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 7

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, memories, sewing, winter

Dear Diary – It’s week 7 in 2022, and the number 7 is considered, in many cultures , the number of perfection, security, safety and rest. It’s a number that appears a lot. For example, there are 7 days in a week, 7 colours in a rainbow, 7 notes in a diatonic scale, 7 dwarves in Snow White, 7 Wonders of the World, and 7 stars in the Big Dipper. The tangram is a puzzle consisting of seven flat shapes, called tans. Nitrogen (N) has the atomic number 7. And in the Book of Revelation alone, it appears 54 times. I’m studying the book of Revelation right now and I’ve had to read all 22 chapters multiple times. Believe me, it’s in there a lot.

So I’m hoping, Dear Diary, that though there’s a lot of unrest in Canada at the moment, this week will truly be one of safety and rest.

Dear Diary – I have at least 12 hours of the Olympics to watch some day. I don’t have time to sit around in my pjs eating bon-bons, watching my “stories” everyday. I PVR’d the the figure skating because I used to figure skate. I also like to irritate my family when I point out, “I could do that”. Of course, I never attempted anything triple or quadruple and I can count the number of times I landed a double jump, on one hand. It was mostly a lot of falling and sliding over and over again. There were no helmets or knee pads!

I really wanted to be a ballerina but there was no dance school in my small town. My options were figure skating and highland dancing. I disappointed my grandmother when I chose figure skating. She thought it would be great if I danced and my brother learned to play the bagpipes. My brother…did not agree!

Most of the skaters in the club had committed mothers (a few of those mothers should have been committed), so they skated year round and participated in competitions father afield. I only skated during the winter months, which meant every year I was competing against girls who were younger and younger. It started to get awkward.

My Mom did her best. She “patiently” sewed my sewing costumes as skirts were mandatory, even for practice. While I sometimes coveted the heavily sequined dresses of my peers, I also appreciated her hard work. I felt pretty and I was proud to say, “My Mom made it”!

I especially loved my pink Torville & Dean-inspired dress

I hated figure 8s and I tolerated dance. The pairs dance that you see on t.v. is not the same as dance as I learned. Instead, they were standard dances, like a waltz or tango, that increased in difficulty with every level. I was fortunate to make friends with another girl and we became shadow dance partners. We would dance the same movements, parallel to one another, like a shadow. We were allowed to wear matching costumes, which my Mom helped put together.

As for my solo work, I rarely got to do my whole routine with the music before a competition. Instead, I did my best to work on my elements and stay out of certain people’s way. There were star skaters and if you crossed their path, they would lynch you.

My Mom missed my first competition and my Dad had to take me. I still have the note she left for me. Unlike the Olympics, We had to wait for all the skaters in my level to skate, and then wait for the list scores to be posted. My Dad treated me to a hot dog from the concession stand. I won my first silver medal.

One of my last skating competitions

The other mandatory thing I hated was the Club fundraiser – we had to work in groups to put on a show. One year, I skated to Rock Around the Clock; another, Dolly Parton’s 9-5. Mom had to make my costume for that too.

Dear Diary – I was supposed to make a special delivery last week but we postponed it because the weather dude predicted freezing rain. It turned out to be the most beautiful day so far this year! It was sunny and warm, not a cloud in the sky. The next delivery date was postponed as well, this time for snow. At least that time, weather dude was closer. It snowed, then rained, and snowed, then rained… We finally met after church in a Tim’s parking lot, but it was -20C so we didn’t get to visit. I’m hoping next time, it’s 20+!

Dear Diary – Saturday afternoon, Youngest Son came and hovered behind me. When I finally asked him, “can I help you?”, he asked “what’s for dinner?”. I probably should have asked him what he was making me. I replied, dismally, “frickin’ chickin’. Again”. He piped up, “Or…” as he dropped a Pizza Pizza gift card on my sewing, “we could use this”. He said it was because I had complained commented earlier in the week that I was sick of chicken. Or, it could have been self-preservation since my passion for cooking has ebbed. Either way – Pizza! And I didn’t have to cook!

I read recipes the same way I read science fiction. I get to the end and think
“well, that’ not going to happen’!

Dear Diary – That inevitable holiday between Christmas and Easter has passed. Or should I say, the holiday between Christmas chocolate and Easter chocolate. The “day of love” lands in the middle of a month smothered in a thick, scratchy blanket of gray skies. It’s a month wherein the heavens can’t decide if it wants to rain or snow, so we get a mixture of snush. Sludgy trenches of slush and rippling pools soak through our heavy boots, unless it freezes. Then we skate and our knees and sizeable bottoms experience blunt force trauma in a most-inelegant way. Whoever thought that celebrating romance had to have been so blissfully enamoured that he or she didn’t notice the world around him or her. At least not here in Canada.

I have not been a fan for a long time, probably because I’ve been fraught with bad experiences. But it’s still a chance to bake without with less guilt. It’s one day and chocolate goes on sale the very next day. I wore my traditional black and delivered chocolate cupcakes to a friend. We ordered Chinese food for dinner and I made raspberry mille feuille for dessert. My guys gave me chocolate – Youngest said wrote this charming note: To Mom, from your . I’m going to need to shop for XL pants, but I definitely felt the indigestion love.

Dear Diary – A number of Covid restrictions lifted today. Maybe that’s why we’re currently under a snowfall warning: high winds, heavy snow and freezing rain. Hurray!

Yesterday, to celebrate, I went shopping at Fabricland. Still hobbling with a sore ankle (from old age apparently), I took my friend with me. She proved extremely helpful. I passed her bolts for fabric and she took care of the carrying and walking to cut what I wanted. Bonus, it let me shop in peace without being shown things that I don’t want. I walked out of there (dragging one feet like Igor) with a bag full of goodies! And to my absolute delight, since I’m naming my Etsy store (some day) “Sassy Green Lemons”, I actually found Sassy Green Lemons:

Dear Diary – I learned a new word: dysania. It’s the chronic condition of finding it difficult to get out of bed in the morning. I like it!!

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
The 5 Stages of Waking Up

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!

Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #40

Tags

covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, friends, humour, memories

Dear Diary – It’s the month for ghost and goblins, and last night I had a terrible fright. I caught my reflection in the microwave with a ghostly creature hovering behind me. It was nearly a full head higher and it was smiling menacingly with gleamy white pearly teeth. It was my youngest son still delighting in being taller than me. The scariest part – he’s not done growing!

Dear Diary – I always thought I wasn’t vegetarian because I was too lazy. Or because I was raised on good country beef. Turns out, it’s both plus vegetarian cooking requires way more skill and planning that I possess. I baked a red lentil pie this week. It was a marginal success. This time, it wasn’t my fault. I followed the directions, even though I questioned the ratio of water to lentils. I ended up with slop, which Hubby patiently drained in my baking sieve. The pie turned out okay but my family was underwhelmed. The best part really was the pastry, and it came out of a box. I think I should stick to steak. 😉

How low as people do we dare to stoop, making young broccolis bleed in the soup?
Untie your beans, uncage your tomatoes, let potted plants free, don’t mash that potato!

Arrogant Worms, Carrot Juice is Murder

Dear Diary – After investing what felt like our life savings into repairing the sewer line (I could not stand another 27 hour day), we still have toilet troubles. It continues to be a fickle fiend that doesn’t always like to flush. The other morning Hubby woke me gently to ask me to “work my magic”. He had tried but he doesn’t have “the touch”. Most women want to be praised for their fantastic food or their breathtaking baking, not their pure plunging skills. But since I can neither cook nor bake without procuring disaster it seems, I’ll take it. I will be his queen of the latrine.

Dear Diary – It was supposed to be a quick trip to the fabric store, not a 3 hour tour. In the rain. But that’s what happened. My friend was like a kid in a candy store, running from display to display choosing fabric she would love to have as a mask. I understand. I get giddy in the store too. It’s why I own pounds of printed paper for papercrafting, which sit in a drawer, unused. They’re too pretty to just give away! But I’m also holding purse strings that are worn terribly thin and I have to be restrained. Somehow, I ended up also going to 2 drug stores, a convenience store, a grocery store, and Tim Horton’s. I sat in the car for most of those, slightly soggy and confused as to why I wasn’t home by now! I wonder if the people on Gilligan’s Island ever felt this way?

Dear Diary – I was blessed this week to re-connect with a couple friends in person and it made me realize how much I almost miss human contact. I spent a pleasant afternoon in a neighbour’s garden, being sassed by a squirrel while we caught up. I brought my own tea, because tea and conversation go so nicely together, and I left there feeling refreshed.

Another afternoon, I visited with an old friend (old as in known a long time) and it felt like no time had passed since our last meeting (which was several years ago). We were hesitant at first, until she passed me a gift…

I simply couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled inside and gushed out like a geyser.

We grew up together. My parents and grandparents were friends with her parents so there were monthly rotating dinner gatherings. While the adults played cards, my friend, my brother and I made our own fun. Our families sometimes camped together. We served in church together. My mom taught her piano and after her lesson, she’d join us to watch Star Trek or Little House on the Prairie (depending on if it was my night or my brother’s).

Where do the lips come in? One summer we worked together as guides in a historic house, a living museum. I had grown up in this house too, volunteering from a young age alongside my Mom. It was my dream summer job!! On Wednesdays, we baked bread in the brick oven. On Thursdays we served Scottish Cream Tea, hustling as cooks, servers and dish washers. Sunday afternoons, if it was quiet, we were prepare out own tea time with thick dollops of leftover whipped cream.

It was a tough summer. Some new patrons with big plans and narrow hearts alienated and hurt all of the faithful volunteers who had served in the house for decades. The director and assistant director resigned. They were replaced by snobs who knew nothing and cared nothing for the “home”. For them it was a place to host wine tastings for the “important people”, and we were caught in the middle.

We made up a song that summer, mostly to help us laugh, to the tune of the 12 days of Christmas, starting with the new director, “an over-anxious, up-tight, red-lipped broad”. “Lips” as we called her – because she always wore a thick smear of glossy, red lipstick painted “outside the lines”, liked to float around in costume and tell us what to do. She was completely incompetent and we had to hold her hand for everything! By the end of the summer, my heart was so broken, I never went back. My friend went away to college, and while we’ve kept in touch, we’ve lived apart.

So we sat on my back porch in the autumn chill, draped in lap blankets, drinking tea and savouring scones. We talked about the challeges of the last year. We talked about emptying nests and new beginnings. And we talked about getting together again. Soon.

It was kind of nice to talk to someone who knew me when I was young and stupid, and who recognizes that young, stupid person still inside of me, and doesn’t judge me when inner stupid shows her face. (Like when I lost the butter knife through the cracks of the porch. I will not be crawling under the porch to retrieve it. I’ll use my finger from now on).

Growing apart doesn’t change the fact that for a long time we grew side by side; our roots will always be tangled. I’m glad for that!

Ally Condie, Matched

Cee’s Fun Foto Challenge

Tags

CFFC, games, home, memories, Photo Challenge, photography

I didn’t include the topic of Cee Neuner’s Fun Foto challenge today because for some, the first association might be off-putting. It’s “non-live animals“. My first thought was taxidery or stuffed animals. Little Guy’s first thought was roadkill. I actually have a photo of roadkill, but I won’t be sharing that today.

As I looked in my archives and around my home, however, I noticed there are a number of creative options! I have a stainless steel mouse in my kitchen, whose tail holds my rings when I’m baking. My egg timer is a pig. One tea tin has a sloth and one tea dish is a panda. I have assorted figurines of cats and frogs in the house, and Grandpa’s Pig. My shower curtain is birds on a wire. I’m wearing kittens on my nightgown and I am in no hurry to get dressed.

So I experimented with a few other items because it is, after all, a photo challenge:

Waterford Crystal Christmas Ornament

This perfume bottle used to have coloured water in it. It sat in my Grandmother’s kitchen window at the farmhouse.

A long time ago, my Dad made and sold teddy bears. He didn’t make this guy for me.
I found him in a box a few years later and I stole him.
I’m not sorry

I love my “cow” lamp in my office!

Cookie cutters and jelly moulds…one brand new, 3 very old!

I always hated this game! It took longer to set up than to play, and it never worked quite right!

Creativity involves breaking out of expected patterns in order to look at things in a different way.

Edward de Bono

Happy Wednesday!

A Good Day

Tags

family, memories, photography

Sometimes all we need is one memento, one photo to remind us of a good day. It doesn’t have to be spectacular. It may not make any sense to anyone else.  But still, it causes a flood of emotion and you before you know it, you catch yourself smiling.

This was a good day.  A ramble in the woods with family. The smell of the earth and trees. The warmth of one of the first warm Spring days. Target practice (and yes, I hit the target). Lots of photos. And ending it with a fresh chocolate pie from a local bakery.

Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving. What you have caught on film is captured forever… It remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything. – Aaron Siskind

Go! Have a good day! Happy Wednesday!

Friday’s Tune: Perfect Union

Tags

faith, Friday's Tune, memories, music, weddings

This week, while resting with a cup of tea between jobs, I perused Instagram. I don’t normally check out the “suggested for you” page, but I did and there were wedding photos. I’m a sucker for ball gowns. Actress, Busy Philips, celebrated her 13th anniversary this week and she posted pics from her nuptials, including her dress, her invitations, and her “mix tape”, a gift to  was given to her guests. My guests received homemade chocolate truffles. I think I’d prefer the truffles.

Anyway, it got me thinking, since this Monday is my 24th wedding anniversary! I’ve lived more years with Hubby than without.

There were certain things about my special day that were extra important, the groom and my family aside. The dress (as Princess Diana as I could afford). The flowers (red roses like my grandmother). And the music. I selected every piece, from the processional (Praise My Soul the King of Heaven) and recessional (Trumpet Voluntary), to the hymn and 2 solos. I also selected the first 3 songs for our small dance. I danced with my father to Matthew Ward’s, My Little Ones. It made us both cry. Our wedding party danced to All the Way My Saviour Leads Me by Rich Mullins. But it was our first dance that is today’s tune: Perfect Union by Matthew Ward.

My sister-in-law introduced me to this song when she had it sung at her wedding. I loved the imagery that despite the “storms of life”, if we chose to seek God first in our marriage, we would be strengthened and love would endure. We would be joined in “three part harmony”.

During some very difficult years, I would look at our wedding photos and I was encouraged by the light reflecting on the cross on the altar in front of us. I took that as a special message from God that He was still part of this relationship and if we looked to Him, we would endure.

Hand and hand we’ll seek the Father.

Happy Friday!

Lyrics
copyright: © Matthew Ward / John Andrew Schreiner Music, Megins College Fund Music

Friday’s Tune: Until the Whole World Hears

Tags

faith, Friday's Tune, memories, music

It had been an awesome night of worship. I sat with Hubby on one side and Big Guy on the other in a massive church auditorium on a Saturday evening in 2009. Even though we were attending a concert, large screens on either side of the platform had displayed the words to every song so all could sing along, a massive choir from different denominations, different backgrounds.

The lights dimmed as lead singer, Mark Hall, closed the evening in prayer. But before the crowd started to bid the band farewell, he lifted his hands and started to sing “oh– oh– sing until the whole world hears”. We all joined in. I closed my eyes and just let the sound  of a thousand voices surround me. It was an emotional experience, and I’ve never forgotten it.

Keep singing…

Lyrics        Youtube Video
Copyright: Bernie Herms / Jason Mcarthur / Mark Hall / Roger Glidewell © Warner Chappell Music, Inc, Universal Music Publishing Group, Capitol Christian Music Group

 

Flashback Friday: Grade 8 Grad

Tags

flashback friday, graduation, humour, memories

A friend posted yesterday, that her kid wouldn’t allow her to post any grad photos. I admire her respect for her kid’s wishes.

Gr. 7 – The aftermath of creating a self-portrait mosaic from magazines

I, on the other, never asked. I assumed that since I paid for the clothes and the dinner tickets, I could post a photo.  Then there’s also the taxi services, field trips, late nights, last minute assignments, and scrambles to find missing stuff. I’ve tried to decipher teacher instructions, handle messes, deal with bullies, cope with tears and fears, all with grace. I will never forget that one time Little Guy didn’t come home and I called the cops after madly driving/running everywhere trying to find him. Then I was full-on crazy but it’s understandable.

It all comes with the title – Mom!

But he has a title too – Son!

He’s mine. I’m proud of him. I waited a long time for him. Gushing ridiculously would be embarrassing, but a photo? There are worse things I could do to him, and he knows it.

Still…not asking might be considered an infraction by some, so I decided to even up the score by posting my Grade 8 grad photo. And I picked the worst one!

This is what happens when I’m concentrating on not poking my eye out with an eyelash wand and someone yells, “Hey Jenn? Jenn!” and snaps your picture as soon as you look at them.

It was 1980-something. Peach was the “in” colour. Big bows and poofy perms were also all the rage. My Mom made my dress, but ran out of time to add the ruffle to the hem. I wore low, white heels, which my Dad took me to K-Mart to buy. I was allowed to wear eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss only!

My room was wall-papered with Garfield (I still love fat cats!) clawing his way down the wall, with pastel stripes. Those medals are from winters spent figure skating. There’s also a 3rd place ribbon from Track & Field. It was the only one I ever won. Had I figured out I was better at long-distance running than sprints before Grade 8,  I might have earned more.

My Mom and Grandmother came to the ceremony. My Dad was a firefighter and had to work. We had a dance too, but it ended at 9, not 10. None of the boys would dance with me or my friends because we were “square” so we took turns dancing with my “boyfriend”. He and I had been friends since Kindergarten, and I think we were “dating” because we felt pressured to have someone. It seemed so important at the time.

Looking back, it wasn’t a magical night, but it was a lot of fun! We felt like we had accomplished so much and we were ready to go out and change the world. Maybe some of us did!

So to Little Guy, and my friend’s baby…and all the other graduates out there. Congratulations! And happy Friday!

Tea for Two

Tags

family, friends, grief, memories, tea

We use the expression all the time (or some of us do!) – “Good Grief”. But it seems in the midst of it, there’s nothing good. There’s shock and numbness before the searing pain of loss sets in. Then grief hovers at the edges of the soul, and pounces when it’s least expected. Many lovely people have asked me how I’m doing. How can I explain that I have internal bleeding from a gaping hole in my heart? That I’m bone weary, and yet lie awake at night? Instead I say “I’m fine”. Sometimes I am. And I know that one day, I will be.

I’m trying to focus on what’s “good” in the grief, to see beauty in the Opera of the everyday and in the ways we fall apart.

I was there. So often, all I could do when my friend struggled, was to be present. This week, I tried to be present for her family, in whatever small ways I could. They let me see her in the ICU, so I could tell her I love her. They let me share some of my memories in the service. They let me do a few small things, for her.

I got to hug my family. My kids, my husband, my parents. My friend and partner in crime. Even Big Guy’s friend (who I call my adopted kid). Time together is always precious.

I tried to delight in little things, like sassy red shoes, and an indulgent pair of silk stockings. I wore my little black dress, the one that only comes out of the closet for funerals. I ate a sweet butter tart square, even though I gave up all forms of dessert for Lent. I stopped and smelled the roses, especially the pink ones.

I listened to stories about Ruth. I listened as others shared how much they will miss her, how much she meant to them. I connected with strangers, with whom I might have nothing else in common and will never see again, but we could be honest and vulnerable together.

I honoured my friend, my “Mom”, who would have been proud of me. She would haveloved the gathering of family and friends, and relished all the attention.

After the reception, my posse (minus my parents who needed to get home to finish packing for their big trip), met at Tim Horton’s . It seemed an appropriate place to gather, where we had gathered with her a thousand times, to share our laughs and frustrations over a cup of tea. It was so full, we moved the party to the house. We kicked off our shoes and tucked up in the living room. And started to breathe again…

Family is more than blood. Families are made of those who you welcome in, share “silent unspeakable memories” with, express vulnerability with, work to climb the highs and lows of life with, and who you love with all your heart.
– Maya Angelou

It’s quiet today, something I yearned for these past two weeks. The hydro is off, so there are no distractions (kind of chilly though). Even Chloe, our crazy cavy, is quiet. I have flipped through photo images of my friend; there are more journal entries and stories than photos. I have cried, and laughed a little in the sanctuary of my bed, reliving adventures and comments. I have wondered if I could have said something more or different when I spoke at the funeral.

But it’s time to get up, to get dressed, to make a cup of tea…for two.

Ruth was a colourful thread running through the tapestry of our lives. While God has now written her from our stories, her love and spirit have left an indelible mark.