The Damn Book

I'm trying to write something. I've done (and paid for ) research and am about to embark on my biggest dream. It will probably just be thrown in the fire but dammit I'm going to try. I have a very sage advisor. A radio announcer of many years who also had a regular column in a Toronto paper and has been a published author. He's been around and is my go to guy to help me with my idea.

The setting is in the past and in another city, which I will have to travel to and get shots of period housing and get the feel of certain neighbourhoods etc. In other words it's daunting. The idea really has me fired up though. There are many ways to write. Create characters and let them take you where they go and reveal the story to you or create a plan and fit the characters in the plan. My setting is a real period of time which sets a very challenging background because of it's difficult time in history. I think I have the characters nailed down and will let them take me where they may.

But wait. I have another theory on fiction and literature. When I was about six or seven it was very common in my family for everyone to do a chore on a Saturday morning and then after lunch the day was ours to while away or get up to mischief (no I NEVER tried to set things on fire with a magnifying glass and I will deny that until the day I die). Ahem. So my sister would be sent to spray off the backyard furniture with a hose in preparation for guests. I lost that privilege when I once soaked my mother through the open screen window in the kitchen. Look it was just an experiment and it was just water after all. How was I to know she had just been to the hairdresser? I don't know what all the fuss was about but I recall spending a good deal of time in my room after that one. My poor brother had to cut the grass with a push mower no less. Hey we were GREEN before our time. So my poor parents had to come up with stuff with me to do so that I couldn't destroy something or make more work for them.

One Saturday my Dad came up with a great plan. He took me into his den which had an entire wall of built in bookshelves full of hundreds of books. He told me he was worried that when he lent them out he wouldn't get them back so he took out an ink stamp pad and a stamp with his name and our address on it. It was my job to take down a whole shelf of books at a time and put a stamp on the first page in each page. Cool! Just like playing library. So I took this very seriously and stamped, stamped, stamped. Every kind of book you name it everything from Agatha Christie to Virgil, Jack Higgins, Ethics texts, Law texts, (Dad majored in Philosophy and became a lawyer). On the bottom shelf were tall big Time-Life books about things like forests, streams and rivers, even cavemen. They were cool in that they had wicked photography. Then I came across a boxed set of books. These fairly wide thick books had the traditional 70's colours to them. Olive. Rust. Orangey and Brown. They just had names on them: Aeschylus, Sophocles Euripides and Aristophanes. I started to flip through them and it seemed they were stories or plays. Some simply called "The Clouds" or " Frogs". I read some of them and they were pretty straightforward to me. I didn't know the deeper meaning at the time of these plays poking fun of periods of history or social classes.

Once I hit university I double majored in Philosophy and Classics and discovered something really cool. Basically every story to be told had already been written. In these ancient plays all the characters are there: the wise old man, the prostitute, the lovers, the recalcitrant children, the power seekers, the thieves and con men. It was all there in all permutations. It is almost as if everything written since then are just modern variations of stories of deception, loss, romance, evil. Thus is the conundrum. Can something new be written? Oh hell here I go examining my belly button again.

Might as well give it a shot. It will probably suck but if does amount to something you effers better buy it. You could always use it to help fix a wobbly desk or something. By the way I did do the whole damn wall of books and since I now have most of those books covering my wall in my den I still get a kick out of seeing my "library" stamp. Books live on.

Contemplating my belly button.

I was emailing a friend that blogging is a strange medium in that it lends itself to one mainly talking about themselves. You can't very well go on about your best friends problems or your husbands stuff because that is their personal stuff, their story. I feel that blogging is sort of a selfish pursuit. I'm thinking this through.

Once a friend asked "Why do you feel you have to present everything as a story?"

Because if I tell the story, I control the version.
Because if I tell the story, I can make you laugh, and I would much rather have you laugh at me than feel sorry for me.
Because if I tell the story, it doesn't hurt as much.
Because if I tell the story, I can get on with it.

Maybe I just need to get on with it.

Homesick.

I have this weird feeling. Well actually I've had this weird feeling on and off for my entire life. I was adopted at birth. Actually I was up for adoption before birth - any takers? Girl for sale! I thank my lucky stars that my parents adopted me. This might sound not very common but I had a great childhood. I was loved, and taken care of and had opportunities and was very very happy. I looked nothing like the rest of my family. My Dad was 6'8", (oh yes really) and was 300 pounds but not fat just BIG. He wore a size 15 triple E shoe. I actually have a picture of me as a toddler sitting in ONE of his slippers. My mom was a foot shorter, and plumpish with black curly hair, cherry red cheeks and a whip smart personality. She literally lit up a room. I guess you could say she was vivacious and funny and so terribly kind. She was a nurse too so was a caregiver to all.

The thing is that almost weekly I would get a very strong feeling. I tried to articulate it to my parents but the best thing I could come up with was I felt homesick. Homesick for what I have no idea. I felt like I was in the wrong place. That I yearned for somewhere else and I had no clue what that place or time was. I would hug one of parents as I felt so lost, so alone. I'm sure it must have been tough for them in retrospect as they had no idea what was going on. It became shorthand. I would just say homesick and jump into one of their laps. After ten or fifteen minutes it would pass.

This went on my entire life. All of a sudden, wham, homesick. Maybe everyone feels this way sometimes but I'm not sure. The thing is I never looked like anybody. Everyone else had their Moms nose or Dads eyes. I looked like, nobody I felt. I had no medical history. I was ground zero. Every single time I see a doctor or specialist I have to say, "adopted at birth, no history". Even though I had this amazing family there was an aloneness, a singular person who was rootless. I didn't even know what nationality I was. History-less. Yes this sounds all very boo-hoo poor me having a wonderful loving family. Yet there was an apart. I was blonde, short, skinny and freckled. I hated my freckles because I was the only one in the family that had them. My Mom would drop little kisses on my cheeks and whisper "brown sugar and cinnamon. That's what you have".

I used to explain this feeling to my husband once we were married and he would say, "you ARE home. This is our home. Everything is well". I knew all was well but the feeling still rolled in. I've read many philosophers and theologians and there have been very specific theories on the homesick theory. Some say you are homesick for God or heaven where you might have been before. Others say you are homesick for a past life (mon dieu!). Now having Charles was an eye opener. He had big eyes like me, dark eyebrows like my husband. He was the very first person who shared my blood that I knew. I am constantly surprised at how much he is like me. (He never shuts up - karma clearly). Then we had Sophie. I never thought she looked like me when she was a baby. But now she is a "big girl" of three. Last night I took her to her first "big girl" swimming lesson. Afterwards as I was drying her off I looked into her little face. Her eyes are large and round and blue grey like mine. She has a smallish mouth like me. She said, "Mama I've got lots of freckles on my face now"! I dappled her cheeks with kisses and whispered, "brown sugar and cinnamon". I finally feel at home. I'm exactly where I belong.

The Un-Grand Caravan.

Yes I'm back. It seems to take me eleventy billion years to update. Sorry - life happening. Apparently there is nothing better that I like to do than embarrass myself so I might as well tell you what happened on Saturday.

Alan and Charlie were out doing boyish things and I had to run errands and then was taking Sophie on a picnic. YES! A real honest to God Picnic with a blanket and sandwiches and drinks etc. We were all ramped up to sit in the shade under a tree and play at the park. I felt so together and motherly (this is rare).

Guess what happened? Oh don't even try because I'm such an idiot you couldn't believe it. So I picked up Sophie at my Mother in Laws who kindly offered to watch my little peep for a half hour while I ran my errands. We were leaving the apartment parking lot and as I was making a right turn Sophie started screaming for her stuffed puppy (he's infamous) that she had dropped. I was handing her said puppy when BUMP. I had cut the corner short and ran over a boulder. Let's revisit. A damn BOULDER. So there I was in the Un-grand Caravan (aka loser cruiser) hung up on an effing boulder!! Couldn't go forward and couldn't go backward because my right front wheel was four inches in the air.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Okay planning time. I immediately called CAA and was just about to call my Mother in law to come down and get Sophie when who do I see walking up Widdicombe hill to go and get a haircut? My darling husband and son. DAMMIT. They saw the Un-Grand Caravan and my husband is walking towards my car with a smile and shaking his head. Once again, Oh God. Oh God! Alan told me the second he saw a burgundy van HANGING from a boulder he immediately knew it must be me. Kill me now! Wait. It gets better. He asked if I was okay and said he would take Sophie (and our lovely picnic!) and I would wait for CAA. Later he told me he thought of giving me the kids and waiting for CAA but said then he would feel like an idiot because people would think that he had done it. URRRGH!

Oh keep waiting it gets even better. So a crowd gathers. Oh yes - a crowd of about six men who are rubbing their chins about how to get me out of this pickle. Well first they all laughed of course. Once again, please God open the ground and swallow me up.

So now as traffic comes by everyone slows down to look. Some of the better comments were, "hey who put that damn boulder there?" and "how blonde do you feel now?". Super. Just super. Ha Ha EFFING HA!

So my team of supermen have come up with a plan. One runs across the street and puts boards under my suspended wheel. Another guy (incidentally was totally tattoo covered in PLAYBOY bunnies and naked women but was very sweet for a porn addict - wait maybe that was why he was being sweet) wanted to use his van to push my van off the rock. My gang of fellows concurred. I really just want to wait for CAA but my gang had a PLAN. A MAN PLAN that must be tried.

So the man plan failed totally. The men were not happy. Men are fixers and their plan didn't work. Feeling emasculated they started to drift off. My porn friend hung around for a wee bit but he eventually he got bored and left too. I felt like I should give him a tip and tell him he could get more action if he got rid of those tattoos but seriously some people are beyond help. Very nice of them to try though.

So now my angel arrives. His name was Tim and he didn't laugh like the world had been for the last 45 minutes that felt like three years. I told him I felt like an idiot (which in retrospect I should because I really am) and he patted my shoulder and told me not to be embarrassed at he had already towed three cars out of swimming pool this summer. AAAHH I told him I had pool. He instructed me to ALWAYS use the emergency break. Heh.

In five minutes he lifted the loser cruiser of the rock and all was well. I was so relieved that I shook Tim's hand and said "Tim your wife is a lucky woman". He said he wasn't married so I told him he should be. He gave me a huge bear hug. I'm going to write CAA and say something nice to his supervisor.

I then drove home where I found Alan on the porch messing with his new bike. As soon as I went up to him I burst into tears. I don't know why. Frustration, embarrassment, women can't explain these things we just do them. Alan said, " come here you twit" and hugged me while I let it all out. Then he said the usual. "Troubles" "You and your troubles". No kidding.
Besides that I had an excellent weekend!!

So whenever you think life gets messy just think of me kindly and know it could never be as messy as mine. Oh yes, I live to make others feel better.

The Label

Labels. I promised myself I would never label my children when they were born. Yes, their behaviour could be naughty but they themselves would never be bad. Yes, their behaviour could be difficult or challengeing but they themselves would never be those things.

When I was about eight or nine I clearly remember playing a game on the floor with my sister (pop-o-matic Trouble I think) when my father's mother ( my paternal grandmother) said while I was in the room , "oh Stephanie will never be pretty but I think with her personality and sense of humour she will find someone." It stuck. That label. It was a throw away comment made by someone who never thought it would stick but guess what.

I know how to take labels off of bottles. You simply have to bathe them in warm water for a period of time then they are easy to remove.

Since that throw away comment was said I've been bathed in love by my family and my husband but guess what? That label is still stuck. It never seems to go away. It doesn't matter if I am slim, or change my hair or update my clothes. I can never shake that label. That is why my two little people will never be labelled anything but positive.

Heinie and Doctors

Yes that sounds confusing doesn’t it? I have two things I want to discuss and since I am a somewhat annoying pontificator I will just plow ahead. Please close this page if it get’s too annoying.

Firstly, the swine flu. Remember in one of my past posts I spoke about “the hook”? A.K.A. things that interest me? Well one of my past obsessions was the Spanish Flu of 1918. Back then a mild strain of H1N1 (which looks like heinie to me) started in the spring. Hmmm H1N1 sound familiar? So a number of people caught the flu but very few people died.

Later in the following flu season, most likely around October, it mutated and all hell broke loose. One third of the planet caught the flu and the modest estimate of deaths was 50 million. Canada got off pretty lightly with about 50,000 deaths. This flu was different from others in that it mostly affected and killed healthy young people between the ages of 20 and 44. This flu virus infected lung cells, leading to overstimulation of the immune system causing what is called a cytokine storm. This leads to a breakdown of the lungs. In contrast to other pandemics, which mostly kill the old and the very young, the 1918 pandemic killed unusual numbers of young adults, which may have been due to their healthy immune systems being able to mount a very strong and damaging response to the infection. Apparently one could be fine one day, feel a bit sick in the evening and pass away the next day due to bleeding of the lungs. Lovely isn’t it?

In a weird way it is almost a good thing to get the mild strain now before it mutates because one will be immune to the more virulent strain. Still I’m a fatalist in that whatever happens happens. One can take precautions but that’s all.

So yes I am a geek and have read a lot about this previous to this latest swine flu. As my husband says, “You’re all over this aren’t you?” I guess my response would be, “what am I not all over?” Sometimes it’s exhausting being me.

Speaking of things my husband says, he often mentions that I reveal too much about my personal life to others. (Like here!) I don’t know. Maybe it’s a girl thing in that we find comfort in shared experiences. I also know I don’t like “perfect” people because they are all bullshitters. (Pardon my French). So let me make my husband cringe and let me give you more personal information (sorry Alan!).

If you have read my blog before you might have read that I developed an awful form of psoriasis last winter and had to go for light therapy that cleared it all up and gave me a lovely tan for free. This form of psoriasis is caused by strep throat. Guess what I got again this winter? Oh yes. So it’s back to the light therapy clinic three times a week where I have to get naked AGAIN in front of strangers. Thank the lord it’s almost always women. Until today that is!!! The drill is that you go in and undress totally down to your undies and then the nurse comes to check you out and turn on the machine. Today she asked if a “couple” of med students could come in to see my “unusual” case. Um great. Of course I said yes because after all I am a total people pleaser.

So what do you think of when you think of a “couple” of people? Two or three at most right? Well this “couple” of people turned out to be five boys and one girl! I say boys because dammit if they all weren’t under 26 or something. Thank god I didn’t have on my thong with the heart on the crotch because I might have just died on the spot. Still I crossed my arms across my chest because come on! Of course to be funny I said “well this is a little awkward!” It’s not just people seeing you in the nude that’s an issue it’s that it was a whole gang and my skin is not at my best on my trunk and legs.

This was one of those moments where I wanted the floor to open up and I could disappear. Once again, I found myself in a moment that seems only to happen to me. I must have done something wrong in a past life and am paying for it now. Please, please, please somebody tell me that stuff like this happens to you too!

Hey You!

Yes you Liz Shep. We just chatted in the school parking lot and we discovered that your daughter is now enamoured with someone named Michael and my Charlie has been relegated to "just friend status". No problem Charlie - you shall persevere and win her back in the end!

These darn grade one children need to learn that they can have a load of male and female friends and not just one! Oh the fickle hearts of the little people.

But back to you Liz of the lovely blue eyes. You read this silly blog and never, ever, comment. Actually pretty much nobody does. My dream of writing something worth reading is dying a slow death. Actually maybe not slow but fast!

Let me think. I might try to write something worth reading............ but if that is not the case go check out Susan Boyle on Britains' got Talent on you tube. Dreams can come true!

The Fear

My it seems like this here blog has been a wee bit heavy lately but seriously my mundane thoughts aren't very entertaining. Let's take a second and listen to what is going on in my head:

The children's dinner should be ready soon. My daughter is probably writing on the wall. I have to read up for the board meeting on Friday. Friday! Lordy I need hosiery to go with the dressy shoes. That reminds me - I'm seeing Anne for her birthday tomorrow and I need to dress up more than usual when I meet her - what the hell am I going to wear? I can't believe they haven't found that little girl missing in Woodstock - those poor parents. Charlie doesn't have homework - yay. Sophie is definitely doing something suspicious in the kitchen. I need my oil changed in my un-Grand Caravan..

See? Isn't that fun? What a hoot this crazy brain of mine is dealing with daily minutia.

So let's talk about "The Fear". Charlie regularly asks me what I'm afraid of. I know it's a loaded question in that I don't want to spoon feed him brand new fears to grab onto. I usually come up with something like - lions!, tigers!,bears! (oh my). Of course that is not the truth. My greatest fear today would be an illness or accident happening to my husband or children. As a child my greatest fear was losing Mom and Dad. Well dammit that happened and I seemed to find a way to survive. At the time I thought if I can go through this I can go through anything. Then life had a funny way of creating new people to love and worry about. I learned that I can survive whatever emotional stuff can be thrown at me-so far that is.

Here is the deal though. My father told me when I was a kid that the greatest fear a person could have is the fear of success. How ridiculous does that sound? Fear. Of. Success. Seriously it seems ridiculous. Who doesn't want to do well? Who doesn't want to succeed?

The older I get the more I realize this to be the truth. We all know of things we want to do. Things we might be really good at. The thing is the fear of failing or looking bad in front of others stops us from trying. I have always had a secret thought of something that I might be able to do but I don't do because I am afraid of failure. I am afraid of ridicule or judgement.

I know that the secret of achievement belongs to those who dare to dream. It belongs to those who dare to stick their necks out. The majority of us are not among them. I'm 40 now - (oh yes and I don't care because frankly I'm a better person at 40 then I was at 20) and my question is this. Do I dare? Do I try? Do I risk failure? I wrestle with this. Due to statistics I will probably fail at what I want to do but does that mean I shouldn't try? I know what my Dad would say. "Better to fail in the attempt than to never try at all". Here is the rub. The Fear. I can just work away at my job and be a good wife and mother and still be proud but yet what about my dream? Should I risk it? The Fear. It's real.

When my Mother was ill she said to me, 'This isn't a dress rehearsal. This is all we've got." It gave me pause. I realized that there is no second chance. Maybe it is time to try.

Update: Alan thought this all sounded a little dire. I am not considering giving up my job or running away and becoming a mime. First of all I have the best job on the planet and second of all I hate mimes more than I can say. With their whole "Je suis Malade" air about them and that little tear drawn on their cheek they drive me nuts. Why are they always stuck in boxes! Outlaw the mimes with their silly tight outfits!!!

I'm just thinking about embarking on a new project. Not miming. Is miming a verb?

The Hook

Okay it is seriously a long time since I've updated because I almost forgot how to log into this darn thing!

I hope everyone had a great Easter/Passover/long weekend (does that cover everyone?) because we did even though it included a trip to Reptilia which is darn expensive but we did get our fill of Iguanas, snakes, crocodiles, frogs and every lizard imaginable. We saw a snake bite a rat too. I tell you the good times never end. I even got to pet an Iguana and a Cayman. Woo. Good thing we had hand sanitizer before lunchtime.

Lets talk about the hook. Some of you might not know me that well but the thing is that when I get interested in something I tend to go whole hog. If I like an author I will read everything they have ever written. If I am interested in a period of history I will read everything and see all videos (DVD's lord I'm old) about them. Seriously if you want to discuss WW2 I'm your girl. I even took an in-depth two year course on it in University. Anything you want to know about Watergate? Don't get me started. I was obsessed for about a year. The Holocaust - has been a fascination forever. (Please rush out and read Corrie Ten-Boom if you can). 9-11, The Great Depression, Confederation, Henry VIII, The Inquisition, The Roman Empire, The Ancient Greeks (I did double major in Classics and Philosophy after all). These events had a hook that interested me and made me delve into them. All of this is just the tip of the iceberg that lead me to a realization this morning.

As I was driving to work I was listening to "The Current" on CBC radio. Anna Maria Tremonte was interviewing an ex- Toronto Star journalist who had become obsessed with a story. Apparently early in 1994 a British Journalist videotaped a killing of a Father and young daughter in Rwanda. There were a number of bodies or people dying around them and these two were kneeling with their hands held out in the praying posture. They knew they were next. The tape showed them being bludgeoned to death. Apparently this was shown world wide with little notice. In 2000 The Star reporter went back to this Tutsi town and found the family of the Father and his daughter whom was discovered to be called Justine. He met the mans wife and she requested to see the footage even though she was warned it would be disturbing. After seeing it she showed the reporter pictures of her husband and daughter in good times. The reporter was so touched that he has revisited this family numerous times.

The Rwandan genocide in 1994 saw the Hutu's kill 500,000 people in four months. The total death toll came to between 800,000 and a 1,000,000 which is about 20 percent of the Rwandan population. Apparently this genocide was fueled by propaganda which encouraged the killings and as part of the annihilation utilized sanctioned war rape. Over 500,000 Tutsi women, girls and babies were exposed to unspeakable sexual violence that often lead to death.

I read Romeo Dallaire's, "Shake Hands With The Devil" which outlined his experiences in Rwanda and his eventual post traumatic distress disorder. Here is the thing though. I can't go any further. I can't read or see anymore about this. Once I get "The Hook" I am usually in totally. In this case and with the issues in Sudan I can't go there. I feel like a coward. I don't want to know more. I don't want any more images in my head of the injustice and violence done to these people. It gives me an inkling of why the world has largely ignored the troubles in Africa. The horror that occurs right now as we sip our green tea and check our facebook pages is almost too much to comprehend.

I am at a loss. I remember thinking, "why didn't people stop the holocaust in WW2?" But here it is people. Genocide occurring today and yet I don't want to know more. What kind of person am I that I can't look at it? Why isn't my usual hook hooking me? It's too much. I can't face it and today I feel ashamed.

Let me be indulgent

So today is my Moms' birthday. She would have been 66. She passed when I was 22 and she was 48. I reached for the phone to call my grams as I do every time it is Moms' birthday and realized she wasn't there.

Do you remember that skit on Sesame Street where this little black girls mom asks her to go to the grocery store and says, "get a loaf of bread, a jug of milk and a stick of butter". The little girl repeats it all the way to the store. A loaf of bread, a jug of milk and a stick of butter. Today I am a stick of butter.

Oooooh Mexico. I've Never Really Been But I'd sure Like To Go!

The following is a discussion that was held in Mexico a couple of weeks ago. I must preface this with the fact that I was in a bed with Charlie and Alan was in a bed with Sophie. Due to the fact we were in all one room we ALL went to bed between 8:00 and 8:30 each night. Because of this Alan and I often woke up at 1:00 or 2:00 am because we had slept for five or six hours. Please note that the following conversation occurred at about 1:00 am and was conducted with whispers.

S: Pssssssssssst Al?

A: What?

S: Did you hear that?

A: What?

S: There is something moving around in the drapes making noise!

A: WHAT?

S: Ssssssssssssh. listen!

A: Oh Man!

S: I KNOW! Effing nature! (I didn't say effing but you get the gist)

A: Goddammitt!

S: Well Charlie is nearest the curtains and he'll be taken first because he's so small.

A: Ssssssssssssssssh.

S: Oh crap it's on the move again.

A: Maybe it's a coati?

S: or maybe a capybara?

S: No it's not THAT big to be a huge Mexican rodent. It's gotta be small.

Al: Sssssssssssh

FIVE MINUTES LATER

S: Oh god there is is again. I feel like a ninja on defcon 5! I can't sleep.

A: What are you doing?

S: I'm lifting the sheets up so the capybara won't climb up on me!

A: You're an idiot!

S: Yes but safe. Will you switch beds with me?

A: No way man. I'm protecting Sophie. I don't make the rules........

S: Okay, now you're in deep shit because in all horror movies whoever has sex, smokes, drinks or is being MEAN is the first taken. I'm totally safe now.

A: (Laughs)

S: you are so totally screwed now. I will sleep easy.

A: Shut up.

S: g'night sweet!

A: Love you.

No one was abducted or chewed on. The people saw this and thought it was good.

Just a Quickie.........

Minds out of the gutter people! I have this feeling of happiness today that has taken me by surprise. I think I know why. Let's start at the beginning. I hate folding laundry. No, really. I hate it with the heat of a thousand suns. The laundry, it just never stops coming. You get it all done and then guess what? More, exponentially more. And fiddly too with all the wee socks I have match up.

I opened our laundry shoot (yes we have a laundry shoot I totally love it) and what did I find in the laundry cupboard? A MOUNTAIN of laundry. I felt so overwhelmed. I pictured myself folding every evening all week long. So guess what I did? I stuffed the laundry in two garbage bags and dropped it at the wash and fold on my way to work. It only costs a dollar a pound too. In fact I might be saving money in terms of water, electricity and detergent. Also I will have free time to do stuff other than laundry. Oh, I don't know, stuff like play "my little pony" or yet another round of Monopoly Jr. Still better than laundry.

I guess this is why I'm so happy. If someone told me when I was seventeen that having the laundry done would make me so giddy I would never have believed it. But I am. Next - how to get the toys to magically put themselves away at night!