My mother passed away at 6:15 this morning, after a long battle with ovarian cancer. May she rest in peace. We will miss her presence in body; she will always be present in our hearts. (I will get a better photo posted soon.)
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about what draws me to people or keeps me at arms’ length. and marvel at my good fortune to have been drawn to such good folks. Maybe it’s that I’ve spent the last couple of days with relatively new friends. It’s been a wonderful discovery period, as my previous connection had been a real-life introduction at a conference, and continued contact with one of this lovely couple through Facebook, the result of a shared passion for Scrabble. Now, having met both of them and spending time ensconced in their guest room, I am grateful for the opportunity to have gotten to know them (and their pets), and look forward to reciprocal visits. It’s nice to be around two women so obviously happy, and so delighting in each other’s love and affection, as well. Their warmth radiates out to anyone in their immediate vicinity.
Another couple, local to me, are folks I’ve just gotten to know better. Introduced to them by fluke through an American colleague who since moved back to the us, they started out as business contacts, and are now entrenched as good friends. Recently, I had the opportunity to do a good deed, and house sat / horse sat for them. Seeing them each day as they came by to do horse care, going out for the odd meal together, and interacting with them in small ways - for example, they brought over a modem so I could have internet access - gave me a glimpse into their innate goodness. Again, a couple who show their warmth and emotional depth with each other and those in their circles, whether it be with their horses or their friends.
Another is a long-time friend who renewed her friendship after a many-year hiatus. I’ve always admired her maturity and groundedness, and am extremely grateful to have her in my life. And of course, my best friend, who can finish my paragraph before I’ve completed the first sentence, and has insights into “problematic” relationships, because of her counselling background, and shares insights that it would have taken me years to figure out on my own. These are just a few of the people I’m blessed to have in my life, and the ones that have recently come to the fore to show me support and love.
I could talk about what keeps me at arms’ length from others, but there is no sense is bringing that negativity to this post. Suffice to say that interactions during difficult times have a way of speaking volumes. To those of my friends who have made me feel special during what could have been a far more difficult time, I am eternally grateful.
The camping equipment is getting unpacked - I’m going camping for the first time in ages. What it took to get me out of my complacency was some enthusiastic lobbying by my grandkids. Photos will be on Facebook. It should be fun; there’s nothing like bonding with these two lovely souls over nights under the stars. Follow-up: We went pseudo-camping, as in: slept inside, but had the basics of camping (well, I had my computer, too). Swimming at the lake, picking wild blackberries (with which I made blackberry sauce for pancakes), dogs, cats, horses, and a llama, and lots of fresh air in the country. The smile shows, as my grandkids say goodbye, they’ve had a good time.
Going blueberry picking with my honourary grandchildren (and their mom, of course). Love this time of year - fresh berries and spending quality time with the kids. I like that they learn about growing food (it doesn’t come from the grocery store shelf) in a fun and tasty way.
Here’s a terrible and amateurish site to find u-pick places. (It’s worth looking at, just for the nostalgia factor.)
My great grandmother used to sit in front of the television watching the news with a look of intense concentration, though I never knew if it was because of the subject matter or because she had difficulty understanding the language. Anna was the matriarch of my mother’s side of the family. With her children, she had come to Canada from the Old Country, long after her husband had died and left her to fend for herself. She took turns living with her son — my grandfather, and her daughter in Saskatchewan, but spent most of her years living with my grandparents. She never worked outside the home but made as much of a contribution as everyone else to the running of the household.
I never ascertained what kind of formal education Anna had, though I suspect it was very basic. She could write Slovak, and she would let me trace over her handwriting, copying those mysterious looking shapes that I have come to recognize as penmanship typical of eastern Europeans. Even Anna’s attempts at writing English transliterated into Slovak bore her special hieroglyphics. She would try to teach me to enunciate the Slavic sounds, in words that sounded like dziwka, tcheck-i, znash.
Anna learned English by reading the Bible. Wherever an important passage appeared, she would mark the beginning and the end with a large, pencilled circle. Her entire Bible was circled in this way. Anna wore out more than one copy of the Bible, the already thin pages getting thinner and greyer until the fibres would give way and the words on one side of the page became inextricably linked with those on the back. My great grandmother never read novels or magazines or even the newspaper, for that matter. Reading was an activity reserved for religious publications, which she read from cover to cover every week. To keep up with world events, my great grandmother watched the news.
Anna watched the news every day, but only the six o’clock news. She loved Walter Cronkite. I knew there was something unseemly, something almost indecent, with the way my great grandmother carried on about Walter Cronkite, and not just in the way she talked to him. She talked to just about everyone on television. Sometimes she railed and shook her fists, daring the performers or announcers to answer back. The fact that they never responded didn’t seem to phase my great grandmother. To her, television was like having a personal stage production. The audience is allowed to heckle but the actors’ jobs are to keep the show going, not to respond to the audience.
But my great grandmother knew, as well as she knew the sky was blue, that the people on the television screen could see into her living room. Randomly, she would tell me, “Pull your dress down over your knees. They can see up your skirt.” I would dutifully untangle my frame from whatever sprawled-out position I had adopted, and modestly pull my skirt down as far as it would go, even as I would mutter, “No, they can’t.”
Walter Cronkite’s refusal to talk to my great grandmother bothered her, though. Anna offered him her advice, asked him angry, rhetorical questions, and chided him any time he reported an item from a particularly stupid viewpoint. And when Walter Cronkite signed off with, “Goodnight,” my great grandmother would always answer in kind before she turned off the television.
Watching the news with my great grandmother was boring for me since the stern looks of the announcers could not bring even the most light-hearted news story to life. Watching wrestling with my great grandmother wasn’t much better. My mother and my grandmother could never figure out what made my great grandmother tune in to watch men fling one other onto mats and pretend to stomp all over each other. Anna would point her finger and shout excitedly in Slovak words to the effect of, “that’s it,” and “let him have it.” My grandmother especially, being the gentle soul she was, would try to convince my great grandmother to turn off the television. My grandmother’s excuse was that I should not be exposed to such violent degeneracy, but Anna was stubborn. My mother and grandmother would eventually retreat to the kitchen, clucking and shaking their heads in embarrassed bewilderment while I remained in the living room, feeling privileged for my right to this entertainment, but actually finding more diversion in watching my great grandmother watch wrestling.
My favourite time to watch television with my great grandmother was during the afternoon. This was a treat possible only when I slept over at my grandparents’ house. We would watch soap operas over top of my great grandmother’s running commentary. Here the heckling would become serious as Anna would spit out her most scathing remarks at the television screen. “Look at her. Hussy. Look at all that stuff on her face. If I was her husband, I would make her wash it all off. How can she show her face on television?” What bothered my great grandmother most of all was to watch people kissing on television. She would contort her face into a grimace and look away from the screen, commanding me to do likewise. “Ah yoi,” she would utter in disgust, “look what they do. Germs, germs you get from doing such a thing.” Then she would wipe her mouth on the tissue she kept inside the cuff of her sleeve for just such occasions. Over time, I learned that the best strategy was to keep quiet. Any attempt to explain why the characters were kissing or, heaven forbid, to absolve them would result in a lecture about God, morals, and upbringing, invariably ending with, “I never kissed my husband on the mouth. Never.” But if I kept quiet, Anna’s curiosity would get the better of her and she had to peek at the screen to see what happened next, if someone needed chiding or if anyone tried to sneak in another mouth-to-mouth kiss as soon as she’d turned her back.
Every so often, my mother and her brother would try to explain the mechanics of television to my great grandmother. The entire family would be concentrated around the kitchen table. Diagrams would be drawn showing boxes representing television sets and wavy lines as transmission frequencies. Anna would be sitting in the middle, the thin white hair nodding up and down with her head as she indicated she understood.I would lose interest in the exercise soon enough, and would wander off to watch whatever television program was on, taking advantage of the fact that the level of concentration in the adjoining room distracted the adults from realizing I was tuned in to programs my mother normally would not allow me to watch.
Eventually the time would come when everyone would rise and mill around the kitchen, refilling their cups of tea. My uncle would stand, face reddened from his mission of enlightenment, and shake his head as if he’d finally taught a stubborn child the dangers of crossing the highway. From the next room, I would hear my great grandmother pull back her chair and call out to me in a clear voice, “Ah yoi, cover your knees. He can see up your skirt.”
Walter Cronkite was an important link to my greatgrandmother. I miss my greatgrandmother, and now I miss Walter Cronkite.
If you’re one of the few friends who hasn’t heard the news by now (after E announced it on Facebook!), I’ve separated from E, en route to divorce. I also sold my house, and am going to house sit for friends for a while, to get my bearings. I’ll be out of here by end of month. It’s the end of an era, for sure. Time for new adventures, and some self-care.
Well, it’s not exactly a holiday catch-up letter, but the closest I’ll get to writing one.
It’s end of the first semester for my grandson, who has spread his wings and gone off to boarding school. He absolutely loves it. I was worried that he would get lonely after the initial novelty wore off, but so far he’s in his glory. When I asked him about the academics, he replied that they were “challenging in a good way but not rocket science or anything.” Ah, spoken like a true little brainiac. He decided he loves rugby, and helped his school win the local championship. He was always great at soccer, so this news doesn’t surprise me.
One of my granddaughters just joined Air Cadets, which was a huge surprise for me (as well as for her parents!), but E. said it didn’t surprise her. Once I thought about it, I wasn’t surprised, either. She likes structure, and likes the lines of authority to be clear and absolute. She is also very determined and very capable, and likes camping. I had to chuckle when she even agreed to slather her hair in gel so she could wear it back in a bun. This comes on the heels of her taking up golf. She came with me to a golf lesson, and the pro handed her a putter and encouraged her to participate. She decided she really liked it, and so we now have a shared activity at the pitch-n-putt. This also means that she’ll be able to golf with her brother, who evidently has the gift for it, too.
The other granddaughter is [deleted].
My son is still working at the transport terminal. He upgraded his First Aid certificate to a Level 2, which is good. It means that when the sporadic lay-offs hit, he may not be as vulnerable to them because in an industrial environment, there always needs to be someone with a first aid certificate. This summer, he eloped. He actually didn’t tell me - I found out in a bizarre conversation with a friendly restaurateur who told me a story about a guy too afraid to tell his mother about his marriage because “you don’t know my mother.” Funny, I’ve never thought of myself as an ogre. Really, I’m not. When he decides to tell me, officially, I’ll post it. (I’m letting him tell me in his own good time.) Maybe I should start taking bets on how long it will take to tell me!
As for us, we’re keeping on keeping on. Because I had bronchial pneumonia this summer, I didn’t work for a month. Then, as the economy tanked, I became busier than I’ve ever been. At some point, I had seven simultaneous projects on the go. It’s better now, and I even get a day off now and again. Still, I present at a lot of conferences and so travel a fair bit. (One recent trip involved a Vancouver to Boston to Honolulu to Syracuse to Vancouver marathon.) It’s a treat to stay home for an entire month! I’m giving up the office that I’ve had for a few years now, as the building is going down hill, and I’m tired of being the person who also sweeps up and dusts and does troubleshooting when the phone line goes down. Also, when I bought my midlife crisis car, I decided to work from home 3 days a week, and work from a co-work office a day a week. The last day is my RALAM (run around like a madwoman) day, seeing clients and so on.
I’ve been pretty successful in my fitness quest, working out three times a week and doing cardio other days, and am looking forward to losing another 50 lbs in the coming year. (It’s a great excuse for a new wardrobe, as well.) Thanks to my trainer, Matt, I’m also strong now. He says I now warm up using the same weight levels that I used to lift. And I have actual muscles, for the first time in my life. We’ve done some minor renos in the house (we now have interior doors on the rooms that were missing them - how novel!) and are making plans to do the back yard.
E. continues to do her thing, offering executive career coaching that she does so well, and has become quite the fan of social media. I think it’s a substitute for cigarettes because - and this is the big news - she quit smoking! I am delighted. And finally, the cat is fine, mewling and shedding as usual.
My family back east is having their share of problems - my mother is undergoing chemo, my dad, having had a stroke, is now showing early signs on Alzheimer’s, and two of my siblings have some health challenges. It’s worrying, and frustrating that there’s not much I can do for them from here.
And that’s all the family news, as we come up on my birthday.
It’s been so long since I lived in the Niagara Peninsula that I can’t really call it home any more, but it is where I grew up, and the rest of my immediate family still lives in the area, so it seems odd both to call it home and to not call it home. I rarely go there - there didn’t seem to be much once my mother disowned me the second time (long story), but now her cancer is winning, and I feel the right thing to do is to visit. No matter what her feelings toward me, I’ve never held a grudge against her, and now isn’t the time to try to prove any points about family dynamics.
I offered to take whichever grandchildren with me who wanted to meet their greatgrandparents while they cuold still avail themselves of the opportunity. Only one grandchild was able to make it, so my 13-year-old grandson and I are leaving on an overnight flight to Toronto. We then drive to an area so economically depressed that, much to my grandson’s dismay, the nearest Starbucks is in Niagara Falls. Yep, it’s Tim country, with a Tim Horton’s doughnut shop every few blocks - well, the blocks are pretty long in the rural areas.
I bought a digital photo frame, packed it up with whatever photos of the grandkids I could find, and am hoping that the peace offering will help things go smoothly. We’ll have a family visit, then spend a day in Niagara Falls, then have another visit - not overwhelming her but spending bits of time interspersed with some sightseeing opportunities for my grandson. This will be an interesting meeting of cultures, for sure.
A long while back I heard about a site called Songs to Wear Pants To. In cleaning out a bunch of old business cards, I came across the site name and thought I’d see if the site was still there, and it is!
Andrew is a songwriter who creates custom songs based on whatever criteria you provide, no matter how odd. All you need is a little pancreas? No problem. Crazy candy theme? His pleasure. Polka loca? Of coursa. Celtic techno burrito? Why sure-o. The site even has its own theme song. I have to hand it to Andrew for the longevity of the site, the way he’s found to make money doing something he loves, and for finding a way to stay good-humoured about the weird and whacky requests he gets for songs.
Considering that my family is entering “birthday season” - a few of us have birthdays between late November and end of January, then just about everyone else’s birthday is clumped together between end of March and beginning of June; something like 18 birthdays - this may be the gift that everyone gets this year!
Over the holidays I didn’t post much, and realize I haven’t shared some of the things I’m most proud of. One of my big pride moments is when my braniac grandson sent me a copy of his acceptance letter to a prestigious boarding school, Brentwood College. He has wanted to be in an environment that challenges him and where he’s among other students who are similarly motivated. And now he has that opportunity, after having done fabulously on his entrance exam. That’s motivated him more to bring him his first truly wonderful report card, which made me ask if he was working harder now, to which he replied, “Not really, I just have a reason to get good grades now.” Thank you, Harry Potter, for reviving the idea of boarding school!
Of course, we’ll are going to miss him terribly. It’s a long road from when he first came to live with me when he was 1, to when he was adopted by his fabulous dads, and ended up with, as he would always say, 11 grandmas, 3 dads, 2 sisters, and 1 mom. Of course, his dads find his acceptance a bittersweet moment - they didn’t adopt him to send him off to a boarding school - but he really wants to go, and I’m sure he’s going to thrive there. He’ll soak up the academic environment like a sponge, and we’ll all compete for his time when he gets time off from his rigorous six day-a-week, practically year-round program.
Part of the family ritual has become berry picking. It started when my grandson was very young, and I wanted him to know where food came from - not growing on the shelves of a supermarket. Somehow going to pick cucumbers (like my sister and I were forced to do all summer as kids) wasn’t going to motivate him to connect with nature, but I thought berry picking might. As each of the grandkids got old enough to walk, they got added to the trip. I’ve taken other people’s children, too, and for some of them, it was the first time they were allowed to their feet muddy in their whole lives. Imagine.
This year, I went with two of the older grandkids, and a first time for a two-year-old and her mom and dad. We went to the strawberry patch at W&A Farms in Richmond - it may have pouring rain in Vancouver and Burnaby, but had dried up (kind of) in Richmond - and we had the entire u-pick patch to ourselves. The older kids got to some turning point at around the age of 8, and they go into complete production mode when they hit the berry patch. I had to remind them that I had only brought $15 with me, so they should stop picking when they filled their plastic buckets. (They would have gladly picked double that!) The little one probably ate as many as she picked, but that was thankfully about 10 strawberries in all. She was more fascinated by the mud puddles surrounding the fields, and splashed around in her muddy buddy while mom and dad picked enough to make a good batch of jam.
That afternoon, I froze strawberries, made some sherbet, and made a batch of rather syrupy jam using Splenda. And soon, it will be time for raspberries, and I can take one of the other grandkids out berry-picking. Maybe I can get her moms go come out and make an event of it.
Tis the time of year when all the semesters of hard work pay off, and this weekend was the culmination. [deleted] and today was Ben’s high school graduation. [deleted]
What was a huge mindbender for me was inheriting a grandson who just turned 18, by way of becoming Ashley’s foster brother a couple of years back. Ben is a lovely guy, polite and well-mannered, full of wonder about the world, and so on. But if you know anything about my pacifist, left-leaning background, you can understand that it’s taken me a bit of mindbending to adjust my thinking to be able to appreciate Ben’s cadet training. For example, like this summer, when he goes off on his pilot scholarship to learn to fly a plane. I mean, Emma was just giving him driving lessons a couple of months ago! Or when we pick them up to go for ice cream, and he’s dressed in fatigues because he has just enough time to have ice cream before he has to get back for his sharpshooter lesson. Or when he goes away to boot camp for the summer.
I’m sure this is part of what I need to do in this life as part of my personal growth. Every time I get too comfortable in my social comfort zone, a new person or situation comes into my life that makes me have to stretch my boundaries and rethink my prejudices and tolerances. And aside from enjoying Ben’s quick wit and pleasant company, I appreciate him making me open my mind a little more. And aside from being nervous about someone so young learning to fly, I’m hoping he’ll turn to civil aviation at some point - hey, those family points should come in handy, right, Ben?
Peter Grogono, Professor and Associate Chair of the Department of Computer Science and Software Engineering, Faculty of Engineering and Computer Science (and cherished friend of mine) at Montreal’s Concordia University (and my alma mater), has just received the first President’s Award for Teaching Excellence. A well-deserved honour, to be sure! To indicate what a fine specimen of teacher he is, I believe that even a word-nerd like me could have been taught to love numbers had Peter been responsible for teaching me math during the impressionable years.
I’m going to be a grandma! I’m going to be a grandma! Don’t know if I’m actually allowed to say who is pregnant, but anyone who knows the family configuration will soon be able to figure it out. Congratulations to the lovely couple and to the little-big sister! This grandmother gig is really quite wonderful.
[deleted]
Next week, I’m going to hear one of my grandsons participate in a public speaking competition. In a world where “fear of death” comes in second to “fear of public speaking”, this young man shows no fear in this arena. I had to chuckle, because when I told him that I, too, had done public speaking, but in high school, he said, “Oh, so that’s where I get it from” as if it were hereditary. (Hmmm, maybe I could impress upon him that at age 12, I became a neat freak?) So hats off to a bright, courageous, and articulate 11-year-old!