Tuesday, July 29, 2008

This Woman's Work

Let me tell you a story about a life. Not mine, but a story of a girl born in Toronto in 1914. She was the daughter of a Polish immigrant and one of nine children. Yes, nine. Her father was a tailor who worked out of his home in a workroom making mens vests. The house was off of Ossington right near Queen Street. He had a horse and buggy kept in the backyard shed and there was a lane behind the house to manage the horse traffic. The girl shared a bedroom with her five sisters. She was small, thin, very pretty with shiny dark hair and blue blue eyes and was sassy and athletic. She won prizes for speed skating on Grenadier pond. She played softball and foursquare and was always outside playing every night til the streetlights came on. Her mother was a big, soft, dark haired woman. Dinner every night was some kind of soup served with bread and butter and pickles. Her father made the pickles every year and put them in a big barrel. The children ate in shifts.

Church every Sunday was a must and all the children were turned out very clean with their best clothes. Their house was heated with Quebec Heaters that had a stovepipe that went upstairs thru the bedrooms. A bed near the stovepipe was apparently coveted. Her father was a weekend drinker. This led to some bad times for the children as one can imagine.

As she grew up she went to Sunnyside in the summer and danced the evenings away at the Silver Slipper and the Palais Royale. She had a string of boyfriends, none very serious as she wanted to play the field. She was beautiful, and difficult. One boy, Francis (called Frank) was smitten with her when she was 19. He asked her to marry him and she told him to ask her again when she was 25. On her 25th birthday he came to her house and asked her father if he could ask for her hand in marriage. He agreed and they became engaged.

They got married and moved to an apartment above a store on St.Clair. The store below was her husband's plumbing store. Her husband became the first Catholic of the Toronto plumbing union. Her husband belonged to the Knights of Columbus and on one night out they met Frank Sinatra.

She had one daughter, Maureen, my mom. She had difficult times carrying pregnancies so this was a bit of a miracle. A few years later her husband, my Grandfather, bought a home on Chestnut Hills in Etobicoke. He joined the Islington Golf Club and spent a lot of time there. The pretty girl, my grandmother, was quite the lady. She had her hair and nails done every single week of her life. She kept thin and well dressed and was every inch a lady. She was also a sports fanatic and knew every Blue jay and Maple Leaf and could quote stats on every player. Every boyfriend I ever had was enamoured with her. She was an elegant smoker and liked to have a few Rye and waters on special occaisions. She always smelled of perfume and cert mints.

She was our favourite babysitter. She would sing old songs to us when we went to bed. "My Blue Heaven, Show me the way to home and Me and my Shadow". When she was done singing to my sister and I she would run down the hall to my brothers room and yell "GERONIMO!" and jump on my brother as he screamed with laughter.

She lost her husband when she was 56 and the men in her apartment building were on the prowl. She could have easily snagged a man but she was ready to be on her own. Sadly she lost her only daughter (my Mom) when her daughter was only 48. It was hard. It was out of the order of nature and she was really upset and angry.

She moved to a local retirement residence about nine years ago. We were happy in that she never would have to fear falling alone or missing a meal. It was a lovely place and I often went and we would order in pizza and she would ask me to "get Grandma a little drink" as she had a rule about never drinking alone.

She was an avid reader and sports fanatic so she said she made the ideal old person in that she was occupied and happy.

I always kidded her every time I left and said "hey you, behave yourself, no wild drinking parties and single men!" she would always say, "That's my trouble, no men to be found!"

Grams broke her pelvis about five weeks ago when she had a fall. It has been downhill since then and we knew she wasn't getting any better.

This wild, athletic, sassy, stubborn, difficult girl who became a beautiful woman and turned 93 this year told me just six months ago that inside she was still a six year old girl. That she was still the same person she was then. She still dreamed of playing hopscotch and skating on Grenadier pond and playing foursquare until the streetlights came on.

This beautiful girl died this morning.

I kissed her and told her how much I loved her. I cried and gathered her clothes for her funeral.

It was so hard to leave her room. It was the final goodbye. I stroked her face and kissed her forehead. Before I left I whispered in her ear "You be good."

Monday, July 21, 2008

Meet the girls.......



No, not this girl. Once again I have posted a gratuitous toddler picture just because I invented her. She's lovely and dictatorial, just the way she should be.

Here's the thing. I think people have been trying to send me a message. A message in a not so subtle way because sometimes I need to be slammed over the head to get a message.

I am attending a party this weekend, (Ok my husbands and I!) and I have to find an outfit - not dressy dressy and not too casual casual. There lies the rub. I had a lovely sundress in a beautiful sky blue that was elegant, demure and pretty. I brought it in to work to show my boss who agreed that it was elegant, demure and pretty but not..... celebratory enough. She said I had to step it up. My other officemate told me that I had to take one step outside of my comfort zone and to start channelling my inner Angelina. Ha! I mentioned this to Alan who totally agreed and that was when the revelation occurred. I'm staid. Boring. Sportyish. Whenever I tried on a top with a low neckline I asked Alan if it looked slutty. He would laugh and say you are not even near the postalcode of slutty! Well dammit the gauntlet has been thrown.

My boss, (aka harbinger of good taste and knowledgable of all that is fashionable) said she was taking me to Holts and we would find the appropriate celebratory outfit. I followed in her wake and awaited what was to be found. Lucky for me I had a healthy sized gift certificate (from lovely aforementioned boss) and the now or never sale was on. We went spelunking in the racks and came up with some great stuff. A Diane Von Furstenburg top and Ralph Lauren bottoms. The top was not just one step out of my comfort zone but two. It is fabulous and low cut and shows off the girls way more than I normally would. Part of me said - screw it, I've always played safe and I'm turning 40. As soon as I got back to work I thought, Oh jesus what have I done?

In actuality it just shows some cleavage but I guess I'll live. Maybe when I answer the door at the party I can say, " hello, my breasts welcome you and I do too!" " If you need anything just ask my breasts and they'll get them for you! They are great multitaskers.

Wish me luck while I attempt to appear comfortable. And hey - all you chicks who know me and read this, please play along!

Thursday, July 10, 2008

Flatness..........



Yes this is a gratuitous toddler picture placed here for no other reason than I kinda like her. I just might keep her.

My husband has a problem. This problem manifested itself when we lived in our old (but nicer) house in Mississauga. Alan has a problem with stairs and will be the first to admit it. Apparently the size of risers that has been universally agreed upon by all builders in North America are not big enough for him. He argues they are not wide enough for his feet.

Early one Saturday morning about four years ago he went upstairs to change a light fixture. Yes, a strange thing to do at seven am but Alan is all about seizing the moment. He was coming downstairs when I heard a “THUD, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM and SMASH”. I ran into the hallway and saw the broken light fixture and Alan rolling about on the floor calling, “ My ass! My ass! I’ve broken my ass! “ I was all, “its okay, its okay you’ll be alright.” I sat there thinking what exactly is the protocol when one believes they have broken their ass. Should I offer to rub it? Should we get an ass x-ray? I thought he might be faking it a bit until I saw the stairs. The green colour of his pajama bottoms had actually transferred onto the carpet of the stairs. Poor bastard had the worst bruise I had ever seen – and it hurt for a long time due to its unfortunate location. The good news was that there was no ass breakage.

In our new house Alan had fallen once and then fell again this morning. As per our usual morning routine I would head into the shower first and Alan would take Sophie down to the family room to sit in her princess chair and have her sippy cup of milk. All of a sudden I heard, “THUD, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM – AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I ran to the family room where Sophie was just fine but Alan was rolling around, “My arm! My arm! Oh God!” He said Sophie was fine because she sort of rode down the stairs on his chest but he had sacrificed his body to keep her out of harms way. He asked me to look at his arm. He had about a ½ inch wide bloody rug burn going from his elbow all the way to his wrist. He saw my face and said, “What? What? What does it look like?” I told him it looked super bad – because, well, it did! I asked him if he thought it was broken and he yelled, “ How the hell would I know? I’m not a Doctor, I’m a Marketing Manager!” Needless to say we started laughing.

“I hate stairs!”, he said. “I need flatness. Super, super flatness. A bungalow with no where to fall.” "If I were eighty I would be dead right now because of my falls!” He dreaded going into the shower and getting water on the rug burn. “Ignore the screams of pain” he said. My poor stair-challenged Alan. As he walked I away I said, "I am so going to blog about this." He just sighed and said, "I figured".

Thursday, July 3, 2008

Shake and Bake.

Okay this is going to be fast because I've gotta get moving.


So the weekend: Cottage with relatives (fun ones) Charlie with a tummy bug, he was sick 8 times. Sophie not concerned with napping, went to bed early and would wake SUPER FLIPPING EARLY. Woo. Yesterday Van cost 900 bucks to get fixed. Now lets just move on and forget all that shall we?



So I was off to shake and bake today (my light treatments at the hospital) if you don't know what I'm talking about then scroll down a couple of entries. So yes, back to the nakedness in front of strangers. The nurses now think I should cover my face and neck because I am all clear down to my legs now. "So" I asked, "how do we do that?" Oh you just put a pillowcase over your head. Excuse me? I wanted to know if I had to wear the stupid cataract goggles under the pillow and they said yes. So into the machine I went, naked except for my goggles and pillowcase. Now remember I have to grab the handles over my head in this tiny florescent lit telephone booth thing. So the nurse had to help me FIND the handles because I have a pillowcase over my head. "Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" I exclaimed. The nurse just giggled and said yes it sort of looked like I was a member of the KKK. What. "KKK nothing" I said,"this is totally Abu Ghraib!"



Well the nurses were killing themselves laughing when she told the story and I yelled out, "I CAN HEAR YOU!" They were at the nurses station around the corner. So at first I was okay. Kinda hot under the pillowcase with the damn goggles but then things started to change. Oh god how long was this going to take. I started sweating and worrying and thinking - what if I pass out here in my little booth all naked and masked up? I started to breathe deeply and say to myself that it was only 3 and a half minutes. These things that happen to me.



Happily I can say that I am fine now. I have graduated from the program and my skin is totally clear. As I passed the nurses station today I said, "thank you for being so nice to me. It's not easy to be naked in front of people all of the time!"

So that's one less thing off my plate and I love plate clearing. Speaking of plate clearing I am bracing my self for the "Great Purge of 2008". And no I'm not referring to a religious revolution of some sort. Basically I need to get rid of toy pieces, my clothes that are five miles way too big etc. I'm sort of worried about the clothes because what if I need them in the future. Alan soothed my fears by telling me that even if I would wear them again they would be out of style hence I would need new stuff. I think I'll go with that plan!! I am going to be merciless - join me in the purging revolution my friends. Let us sally forth and make it so. Then we can flop on the couch for a glass of wine to congratulate ourselves.