I got a cheque in the mail for $50. For a poem that’s about to be published. Guess that makes me a bon-a-fide poet! Unless you count the 75 cents that was my cut when they passed the hat at a poetry reading many years ago, that’s the first time I’ve gotten paid for poetry. I’ve had a few published before, but never for payment.
I don’t write many poems these days, so I don’t really think of myself as a poet. This particular poem was written about 10 years ago. It was accepted for publication about 5 years ago, and since the magazine went on hiatus for a few years (I think they ran out of money – it’s hard to keep literary mags afloat), they only got around to publishing it now.
Clearly, poetry is not a very lucrative business. I won’t quit my day job.
(In case you’re going to ask to see the poem, I can’t show you until it appears in print. It turns out that if something appears on a blog, it is considered “published”. I learned that the hard way when another publication was going to accept a piece I’d written, but they took the time to Google it, found it on my blog, and turned it down because they only accept unpublished work.)
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Buzzheads and other beauties
Without knowing the other one was doing it, these two simultaneously got buzz cuts.
My sunglasses are not nearly as cool as my daughter's! But at least I have a cool hat.
My sunglasses are not nearly as cool as my daughter's! But at least I have a cool hat.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Where the wild things aren't
We went camping this past weekend. On every trip to the bathroom or the beach, and every time my young niece wanted to go for a walk or my daughter wanted to go for a bike ride, we would stop along the path to pick plump purple wild saskatoons. They were delicious. (If you’ve never had them, they’re a little like blueberries, but they grow in trees instead of small bushes close to the ground.) Other than an unfortunate encounter with a bee, the girls enjoyed the opportunity to pillage the woods. What was almost second nature to me – to pluck a ripe fruit out of the bush along the path – was rather novel for them.
Though I’m not planning to move out of the city any time soon, some days I lament the fact that my children have so little opportunity to enjoy things in the wild. I spent many of the summers of my childhood looking for wild things. In the Spring, we hunted through last year’s grass to try to spot the first fuzzy purple crocus to poke its way to the surface. A little later in the season, we’d wander the fields looking for wild tiger lilies or bright orange cowslips. Along our driveway, the bush was lavishly dotted with soft pink wild roses. Those were a little more tricky to pick, though, because of the thorns. We felt especially lucky when we’d stumble on wild ladyslippers in the cattle pasture – but we always heeded the warning of my older brother who said that those should NOT be picked because they were becoming endangered.
Then there were the fruits of the wild – chokecherries along the path to the barn, wild raspberries along “raspberry lane” where we’d ride our bikes to the field to bring dad his lunch, wild saskatoons, and occasionally – when we were lucky – wild strawberries.
Wild animals were mostly for looking at (like the wild beaver that inexplicably made its way to our dugout, miles from a stream or river), but occasionally even those were fair game for the capture. I remember standing at the base of a tree where my older brothers had instructed me to guard a raccoon while they went back to the farmyard for a box. I shirked my duties, though, when the raccoon started coming down the tree – I think I beat my brothers to the farmyard.
My kids are completely “citified” (wow – spell check says that’s a word!). Almost everything they come into contact with is domesticated or tame. Fruit only comes from the store (with a few exceptions, like the raspberry bushes at their grandparents’ house); and flowers are either planted in the flower beds, bought at the florist, or mowed over with the lawnmower. And wild creatures? Well, you should see the way they react to bugs that get in the car! Oy veh!
Though I’m not planning to move out of the city any time soon, some days I lament the fact that my children have so little opportunity to enjoy things in the wild. I spent many of the summers of my childhood looking for wild things. In the Spring, we hunted through last year’s grass to try to spot the first fuzzy purple crocus to poke its way to the surface. A little later in the season, we’d wander the fields looking for wild tiger lilies or bright orange cowslips. Along our driveway, the bush was lavishly dotted with soft pink wild roses. Those were a little more tricky to pick, though, because of the thorns. We felt especially lucky when we’d stumble on wild ladyslippers in the cattle pasture – but we always heeded the warning of my older brother who said that those should NOT be picked because they were becoming endangered.
Then there were the fruits of the wild – chokecherries along the path to the barn, wild raspberries along “raspberry lane” where we’d ride our bikes to the field to bring dad his lunch, wild saskatoons, and occasionally – when we were lucky – wild strawberries.
Wild animals were mostly for looking at (like the wild beaver that inexplicably made its way to our dugout, miles from a stream or river), but occasionally even those were fair game for the capture. I remember standing at the base of a tree where my older brothers had instructed me to guard a raccoon while they went back to the farmyard for a box. I shirked my duties, though, when the raccoon started coming down the tree – I think I beat my brothers to the farmyard.
My kids are completely “citified” (wow – spell check says that’s a word!). Almost everything they come into contact with is domesticated or tame. Fruit only comes from the store (with a few exceptions, like the raspberry bushes at their grandparents’ house); and flowers are either planted in the flower beds, bought at the florist, or mowed over with the lawnmower. And wild creatures? Well, you should see the way they react to bugs that get in the car! Oy veh!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Seasons change
“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 3
I’m reading a book called “Leaving Church”. It’s a personal memoir about Barbara Brown Taylor’s experience of giving up the priesthood.
Though I didn’t realize the serendipity at the time, I bought the book with a gift certificate I’d gotten when I ended my tenure as an elder at our church. (No – in case any GNFers are getting worried – I’m not “leaving church”, I’m just stepping away from leadership.)
For everything there is a season. It’s time for me to step away and enter other seasons. Not only am I not an elder anymore (the highly skilled Krista is picking up the mantle), I’ve also given up doing announcements and welcomes. Basically, I’m stepping out of any leadership or public persona role and slipping into an “anonymous churchgoer” role. And that’s the way I want it for now.
It feels like a time for other things. I need a season for focusing on my writing a little more. Maybe a season for taking some art courses – pottery, painting, photography – I’m not sure what yet. Mostly, I’m hoping it will be a season for creativity. And maybe a little rest.
I’m not sure what other changes the coming year will bring. When I started this job, I’d told myself I would give it at least 5 years. After that, Marcel would be finished university and I might be able to consider other options. This is my fifth year. Marcel doesn’t have a full-time job yet, but he makes a pretty decent living as a substitute teacher.
I still love my job, and honestly? I could see myself quite happily spending another 5 years here if it came to that. I’m in no rush to leave. But I’m also ready to open myself up to new possibilities. I’ve done a lot of really amazing things in the 4+ years I’ve been here, and I’m pretty confident I’ve left a positive mark on the organization, so I could walk away if it felt right to do so.
At this point, though, I’m in no rush to move into anything new. I’m going to enjoy the summer, sign up for a class or two in the fall, and maybe find a little more time and space for some writing. And in the meantime, I’m going to say “no” to almost anything anyone asks me to do for church.
I’m reading a book called “Leaving Church”. It’s a personal memoir about Barbara Brown Taylor’s experience of giving up the priesthood.
Though I didn’t realize the serendipity at the time, I bought the book with a gift certificate I’d gotten when I ended my tenure as an elder at our church. (No – in case any GNFers are getting worried – I’m not “leaving church”, I’m just stepping away from leadership.)
For everything there is a season. It’s time for me to step away and enter other seasons. Not only am I not an elder anymore (the highly skilled Krista is picking up the mantle), I’ve also given up doing announcements and welcomes. Basically, I’m stepping out of any leadership or public persona role and slipping into an “anonymous churchgoer” role. And that’s the way I want it for now.
It feels like a time for other things. I need a season for focusing on my writing a little more. Maybe a season for taking some art courses – pottery, painting, photography – I’m not sure what yet. Mostly, I’m hoping it will be a season for creativity. And maybe a little rest.
I’m not sure what other changes the coming year will bring. When I started this job, I’d told myself I would give it at least 5 years. After that, Marcel would be finished university and I might be able to consider other options. This is my fifth year. Marcel doesn’t have a full-time job yet, but he makes a pretty decent living as a substitute teacher.
I still love my job, and honestly? I could see myself quite happily spending another 5 years here if it came to that. I’m in no rush to leave. But I’m also ready to open myself up to new possibilities. I’ve done a lot of really amazing things in the 4+ years I’ve been here, and I’m pretty confident I’ve left a positive mark on the organization, so I could walk away if it felt right to do so.
At this point, though, I’m in no rush to move into anything new. I’m going to enjoy the summer, sign up for a class or two in the fall, and maybe find a little more time and space for some writing. And in the meantime, I’m going to say “no” to almost anything anyone asks me to do for church.
Friday, July 18, 2008
She likes me, she really likes me
When I get home from work these days, Maddie likes to talk. And talk. Incessantly. We go for a bike ride – she talks. I do laundry – she talks. I wash the supper dishes – she talks. I try to get her to go to bed – she talks.
Yesterday she was telling me about a show she’d watched with her sisters. I think it’s called Wife Swap? (Where 2 women switch homes for a week.) Apparently one of the families lived a rather chaotic and crazy lifestyle and liked pretending they were pirates. The other family was much more structured and organized and the wife and daughter were more into girlie things.
I asked her “so… if I were to switch with another mom for a week, what kind of woman would you want it to be?”
“Well,” she said, and thought about it for awhile. “Someone kinda organized, but still a lot of fun.” And then she smiled. “Just like you.”
Good answer.
Yesterday she was telling me about a show she’d watched with her sisters. I think it’s called Wife Swap? (Where 2 women switch homes for a week.) Apparently one of the families lived a rather chaotic and crazy lifestyle and liked pretending they were pirates. The other family was much more structured and organized and the wife and daughter were more into girlie things.
I asked her “so… if I were to switch with another mom for a week, what kind of woman would you want it to be?”
“Well,” she said, and thought about it for awhile. “Someone kinda organized, but still a lot of fun.” And then she smiled. “Just like you.”
Good answer.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Another year, another Folk Fest
Another great weekend is behind us. We danced, we ate whales' tails, we listened to good music, we tried to hide from the rain, we dreamed about buying funky (but too expensive) clothes from the handmade village, we wandered, we mused, we got muddy, we talked to friends, we people-watched, we pointed out all the old regulars, we reminisced about the over 20 years of history we'd seen in this place, we shared moments with our offspring who've attended every year of their lives... aaahhhh, we had fun. It's always such a let-down to see it end.
Just a few memories to hang onto as we go through withdrawal... (As you can see, we enjoyed a wide variety of weather.)
Just a few memories to hang onto as we go through withdrawal... (As you can see, we enjoyed a wide variety of weather.)
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Music to a mother's ears
Our kids have had to stay at home alone for much of this week, because Marcel is taking some French upgrading and I've been at work. I wasn’t sure how that was going to go. They’ve been alone at home before, but never for a few days in a row like this.
Well, it turns out I needn’t have worried.
Yesterday I phoned home to find out how Maddie was (she’d been sick during the night), and Julie said, rather matter-of-factly “yeah, she puked this morning. But it’s no big deal. I cleaned it up.” When I asked if I should come home, she said “Nah, we’ve got things under control.”
In the afternoon, I phoned home again, and Nikki said “well, we’ve already cleaned the bathroom and the living room and now we’re working on the basement. We sent Maddie upstairs for a nap because she wasn’t helping.”
Today I phoned home and Julie said “I thought we’d like some treats for the Folk Festival this weekend, so I’ve baked some chocolate chip cookies and now I’m going to make some brownies. For the chocolate chip cookies, I split the recipe in half because I wanted to add white chocolate to some.”
How’dya like that? Despite my many parenting doubts and the occasional screw-ups, they’re turning out alright!
Well, it turns out I needn’t have worried.
Yesterday I phoned home to find out how Maddie was (she’d been sick during the night), and Julie said, rather matter-of-factly “yeah, she puked this morning. But it’s no big deal. I cleaned it up.” When I asked if I should come home, she said “Nah, we’ve got things under control.”
In the afternoon, I phoned home again, and Nikki said “well, we’ve already cleaned the bathroom and the living room and now we’re working on the basement. We sent Maddie upstairs for a nap because she wasn’t helping.”
Today I phoned home and Julie said “I thought we’d like some treats for the Folk Festival this weekend, so I’ve baked some chocolate chip cookies and now I’m going to make some brownies. For the chocolate chip cookies, I split the recipe in half because I wanted to add white chocolate to some.”
How’dya like that? Despite my many parenting doubts and the occasional screw-ups, they’re turning out alright!
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Cringe
I’ve put it off as long as possible, but now I must face the inevitable. I grit my teeth, brace myself, and plunge in. I know I will face rocky seas, disgruntled people, awkward conversations, and lots of uncomfortable moments. I know I will have to say some fairly harsh things, and probably hear a few harsh responses. I will try to be gentle, but I have to balance that out with cold, hard honesty.
It’s performance appraisal time.
This is the moment of every year that I would prefer not to be a manager.
It’s performance appraisal time.
This is the moment of every year that I would prefer not to be a manager.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Random
1. Maddie learned to ride a two-wheeler bike this week. Based on the less-than-pleasant experiences of teaching her sisters (cringe), I was dreading having to teach her, but she was much more relaxed about it (perhaps it’s a youngest child thing?) and it turned out to be fun and surprisingly easy.
2. I like to think of myself as a fairly tolerant person. I don’t yell at bad drivers (maybe they’re distracted because they just found out a family member died) and I try to give rude salespeople the benefit of the doubt (maybe their mother was never kind to them and they didn’t have a good role model). BUT… there are a few things I just can’t tolerate. Littering is one of them. On Tuesday (Canada Day), I saw three people casually toss garbage on the ground and walk away. COME ON PEOPLE! Let’s not be stupid!
3. Only one week until Folk Festival!
4. Maddie dropped in at the office this morning to donate the bag full of the change she’s been saving for months. She wanted to give it to the poorest country in the world – “because they don’t have enough food and they often have to drink dirty water”. I guess she WAS listening when I came home with stories of the people I’ve met in my travels! Ah, it swells a mother’s heart.
5. A few weeks ago, I went to a blogging workshop at a Christian writers’ conference (without having researched the presenter first). The blogger leading the workshop was shockingly right-wing, and what I’ve seen of her blog since is mostly anti-Muslim (with a little anti-gay thrown in for good measure) rhetoric - some of it frighteningly hateful. She has a large readership and it fills me with uneasiness that there are so many people who sing her praises. It also fills me with uneasiness that she was applauded at a “Christian” writers’ conference. (I could say more about that conference – but I'll save that for another time.)
6. I’ve actually had time to sew this week. What fun! I’m finally putting my lovely Indian fabric to good use. Nikki has a new dress, and Julie has a shirt and capri pants. Maddie’s next. Watch for the family in the funky Indian tie-died clothes at Folk Festival!
2. I like to think of myself as a fairly tolerant person. I don’t yell at bad drivers (maybe they’re distracted because they just found out a family member died) and I try to give rude salespeople the benefit of the doubt (maybe their mother was never kind to them and they didn’t have a good role model). BUT… there are a few things I just can’t tolerate. Littering is one of them. On Tuesday (Canada Day), I saw three people casually toss garbage on the ground and walk away. COME ON PEOPLE! Let’s not be stupid!
3. Only one week until Folk Festival!
4. Maddie dropped in at the office this morning to donate the bag full of the change she’s been saving for months. She wanted to give it to the poorest country in the world – “because they don’t have enough food and they often have to drink dirty water”. I guess she WAS listening when I came home with stories of the people I’ve met in my travels! Ah, it swells a mother’s heart.
5. A few weeks ago, I went to a blogging workshop at a Christian writers’ conference (without having researched the presenter first). The blogger leading the workshop was shockingly right-wing, and what I’ve seen of her blog since is mostly anti-Muslim (with a little anti-gay thrown in for good measure) rhetoric - some of it frighteningly hateful. She has a large readership and it fills me with uneasiness that there are so many people who sing her praises. It also fills me with uneasiness that she was applauded at a “Christian” writers’ conference. (I could say more about that conference – but I'll save that for another time.)
6. I’ve actually had time to sew this week. What fun! I’m finally putting my lovely Indian fabric to good use. Nikki has a new dress, and Julie has a shirt and capri pants. Maddie’s next. Watch for the family in the funky Indian tie-died clothes at Folk Festival!
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Summer time and the livin' is easy
Notice any difference between the months? In June, we had to colour code the calendar because there were so many days that two or three family members had to be in different places at the same time. And July? Well, we flipped the page, and suddenly there is a blank slate ahead of us. Ahhhhh... how I love blank slates!We started off on the right foot with a trip to the beach yesterday, and a family bike trip to the Forks for Canada Day celebrations today. (That's a 22 kilometre round trip! The longest we've done as a family.)
It's hot, hot, hot, and we're tired, tired, tired (in fact, Marcel is lying on the couch next to me snoring right now), but we're oh so happy that it's summer!
Happy Canada Day and Happy Summer!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Holding Zimbabwe in my heart
Today, as my heart aches for the people of Zimbabwe who are left with so little to hope for in an election that is not really an election, I wrote this note to my friend Pugeni...
Pugeni – my prayers are with you and all of the people of Zimbabwe today. I pray that God will see you through this time, and that your hopeful hearts and loving spirits will continue to shine through the shadows. I pray that peace and justice will come to your country in the months to come.
Every time I hear of Zimbabwe in the news, I think of you and your ready smile and teasing wit. I think of the fun we had when you first walked on snow and learned what a Slurpee is. I think of the way you challenged me to continue to seek justice and equality for people who live with hunger. I think of the way you marvelled at my big North American house and how you made me realize just how much I have to give away.
Peace be with you. I hope to see you again some day.
Every time I hear of Zimbabwe in the news, I think of you and your ready smile and teasing wit. I think of the fun we had when you first walked on snow and learned what a Slurpee is. I think of the way you challenged me to continue to seek justice and equality for people who live with hunger. I think of the way you marvelled at my big North American house and how you made me realize just how much I have to give away.
Peace be with you. I hope to see you again some day.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Gulp
We went out for lunch today to celebrate the birthday of our receptionist, a university student who's working here for her summer job. She just turned 20.
After lunch, it occurred to me that I am wearing a skirt that I got when she was about 2 years old.
Either I'm old, or I keep my clothes too long. Or both.
After lunch, it occurred to me that I am wearing a skirt that I got when she was about 2 years old.
Either I'm old, or I keep my clothes too long. Or both.
Monday, June 23, 2008
June has eaten me alive
It’s been one of those months. The kind of month that sucks you in at the beginning, chews you up, and then spits you out the other side. There have been very few pauses in this crazy whirlwind of a month. A business trip to Toronto, a week of board meetings, a big event for our organization’s 25th anniversary (which I mc’d and did much of the organizing for), three weekend-long soccer tournaments (two of which were across the border into the States), multiple soccer games and/or practices almost every night of the week, meetings with out-of-town staff… I am exhausted. And chewed up into little bits.
This morning, when it occurred to me that Summer is officially upon us and I barely had a chance to slow down and enjoy Spring, I was left with an unsettled, dissatisfied feeling. It’s all slipping by too fast. I need to hit the pause button.
Fortunately, after this week is over (another busy week), soccer will end, work will slow down, and Folk Festival will be just around the corner.
On another note, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be blogging. It’s becoming less and less of a priority and interest.
This morning, when it occurred to me that Summer is officially upon us and I barely had a chance to slow down and enjoy Spring, I was left with an unsettled, dissatisfied feeling. It’s all slipping by too fast. I need to hit the pause button.
Fortunately, after this week is over (another busy week), soccer will end, work will slow down, and Folk Festival will be just around the corner.
On another note, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be blogging. It’s becoming less and less of a priority and interest.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Birthday girls
Julie shares her birthday with a couple of her friends. This is one of them - they had soccer games on adjacent fields tonight.
Acceptance
I am home and travel weary. Four sleeps in various beds across southern Ontario (business travel). One sleep in a bed in Grand Forks (soccer tournament). Too many meetings. Too many polite-introductions-followed-by-polite-small-talk conversations. Too many hours in too many cars on too many speeding freeways. Too many “I’ll just forgive myself for eating these few extra bites” meals.
It occurs to me – after a week of traveling in relatively familiar territory – that the degree of familiarity of the space I am in does not necessarily equal the degree to which I will feel at home. In fact, I can (and did) feel completely at home in a remote village on a remote island off the coast of India, wandering down a dirt path holding the hand of a complete stranger whose command of English is minimal. Conversely, I can feel utterly out of place in a room full of people who’ve been raised in the same country, with the same language, and essentially the same faith traditions as I was raised with.
It begs the question “who is my neighbour?” And another question “how do I make sure people feel at home in my presence?”
It occurs to me – after a week of traveling in relatively familiar territory – that the degree of familiarity of the space I am in does not necessarily equal the degree to which I will feel at home. In fact, I can (and did) feel completely at home in a remote village on a remote island off the coast of India, wandering down a dirt path holding the hand of a complete stranger whose command of English is minimal. Conversely, I can feel utterly out of place in a room full of people who’ve been raised in the same country, with the same language, and essentially the same faith traditions as I was raised with.
It begs the question “who is my neighbour?” And another question “how do I make sure people feel at home in my presence?”
Monday, June 09, 2008
Friday, June 06, 2008
Growing up
We rush through the stages with the first one, excited for every new thing they do. By the time the third child comes around, it's become old hat and, when we look back, we can barely remember when they cut their first tooth, when they learned to walk, or when they first said "mommy".
Sometimes I'm caught off guard how much Maddie has developed while I was busy not paying enough attention. Today she was determined to cook me lunch. She had a little trouble with the can opener (note to self: buy a left-handed can opener if she continues to show an interest in cooking), but once it was opened, she emptied the soup into the pot, added the water, stirred it while it got hot, then ladeled it into my bowl. She also opened a can of juice concentrate, added water, stirred, and filled a glass for me. She was very proud to sit down with me and eat the meal she had prepared.
"Tomorrow, maybe I'll cook you supper and you and Daddy can just sit and relax."
Here's hoping she'll soon be cooking me the kind of meals Liz gets to enjoy when her kids cook!
Sometimes I'm caught off guard how much Maddie has developed while I was busy not paying enough attention. Today she was determined to cook me lunch. She had a little trouble with the can opener (note to self: buy a left-handed can opener if she continues to show an interest in cooking), but once it was opened, she emptied the soup into the pot, added the water, stirred it while it got hot, then ladeled it into my bowl. She also opened a can of juice concentrate, added water, stirred, and filled a glass for me. She was very proud to sit down with me and eat the meal she had prepared.
"Tomorrow, maybe I'll cook you supper and you and Daddy can just sit and relax."
Here's hoping she'll soon be cooking me the kind of meals Liz gets to enjoy when her kids cook!
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Completely random
Not that I necessarily thought she would have made the best president, but I’m a little disappointed we won’t see a woman leading the most powerful country in the world for at least another 4 years. Perhaps we can at least hope for the first person of colour. (We already had our first woman Prime Minister in Canada, but she didn’t last very long.)
*************
Speaking of woman in leadership, I wish it weren’t only the alpha females (the ones who seem to do the best at imitating the styles of their male counterparts) who rise to the highest positions of leadership. We need more women in leadership, but we need more variety in the leadership styles women bring with them too.
**************
Biking home from a soccer game last night, Nikki was in a particularly chatty mood (it helped that she won “player of the game” for the second time this season). “We’re studying the first world war in school right now. I told Madame I wished we would study the second world war instead, because that’s the one I know the most about. Like how Hitler killed 6 million Jews and blah, blah, blah (the details she spouts off don’t always stick in my less-detail-oriented brain). I was reading Grandpa’s history books the other night and…” That’s the detail that sticks in my brain because that’s the moment my eyes filled with tears as I had a mental picture of my dad delighting in a conversation about the war with his history-obsessed twelve-year-old granddaughter. He’d get that sideways smirk on his face and we’d all know how proud he was. I only wish it could happen.
**************
To the spammers who’ve taken over my in-box – I DO NOT WANT a blue sexy pill! I do not want it in the rain, I do not want it while in Spain. I do not want it with a mouse, I do not want it in my house. I DO NOT WANT it Sam I Am!
**************
The other night my sister and I went to a funky little downtown coffeehouse/art gallery to hear a musician who (whom?) I’d heard on the radio and was intrigued with. They had an open mike, so 4 different musicians got up to play, then they had an opening band, and then they had the two headliners. In all, we heard 7 talented musicians (almost as many musicians as there were audience members). A couple of them didn’t float my boat, but all of them were more talented than almost anyone you hear on pop radio these days (I have preteen girls and have to listen to WAY too much pop radio). It just doesn’t make sense that Britney Spears can make millions and these amazing musicians have to eek out a meagre existence playing hole-in-the-wall coffee houses. Where’s the justice?
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To the “competent” people at the “lovely” car dealership who have already “fixed” our blinking traction control light twice in a couple of months, charging us $340 each time and telling us it was two different sensors that both coincidentally broke within months and THEN having the nerve to tell us (the third time we brought the car in for the SAME blinking light less than a week later) that it was yet another “new” problem, but they would be SO generous as to give us 50% off the next repair job and only charge us $400 – DO YOU THINK WE’RE STUPID? Oh and the “free” oil change you so “generously” gave us when Marcel pointed out that you had very obviously charged us too much labour – can I watch you DRINK the oil instead? Just one more thing… about the “customer service” woman who argued with me on the phone and basically called me a liar, can you point out to her that her title means that she “serves the customer”? Maybe she needs a refresher.
*************
Speaking of woman in leadership, I wish it weren’t only the alpha females (the ones who seem to do the best at imitating the styles of their male counterparts) who rise to the highest positions of leadership. We need more women in leadership, but we need more variety in the leadership styles women bring with them too.
**************
Biking home from a soccer game last night, Nikki was in a particularly chatty mood (it helped that she won “player of the game” for the second time this season). “We’re studying the first world war in school right now. I told Madame I wished we would study the second world war instead, because that’s the one I know the most about. Like how Hitler killed 6 million Jews and blah, blah, blah (the details she spouts off don’t always stick in my less-detail-oriented brain). I was reading Grandpa’s history books the other night and…” That’s the detail that sticks in my brain because that’s the moment my eyes filled with tears as I had a mental picture of my dad delighting in a conversation about the war with his history-obsessed twelve-year-old granddaughter. He’d get that sideways smirk on his face and we’d all know how proud he was. I only wish it could happen.
**************
To the spammers who’ve taken over my in-box – I DO NOT WANT a blue sexy pill! I do not want it in the rain, I do not want it while in Spain. I do not want it with a mouse, I do not want it in my house. I DO NOT WANT it Sam I Am!
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The other night my sister and I went to a funky little downtown coffeehouse/art gallery to hear a musician who (whom?) I’d heard on the radio and was intrigued with. They had an open mike, so 4 different musicians got up to play, then they had an opening band, and then they had the two headliners. In all, we heard 7 talented musicians (almost as many musicians as there were audience members). A couple of them didn’t float my boat, but all of them were more talented than almost anyone you hear on pop radio these days (I have preteen girls and have to listen to WAY too much pop radio). It just doesn’t make sense that Britney Spears can make millions and these amazing musicians have to eek out a meagre existence playing hole-in-the-wall coffee houses. Where’s the justice?
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To the “competent” people at the “lovely” car dealership who have already “fixed” our blinking traction control light twice in a couple of months, charging us $340 each time and telling us it was two different sensors that both coincidentally broke within months and THEN having the nerve to tell us (the third time we brought the car in for the SAME blinking light less than a week later) that it was yet another “new” problem, but they would be SO generous as to give us 50% off the next repair job and only charge us $400 – DO YOU THINK WE’RE STUPID? Oh and the “free” oil change you so “generously” gave us when Marcel pointed out that you had very obviously charged us too much labour – can I watch you DRINK the oil instead? Just one more thing… about the “customer service” woman who argued with me on the phone and basically called me a liar, can you point out to her that her title means that she “serves the customer”? Maybe she needs a refresher.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
The graduate
Five and a half years have passed, and Marcel is finished University.
Fifteen years ago, I married a truck driver who was a high school drop-out. Now I'm married to a teacher with two degrees. I guess you CAN teach an old dog new tricks!
Fifteen years ago, I married a truck driver who was a high school drop-out. Now I'm married to a teacher with two degrees. I guess you CAN teach an old dog new tricks!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
A complicated sadness
(I wrote this on Sunday night, but wasn't ready to post it until now.)
I didn’t see it coming.
The weekend was full of celebrating. Little Jack had been born. He was healthy and strong. The tumour that had worried all of us since it was discovered on a 20 week ultrasound was disappearing almost before our eyes. The mark that was left seemed little more than a birthmark – a little anti-climactic after the months of tears and angst and unanswered questions that baffled even the doctors.
I was rejoicing to hold my new nephew. Rejoicing to see my sister welcome her son. Rejoicing to see my little niece so in love with her little brother. Rejoicing to see the family all return home to their own house.
I didn’t see the sadness coming.
It snuck up on me. The first twinges came as I watched my sister nursing her son on her couch in her home. I thought it was tiredness from watching a two-year-old for a few days, staying up too late to welcome the out-of-town family who’d come to rejoice with us, and living through the emotional roller-coaster as fear turned to hope which turned to joy.
The twinges grew when I climbed into the bathtub hours later. “I think I’ll have a hot bath,” I’d said. “I’m feeling a little tired and achy.” I thought it would be refreshing. I didn’t know that my body was trying to tell me to escape to a quiet place where I could entertain the feelings that were creeping up in me.
The first tears surprised me. “What’s this?” I wondered. “I’m supposed to be happy. My sister has a new son and he’s HEALTHY. It’s better news than we even dared hope for.” But then melancholy waved its hand in front of my face to get my attention. “Remember me?” it whispered. “Your old companion? It may be seven and a half years, and I may not visit very often anymore, but I’m still with you.”
Then deep and abiding sadness, my old friend, wrapped its familiar arms around me and I nestled in, letting the tears flow. Trying to resist the sting of guilt over what seemed like utter selfishness, I whispered my truth to the bathroom tiles. “My sister got to bring her son home, and I didn’t. The answer to her prayer was ‘yes’. Why did I have to live with a ‘no’?”
I climbed out of the tub and did the only thing I know how to do when sadness creeps in and consumes me – I went to visit my son. At his grave I sat and wept. I wept for the lost years, for the empty arms, for the milk-filled breasts that didn’t get to nurture my son. I wept for the lost potential, for the “what ifs”, for the “what age would he be now?”
As I wept, I recognized – and almost welcomed - the comfortable warmth of tears on my cheeks. These were not bitter tears – nor were they tears of jealousy. These tears were the healing reminders of what had grown to become a comfortable sadness. Adding to the mix this time were tears of joy for the little boy I’ll get the privilege of watching as he grows up – a little boy who bears the family genetics of both my husband and myself.
“Matthew, I miss you. I wish you could be here to meet your cousin.”
As I whispered my son’s name, I knew that I was rich beyond measure for the complicated sadness that had filled the hole his death left behind.
I didn’t see it coming.
The weekend was full of celebrating. Little Jack had been born. He was healthy and strong. The tumour that had worried all of us since it was discovered on a 20 week ultrasound was disappearing almost before our eyes. The mark that was left seemed little more than a birthmark – a little anti-climactic after the months of tears and angst and unanswered questions that baffled even the doctors.
I was rejoicing to hold my new nephew. Rejoicing to see my sister welcome her son. Rejoicing to see my little niece so in love with her little brother. Rejoicing to see the family all return home to their own house.
I didn’t see the sadness coming.
It snuck up on me. The first twinges came as I watched my sister nursing her son on her couch in her home. I thought it was tiredness from watching a two-year-old for a few days, staying up too late to welcome the out-of-town family who’d come to rejoice with us, and living through the emotional roller-coaster as fear turned to hope which turned to joy.
The twinges grew when I climbed into the bathtub hours later. “I think I’ll have a hot bath,” I’d said. “I’m feeling a little tired and achy.” I thought it would be refreshing. I didn’t know that my body was trying to tell me to escape to a quiet place where I could entertain the feelings that were creeping up in me.
The first tears surprised me. “What’s this?” I wondered. “I’m supposed to be happy. My sister has a new son and he’s HEALTHY. It’s better news than we even dared hope for.” But then melancholy waved its hand in front of my face to get my attention. “Remember me?” it whispered. “Your old companion? It may be seven and a half years, and I may not visit very often anymore, but I’m still with you.”
Then deep and abiding sadness, my old friend, wrapped its familiar arms around me and I nestled in, letting the tears flow. Trying to resist the sting of guilt over what seemed like utter selfishness, I whispered my truth to the bathroom tiles. “My sister got to bring her son home, and I didn’t. The answer to her prayer was ‘yes’. Why did I have to live with a ‘no’?”
I climbed out of the tub and did the only thing I know how to do when sadness creeps in and consumes me – I went to visit my son. At his grave I sat and wept. I wept for the lost years, for the empty arms, for the milk-filled breasts that didn’t get to nurture my son. I wept for the lost potential, for the “what ifs”, for the “what age would he be now?”
As I wept, I recognized – and almost welcomed - the comfortable warmth of tears on my cheeks. These were not bitter tears – nor were they tears of jealousy. These tears were the healing reminders of what had grown to become a comfortable sadness. Adding to the mix this time were tears of joy for the little boy I’ll get the privilege of watching as he grows up – a little boy who bears the family genetics of both my husband and myself.
“Matthew, I miss you. I wish you could be here to meet your cousin.”
As I whispered my son’s name, I knew that I was rich beyond measure for the complicated sadness that had filled the hole his death left behind.
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