyone in the room.

After about 40 minutes, the phone rang and I heard the sweetest words: “I’ve got him!”

He had been lost for 5 1/2 hours. When the officer stepped outside to tell his partner, I burst into tears.

This has always been one of my greatest fears…that my child would find himself frightened, alone, and hurt, at the mercy of a stranger. If God should choose to take him home, I want to be there. I want to hold him and comfort him, and usher him into the arms of Jesus. It’s an irrational fear, maybe even a selfish one. But whoever said fear was rational?

It’s an instinctive part of being a parent, to want to safeguard our children against the monsters that really do exist and to stand in the gap to protect them. With everything we’ve got…

It’s a fear that shifts even when they’ve grown and are on their own, but it will never really go away.

Like the story of the prodigal son, we feasted to celebrate his return. Instead of the fatted calf, we had pizza, chips and chocolate (O Henry!) Youngest Son has had to patiently endure several discussions, and lots of hugs and kisses. He made up his co-op time on Saturday. We will be getting him a cell phone and this time, he promises to keep it charged and take it with him!!

I read Psalm 121 to Youngest Son almost every day when he was on the way. It reminded me that God would watch over him always, from the moment he was conceived to the day he takes his last breath.

We are so thankful for a caring friend, who literally hopped in his truck to bring him home. We’re thankful for all the people who, hearing what was going on, prayed with us. We are thankful for a loving Heavenly Father who watched over him.

We have so much for which to be thankful every day.

The Lord will keep you from all harm- He will watch over your life;  the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

Ps. 121:7-8

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 36

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, family history, first day of school, food, humour, memories, nature

Dear Diary – I did my back to school shopping…

Dear Diary – While it was super awesome and super entertaining watching Eldest Son fell a tree, there was one problem: how to deal with a felled tree.

On Saturday, Dad loaded up the truck with the first pile of brush for a run to the woods. The “woods” is a small patch of scrubby woodlands near what was the family farm. As we bumped along in silence, passing familiar farms and villages. There were more houses than I remembered, but for the most part, all remained the same.

We passed the house where my grandmother grew up with an older couple who “adopted” her. She went to live with them following the difficult birth of another sister and her family’s move to the city. She found her own household too chaotic, and she was happier growing up in the quiet household. She quit high school and worked in a store so she could care for this couple in their golden years, before she married grandpa and moved into her in-law’s home…where she cared for them in their golden years too.

We also passed the large, old cemetery my Dad would drive by slowly because I would hold my breath going past it.

I don’t know why I wanted to go with my Dad. Sure, it was to keep him company, but there’s also something special about this patch of land, like something calling me back to it. It’s a connection to the past and I feel a kinship with the families who came before me.

My great-great-great grandfather, Patrick, arrived in Canada from Ireland in 1837 with his wife and 8 children. They cleared and settled their crown plot by 1840. In 1843, his lawyer began petitioning the government for the title that was promised. The land passed from Patrick to Edward, who died in 1917. When he died, his wife walked across several fields to these same woods at the south end of the farm. She dug up and planted a small tree on his grave. I can remember looking for this evergreen tree in the cemetery (holding my breath), which could be seen from the road on the way to the farm. It came down in 2005. The farm then passed from Edward to John, and from John to my grandfather, Roy. The farm was sold in the early 1980’s, but we still own the woods.

These woods were used in WWII to train the Royal Canadian Electrical & Mechancal Engineering units in camoflauge and equipment recovery and repair. The pigs at the farm soon learned that big trucks might mean delicious scraps, and they would run to the fence every time they heard a truck. Once, my grandmother was taken on a tour of the camp and an young officer went ahead to remind the lads to watch there language and behaviour because there was “a lady in the camp”.

The roadways used by the trainees are nearly indiscernable around the trees, but Dad had no difficulty wending his way through the gap in the wooden rail fence and into a clearing not far from the road. We spotted this puffball mushroom on the way.

Dad measured it on his next trip and said it was about 14″ across.

The only sounds were crickets and the occasional lazy bumblebee. I saw dragons flies and ants, but no other creatures. I know that there are deer and bears, and smaller critters around. We were surrounded by cedar and pine, prickly ash, sumac, juniper, and plenty of moss-covered rocks.

Can you find the road?

On the way home, we took a different route, one that led down dusty roads and over hills. When I was a kid, my Dad knew just how to hit those hills so that my stomach would roll and I’d laugh out loud. It was better than any scary roller coaster!

We stopped in the last village at a bakery in an old limestone building. The windows are low with deep sills to display the store’s wares, and the door is bright yellow…with an old, sticky lock.

We bought 3 kinds of bars to share: maple walnut, peanut butter-chocolate, and nanaimo! We earned them (or rather, Dad did)! A yummy way to end a busy day!

Life is uncertain….eat dessert first!

Unknown

Dear Diary – It felt like Fall had arrived by the flick of a switch. On Saturday afternoon, Mom and I enjoyed a lovely, warm swim in the pool. On Sunday morning, I was reaching for a sweater and regretting not packing more than sundresses.

Monday was our last day together, a bonus day since school was starting later than expected and I remained at my folks with Youngest Son longer. Determined that Youngest Son was NOT going to spend it sleeping all day, as has been his routine for the month of August, I insisted he get up and go out with us for lunch. He was cranky, but he came.

Being a holiday Monday and a small town, our dining options were limited. It’s been years since I dined in MacDonald’s. Growing up, it was the only fast food restaurant in town, and one we usually frequented on Sundays after church. If Dad was working, we’d take it to the Fire Hall. We eat in front of an old black and white t.v. and play tag on the trucks.

After lunch we played board games until Mom needed a nap. I think Youngest Son did too.

We arrived home on Tuesday and I have been unpacking bags and boxes ever since. It’s amazing how much stuff accumulates over the summer, and how well I can pack it in my tiny car!

I’m always sad to see the end of summer. I like the sense of freedom from obligations and deadlines that it brings. I know if I didn’t have routines that I would literally waste precious time, but it’s delicious simply to know that I had the space to do so. Every season has its place and like it or not, the next one is beginning. It’s time for activities to start, jean buttons to strain, and pumpkin-spiced crap to appear in every coffee shop across the land!

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Dear Diary – I didn’t sleep well last night: ‘Twas the Night Before…

This morning, though the sun shone brightly outside, inside the mood was somber. I did my best to stay out of Youngest Son’s way as he finished making his lunch and gathered his belongings. It’s the first day of Grade 12, a year whose outcome will determine the next step in his life journey. And having attended virtual school for part of Grade 9 and all of Grades 10 & 11, thanks to covid, it feels like the beginning of Grade 9. Again.

Also, he had to get dressed!!

He wore his new jeans today, the ones I bought and exchanged for a smaller size. Though a 27″ waist, he still needs a belt. (Once again I’m reminded mine used to be 24″ and I start singing The Way We Were).

I dropped him off at the corner. I figured the day was tough enough without the long early morning walk. That walk will have to become part of his routine in preparation for Uni next year. Mama’s not living in his dorm (actually only in spirit).

Thus begins a new chapter in his life, and in mine. I was just beginning to settle into a routine at home, having quit my job, when covid shutdowns hit. Now, after 2 years I suddenly find myself in the same place I started the pandemic: home, alone, and wondering just what it is I’m supposed to be doing with my life.

So I’m doing just what I did then…starting a routine. I had breakfast. I had my quiet time with the Lord. And now I’ve said hello to you, dear diary. Time for me to begin my next chapter. Lord, have mercy!

Beginning
Just let that word wash over you
It’s alright now
Love’s healing hands have pulled you through
So get back up, take step one
Leave the darkness, feel the sun
Cause your story’s far from over
And your journey’s just begun

Danny Gokey, Tell Your Heart to Breathe Again

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week 14

Tags

chocolate, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, faith, family, food, humour, music, worship

Dear Diary – Who says you have to have alcohol to have fun? Just add chocolate!

One evening this week, Youngest Son asked me if I wanted to share his chocolate bomb. He was given a beautiful, handcrafted, semi-circular, dark chocolate bomb, drizzled in white chocolate, at Christmas. How this large, gorgeous chocolate piece remained under my radar for so long is truly a mystery!

Hubby recorded the transformation, and the hilarity that ensued after it was made…but I can’t post videos on WordPress. I can post it on Facebook but only my friends can see it, and I’m not changing the permissions because the world does not need to see what I did!

First I plunked the chocolate bomb in a clear mug and warmed the milk in the microwave. I used my lactose-free milk to minimize the…ah, negative effects on my body. My family thanks me. Pouring from a deep bowl into a mug was messy, and 1/3 of the milk dribbled on the counter. Hubby just rolled his eyes.

We watched in silent anticipation for something to happen. It didn’t. So I started gently submerging the bomb in the milk. Suddenly, hot chocolate powder started to spray across the top. After a couple more dunks, powder and marshmallows bubbled to the surface.

It was delicious. We split it 3 ways.

No weeping for shed milk.

James Howard

My 2L carton of lactose-free milk costs more than a 4L bag, so before Hubby could mop up the counter, I leaned it and started slurping. Except the sound wasn’t what you would expect. It was more like the high-pitched whine of a small engine, or as Oldest Son described it, “screws in a squeaky dryer”. Yes, Hubby recorded that too.

I didn’t realize he was recording until the second video where he stuck his phone by my face. I was laughing so hard, I had to turn my face away a couple of times before I could suck. I’d love to post the videos, not because I’d enjoy the humiliation, but to share the fun. The three of us watched it over and over and laughed so hard, we had tears running down our faces and I thought I was going to bust a gut. I’m not sure if they were laughing at the video or laughing at me, but we were laughing together. And that’s priceless.

Dear Diary – I’m not sure why, but it’s kind of reassuring that I’m still bendy enough to pee in the car. I went with Hubby to his second MRI (at the hospital where I just had my own fun experience), but with covid restrictions, I had to wait in the car. For an hour and a half.

Hubby kindly parked in the corner of the parking garage so I could have a view of the amusement park across the road. Too bad the roller coaster wasn’t running. It also meant I had natural light on 2 sides of the car so I could read or play on my phone. There was even free wifi. But there was no loo (and with my sore foot, I wouldn’t have made it to the hospital anyway)!

I had been so careful, even skipping my morning pot of tea. In theory, nothing went in so nothing should need to go out. Right? I was doing well at ignoring my bodily urges when Hubby texted that they were running late. Suddenly the prospect of waiting longer was too much and my body overruled my mind.

Trying to look casual, as in “nothing to see here” and covered in a blanket (because it’s still winter in Canada), I precariously perched over my empty Tim Horton’s coffee cup. Mission accomplished.

Hubby swung by Tim Horton’s on the way home. Empty coffee cup replaced. 😉

When I have to go, I have to go!

Dear Diary – We lost our phone connection Sunday evening and began the arduous task of getting it repaired. On the plus side, since Hubby had to remove the lattice on the back porch anyway, it was a good time for him to climb under and retrieve the butter knife I dropped last October. I was having an outside tea party with a friend. Three and a half hours after the phone was restored, the phone company texted to say the technician was on his way.

Dear Diary – The new sewing machine is working like a dream. I’m just scared to adjust any of the settings.

Almost finished

Dear Diary – Our covid numbers continue to climb, even without regular testing to document it accurately. Today a local doctor was recommending masks be mandated in public places and schools, and that bi-weekly rapid tests be conducted in schools. It’s news we’re not sharing with Youngest Son.

By today, we have to inform the school if he will spend Grade 12 in virtual school or in-person. If we don’t say, they will assume in-person. Youngest Son would prefer virtual school, but only the required courses will be offered online. It means he has to change 5 of the courses he has chosen, and he hasn’t found 5 courses he’d like to take instead. After being so careful for 2 years, we understand his concern. Hubby has also been summoned back to the office before the end of the month. With the mask mandates lifted and close quarters, he’s nervous too.

At the beginning of covid, we were suddenly thrust into living in close quarters. With Hubby taking over the dining room (which is also part of our living room), the main floor felt “off limits” during working hours. I had to tip-toe around the kitchen, and find things to do upstairs. Converting Youngest Son’s bedroom into my office/craft room was a great project. It also forced me to purge craft supplies, although I think there still a half ton of paper and stamps that could safely go.

I understand the importance of getting back to “normal” but this alternate lifestyle has become “normal”. At the beginning, it was like a new marriage as we rubbed against each other like two pieces of sandpaper, but once the hard work of adjusting was over, it wasn’t so bad. I will actually miss it.

After more than 2 years, I’ve grown accustomed to our routines. I like it when Hubby randomly “pops in” to say “hi”. I like having someone else around to answer questions, fill the bird feeder, and deal with spiders. Every time he yelled “Honey I’m home” from 12 feet away, I smiled. We ate on time. We had time for walks and quick kisses (& minecraft). I’m not sure my office will be used as much because being upstairs alone will feel, well, lonely. It will be another adjustment. When Youngest Son heads to university, it will be another adjustment. And when Hubby retires (if he ever can), it will be yet another adjustment. I guess it’s true – the only thing that stays the same is that nothing stays the same.

Dear Diary – You should always listen to your wife. After all the MRIs and other tests conducted on Hubby since his bizarre sleepwalking accident early in March, it was the CT scan done on his head the night of his accident that actually gives the clue as to why he continues to suffer with a nasty burning sensation in his forearms. That night, I called an ambulance. That night, the EMS asked Hubby if he wanted to go the hospital. He wasn’t sure. I said yes.

Sure, it’s very likely that tests would have led to this discovery, but it might have taken longer. I’m taking credit for this. Always. listen. to. your. wife. 😉

Dear Diary – Am I allowed to do some self-promotion?

I am, by no means, a gifted singer. I am not, nor have I been, nor shall I ever be the “cool kid”. But I was given the opportunity to work with some amazing musicians and technical folks at my church, and our music video has been posted publicly… so no one can really complain if I share it here. The song I led starts around 6 minutes, but I think you should check out the whole thing!

I felt awkward at the time. I feel awkward now. But it was never about looking “hot” or sounding “groovy”. It was about worship. I’ve heard there are plans in the works to record more, and I’m excited!

Dear Diary – I learned a new word, and with covid restrictions lifting and people leaving their houses again, it’s an action I’ll have to employ again. Actually, once Hubby goes back to work, I need to do a serious Spring cleaning!

Scurryfunge: A hasty tidying of the house when a last minute guest is coming to visit, as in:
“I scurryfunge every time my mother-in-law announces she’s popping round”.

Fire Trucks

Tags

family, fire trucks, memories

I rode fire trucks, slid down fire poles, wore a lot of red, and made a lot of appearances.
I’ve always had a special place in my heart for fire fighters.

Delta Burke

When I was little, one of the first things I wanted to be when I “grew up” was a firefighter. That’s probably because my Dad was a firefighter!

It was cool growing up in the fire hall. Often on Sundays, when Dad was working days, Mom would take us there after church to have lunch with Dad. We’d pick up McDonald’s, and he’d buy us pop from the vending machine. While there wasn’t a pole to slide down, there were poles you could climb up…and then slide down! We got to climb on the back of the truck and sit in the driver’s seat with Dad’s hat on, while he whooped the siren or let us beep the horn. I even got to climb high into the sky on the ladder of the ladder truck, and once, ride in an old truck in the Santa Claus parade.

When I was in high school, we’d all watch to see if my Dad was on the trucks coming to investigate yet another false alarm. I felt like a celebrity!

When I was in college, I did my CPR training with the guys. They fought over who got to sit next to me so they could look off my test. They thought it was hilarious to pair me with the largest guy with the biggest beer belly to practice the heimlich procedure. Sadly, all the guys were much older than me and none of them looked like the guys in the calendar!

My Dad was a firefighter for 34 years before he was forced to retire. In many ways, I think he was ready. Many of the new volunteers were more interested in being “hot shots” rather respecting their elders and listening to the voice of experience. Who knows? Maybe Dad was a “hot shot” once upon a time too. But I doubt it. Always patient and calm, Dad was a trusted worker. Even in a small town, he handled dangerous situations. This is my Dad fighting one of the biggest fires the town every saw. It’s the only time my Mom said she was afraid for him.

1975

We saw lots of steam machinery, cars, and trains growing up.

My brother – 1973

And I think all of his grandchildren got to visit the station too.

Big Guy – 1996

Little Guy – 2007

It’s safe to say that my Dad’s love of vintage cars and trains also extended to fire trucks, and in that, we share a common bond. To this day I get excited and run to the window every time I hear a siren or see the flash of lights.

He’s a pretty cool guy!

CMMC: Autumn

Tags

cmmc, Fall, family, nature, Photo Challenge, photography, River scenes, Wilderness Wednesday

Since it’s the last Wednesday of the month, Cee Nuener’s Mid-Week Challenge asked for photos related to Spring or Fall, and in an effort to fall in love with Fall as summer wanes, I decided it would be fun to revisit it, from 10 years ago. I was just beginning to learn more about photography than taking family photos. That Thanksgiving weekend, I spent a lovely, sunny afternoon with my Dad and kids.

First we went to the park to see how low the Falls had dropped.

It was so low, we could walk on the riverbed.

Then we went to woods to just wander around.

We stopped by the river north of town and found this fellow enjoying the sunshine too.

That same weekend, I went for a walk down the road with my Mom, to burn off some of that green tomato pie.

Here’s to the twilight, Here’s to the memories
These are my souvenirs, a mental picture of everything…
Here’s to your bright eyes shining like fireflies
These are my souvenirs, a memory for a lifetime.

Switchfoot, Souvenirs

Happy Wednesday!

The O’Connor House

Tags

family, food, photography, tea, tea addict, tea cups, tea lover, tea pots

“Afternoon tea needn’t stand on ceremony. Anything that becomes more important than sweet fellowship, whether lace or linen or the china itself, is a pretense. How much more we enjoy life when the pretenses are discarded!”

Paul F. Kortepeter, Tea with Victoria Rose

Nothing says patio like a sunny summer day, and when that patio is also a Tea Room – boom! I’m there! What a perfect way to celebrate my wonderful Mom and her long-time friend (who has also been a friend to me)! Both celebrated birthdays last week!

We arrived early and the patio was empty, which allowed us to settle in to the serene haven at The O’Connor House. Patio tables with cheery red umbrellas surrounded a stony courtyard with tea cups and tea pots nestled among the stones. The side wall of the stone “cottage” had a hand-painted mural, and tucked amongst the trees, tea cups and saucers hung on pastel ribbons. Larger trees were decorated with garden art. There was whimsy everywhere.

Our servers, wearing brightly coloured fascinators, were exceptionally sweet, encouraging us to take our time and enjoy one another’s company after such a long absence.

The menu included soup or quiche of the day and a lovely assortment of delicious salads and sandwiches (and desserts). We never got to desserts and elected to save scones with cream for another time. Mom had the homemade mushroom quiche with a fresh salad dressed with homemade honey mustard dressing. Her friend had a large curry chicken salad. I had an Elizabethan sandwich (cucumber, old cheddar cheese and sweet onion) with a fresh salad dressed with a creamy raspberry dressing. The bread was thickly sliced but so light, and the cheese was thickly sliced too. Super yummy!

We were offered hot water for our tea several times, and encouraged to stay longer and visit. So we did!

We never ordered dessert because we were just too full. But we decided to meet again soon and go straight for the scones! I’m so happy I was able to visit and celebrate this wonderful lady. My Mom is an amazing mother, wife, grandmother and friend, and I love her SO much!

A daughter is a mother’s gender partner, her closest ally in the family confederacy, an extension of her self. And mothers are their daughters’ role model, their biological and emotional road map, the arbiter of all their relationships.

Victoria Secunda, Author

Happy Monday!

It’s Halo Night

Tags

birthday, Halo, Overwatch, photography, sunsets, video games, zombies

It’s Halo Night!

Even though we haven’t actually played Halo in a couple of years, choosing to play Overwatch instead, Big Guy and I connect weekly on Wednesdays. It’s his fault I became a gamer. However, video games are good for me, I’ve learned some things, and there are a bunch of reasons that I play! I could probably add to that list now.

Big Guy has helped me try out some other things too! He ran in Mud Hero with me (so he’d know where my body was buried in the woods). He took me to the gun range for my 45th birthday. He also bought me my zombie killing axe after I won an axe throwing “tournament”.

Last year we were planning to ride in a tank. Instead, the highlight was my Tim Horton’s steeped tea, black (after a 40 day fast) and standing in line outside the liquor store with a group of scrawny, tattooed small town mountain men, to buy pink champagne!

My, how the times have changed!

Tonight, on the eve of my 48th birthday, I will be fighting for world domination as a battle angel with my Big Guy. Tomorrow night, I will be fighting for world domination as a Spartan with my Little Guy (who is now significantly taller than me and loving it)!

I know I’ve always said I’ve wanted a daughter, but who better to have beside me in the event of the apocalypse, than my boys!?!

Happy Wednesday!

CFFC: Shiny

Tags

CFFC, family, family history, photography

Shiny! For the majority of the world it means an object with a reflective surface, like sunshine on the lake, chrome on a hotrod, or a honking big diamond in a ring. But the nerd in me actually went to a few different places. In the space-western t.v. series, Firefly, Shiny is an expression meaning something is cool or valuable. And, in the video game, Overwatch, it’s a catch-phrase of Jamieson Fawkes, aka Junkrat, an Australian scavenger and anarchist who likes to blow things up! But since Covid restrictions mean I can’t leave home, I can’t fly into space (yeah…that’s the reason…) and blowing things up is just dangerous, I’m sticking with a literal interpretation of “shiny”. Of course, these items are also shiny, because they have value to me.

Nana J’s bracelet

Grandma R’s James Sadler teapot

Nana J’s wedding rings

The smallest cameo came from Rome; the silver was Nana J’s. My Dad bought me the others.

My $1,000 shoes (that I bought for $10)

Little children love bright and shiny things – and in my experience, most grown-up women aren’t very different!

Sheherazade Goldsmith

This is my post for Cee Neuner’s Fun Foto Challenge: Shiny

Writing Letters

Tags

faith, family, letters, stamping, writing

It’s true – the art of writing letters is slowly becoming a lost art. Who has the time to put thought on paper (once you find some paper)? Then you have to find an address, a stamp and even a mailbox! Sometimes it is just easier to send a quick text or post a quick message on Facebook. I get that! I’m guilty of doing it too.

But once upon a time, I used to write a lot of letters. Hubby and I started our relationship on paper. He was a poor student in another city and phone calls cost money! I wrote crazy stories with small-town caracatures to a homesick friend studying in the city. When our worlds seemed to be crashing down around us, another friend and I encouraged each other by sharing prayers and scripture. Baring our broken hearts to each other, we helped each other breathe in the darkness, until the sun started shining again.

Though housebound during covid, I once again have time to write and have re-discovered the pleasure in putting pen to paper. And for good reason:

Letters are more personal because they contain my effort, my time, and my handwriting. Those notes are often in or tucked into one of my handmade cards, made or chosen with that person in mind. My hope is that I will lift their spirits, and as I work, mine is lifted as well.

They take more time, which means I am more careful as I consider each word and phrase. I can extinguish inflammatory words before I create firenados. With my emotions in check, I am less likely to discourage, hurt, or offend the reader. And when I share my emotions or concerns, I can be concise, sharing the whole story without interruptions and distractions, and leaving other “cans of worms” unopened.

Letters can be read and re-read by the recipient. It gives them time to consider their response, if one is needed. It limits the number of folks who may feel they have a right to weigh in with their opinion or share their story. But most importantly, it may be something that the reader needs to read again and again, a reminder that they are special and they are loved.

Let us all then leave behind letter of love and friendship, family and devotion, hope and consolation, so that the future generations will know what we valued and believed and achieved.

Marian Wright Edelman