90 x 365: Grandma H

This is a picture of my grandparents (my Dad's parents) when they got married. I have no idea what year it was, although I imagine my father will know. Grandma H looks so happy there. Soft and flowy and gentle.

Looking back, I feel like I didn't know my Grandmother too well. I know things about her, but not from a personal relationship, but rather from stories I hear from other people. I know she liked poems and limericks. Her favourites were slightly off coloured and mischievous. I know she liked to garden. She had a huge garden and planted a lot of flowers and veggies.

There are things that make me think of her. Roasted peanuts with the skins still on, but out of the shell. Dried banana chips. Fall colours - rust, gold, green. Rubber boots.

I look at the old pictures of her and I wish I had known her better.

89 x 365: Grandma L

Family know her as Grandma. Other's know of her as Auntie Bea. Some of you know her from crazy Grandma stories. She is all of the above.

Grandma L is the smallest person I know. She comes in around 5 feet and might weigh 80 lbs in work boots. Grandma is doggedly determined and stubborn. She is independant and sturdy. She's tough as nails and works like an ox. She is the cheapest (most frugal, practical) person I've ever known and also the most giving. She has spent her entire life giving to others, serving others, taking care of others. And, at almost 89 years old, she hasn't given that up.

87x365: Creepily

A friend of a friend of a friend, the first time I met him all I could think was that he was creepy. Dude just gave me the willies. The harder he tried to be friendly and sincere, the more my skin crawled. For the most part, I am sure he is harmless and only looks like what I imagine a serial killer does. Most people really like him, so I can only think that my vision is skewed.

However, I would like to say for the record, when people find severed heads in his basement... I told you so.

86x365: My old man

In celebration of Father's Day, I thought I would introduce mine. He's been living across the world from us for a year or so now and we miss him a lot. We miss him less when he comes to visit, but eventually he leaves again.

It is surprisingly difficult to know what to write about a man who has always been in my life. Do I tell about when we were kids? How he would let us work with tools and pieces of wood helping us to make boats and paint them with stain? He made wood toys for us -- a sawed-off shotgun, swords and shields, doll cradles and houses. He made an ice rink in the backyard every winter until we moved to the city and helped us learn to skate. He would let us sing in the car for almost an hour before condemning us to silence when "Down by the Sea" got too annoying.

Dad worked too hard and too long to try and provide us with what he felt we needed -- food, clothing, a house and a mom who could stay at home. He is one of the most generous people there is and will give the shirt off his back to someone who needs it and then have nothing for himself. He has the luck of our family -- if he can lose money, break something, get the worst end of the deal, etc he will. But he takes it all in stride and with graciousness and I think it taught me how to deal with disappointment without falling apart.

Dad is a giant. At 6'2" and the size of a refrigerator, he is easy to spot and looks like a teddy bear. Kids flock to him everywhere he goes. Mom used to call him "Uncle Al the kiddies pal" because he could always be found surrounded by kids. Sometimes Dad can be surly, but not if there is a baby around. Then he gets a goofy grin and you can almost see his insides go gooey.

He's a good man who tries hard and is sometimes too hard on himself. Happy Father's Day, Daddio.

85 x365: L

When I was in my pre-teens, my friend and I would go for breakfasts occasionally with a woman from the church. My friend and I felt we were very mature because this woman - this grown up - wanted to spend time with us. We were both at the stage of trying to separate ourselves from our parents and our family - trying to forge independence. We hated everyone and everything.

She showed interest in what we were thinking and it was a heady, powerful feeling. With all the adults in our lives telling us what to do - teachers, parents, "the man" - it was nice to feel like we were being heard. Being young and foolish, we were easily guided and said things we may have meant at the moment, but were in no way how we would always feel. We thought we were in a safe place, so we didn't censor anything.

Both my friend and I had tumultuous relationships with our fathers, she much more than I. And we talked about it. Vented with venom and passion that only pre-teens can find. It went horribly awry. She took our parents aside and explained everything we had said and how horrible it was.

I remember being confronted about our comments by both my parents and my grandfather. I remember the shame I felt at the cruel things I had said. I remember the betrayal I felt at the hands of a woman I thought I could trust. I never knew if she had manipulated us into saying things or if she had truly been concerned. All I know is we never spoke to or of her again.

Life went on from there as it often does. My father and I mended our relationship as best we could. We had ups and downs from there, but I think nothing too out of the ordinary. My friend and her father never quite mended theirs. There was always a tension between them and I have to believe it stemmed from that moment.

84 x365: Greg

He has been a family friend since forever. In fact, it goes back to before forever. My mother was roommates with his mother. My two best friends growing up were his sister and his cousin. I used to pick on him when we were kids and make him cry. His nickname for me has always been "Scrawny Broni" (although, I never was). He is the oddest young man I have ever met and everyone who meets him loves him. You can't help it. He's just too weird not to.

When The Guy and I went to visit my brother and sis-in-law, Greg came to visit. He knew my birthday was coming up, so he decided to get me something. I was surprised to see him carting a gift bag when he came into the apartment. I was more surprised when I looked into the bag and saw underwear. All I could think of was The Guy's reaction to meeting Greg for the first time as he was giving panties to me.

I warily opened the package further and burst out laughing. Greg had bought the largest pairs of underwear he could find. I could put them on over my clothes and pull them up under my boobs. They were huge. We spent the rest of the weekend wearing them - over our pants, tied in bandannas on our heads, anything we could think of. (I say "we" but really I mean my brother and his wife.)

When I got home, I told the story to everyone. I tried them on for an audience and was convinced to have my picture taken. Here it is - in all my splendor. All thanks to Greg.

83 x365: Mike

I sat in the reading corner and hid though I knew I wasn't supposed to be there. I listened as the teachers discussed holding him back at the end of the year. I didn't know what it meant but was sure it was a bad thing. To not go through to Grade 4 seemed the worst punishment just because he was shy and did not speak much English. I went home and cried and cried for days.

I never really thought of it again, but years later, he had friends, was more self-assured and doing much better in school.

82 x365: Tom

Tall, skinny, floppy brown hair falling into his eyes. Big glasses, bad clothes and incredible musical talent. What's not to love? Unfortunately, my best friend thought the same thing.

One Valentine's Day, we tried to out do each other in giving him the best card. I spent many hours creating the greatest card I could come up with - considering I had some red paper, a white doily and sparkles. I put all the heart and soul into that card that a 9 year old girl can muster. And I shyly put it on his desk when no one was looking.

She gave him a two foot tall card in the shape of a clown. I couldn't compete with that.

81 x 365: Kiwi

The shape and size of a Hobbit, he even has a New Zealand accent.

He was my practicum supervisor in my second placement. When he found out I was graduating and had no plan in place, he took me by the shoulder, led me down the hall, stopped at the crisis centre and told them to hire me. Years later, he too worked at the centre and became my partner.

Today, we found out his wife is really ill.

80 x365: "Eccentric" Lady

She was 68 if she was a day and looked every bit of it. She explained how she had been travelling on the bus from the West coast and how she did yoga in her seat in order to stave off leg cramping. She also told us she was a disco dancer.

She wore thick makeup and rhinestone sunglasses in the dark. Her hair would have made even Dolly Parton proud. It was platinum blond and teased within an inch of its life. Her faded blue jeans looked painted on and she wore a sweater with a faux fur collar that was unbuttoned to show a substantial amount of cleavage. When she bent over to retrieve her luggage, she showed an even more substantial amount of butt cleavage.

75 - 79 x365: Hospital Years Part II

I started talking about the hospital years awhile back. I thought of a few more people to add to the list. It is coming up on the four year deathiversary and I've been thinking a lot about that. Maybe more will come of that, but I'm not sure.

#75: Velda

The General. The drill Sergeant who ran the show while my mother kept her organized and efficient. She had a strong personality and butted heads with my mother quite often, but they were steadfast friends. She recognized my mother's potential and moved her to working in areas high above her original job as executive assistant.

#76: Lil

She had big hair, big rings, big clothes, a big laugh and a big personality. She was strictly a Saskatchewan girl, but at times had a Southern drawl. I figured that in her last life she was a truck stop waitress in Texas. She and her husband played crib with my parents every few weeks and she filled in my mother's job when Mom got sick.

#77: Lady in the Room after surgery

Mom met a lot of people in the months she was in the hospital. I guess there is little as bonding for strangers as trauma and sickness. One woman who shared a room with Mom after surgery ended up becoming a good friend. They had little in common the days spent alone together in a small hospital room bonded them quite firmly.

#78: The mean nurse

One night after a surgery, Mom had a bad night. Paranoia and fear overwhelmed her. No one was with her as family was not allowed to stay the night in this ward. She called for a nurse and asked for help. The nurse told her to go to sleep and firmly shut the door so Mom's crying would not bother her. I've never really forgiven this faceless nurse.

#79: Scott the paramedic

The final trip to the hospital, Scott and his partner came to the house. Mom could see them out the window and was horrified. She was in her pajamas, hadn't shaved her legs and the paramedics were good looking! Scott put her as much at ease as he could. We covered her legs with a blanket and Scott joked that he would soon get her hopped up on so much morphine she wouldn't even notice. I rode in the front of the ambulance with Scott driving and was quite pleased I had worn a cute outfit to church that day.

74 x365: Leap Year

She was all manor of crazy. I can't remember her real name, but we called her "Leap Year".

In her mid 60's or early 70's, she accompanied a group of us on a trip to a church retreat. She was a lot opinionated and a little bitchy. She commented on how inappropriate teenagers dressed and then wore silk pajamas to the dining hall.

68 - 73 x365: University Profs

I have written about some profs I had in University, but here are some more.

# 68: Professor of Shakespeare

My first day in his class and I made a bad impression. He asked if we thought Shakespeare was a genius and I had spent the previous semester being told that no one was a genius. When I said no, I thought he was going to choke. Fast forward through an entire full year (two semesters) of me disappointing him at every turn. One paper he handed back had a comment "I did not give you a grade as I felt there was no grade to give you". I had to go see him after class for that one. It was my first time being called to a professor's office. It was my first year away from home and I was lonely, depressed and close to failing more than one class. He sat me down and said "How are you doing here?" I cried and ran from the room.

#69: Fairy God Mother

She tried to teach "counselling" which in reality cannot be done. You either have the ability and can expand on it or you have no ability. There is no try. She looked like a disorganized fairy god mother from Sleeping Beauty. She was little and squat and round with fly-away hair that had a life of it's own. She wore suit pants which were too snug and too short. The hem would get caught in her hiking boots she wore every day.

She was a happy sort. The type who is so happy you tend not to believe her. Her favourite line (which she said every day) was "Lift your hand in the air, put it behind your head and give yourself a pat on the back." One day she realized I hadn't followed her instructions and asked me why. I had to be honest. "I would sooner raise my foot and give myself a kick in the ass."

#70: D... named after her father with an "A" tacked to the end

The ethics prof. The one who had no problems lecturing you on proper behaviour and then telling you the intimate details of her clients. The one who started stories with "You know the guy who died behind the bank? Let me tell you about his family!" She had no idea he was one of my clients and perhaps spilling all his family secrets to a room full of green social work students was not the best way to honour his memory.

#71: Mona

During a social work class on poverty, she had the gall to tell another student that she didn't want to hear any more about life on the reservation. Later that semester, she was surprised to realize that some people could not cook because they did not have the equipment to do so and some could not even read to follow a recipe. For a woman teaching poverty, I don't think she had ever laid eyes on one. My co-worker and I got the lowest marks in the room despite both working closely with the poor because it was felt we did not really understand and had a "negative outlook on poverty and policy".

#72: German Justice Prof

He taught Social Justice and did it brilliantly. Every class encouraged us to debate topics and look at the world from a different point of view. Inevitably, the debate would turn into bashing Germans and Hitler. He commented on how often people, when at a loss for a point during a conversation with a German, will end up commenting on Hitler.

#73: H

I wrote an exam for him and, when I finished early, I drew a picture of a moose wearing a toque and a bunch of abstract doodles. I got the exam back a few weeks later and found the comment "This is the sign of a confused mind". I had no idea he felt so strongly against moose.

64 - 67 x365: Highschool teachers

# 64: Mr Seimans

He was my home room teacher for Grade 9 and taught us math. He was interesting and made math seem a lot more fun than it actually was. I liked him. That is, until the day he announced to the whole class that I had tried out for numerous sports teams and never made a single one and yet kept trying, isn't that great? Let's give her a round of applause. I had been standing in front of the class writing an equation on the board at the time. There was no escape. So I stood there. Awkwardly. As he praised my fortitude despite the fact I was obviously completely inept at sports and no one would ever want me on their team. Years later, he made up for it when I took a math class from him in university and he let me pass despite the fact I got 20% on my final.

#65: Mr C

He taught French to a bunch of high school kids who had no interest in learning anything least of all another language. He was nice but gruff, not really much of a teacher, and seemed to be in it so he could coach football. Years later I heard he left his wife, moved in with a man 15 years his junior and opened a plant shop. I saw him. He looked happy for the first time in years.

#66: Mr. Helliwell

After years of experiments, he had burned off all the feeling in his fingers, his fingerprints and the lining inside his nose. He would do things like open a jar, take a whiff and pass it to an unsuspecting student. When the student passed out from whatever horrid smelling thing he had thrust upon them he would laugh and laugh. We all loved him. Once when a student fell asleep in his class, rather than waking the student up, he let the entire class leave the room. He would ask Trivia Pursuit science questions 10 minutes before class let out and if you got the answer right you could leave early. After three years of being in his classes, he realized I was never going to get one right.

#67: Mrs. Forreiter

She had the face of someone who'd been sucking on lemons. All squished and contorted back into herself. She had 7 outfits she rotated each week. You knew what day it was by the skirt she was wearing. We would drop paper cherry bombs on the floor and hold our breath in anticipation. Her eyesight was not the best and when she stepped on one she would jump and land on another. It was our greatest joy. She was closing in on retirement when we started Grade 9. After our class, she decided it was time.

59 - 63 x365: Elementary Teachers

*I have been lax in my 365. Actually, I got bored. But, although it may take me an extra year, I am working on it.*

#59: Mrs Drexler

My grade 7 teacher, she was very thin with dark wavy hair that went almost to her waist. She was a French teacher by trade, but taught us everything else too. She wore long flowing skirts every day and her toes pointed slightly outwards. She was very quiet and soft and kind. And, she let me play with Plasticine during class because she knew it helped me absorb things better.

#60: Mr. Mumford

He was my principal for most of my elementary school career. When I first met him, he jokingly asked if I was 19. I looked at him like he was stupid and said "I'm seven" in a voice that backed the look. I remember him being in his 50s, balding with a little pot belly. Twenty years later, he is still in his 50s so I think my perception of him was a little off. We called him "Amazing Mumford".

#61: Mrs Hippo

Tell you the truth, I have no idea what her real name is. She was my city Grade 2 teacher. (Not to be confused with my town Grade 2 teacher whose class I was so cruelly ripped.) She was a very wide lady - big bum and hips and little top. We called her "Mrs. Hippo". I only hope we didn't call it to her face.

#62: Town teacher

It's been almost 25 years here people. Don't expect me to remember names. She was a kind old lady (I say old. She might have been 40 but I was sure she was at least 60). She was tough and strict but fair. She gave me detention once for crab walking out of the reading corner with my two best friends Lane and Daniel, but she defended me fiercely when her boyfriend accused me of running my bike into his truck.*

*I didn't actually run my bike into his truck. I was still learning and my balance was a tad precarious and I might have fallen sideways and grabbed onto his truck to support myself but at no time did the bike actually hit it. It was my face.

#63: Mrs B

Prim, proper and British. She was born during the war in Europe and the story is she was sleeping in her cradle the night bombs fell on London. The wall next to her crumbled and she continued to sleep through the entire thing. She was my Grade 3 teacher and she could kick some serious butt with just a look and a disapproving "ahem". She encouraged us to make up plays and explore our creativity. How she sat through that many 8 year old kids making up crap I will never know. I made her a ceramic turtle candy dish when I got older and years later she told me she still had it. It made me really proud.

58 x365: Desedemona

She was a runway no one wanted.

She had roamed the streets for a bit and picked up a few others like her on the way. You would think that would harden a girl, but when I got to her she was still the happiest, most carefree thing on the planet.

She looked at me with puppy dog eyes and tried to crawl under her cage door in her excitement to meet me. I named her Desdemona.


Dez loved everyone with ferocious intensity. She met every person at the door with a well placed two front paws to the groin and a plan to lick the heck out of them before they left the house. She had an amazing ability to put your entire forearm into her mouth and lick you with both sides of her tongue. You would be dripping with dog slobber by the time you could disengage yourself.

Her favourite toy was a doll I got from Value Village. She tore it to bits and left little pieces of baby throughout the house. You could say "Dez, go get your baby head" and she would trot off and bring back the doll's head with such pride. She played with balloons and tennis balls and ropes, but her most favourite thing was people.

She loved a few people more than others. Shannon was one of her favourites. Shannon would get down on the floor with her and give "Dezi hugs". Dez pretended she was not impressed, but secretly she loved them. Shannon would take her running around the lake and Dez would be more energetic when she got home than when she left. The dog was born to run. Desdemona also loved one of Shannon's friends named Chris, our room mate Dave and babies. Dez loved little kids. Scared the crap out of them for the most part but she loved them.


When I brought Desdemona home, my mother was not impressed. I hadn't gotten permission from her. In fact, the only reason I got her was that my Dad felt that Davy (Ky's dog who has since moved in with Grandma) would be lonely while Dad was working in Europe. As he was leaving for 3 months, he suggested I go pick a dog out from the Humane Society. I promised Mom she wouldn't get any bigger. I lied. She was only 7 months when I brought her home. She got bigger.

Dez loved Mom. Mom used to play with her despite claiming she had no time for it. Mom would take her out on walks and run Dez down a block and back just for fun. When Mom first got sick, it was Dez that noticed. She would sit by Mom's chair with her head on the armrest and whimper. She sat for hours like that making sure Mom was okay. Before Mom's first hospital visit, I had to force Dez to go outside to pee. She didn't want to leave Mom's side and she was none too happy that I would even suggest it.


Dez met her best friend when she was 4. She heard Lexi on the other side of the fence and knew she had to do something. She tore the fence down. Lexi and she played for hours back and forth, chasing each other, eating things they shouldn't and playing fetch. They had a system when Lexi would catch the ball and present it to Dez with flair so that Dez could return it and get the praise. Lexi was a bit over zealous at times and Dez was the only one who could keep her in line.


One day when they were playing, something happened and Dez hurt herself. She hobbled for a week or so and it got so bad we took her in for X-rays. She had sliced a piece of bone off her back leg. The piece was the size of a glass shard, but held all her tendons. It couldn't be repaired easily. They hoped it would right itself and we put Dez in her kennel for 30 days on serious amounts of Valium. She was so sad I could hardly bear it. And, the month didn't help. So we let her roam again, but the worse the pain got, the worse she got. One day she ran from the house and attacked another dog. We knew it was time.

We made the appointment at the vet's office and Lyn, Dad and I went with her. Saying goodbye to Dez was the hardest thing any of us had ever done. I don't think I ever saw Dad cry that hard. Mom was going to be in the hospital that week so had to say goodbye before she went. Later Mom would say she was happy Dez had to go before she was really sick because Dez just wouldn't have understood.


I was hit with such devastation after Dez died I didn't know how to recover. Looking back, I think it was the knowledge of what was to come. If I had to say goodbye to Dez, it meant I may have to say goodbye to other people and things I loved. To help me make sense of things, Mom and I went out to Mom's favourite relaxation place, the cabin by the lake. We spent the afternoon one day making a memory book and filling a shoe box full of Dez's things. I painted it white with Dez's name in blue and lovingly placed into it Dez's brush, collar and baby doll head.

57 x365: The kid with the plan

He was 10 when I met him and nothing in his life was going well. He took me down to his room in the unfinished basement and showed me his car collection. He had pimped out one of his model trucks with a hoist that actually worked. "I'm going to be a tow truck driver", he said with certainty. "Everyone needs a tow truck at some point. And I will be there to help them."

55 and 56 x365: The Neighbours

I have lived in many rental places over the years and met many interesting creatures. Like the entire first floor of SiL and my apartment building who did fish Fridays. However, the most interesting of these folks are these two men.

# 55: Bill

Bill lived in the apartment next to ours. He was in his late 50s and lived alone. He was as wide as he was tall and had a personality that filled the room twice that. A retired US army officer, Bill came to Canada to work as an Indian Agent. He travelled the world - once in the army and once just for fun. He had stories about everything and everyone, however, you likely could only believe a third of what he said. He seemed to have a great deal of friends, but he seemed lonely underneath. He loved collecting art pieces which were only beautiful to him and watching Westerns.

When we moved from the apartment, I regretted not being able to see him. And then, out of the blue, I ran into him at the mall. He looked the same. He was wearing the same clothes (although they fit a little tighter) and had the same jokes and stories. He left saying he hoped we would run into each other again, but I have a feeling he didn't know my name. Just that I was one of his "friends".

#56: Chris

Chris lived a few doors down when the SiL and I rented a little house near downtown. He stood outside most of the time - summer or winter - to smoke. It was a few weeks before we realized what he was smoking.

He said he spent most of his life doing odd jobs. His van was also his workshop and the stickers plastered all over it showed all the places he had been. He had no teeth (he was on EI and had no coverage) and looked a lot like a fallen hippy Santa.

He was very kind and loved my dog. He cried when I told him we had to put her down.

54 x365: The King

I first met The King on Christmas Eve ten years ago when he wandered into the office in a pair of blue zip up parka coveralls.

He was very cheerful and immediately proposed marriage. He offered to take me to Hawaii for Christmas. However, I was told, I would have to pay my own way because "Chicks are expensive."

53 x365: Christmas shopper

When you work in retail, you learn to hate Christmas and everyone who celebrates it.

My first peeve was the music. 8 hours a day of Christmas music. It wouldn't be bad, I suppose, if it had been different music. However, in this case it was the same tape (I'm so old we didn't have CDs then) played over and over. By the end of it, I couldn't hear a carol or tune about bells without wanting to kick a puppy.

My second peeve was the people. For some reason, Christmas brings out the rude in people. They are impatient and vicious. They are violent and mean. They are pushy and cruel. They are hostile and horrid. You get the picture. I never could understand why the holiday meant to celebrate the birth of the little baby who would preach love and forgiveness to all the world would bring out the worst in people. Even Santa is mean at Christmas.

My worst experience in the retail field occurred at Christmas. My first real job that didn't involve me getting up at 5 am to deliver the news was at Zellers. I was 16 when I started and I worked there until I was 20. The last winter I worked there I had just come back from University in the fair Bridge City and had about 3 weeks of work before Christmas.

It was Christmas Eve. At 3:30pm. The store closed at 4. A lady was in line with her pile of gifts and tossed them haphazardly on my counter. She fumed and stewed and growled at how slow I was as I attempted to sort through the massive amounts of crap she had brought me. I rang each item in and bagged it. Then she handed me a credit card. And asked me to put $80 on the card. So I did.

Then she tried to write a cheque for the rest. Which we couldn't accept. She didn't have cash, couldn't use another card and had no money in her account to withdraw. I had to delete the transaction. She chose only $80 of her wanted purchases and I rang them through. But this time, her card was declined. After numerous calls, I found out that the transaction would not technically be deleted from her file until January. She was in trouble.

I tried to explain. She screamed. I tried to offer her other options. She hollered. She blamed me for ruining her children's Christmas and accused me of doing it all on purpose. And then, I said something I still wish I could swallow back.

"It's not my fault your credit is bad".