Message in a Bottle

I've been tagged for the first time in my bloglife.

Here are the rules:

You are about to send a virtual Message In a Bottle across the Blog Ocean. Leave a message in the sand or on the bottle. Write anything you wish. Be a pirate or a poet. Serious or silly. Anonymous or not.

What message would you like to send out to the universe?






Click here for a blank picture
Write Your message
Post it and let her know you did here
Tag 5 or more people
I tag:
JLee's Place
Drowsey Monkey
My Brain Hurts
Larry Hnetka Goes Hmm..
Rainbow Pastor

Having my first...

My daughter is expecting her first baby in August. Yes, I'm to be a Memé again. In going through some old file folders I found this little piece I wrote not long after having her.

I loved being pregnant. As my belly grew, I wallowed in the glory of all the preferential treatment I received and the mounds of pecan pie that I consumed. Visions of cherubs filled my dreams. My waking hours were spent decorating the nursery and devouring parenting books and while I fought a loosing battle with girth control, I developed a stout determination to be the best mother that ever walked the earth.

What could possibly go wrong? After all, they're only babies, nature's most adaptable creatures. It would be easy to get an infant on a reasonable schedule within two weeks right? Yes, those were the blissful days filled with pleasant dreams and anticipation of giving birth to the Gerber baby.

Someone once told me that when something seems too good to be true, it usually is - I went into labour three weeks early. Now most people know me as a cool and quite competent woman but I must confess that when my water broke, I lost it. Had it not been for the composed demeanor of the seasoned head nurse, I most certainly would have forgotten everything I learned in prenatal class.

Once I got it together again and resigned myself to the fact that this baby was going to be born before I got the garage to put the snow tires on the car, the delivery went well. Apart from a brief moment of respiratory arrest when they made the mistake with the epidural and froze me from the waist up instead of from the waist down, it was eight mercifully brief hours of labour, delivery in a regular hospital bed and back to the ward in time for supper.

After the delivery I was consumed with energy, ready to tackle anything that came my way and when they brought little Jennifer to me I nursed her like an old pro. Shortly after feeding time was visiting hour and with my cooing bundle nestled in my arms I held court like the Queen Mum. Exuding confidence I proudly exhibited my latest accomplishment and boasted that I felt so good that I felt like going home then and there.

Before I knew it visiting hour was over, my new daughter was finished her final feeding and was whisked off the the nursery until the wee hours of the night when she would be returned to me for another fix. I settled down in bed to rest and dream about which of her new outfits I would bring her home in.

The morning bustle of the hospital roused me with vague recollections of fumbling in the dark with a screaming infant - surely a nightmare. When the nurse came in with my baby I asked her if anyone got the number of the bus that hit me. She giggled, placed Jennifer in my arms and on crepe soles squeaked away to get the rest of the layette.

Jennifer was wide away and hungry. Our eyes met and at that moment she began to howl. Perhaps I should have combed my hair I thought. Oh well, maybe if I feed her she might like me better. Calmly I began to go through the motions of breast feeding and as I pulled my baby towards me the reality of the situation overwhelmed me. I was condemned. For the next eighteen years I was solely responsible for this child.

Instantly my bravado dissolved, I was utterly inept and it wasn't long before I was howling louder than the baby. I spent the rest of the morning sobbing into my pillow, inconsolable, trying to bear the disgrace of knowing that my baby was in the nursery being bottle fed.

Good things grow in Ontario....

I was cleaning up my hard drive and found these photos I took at Parkdale Market when I was visiting my mother in Ottawa late last summer.

Create a Free Slideshow

Winter 2007 at the Lair

Took these photos just before the holidays.

The ghost of Tom

In my life I've loved three men. The last man fathered my two children. The second man broke my heart. I woke up this morning thinking of the first man I ever loved.

I met Tom when I joined the youth group at our parish church. He was seventeen and I was twelve. To him I was just another skinny little girl in the choir and while he was always polite, he never really gave me the time of day. Still though, I knew I loved him.

At twelve I knew a lot about love. I had already had two real-live boy-girl dates with Jerry, an older man of fourteen - one where we took his kid sister to see Bedknobs and Broomsticks and he paid and even held my hand when we lined up for tickets and the second when we met at the rink across the street from my old grade school to go ice skating. He bought me a hot chocolate, made me laugh and kissed me on the teeth. He even brought me home to meet his mom and we spent an afternoon listening to and talking about his Black Sabbath Paranoid album. I really liked Jerry and he was the first boy to ask me to dance at the school dance and the first boy to peddle his bike half way across the west end just to go bike riding along the river with me.

I remember reading somewhere that the ancient Greeks had three words for love. Philia, indicating a brotherly/friendship love; eros, for a romantic/sexual love and agape for an unconditional/spiritual love. I suppose in my twelve year old brain I entertained the notion of a romantic love with Jerry, I mean he did kiss me, even if it was only on the teeth, but in hindsight what I felt for him was the love of friendship.

With Tom however, it was different. I had a big crush on him. He played the guitar and was the leader of the guitar masses we had at church. He looked like a cross between John Denver and Cat Stevens and while I watched him hang out with the older girls I secretly hoped that one day he'd notice me. My fantasy of some day being Tom's girl was shattered the Sunday morning our parish priest proudly announced that Tom had decided to enter the priesthood. Now those romantic fancies seemed wrong - sinful even - and had to be purged. I left the youth group and didn't see Tom again until one summer day when I was sixteen.

I was walking down Bank Street in The Glebe in Ottawa when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and there was Tom smiling at me and just as handsome as he ever was. I stood there, astounded as he threw his arms around me and gave me a big hug. I didn't think he would even remember me and here he was, warm wide grin under a bushy moustache telling me how great it was to see me. Cars, buses rushed by, pedestrians jostled me, for all I know a dog could have been pissing on my shoe but all I heard, all I was aware of was Tom asking me if I'd go have coffee with him. Over coffee he told me of his experiences at seminary while I nodded and smiled. After about an hour he said he had a bus to catch, got up and was gone. I didn't see him again until the fall when walking down Elgin Street I again heard someone call my name.

For the next three years that's how it was with us. Tom would pop into my life from out of the blue. We'd spend an afternoon, a few days, a week together then, poof, he'd be gone. In those interludes he'd sing to me the songs he'd written, read to me from his journals, we'd talk about art, music, poetry and all things spiritual. He found himself dissatisfied with the Church, left the seminary and for a time wondered what he would do with is life. He felt he was called to some type of service but wasn't sure what that would look like for him.

With Tom I saw the movie Midnight Express and pondered Warhol's soup cans at the National Gallery. These were things I couldn't do with the fellow I was dating at the time - the second man I loved; man who eventually broke my heart. If I were an ancient Greek I would say that what I felt for Tom was a combination of philia and agape. The girlish romantic infatuation of a twelve-year-old was transformed into the love one has for a kindred spirit, a pal, a buddy, someone who understands your quirks and loves you for them. He knew I was dating (and later became engaged to) the other fellow and I knew he dated other girls and that was fine because I didn't see Tom as someone to be romantic with. He was, as Anne of Green Gables says, a bosom friend.

Tom never kissed me. Not until the very last time I ever saw him. We had spent the day together and in the afternoon ended up at his parents' place where he shared a couple songs he was working on. I had a date that night with my fiancee and it was getting late so he walked me to the bus stop so I could get home in time to get ready. We made small talk as we waited for the bus and just as it arrived, Tom took me in his arms, gave me the most passionate kiss I had ever experienced in my then, nineteen years and said, "I don't want you to marry him, I want you to marry me." The doors to the bus opened and I hopped on, deposited my bus ticket, plopped down on a seat and as the bus pulled away watched Tom stand at the curb until I couldn't see him anymore. Heaven forgive me but the one thought that went through my head was, "Oh no, now he's ruined everything." Somewhere in those years that we were chumming around together, without me knowing it, Tom fell in love with me and I didn't know how to respond. So I didn't. He must have called the house every day for the next two weeks and I kept dodging his calls until he stopped calling.

About two years later, when I had broken up with the fiancee and was dating the man who I would later marry and have children with, my mother phoned me at work to tell me that Tom had been killed. The account of his death was not clear but he either fell or was pushed off a twelve-storey building. I couldn't bring myself to attend his funeral but did, months later, visit his grave.

I often think of Tom, his music, his prose, his humour, his smile and the love I felt for him. When I think of him I can't help but wonder what would have happened had I had the maturity and courage to not get on that bus, to answer his phone calls, to see him one more time.

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Do you smell something?

Saw this news item about the most expensive perfume in the world and it reminded me of the film Perfume which I recently saw.

I wonder if this pricey scent is made from the essence of thirteen virgins.

Judgment at Nuremberg

This morning I caught the last 45 minutes or so of the court room drama Judgment at Nuremberg. At the Teach With Movies web site it gives the following description of the film:

This movie is a fictionalized account of the war crimes trial of judges and prosecutors who served the Nazis.

"Judgment at Nuremberg" depicts a watershed event: the first trials, based on principles of justice and international law, of the leaders of a country that waged aggressive war and committed crimes against humanity. The film is a gripping, searching and provocative look at the moral issues surrounding both the actions of the accused and the process of bringing them to justice. The film also explores the issue of whether ordinary Germans bore responsibility for the Holocaust.

I have seen this movie many times before, however, while watching the movie this morning, I was struck with how relevant the film's themes are today as we contend with our "War on Terror" and are living with the abomination of such things as America's Patriot Act, detainees at Guantanamo Bay, horrors at Abu Ghraib Prison and Canada's compliance with "no-fly" lists.

Burt Lancaster plays the character Ernst Janning a German judge who is on trial for condemning innocent people during the Nazi regime. Janning is pretty stoic throughout the proceedings but as he watches the court room events unfold, he is compelled to give an explanation for his actions. In one of the most stirring moments on the film, Janning rises in court to give his statement:

"There was a fever over the land. A fever of disgrace, of indignity, of hunger. We had a democracy, yes, but it was torn by elements within. Above all, there was fear. Fear of today, fear of tomorrow, fear of our neighbors, and fear of ourselves. Only when you understand that - can you understand what Hitler meant to us. Because he said to us: 'Lift your heads! Be proud to be German! There are devils among us. Communists, Liberals, Jews, Gypsies! Once these devils will be destroyed, your misery will be destroyed.'

It was the old, old story of the sacrificial lamb. What about those of us who knew better? We who knew the words were lies and worse than lies? Why did we sit silent? Why did we take part? Because we loved our country! What difference does it make if a few political extremists lose their rights? What difference does it make if a few racial minorities lose their rights? It is only a passing phase. It is only a stage we are going through. It will be discarded sooner or later. Hitler himself will be discarded... sooner or later.

The country is in danger. We will march out of the shadows. We will go forward. Forward is the great password. And history tells how well we succeeded, your honor. We succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. The very elements of hate and power about Hitler that mesmerized Germany, mesmerized the world! We found ourselves with sudden powerful allies.

Things that had been denied to us as a democracy were open to us now. The world said 'go ahead, take it, take it! Take Sudetenland, take the Rhineland - re militarize it - take all of Austria, take it! And then one day we looked around and found that we were in an even more terrible danger. The ritual began in this courtroom swept over the land like a raging, roaring disease. What was going to be a passing phase had become the way of life.

Your honor, I was content to sit silent during this trial. I was content to tend my roses. I was even content to let counsel try to save my name, until I realized that in order to save it, he would have to raise the specter again. You have seen him do it - he has done it here in this courtroom. He has suggested that the Third Reich worked for the benefit of people. He has suggested that we sterilized men for the welfare of the country. He has suggested that perhaps the old Jew did sleep with the sixteen year old girl, after all. Once more it is being done for love of country. It is not easy to tell the truth; but if there is to be any salvation for Germany, we who know our guilt must admit it... whatever the pain and humiliation."

Here is Lancaster's brilliant performance:



Spencer Tracy played the head of the tribunal, Judge Dan Haywood. Throughout the movie as he interacts with the German people and in particular in his interactions with the widow of an executed German officer, played by Marlene Dietrich, you can see his struggle to understand the evidence of the atrocities presented in court in light of the warmth and nature of the Germans he meets. He can't seem to grasp how a people with such love of life and song could allow such things to happen and claim they didn't even know they were happening. I see Janning's statement as the point where this juxtaposition becomes clear to him and this chilling realization is reflected in his comments at the trial's verdict:

"Janning, to be sure, is a tragic figure. We believe he loathed the evil he did. But compassion for the present torture of his soul must not beget forgetfulness of the torture and death of millions by the government of which he was a part.

Janning's record and his fate illuminate the most shattering truth that has emerged from this trial. If he and the other defendants were all depraved perverts - if the leaders of the Third Reich were sadistic monsters and maniacs - these events would have no more moral significance than an earthquake or other natural catastrophes.

But this trial has shown that under the stress of a national crisis, men - even able and extraordinary men - can delude themselves into the commission of crimes and atrocities so vast and heinous as to stagger the imagination. No one who has sat through this trial can ever forget. The sterilization of men because of their political beliefs... The murder of children... How easily that can happen!

There are those in our country today, too, who speak of the "protection" of the country. Of "survival". The answer to that is: survival as what? A country isn't a rock. And it isn't an extension of one's self. It's what it stands for, when standing for something is the most difficult! Before the people of the world - let it now be noted in our decision here that this is what we stand for: justice, truth... and the value of a single human being!"

The verdict is indeed chilling and Tracy delivers it with the aplomb and skill of a seasoned actor:



But while the performances of all of the actors in this film were stellar, it is the themes of the film from which we can draw meaning and which rung a bell for me today.

In a post-911 world we too live in a "Fear of today, fear of tomorrow, fear of our neighbors, and fear of ourselves." We too have leaders who would tell us, "There are devils among us. Once these devils will be destroyed, your misery will be destroyed."

In our fear to be thought of as less patriotic, in our fear of once again being targeted by those who hate us, many sit in silence and say, "What difference does it make if a few political extremists lose their rights? What difference does it make if a few racial minorities lose their rights? It is only a passing phase. It is only a stage we are going through. It will be discarded sooner or later."

But this way of thinking only perpetuates the very evil from which we seek to protect ourselves. In our paralytic fear we've allowed the very principles upon which our democracy was founded to become corrupted. I think these last few word's of Judge Haywood's verdict should be not only etched in our hearts and minds but retained to galvanize us to rededicate ourselves to the principles we have held so dear:

"A decision must be made in the life of every nation at the very moment that the grasp of the enemy is at its throat, then is seems that the only way to survive is to use the means of the enemy, to rest survival upon what is expedient, to look the other way, only the answer to that is: survival as what? A country isn't a rock. And it isn't an extension of one's self. It's what it stands for, when standing for something is the most difficult!"

Extreme product testing

I seem to remember when I was growing up an ice cream treat called the Nutty Buddy. I don't think I'll look at a chocolate dipped, peanut encrusted ice cream cone the same way ever again. Man, even I cringed watching this video.

Bass Pro

I have a blog buddy who lives in the great state of Kansas and is an avid angler. Every time he goes on a road trip he finds some excuse to visit a Bass Pro shop. He always speaks of his visits with such glee I figured that Bass Pro must be some kind of Disneyland for outdoors-folk. I had never been to a Bass Pro shop but my nephew Marc works at the shop just north of Toronto. So on our recent trip north, Lise and I stopped in to check the place out.




It truly is a Disneyland for outdoors-folk. They have an indoor shooting range, fish ponds and steam with real trout, every kind of hunting, fishing, boating or camping gear you could imagine. We didn't have a lot of time to look around but I did get a good shot of Uncle Buck's plane.



Oh yes, and one more shot. Alan,this one's for you my friend:

Creepy...

When I saw this news item I thought of the movie Bug and the very scientific principle that the severity of an itch is directly proportional to its reach.

Dear Santa...

My oldest grand daughter Natalie has just finished typing out her letter to Santa. She had a little help from mom but this is pretty much verbatim:


Like many thousands of children in Canada she will be mailing her letter to:
Santa Claus
North Pole
H0H 0H0
Canada

Canada Post has an entire page set up for Canadian children who wish to send their letters to Santa and if they send them in early enough and if they include their return address, Santa will answer each child's letter. Remember though that this is a busy time for Santa so if you want him to answer you, send your letter in as soon as possible. Details are on the Canada Post web site.

Right on!!

Tired of a political party who simply promises a chicken in every pot? Well how about a party that promises pot and weekly orgasms for all?

Yep, Canada's Rhinoceros party is back. Party president Francois Gourd says, "We are a Marxist-Lennonist party - based on the philosophy of Groucho Marx and John Lennon." Their motto: From party to party till victory. How inspiring is that?

Learn more about their platform by visiting their website at neorhino.ca. Much of their web site is in French but they are looking for a good anglophone and translator to work with. So if ya know of anyone...

Moo...

More cow capers today when, while driving through the drive-through at McDonald's, the tail gate of a trailer opened allowing a herd of eight cows to escape. People in the town of West Haven, Utah called rounding up the cows "Operation Hamburger Helper".

The poor creatures probably planned their escape after watching the movie Fast Food Nation. I know after seeing that movie, if I were a cow, I'd run too.

Ewwww....

I can't think of anything more disgusting that this. The more I hear about these horror stories from China's manufacturing and food production sectors, the more I suspect any products we import from there. If anything, these stories have made me an even more avid label reader.

Holy cow!

I once had a stone fly off from behind a truck and crack my windshield. Scared the crap right outta me. Can't even imagine a cow.

Happy Birthday Mom

Today, October 26th is my mom's birthday and she sits in an Ottawa hospital awaiting placement in a nursing home. She's recovered well from her stroke but remains disoriented and confused. As time goes on, she will become more confused and remember even less. She has already forgotten much of her past and I know that one day she will even forget who I am.

So while I still can, I believe it's important that I remember for her. I know that everyone says this about their moms but my mom was an incredible woman. No, she didn't discover a cure for cancer or solve world hunger or peace but she was incredible because she swam against the current of her time and tried to live her life differently. Her life may not have turned out as she would have liked and she did suffer greatly but along the way she had some pretty cool adventures.

I'd like to share one period of her life with you that had a tremendous influence on me throughout the years.

My mom was a from a Francophone community in Northern Ontario. Her father didn't believe in educating girls beyond grade six - why does a girl need an education when all she's going to do is change diapers? My mom argued with my grandfather and managed to stay in school until grade eight. After that, she would sneak out of the house to attend high school. I'm not sure if she managed to finish high school but when she was nineteen she started taking courses in typing and shorthand. By then World War Two had ended and she left home to find work.

One of her sisters had found a job in Ottawa working as a chambermaid at the historic Chateau Laurier hotel and mom left home to join her. Soon, her typing and shorthand skills landed her a job with Blue Cross in Toronto so she moved to Hogtown and lived there for four years until she accepted a transfer to a Blue Cross office in New York City.

I'm not exactly sure how long she worked for Blue Cross but her next job was to work for a man named Archie Bleyer. Mr. Bleyer had once been the band leader for Arthur Godfrey and in 1952 had started his own recording company he called Cadence Records.

Mom always fondly remembered Andy Williams, Phil and Don Everly (she said they were always polite, sweet boys), and Dorothy, Carol, Janet and Jinny of The Chordettes. Mom had friends in the secretarial pools of other record labels like RCA and Capitol and the gals used to swap disc jockey pressings of the 45s and albums of the day.

When my mom was pregnant with me, the gang at Cadence had a baby shower for her and all the label's stars were there to congratulate her. She left Cadence Records to stay home and be wife and mother but I always got the feeling that she missed the music business. But she hung on to all the records she collected while working for Cadence and these were the records I listened to growing up.

In our house we listened to all kinds of music from rock 'n roll to country, to pop, to big band, to classical. I grew up appreciating all kinds of music and it's small wonder that today I find myself married to a musician.

So to celebrate my mom's birthday here's a little video of a song she used to sing to me. Happy Birthday Mom!

Time and colour blindness

Last year, in my blog post Speak your mind even if your voice shakes, I wrote about an incident that happened at Pride where the emcee made a comment in reference to a Black performer about "not seeing colour". I received a couple negative comments in response to that post and couldn't help but think of that incident and the responses I received here when I heard an interview of Nigerian writer, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, on this morning's The Current on CBC radio.

Towards the end of the interview she speaks about her experience of coming to study in the US. When asked if she was surprised by the evidence of institutional racism in the US she said it was eye-opening for her. She said that she didn't know she was Black until she moved to the US and that living in the US means knowing that one is Black and that Blackness comes with so much baggage. She goes on to say that she believes that America's approach to race and class isn't honest, that there is a myth that everything is alright. She says that the myth that we live in a colour-blind society is a lie and that we shouldn't pretend that race doesn't matter. Hmm, looks like I'm not the only person who feels that way. You can listen to her interview by clicking here. You will need Real Player installed on your computer to listen to that file.

******

Today, October 24th, is Take Back Your Time Day. Take Back Your Time Day is a project organized by an alliance of academics called the Simplicity Forum and members of Cornell University's Center for Religion, Ethics and Social Policy.

From the website at www.timeday.org:

TAKE BACK YOUR TIME is a major U.S./Canadian initiative to challenge the epidemic of overwork, over-scheduling and time famine that now threatens our health, our families and relationships, our communities and our environment.

Some of their mottos are - More time, less stuff. Time is a Family Value and Medieval peasants worked less than you do.

Job Posting

I'd apply but I already have a job so I'm passing this job lead along. I hear they are looking for a few good men. Sure hope they can find 1000 men who will measure up.

Had a little visitor today

My daughter-in-law Sue borrowed my car this morning so she could go down to the Ministry of Transportation office to write the exam for her D (truck) license. Sue's dad works for one of the local waste removal companies and has encouraged her to get her truck license and apply for a driving job for when she comes off maternity leave in March. She's a gal after my own heart, seeing as how I hold a D class license with a Z (air brake endorsement).

Anyhow, after passing her written exam she brought the car back to me and surprised me with her tiny passenger.

Here's little Eve at grandma's office at the Local. I think she'll make a fine shop steward one day.

The Ghost of Birthdays Past

Since birthdays are a time of reflection, I thought I'd share some photos of my past birthdays.


Here I am with my mom. This was taken not long after we came home to our apartment on Coster Street from St Francis Hospital in the Bronx.
Mom was 33 when she had me and I was her first.














These are my parents. This was taken when I was 2-1/2 months old. I'm not exactly sure where this picture was taken but from what I remember of the furnishings, I think it was taken at my godmother's house in Brooklyn.









This was my first birthday party! We had moved from Coster St. to a house on 222nd Street not far from White Plains Rd in the Bronx. I was five years old.








My next birthday party was held after we moved to Canada in our home in Ottawa. I was twelve and the dress I'm wearing here is my mom's second wedding dress.
It was the 70s - dig those bell bottomed sleeves!




This was my 33rd birthday. I think everyone should climb a tree when they turn 33 don't you?





This was my 35th birthday. This was my androgynous neo-feminist period. Thank heavens I grew out of that!

Mid-life

Well, today is my birthday. How do I feel? Well, the chorus of this song written by Merle Travis, sung by Tennessee Ernie Ford and released by Capitol Records on this date in 1956, says it all.

What's up Doc?

Time for catching up...

My shoulder surgery went well. I wish they had sent me for this arthroscopic surgery a year ago. I'm going to physiotherapy three times a week and doing very well. Thank you all for your well wishes, notes and flowers. The more concerning problem has been my back.

My GP initially thought I had a pinched nerve but since the numbness in my legs has not resolved and I've experienced some numbness in my face and tongue, he's sending me to see a neurologist in a couple of weeks. Then I'll go for an MRI and see if anything beyond old age is to blame.

Along with the physiotherapy for my shoulder I've been getting physio for my back. This requires that in between visits I do "homework". I've got a set of dumb bells to work out my shoulder and a set of exercises I do for my back. I can do most of these exercises from my bed and as I move from one exercise to another I have to switch from lying on my back to lying on my stomach.

If you are a woman and over 40, here's a scary thing to try:
Take your bra off. Get on all fours. Look down at your breasts. When I did this two words immediately leaped into my head - plastic surgery!

Moving right along...

I'm back to school. My son and I are taking night school courses at the local college. We're in our second semester of the CCNA program, working towards our Cisco certification. So two nights a week I get to have supper with my son, daughter-in-law and visit with my grand daughters, Natalie and Eve. By the way, I've added more photos of them to my Flickr page and you can see them by accessing the Flickr badge to the right --->

I just can't say how much I am enjoying being back at school. I absolutely love lab nights. Every Thursday night we have labs where we get to play with the equipment. I'm a real gizmo fiend and love anything with buttons, wires and stuff. Give me some computer components and a manual and a problem to solve and I'm in my glory. Right now we're learning how to configure routers so we use a command line interface to do that. Some people are intimidated by this but this brings me right back to my DOS and early linux days.

This class looks like it's going to be even more fun that last semester's class. Forgive me but as a mom I have to brag a bit about my son. He was the only student in the class to get 100% on the mid-term exam. I didn't do as well. I got 99%. It's a challenging course as there is so much to remember. The concepts are easy to grasp but it's the shear memorization of little bits and pieces that is daunting. That's why I like the labs so much. Since I understand the concepts, applying them practically is easy and fun.

On the automotive front I've had a problem with my car now. I have a 2002 Chrysler Sebring and since it is a newer car than Lise's and in better shape (yeah, after recently spending 800 bucks on it), I like her to take my car when she has to work in Chatham which is an hour away. This past Wednesday she took my car and got about 10 minutes away when the car started to over heat. She had to call her clown partner to pick her up so they could continue to work.

Initially, we weren't sure if the problem was the thermostat or something more serious but when Lise had the chance to look at it later we discovered that it was the water intake housing that was pooched. It was easy to replace, just 4 bolts and 3 hoses but it was a dealership item so that cost another $156 for the part. Amazing what they can charge for a hunk of plastic with 4 brass bushings, two silicone gaskets and a sensor.

While I was at the dealership I took the opportunity to ask them about the intermittent flashing oil light I've been experiencing. About eight months ago I freaked out when I came to idle at an intersection and the oil light started flashing. When your car's oil light comes on, that's never a good thing and usually means you don't have long to pull over somewhere and call CAA.

I took my car to Lise's boyfriend Mark who tested the engine compression (it was fine for which I was relieved because I really didn't want to have to shell out for an engine rebuild) and changed the oil sensor for me and all was well. That is, until about six weeks ago when the light started flickering again. It was weird because the light only flickered when the engine was hot and idling at about 500 - 600 rpm. Once the engine revs got above this, the light went out.

So while at the dealership picking up the housing I asked to speak with a service advisor about the oil light problem. They told me it was a simple fix (something to do with running a wire from the oil sensor to the engine block) and that they had the same problem with the Intrepids. They said a service bulletin had been issued for that problem with the Intrepids so they knew how to fix that bug. When I first had the problem I called the dealership to ask if any service bulletins had been issued for my car with that problem they said there wasn't one. Now they say one was issued for the Intrepid. That's dumb because both the Intrepid and my model of Sebring have the same 2.7 liter engine.

Sometimes I think I should have apprenticed as a mechanic instead of becoming a welder-fitter. Back then it was unusual to see a woman in a trade and I had a very hard time finding work. Still though I don't regret learning a trade or later learning to drive a semi as the experience has made me less intimidated about taking things apart and putting them back together. When I was in middle school I wanted to take shop but they made the girls take home economics. I thought that was dumb. I already knew how to cook and stuff, what I didn't know was how to fix things. I thought that the boys should take home ec and the girls shop so that each would know enough to take care of things themselves.

I have more studying to do for my driver's licence. I let my AZ licence go and downgraded to a DZ licence. So I can't drive a semi but I can drive a dump truck. It's license renewal time and I have to write an exam to keep my DZ status. I've been putting off doing this because I doubt I'll ever drive commercially again but Annie at the local licence bureau is encouraging me to keep my DZ status and take the test. I suppose it's easier to keep my DZ than earn it all over again should I ever want it back. So I'll be studying for that exam over the next couple of weeks.

Anyway, that's what's been going on here at the Lakeside Lair. Hope you all have a pleasant weekend.

Favourite cartoons

Whirl, whirl twist and twirl. Jump around like a flying squirrel. It's Saturday morning and time for a cartoon. This cross-dressing rabbit was one of my favourites growing up. Bugs is my hero! (grin) Enjoy.

Hillbilly Hare

What was the big deal?

Sure, our numbers may be growing but out of a population of 33 million there are only a little more that 7,000 married same-sex couples in Canada. So what's the big deal? Did the sky fall or something?

According to Statistics Canada's latest census results, gays and lesbians are marrying more than straight people are. The number of common law, single parent and same-sex couples are surpassing the "traditional family" here in Canada. Stats Canada says that more straight folks are choosing to "shack up" rather than get married. Hmm, makes you wonder who holds the moral ground here eh?

Post Op...

Gee, did somebody get the number of the bus that hit me? I feel pretty lousy today so I plan to stay in bed, take pain meds and veg out with the TV. Tomorrow I start physiotherapy and I'm so glad that I didn't arrange it for today and had the presence of mind to give myself one day to just recover.

The operation went well and for the most part uneventful except for that when I was in recovery I had a few irregular heartbeats and started having chest pain. So they didn't release me when we anticipated they would but kept me longer to run some tests.

Lise was very concerned when things were taking longer than expected. She kept asking how I was and no one would tell her until she finally had to put her foot down and say, "That is my WIFE in there and I deserve to know how she is!"

Meanwhile I was stopping the nurses begging them to send someone to tell my WIFE how I was doing. After the third time, one nurse asked me if my wife's name was Lise and when I said yes she said that she would go personally to speak with her - and did so immediately.

Later Lise and I couldn't help but think that if Lise was a guy they would have assumed that s/he was my boyfriend/husband and we wouldn't have had to be so insistent. Shucks, and people wonder why same-sex marriage is so important.

Surgery today

Well today I'm having surgery on my shoulder. I've had a "frozen shoulder" for just over a year now and they found a couple of small cysts on my humerus so the doc's gonna go in with a scope and clean things out. I've got the week off work but will be spending my afternoons at physiotherapy getting my shoulder and my back worked on. It'll be nice to be able to sit without having my legs go numb. Funny how you hit a certain age and the wheels just sort of fall off the cart. With the way things have been going lately I've asked for a visit from the Rainbow Pastor. I'll be nice to visit over a cup of tea and discuss the meaning of life.

I've been awake for the last few hours wondering what the heck I'm gonna wear for this surgery. I imagine that my left arm will be all bandaged up so I'm not sure how I'll get a blouse on. I suppose I could bring an oversized t-shirt but I wonder if I'll be able to lift my arm enough to put the darned thing on. I suppose wearing a bra is out too. I've got an old sleeveless tank top around here somewhere so I suppose I'll just wear that and let the "girls" swing free. Sometimes vanity has to give way to practicality. (sigh)

The installation of my new roof starts today as well so I suppose you could say I'm getting two procedures done. (big grin) I'll be pretty groggy later today and if they take my wireless antenna down today to work on that part of the roof, I won't be blogging for a few days. So I'm checking in now to give you all a heads up that if you don't hear from me for the next couple of days, that's why.

When I'm back in typing form I have a lot of photos of Ottawa to share. I'd also like to tell you a bit of my mom's story. She's quite the woman. Lotsa stuff going on my my pointed little head, just got to find the time/energy to get it all out. So long for now...

Ewwww!

Ok, I know that you should balance your carbs with protein but this? Ewwww!

So much going on...

First, I want to say thank you to everyone for your kind words of support about my mother. When you get a call late at night saying that this may be the last time you get to see your mother alive, you tend to panic. The events of the last week certainly have "put my pacemaker in high gear".

Oh my, where do I start? Well, my mom had a stroke and a fall. We're not sure which came first, the stroke or the fall but she has bleeding on a couple of spots in her brain. The doctors were also rather concerned about the possibility of her developing pneumonia as she aspirated some vomit during one of the seizures she had when she got to the hospital.

She's spent this week in the neurological observation unit and I won't know if she will be stable enough to step down to a regular hospital room until the end of the week. Lise and I plan to travel back to Ottawa this weekend so I should know more in a few days.

Ok, so I have my mom in the hospital almost 800 kms away and I'm scheduled to go in for surgery on my shoulder next week. I have a pinched nerve in my back (which makes driving for 10 hours particularly delightful) and I'm supposed to have my new roof installed next week. Valium anyone?

This has been quite the emotional week for me. My mom has suffered the last few of years with dementia so when I call her she doesn't often know it's me she's talking to. She thinks she's talking to one of her sisters and that makes it hard because when my aunt asks her if she's heard from me she says she hasn't talked to me in years then I'll get a call from my aunt scolding me for not calling my mother. (sigh)

Mom does have moments of lucidity but 90% of the time you have to repeat things over and over because she doesn't remember things. They say that people with certain types of dementia can remember things from their past like it was yesterday but can't remember what they had for breakfast today. My mom, sometimes can't remember things from the past either. I was surprised that she even recognized me when I saw her at the hospital.

From what my brother said on the phone, as we drove to Ottawa, Lise and I were not sure what we'd be walking into. We didn't know what to pack so just in case we brought "funeral clothes". All I kept saying to myself as we traveled each kilometer was, "Mom, hang on, don't die, I'm on my way." I just wanted to see her alive one more time, even if it was only for 5 minutes, just to tell her that I love her and always have.

Mom and I spent several years estranged when I came out to her and she tried to have my kids taken from me. My mom is not a bad person it's just that she became a Catholic charsimaniac and for several years I simply couldn't reason with her. We finally patched things up about eight years ago but things remained rather strained.

We've never been a family that talks things over let alone express how we feel so in a lot of ways we are like a bunch of strangers where the only thing we have in common is that we survived being stranded on a deserted island. It's kind of sad when you think about it. I've waited almost 50 years to hear my mother tell me that she loves me. When I left her, she held my hand, kissed me and told me she loved me and while that was so very good to hear it also makes me very sad. Sad that I only hear this now that she is demented and disoriented. How do I know that she knew it was me she said she loved or if she thought I was someone else? At this point, does that even matter?

Anyway, just being in Ottawa has been very emotional for me. I've always loved the city of Ottawa. It has many charms and many fond memories but it is also the city I fled when leaving my abusive ex-husband. So returning to Ottawa has brought back those memories too and the thought that had I not had to leave Ottawa I might still live there and therefore been able to help my brothers look after my mom.

Oh well, you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube and shucks, if I hadn't left Ottawa perhaps I might have never met Lise or found my haven at my Lakeside Lair?

My mom

I'm in Ottawa today. My brother called late Thursday night to tell me that my mom had a fall and a stroke. Lise and I spent all day yesterday driving here. I saw her briefly last night. She looks so old and afraid.

I'm heading back to the hospital this morning. Will have more to write later.

There is a scene in the movie City of Angels where you see all the angels in long black trench coats gazing off into the sunrise. It's really quite a beautiful and haunting scene and one which immediately came to mind this morning as I drove to work and saw this:



Every day I drive by a farm where turkey vultures roost in the surrounding woods. I have seen these turkey vultures roosting in the trees before but this morning they were all sitting in the treetops with their wings extended.


I've never seen this before and I wondered if they were not drying their wings out from the thunderstorms we had last night. That seems the most practical answer but the sight of it was striking enough to make me double back and stop to take these pics.