Lifted: Like a wispy skirt in a strong wind

This past week has been a whirl wind of sick and work and from sick and work straight to a three day conference.  I've been feeling a bit as though I'm being pulled in a hundred directions.  I have two reactions to overwhelming business -- sleep and procrastination.

Sometimes, if I'm really good, I procrastinate through sleeping.

I'm like a role model, really.

The last few months (well, let's face it... 18 months) have been hard to get through.  While my personal life is actually pretty great, I am completely assaulted by my professional life which is draining my soul and my will to live.

This three day conference was just another thing on my list of stuff to do that I really regretted offering to be part of.  However, much to my surprise, I was wrong.  (Please note date and time.  This will not be repeated.)

The last topic of the conference was about compassion and kindness.  I know, I know.  SNORE.  But I found myself actually being drawn into the touchy-feely pander and realized that I have things pretty good and maybe it's time to start appreciating it.  It's time to stop being mopey and start being the person that others are glad to be around because she brings joy into their lives rather than just slight amusement at her acerbic wit.

Part of the discussion went to who has made an impact on our lives in a strong, uplifting, supportive way.  I went through the list: my Mom, my grade 5 teacher, my Grandma, my best friend from high school, my best friend from church camp, my sisters, and my husband.

I was so touched by this reminder that I have had important people in my life that I immediately emailed my husband to thank him for being such a huge part of the reason I am not standing in a watchtower with a rifle.  And, since I was already texting with my sister (during the presentation... I'm a bad listener, but a great multi-tasker) I emailed her as well and thanked her for being part of my list of people who lift me up.

I lifted you up? By making fun of you?
No, you ass.  In my life.  In general.  Not just now.  PS: I'm taking you off the list.
Oh. I STILL LIFT YOU UP AND YOU KNOW IT.

I am thankful that the people who are important to me can take something sincere and make it into something absurd.  It makes me know I chose the right ones.

Mother's Day for the motherless

Today is Mother's Day.  It's a day unlike any other, but for the constant reminder of the fact we should appreciate our mothers much more than we do.  So, for one day a year, we buy cards and flowers and make a lot of corporations a lot of money.  Go Moms!

It has been interesting being a person without a mother on Mother's Day.  The yearly joke is to give our friends and family a hard time: Hey, thanks for the reminder I don't have a Mom!!  Because really, this day is no more difficult than a random Tuesday in October, it's just more obvious.

Mothers come in all shapes and sizes.  They come in good, bad and ugly.  They do their best with what they have and some are pretty dang awesome.

I had a good mom.  She was strong and stubborn and determined.  She was hard-working and funny and creative.  She taught me a lot about who I want to be when I grow up.

Mom, Grandma and I having tea

To quote Jann Arden, I have a good mother and her voice is what keeps me here.

Replaced -- Monty's new love

Monty is a friendly dog.  Sort of.  He loves to meet new people, he just likes me better.  When someone comes to the door, Monty is more likely to run to greet me.  Even if I've been there the whole time and the someone at the door is The Guy after a day at work.

He has a pattern, our dog.  He greets the person at the door with a few sharp barks.  Then, when we admit the person to the home, he decides if he likes that person.  If he likes the person, he immediately runs to get a toy.  He does not want anyone to touch the toy -- he just wants to show you he has it.  Do not be confused.  He is not sharing.  He is bragging.

Monty is definitely my dog.  If I am in the house, no matter what else is going on, he must be near me.  The Guy will go to bed early and Monty really wants to go, but if I'm up so is he.  If The Guy is eating in the basement, but I'm asleep Monty is firmly planted in the bed.  He won't so much as sit on The Guy's side of the couch unless he can reach me.

Lounging in the sun.

This is why the following story is so confusing for me.

I brought Monty with me during my stay at Grandma's.  He has travelled with me all over and comes to visit Grandma's on a regular basis.  It's his home away from home -- and it has his sister, Vicki, there!

On Wednesday, my Auntie Ruth arrived to help us get Grandma ready for the move.  Monty has never met Auntie before, so he greeted her with his regular barking bonanza and then ran off to get her a toy.  He immediately brought Auntie a toy and followed her around the apartment.

The next day, Monty left my room where I was in bed to go visit Auntie Ruth.  He let her scratch his back and turned around so she wouldn't miss his favourite spots.  He sat by her chair at lunch even though he knows that Grandma is the one who sneaks him food when she thinks I'm not looking.

The final straw was when I was sitting on the couch working on the computer.  Monty was sitting with me as he always does.  His back was pressed up against my thigh and he was snoring softly.  As much as I hate to disturb him, I had to get up to grab something from the other room.

When I got back, he was sitting on the other couch next to Auntie Ruth.  He looked at me with what can only be described as disdain, sighed deeply, and settled deeper into the cushions.

I'm pretty sure, if Monty could have figured out how to get into her suitcase, I would have been down one dog.

Love: Part 2 -- How much do you love?

Topic provided by my good friend Paige aka typicalquirk

I wonder if you ever know how much you love someone until there is a rough patch.  Until you have faced something big: illness, death, stress, job loss, moving -- do you really know how much you love?

I have always found that love is more clear when it comes to serving someone.  I don't mean: Here's a cup of tea.  I mean, Here is something I am willing to do for you that I would do for no one else.

Once Grandma told us about her relationship with Grandpa.  She said that she had cared for him and loved him when they got married, but it wasn't until he was deathly ill that she knew how much.  It was then she did everything for him and realized that he was the love of her life.

At the time, I was quite surprised.  I thought: Wait! You loved Grandpa, but didn't really love him until he was sick?  YEARS later??  I thought that just couldn't be right.

I was young and have learned through the years that everything I thought I knew about love (and really everything in general) was wrong.  Even this thought of Grandma's has proven to be more true than I realized.

It wasn't until Mom was first sick that I knew how much I loved.  When I was not only willing but pushing other people out of the way to do things for her.  Anything.  Things I thought I would never do for another living human being.  I wanted to do them for her because I loved her.

Now that I am here with Grandma, packing up her earthly possessions, I know how much I love her.  I joke with and about her a lot.  But I know how much I love.  I love her enough to cut her dog's hair with a pair of old scissors.  I love her enough to pack all her things into boxes that she unpacks because she can't remember what is in them.  I love her enough to stay with her for a week even though old people drive me crazy and sometimes my patience is worn to the last string.

I guess we, as human beings, discover love over and over again as it morphs and adapts to experience.  I know that my love with The Guy will do the same.  It's intimidating and also intriguing.

Bring on the disaster!

Auntie Jean

My great aunt, Auntie Jean, died on Friday at the age of 94.

Auntie Jean was always a figure in the background of my life.  She and Grandma were quite close, my mom and her daughter were best friends, and we spent a lot of time with their family.  My middle name is after Auntie Jean (but spelled differently) and she was very important to my mom.

The main memory I have of Auntie Jean is the time we went to see them in Saskatoon and went shopping at the mall across the street.  I was around 13 or 14 years at the time.  I was embarrassed by every adult who happened to be related to me, but Auntie Jean trumped them all that day.

Mom got the siblings ready to head to the mall when Auntie Jean announced she was coming too.  She was in the middle of perming her hair, but had a 30 minute window before she could take out the curlers and wash out the perm rinse.  So why not tag along?

She threw on a plastic shower cap over her head full of curlers and got ready to go.

I DIED OF EMBARRASSMENT.  DIED.

We went shopping regardless, with me pretending I didn't know either my mother or my aunt.  I found a really cute outfit that day which became my favourite for the summer.  A navy skirt and a rayon, multi-coloured shirt.  A friend that summer got a picture of me.

Oh the 90s. 

Looking back at this outfit and my hair, I wonder if Mom and Auntie Jean weren't more embarrassed of me than I was of them.

They had every right to be.

Mom

Today would have been my mom's 62 birthday.

I have very few pictures of my mom.  Mom was a hider.  (To quote my sister, Ky)  She hated having her picture taken and being in the centre of attention.  This could be due to the fact she spent a large portion of the 80s looking like Rita McNeil and wearing large polka dots.

Since she died before we all had digital cameras and she could veto bad pics, we had to sneak pictures of her or wait until we did family pictures.  Since these pictures flattered no one, it makes for scant choosing when it comes to show who my mother was.

Instead, I've chosen to post a picture I drew of my mom and the post where I describe said picture.

Mom: complete with power shooting from her fingers,
a wart on her nose, flippers for feet and a Hutterite beard.

I really hope Mom has kept her sense of humour.  Otherwise, I am going to get to heaven and she is going to beat my ass.

*****************

In honour of her birthday, my dad wrote a beautiful post about Mom and the tree planted in her honour.

Happy birthday, Grandma!

Me and Grandma in 2009

Today, my Grandma turns 91.  So far today, she has hung up on my father thinking he had the wrong number and has forgotten if my brother and my father are related, but she's doing pretty well.   She still lives on her own, is stubborn as can be, and takes care of the old lady down the hall from her.

I hope I can be as independent of an old lady as Grandma Bea.  Happy birthday!

Company sweater

When I was growing up, the temperature in our family home was always the same.  Day in and day out.  Even before programmable thermostats, Mom was diligent about the temperature.  19 degrees (66 F ) during the day and 16 degrees (61 F) at night.  For as long as I can remember.

Mom was always too hot.  She could be found most days wearing a T-shirt or a sleeveless blouse, a pair of cotton pants (complete with elastic waist) and no socks.  My mother wouldn't wear a pair of socks if the floor was covered in glass.  She loved having her feet free and (despite the fact they were always cold to touch) her feet didn't see socks more than once or twice a year.

The family became immune to the weather in our house.  For us, it was normal.  There was no wearing shorts indoors in the winter.  It was full winter regalia.  If you were cold, put on a sweater.  Fine, put on another sweater.

When company would come to visit (as they did often in our house) it was not uncommon for the woman to be cold.  I don't know what made Mom different (maybe it was early onset menopause!) but she was rarely cold.  Except when she would go outside and then she was allergic to cold, but that's another story.

My mom had a sweater put aside especially for company.  It was called "the company sweater" (apt, eh?) and it hung in the closet waiting for our skinny, cold-blooded friends to come visit.  There were a few who had to ask for the sweater (or would be offered the sweater later when Mom would notice they were shivering and wearing their mitts) but there were a few people who walked in the door and immediately changed their jacket for the sweater.

The sweater was knit by my Grandma years before.  It was some sort of polyester blend yarn and was knit the perfect gauge for warmth.  With long, tight sleeves the sweater hit just past your bum and could be wrapped tightly around you or buttoned together in the front.  It was the perfect keep-you-warm sweater.

The sweater now hangs in my closet.  It waits for the occasional guest who is chilly, but mostly I wear it on days when I am too hot to wear a sweater all day, but need a little warmth.  Mostly, I wear it to be comforted by the memory of my Mom and imagine it gives me a hug on her behalf.

Ordinary Day

December 27 Ordinary joy. Our most profound joy is often experienced during ordinary moments. What was one of your most joyful ordinary moments this year? (Prompt by @brenebrown)

My cousin and his wife have three little girls that I love.  At the church retreat in July, they needed some body to watch their youngest while they got their older two ready for something.  Little A and I hung out for awhile that afternoon.  It was pretty precious.

She loved my cell phone and no matter how many times I locked it so she couldn't call China, she figured out how to unlock it.  In the end, she took numerous pictures of herself, the mattress and the floor.

It was a good moment.

Trying my skills #reverb10

December 18 Try. What do you want to try next year? Is there something you wanted to try in 2010? What happened when you did / didn't go for it? (Prompt by @kaileenelise)

When I was in Ukraine, I felt lost.  People spoke all around me and I have on idea what they were saying.  I could pick up a word here or there, but mostly I was completely helpless in interacting with anyone who wasn't able to translate through my step-mother.

This coming year, I would like to rectify that.  I want to start learning Russian.  I tried to learn a little bit before I went on my trip, but I found out, it didn't really help me at all.  When putting Ky and I on the train heading for Kiev, Tanya talked to the attendant and asked her to keep an eye on us.  The attendant asked "Can't they speak any Russian at all?" and Tanya replied, "Well, they can count to 10."

My plan is to get Rosetta Stone in Russian.  Then, I will practice with my Dad and Tanya on Skype until I can  actually participate in a real conversation.

Next time I go to see my other family, I want to be able to talk to them.

Five minutes to memory loss #reverb10

December 15 5 minutes. Imagine you will completely lose your memory of 2010 in five minutes. Set an alarm for five minutes and capture the things you most want to remember about 2010. (Prompt by @pattidigh)

I must  have set the 5 minutes yesterday and didn't blog about it, because I completely forgot to finish (ahem, start) this post.

What do I want to remember about this last year?  That is a question.  Most of the time, I can't remember yesterday, so a whole year is a tough one.

I guess, the things I would want to remember is the time I spent with family.  The two day get-away that The Guy and I took to MJ Spa.  The trip to BC to visit Ky and climb a mountain in competition with an old lady.  The trip to Minneapolis where we met new friends.  The trip to Ukraine to see my Dad and meet his family.  The 5 day get-away to church camp in July.  Even the dreaded camping trip.  The time I want in my memory is the time with the people I love.

It's the only thing worth remembering.  The rest is just noise.

I just dropped off my sister for a year

This morning, I took my little baby sister, LynnieC, to the airport.  She is embarking on a grand adventure, the kind of which I could never take.  She is moving to England for a year.  I am both super proud of and terrified for my little sister, but I know she is going to rock it even if it is the scariest thing any of us have ever done.

Me teaching LynnieC everything she knows.

I've always seen Lyn as my responsibility.  She was the baby and the cutest and the most trouble.  She was the youngest when Mom went back to work and I was sure that no child could ever survive without a stay-at-home mom there at all times.  I mean, who would be there after school?  When would fresh bread day be?  Who would make our birthday cakes?

I took it on myself to help raise Lyn.  Whether or not anyone asked me to.  Turns out, she didn't really need it.  She was more independent than anyone had a right to be.  And, a lot smarter.

She's become one of my best friends.  The one that makes me be silly and irresponsible and spend way too much at Wal-Mart.  The one who watches terrible girl movies with me and sobs right along side of me.  And the one who mocks me when I'm sobbing at them by myself.

Me and LynnieC as a baby.

I will miss Lyn more than I should because for so many years it was her and I together -- we lived together in the Spinster House for years and ended up being a little too much alike after awhile.  She is the one sibling I rarely fight with, the one I rarely want to choke, the one I can count on for binge eating during emotional crisis.

She's on her way to a grand adventure and I have to say, I'm sorry to be left behind.

I'm proud of you, Lyn!  Even if you don't break up the Royal Wedding.

My little sister is 30. That makes me old.

Today is a special birthday.  My little sister Ky turns the big 3-0.  This is both awesome and disturbing.  It is awesome because today is her 30th birthday and the date is 10/10/10.  Which equals to 30.  See?  Awesome.  It is disturbing because my sister turns THIRTY.  Dude, she is so old.

Like a little doll.

Well, okay, she's 4 years younger than me, so she's not that old.  But the fact she's turned 30 has sent me into a bit of a shock.  In my head, I'm still about 23 and she's about 17.  That doesn't add up to 4 years, but you know what I mean.

I wish I could be with her on her rockingly awesome birthday day, but unfortunately, it is impossible.  However, I can refer you all to Amandolynandky and make you be there for her birthday!

Ky: maxin' & relaxin'

Happy birthday to my little, middle sister.  You are my confidante, my nemesis, and my hero all in one.

Love you loads.
B

Three Words: Word Three

I did two others here: scattered and clumsy.

The challenge: name three words to describe your family.

Loyal

I am the first person to admit that my family, they ain't perfect.  We're loud and abrasive.  We're rash and emotional.  We're opinionated and judgemental. 

Wait, what was my point?

Oh right, I love to complain about my family.  All of us do.  Ask any of us about the short comings of any other of us and we will go all night.  That's right, I said it.  Go all night!

But if someone else were to say something untoward about our family?   We will cut you.  Seriously, you had better say it and run.

Three Words: Word Two

I started this over here when I couldn't think of anything else to write about.  The first word was: Scattered.

Name three words you would use to describe your family.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to write for the second word and then I did this.  I realized I had my second word.

Clumsy
When I search for posts that involve me being clumsy, there are lots of them.  From falling down to tripping over things to breaking things. 

I realized that my family has the same sense of grace that I do.  My brother sprained his ankle just before moving to a new province.  My sister, Ky, sprained her ankle while walking down library steps and texting.  My other sister, Lyn, has numerous unexplained bruises from doing things like falling up the stairs while walking.

My parents too were not the most coordinated of people.  It was often said of my mother that she could walk across an empty room, trip on the lines of the linoleum, and bump into furniture that is not there.  My father once fell while walking across the kitchen and we all thought the refrigerator had fallen.

Graceful, we are not.

The lack of coordination we have is of epic proportions.  Stories of falling and tripping and breaking and bruising are common in our repertoire.  I look at my legs on any given day and can find 5 - 9 bruises or scrapes I have that I cannot identify their origin.

Where this lack of grace comes from, I do not know.  I don't remember my grandparents falling or tripping.  Grandma L can still scale her cupboard drawers to reach things on the top shelf.  I fall out of bed reaching to turn out the light. 

Maybe it skips a generation and all our kids will be elegant and agile.

Or, maybe not.

Three Words: Word One

I've been having a hard time with creativity and (after looking on the thesaurus for 10 minutes) finding words.  I haven't felt like writing lately and am choked by the things I want to say.  Not in a bad way, just a way that leaves me speechless with my mouth open and my brain moving rapidly in circles.

I'm feeling a bit like the hamster at my brain wheel is out of control.

So, I decided to go looking for inspiration.  And came across an old Plinky email.

Name three words you would use to describe your family.

This struck me as interesting considering the changes that have occurred in our family in the last few years.  I thought I would give it a shot.  I'm doing it in 3 posts though b/c otherwise you will all be bored to death.

Scattered
Once, we were all in place.  We were a mom and a dad and a brother and two sisters and me.  With dogs.  In one place.  We were a family and we had stability.

Then, one day, our lives changed.  We started to grow up and out of our parents' home.  We moved to places of our own within the city and without.  But, home was always the same.  Where our parents lived.

When Mom died, Dad moved into a condo, Grae got married and moved to Red Deer, Ky moved to Saskatoon, and Lyn moved in with me.  I tried to keep my home as home base, so we always had somewhere to come back to.  A centre.

Then, Dad got married and fled the country, Grae and Mel stayed in Red Deer, Ky moved to Victoria, Lyn moved to Edmonton, and I was still here.  In a smaller home, one that couldn't keep the whole family together any more.

I got married and started my own little family of: me, The Guy, and Monty.  The rest of the family is still scattered all over, but they are now home where they are instead of home where I am.  It's been a big adjustment for me -- someone who needs to be surrounded by family at all times -- but I realized I cannot hope they are change their life directions just so I have someone to watch So You Think You Can Dance with.

My Mother: In portrait and letters

Slowly, I have been wading through the boxes in our garage.  When everyone in my family fled the Skatch, I ended up with a whole lotta crap.  I have weeded through some boxes here and there when my siblings have been in town, but mostly, it's just taken up space in one garage or storage unit or another.

This week, we went through the box containing all our drawings and letters and projects from school.  Starting with Kindergarten and moving on up.  I went through everything to decide what needed to be kept and what didn't. 

I found many pieces in homage to my mother.  If you were not lucky enough to meet my mother, I hope this gives you insight into how truly special she was.

I had a great admiration for my mother.  In a hilarious and disturbing way.

Picture of Mom by me at 5 yrs old.

This is the first picture I pulled out of the file.  Notice how Mom is drawn.  First, she has a Hutterite beard.  And a wart on her nose.  She is dressed in a gorgeous purple which renders her unable to move or bend as it is made of a board.  She has blue flames shooting from her fingers and she has webbed feet.

Then, in Grade 1, I tried again with the portrait of Mom.

A Mother's Day card

My reason for loving my mother?  Because she was nice to me.  Admittedly, this must have been a challenge given that I have previously told the world she had a wart on her nose.  Mom had many talents.  What were they?  I HAVE NO IDEA.  However, she did love me (many exclamation points!) so that must have been one of them.

Then to the inside of the card.  Where they ask me to write of my favourite moment with my mother.  I regale them with a tale of when Mom fell down.  Ha ha!  That is funny.

When does my mother love me?  Well, of course when I love her, but mostly when I'm asleep.

Inside of the same card.

Then the prized moment.  When is my Mom the prettiest?  And I answer: when... she's in the shower!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (add many more exclamation points here)

I have so many questions.  First: why did I know what my mother looked like in the shower?  Second: why did I feel the need to a) write this where my teacher would see it, and b) send it to my mother for the sacred holiday of Mother's Day?  Third: how did my mother not LOSE IT when she read this out loud?

Having kids must be hilarious.  We're morons.

New definition of "blended family"

While shopping in the market, a store clerk chatted up Tanya asking about her English speaking family.  Tanya explained that Ky and I were sisters and daughters of Dad who was her husband.  The clerk nodded and said she had guessed that.  She said that Ky looked just like Dad while I looked just like Tanya.  Tanya agreed politely and chuckled, telling us the story as we were leaving the market. 

I told her I thought that was a pretty good assessment.  Ky does have Dad's nose.  And Tanya and I?  We  do share ample bosoms. 

Sisters, sisters. Never were there such devoted sisters

LynnieC moved in with us this week.  She got a job for the summer and so we invited her to crash with us for a few months.  The Guy has no idea what he's in for. 

Now, Lyn and I have lived together before in the house of spinster.  We got along great.  We ate lots of McDonalds, watched lots of So You Think You Can Dance, and shopped. 

It's different now.  I'm a married lady.  I cook real meals.  I keep the house clean (relatively).  I go to bed before midnight.  I watch the Discovery channel.  I'm old. 

It will be interesting to see how we all adapt to each other.  I think I'm more worried than either Lyn or The Guy.  I worry that I will be torn between the family I have been tied to my whole life and the family I'm creating.  (No, not that way.  I'm not pregnant.) 

I worry that there either The Guy or Lyn will realize the odd things about the other and suddenly dislike each other.  You know the saying -- familiarity breeds contempt.  My worlds will be merging in a whole new way and I'm a little panicked by that.  But I'm also excited.  It's going to be a lot of fun.

Finally, I have someone to watch So You Think You Can Dance with again!

Hey brother.

Thirty-two years today, my parents brought home my little brother.  I looked at him and asked when they were going back to get one for themselves.  Obviously, this one was mine. 

Throughout the years, we went from best friends to worst enemies and back again.  He's one of the smartest men I have ever met and has one the biggest hearts to go with it.  He's a rough and tumble sort of guy and I am glad to have him in my corner.

Happy birthday, Boy.

Me and Boy.