Let me tell you about Homestuck . . . .

From the Urban Dictionary:

"A web comic pertaining to an incredibly complex network of intertwined relationships between the space-time linear parallels of a group of juvenile human beings and a slightly larger group of juvenile troll-like humanoid extraterrestrials who must work together to stop a rogue villain from destroying our universe, communicated through and perpetrated by a with the ability to manipulate time and space while simultaneously bringing about the end of the world, interspersed with interruptions from an omniscient talking cue ball as well as a separate group of gang-involved beings hellbent upon exacting revenge on a rival group of gang-involved beings, all tied together by a characteristic ironically ridiculous and self-deprecating sense of humor with homage to both classic character archetypes from throughout human history as well as the familiar internet-central humor of today’s youth." [http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Homestuck]

My own definition is a bit more personal.  It is a web comic, sure.  But it is also something that has created a social group my girl-child (also known as the "Pumpkin") has found commonality with.  These kids (most are age 13 to 20) are incredibly funny, creative and aware.  They even let an old lady play with them on occasion, even though I have not read the 4000+ pages of Homestuck and do not get many of the 'inside' jokes and references.  I have managed to grasp a few of the names . . . Jane. .Dirk. . .Gamzi (or is it Gamzee). . . Jade.  

The characters seem to morph and change daily but the trolls can pretty much be counted on to have candycorn coloured horns regardless of whether they are humans, sea creatures, dogs, cats, dragons or even My Little Ponies.  Not all of the incarnations are the work of Mr. Hussie, in fact it seems most are created by the fandom of Homestuck devotees.  

There is much "shipping" or romantic pairings of the various characters, something of which I know from my own journey into an almost as crazy fandom on the 1990s -- that of the X-Files television series.  Much fanfiction and art work has been inspired by Homestuck, and my child occasionally shares it with me.

And then there's the costumes.  Oh boy are there costumes.  The Pumpkin's first costume was a doozy.  She spent several months creating a full head mask for a character named Bec Blanc . . . who is apparently a dog-like creature with wings and a sword. Well, see for yourself.  She test drove the costume at the Calgary Comic Convention in April. . . which is where the above photo is from.

In May, there is an amazing event held each year at the University of Calgary called Otafest.  We went last year. . . before the Pumpkin discovered Homestuck.  That year was sort of like an experiment.  She dressed as an Anime character and observed.  This was when she apparently saw some Homestuck fans. . . and asked them about their characters.  The rest, as they say, is history.

This year Otafest was. . . well EPIC.  I tagged along . . . spent much time sitting in the Student Centre reading my books and occasionally going to different sessions with the Pumpkin.  There was a Homestuck "Panel" where I got to learn about Homestuck . . . or try to . . . as I said. . . it's COMPLICATED.

I learned about some of the characters.  I learned about the girlchild's friends.  I learned about 'cuddle puddles'.  

Yup, these kids are fun.  They are funny.  And they even let an old lady play dress up with them.  Yes, a few weeks ago when the Homestuck kids got together for a rollerskating party, my kid dressed me up and I discovered I can still skate!  

Yup, my kid -- she dressed me up as a Homestuck character . . . which character -- why MOM of course.

So what is the point of this Blog post?  To tell you about Homestuck.  Sort of . . . it's about what being a parent means to me.  It is about learning about what makes your child happy.  What makes her light up.  And THAT is what HOMESTUCK really is . . . something that lights up my kid.  And for that, thank you Andrew Hussie.

What are the odds . . . .

Turning 50 . . . the BIG 5 - 0 . . . over the hill . . . 50 is the new 30

Whatever. . .

The more time I spend on the this planet, the younger I feel.  Age, like weight, is simply a number.  And numbers are things we spend much of the first part of our lives trying to make obey rules.  Less than.  Greater than.  Adding.  Subtracting. Multiplying.  Dividing.  Shortly after we master these concepts about numbers, new and more confusing ones arrive on the scene.  For example, dividing by zero.  Quadratic equations, square roots and geometry.  Before long calculus and trigonometry join the game, and then everyone's favourite, Sadistics . . . err. . . statistics.  I admit it, I ditched high school math before having to deal with calculus or trig. 

I took my last math class sometime in my twenties.  A psych stats class that was required for my degree.  It was NOT a good time.  The professor, who was a million feet tall, dressed in the 3-piece suit look of the 80s with flowing Rapunzel hair to boot, paced the front of the room like a tennis ball between Federer and Roddick.  You could tell statistics was his religion.  Having just gotten out of one, as not in the mood for conversion.  Dutifully, I took copious notes, supplemented them with the notes my older sister took the previous semester when she took the class (also required for her nursing degree) and read the text book.  Just when I would feel a concept solidify in my hands, whoosh, it would get swept away into the haze of my brain.  I did pass the class. . . thankfully the professor was of the view that we could bring anything into the exams to help us, with the exception of someone who had previously gotten an A in the class.  Somehow the combination of my sister's old notes and tests and my own gut instincts got me a B. 

Now I am looking at the kind of math that makes Psych 2000 look like counting to 100.

I have now lived 50 years on this planet.  Five decades.  That works out to roughly 438,000 - - give or take.  Two thousand six hundred weeks (and consequently weekends!).  Of that time, I spent 9 years in post-secondary school of one kind or another.  Over 100,000 hours being a parent.  Over 170,000 hours being a wife. 

At one point over the past few years, I made up a bucket list.  I just looked back at it . . . and laughed.  I have now come up with a new list which I call:  What I'm going to do in my fifties!

1.   Finish writing the book I've been working on for the past several years.   Thumping around in my head for quite a while has been a novel.  I know the plot outline.  The characters talk to me at odd and random moments.  I just need to get the bloody thing down on paper.

2.   Fall in Love again and, more importantly, be successful at keeping love alive and growing over the long haul.  As they say:  Second marriages are proof that optimism outweighs experience. 

3.  Take my girl-child on a BIG adventure trip.  Right now we are planning to go to the U.K. the summer after high school, which would be 2015.

See, I told you it was a short list.

What didn't make the 'cut' were places where I'd rather not waste my energy: getting over my fear of heights, learning to play the piano, drive the Alaska Highway, do daily yoga.  One of the things I think I'm becoming is more focused.  And for the functional ADHA poster child, this is something I am proud of.  Now, if I can . . . . ooohhhh look a butterfly.

No Regrets

A person does not get to age 50 without a few regrets.  Looking at my life, I probably have more than some people and less than others.  From questionable fashion choices in the 80s to even more questionable career choices.  In retrospect I could have made my life both easier and more enjoyable (not to mention more stylist) if I knew then what I know now.  But that is not how life works.  I believe we are here to learn and to grow; to make mistakes and to learn from them.  In all seriousness, there is only one thing in my life about which I have never had second thoughts, even for a moment.  That is becoming a Mother.

I did not come easily or lightly to motherhood.  Growing up in a culture and community where motherhood was revered above all other possible choices for a woman, I did the sensible thing and rebelled.  While my childhood friends were busy choosing baby names for their future offspring, I was planning not only my escape from my hometown, but my wild and crazy life full of excitement that did not include the mundane task of rearing offspring. 

When my now former husband and I married, I was honest in saying I did not know if I would ever want to have children.  My future had 'career woman' written all over it in large New Times Roman letters as I studied law and planned how I would change the future of the world.  Renfrew, having come from what could be described as a challenging family background, was nominally okay with my position -- at least I never remember him making parenthood a deal breaker.  My dear Mother-in-Law did frequently inquire as to our 'family' plans, since he was the only one of his siblings (including his 16 year old sister) who was childless. 

If I had to pick a moment when I realized that I wanted the honour of becoming a mother, it would be August 14, 1994.  That was the day that we lost a pet -- Jennie, a sweet energetic bundle of terrier who had escaped our backyard and was struck by a pick up truck.  We rushed her to the Vet, but there was nothing they could do for her but end her pain.  In the aftermath of that loss, something in me clicked and I realized that while 'parenting' pets was rewarding, I did not want to live my life without experiencing motherhood. 

Although it took almost four years, the Pumpkin was more than worth the wait.  Now, I cannot imagine my life without her. 

She makes me laugh at least daily.  Her way of seeing the world has opened up new adventures and experiences that I would never have encountered without her.  She has introduced me to music called 'alternative' but what I would simply call excellent.  I have found myself surrounded by people in costumes of all kinds having fun.  How often does an adult get to play dress up?

She has an insight into human nature that is beyond her years . . . or maybe we all have that understanding when we are young and lose it as we age.  The empathetic child her father and I watched on the playground, has grown into a young woman who has the ability to see beyond the obvious in situations. 

I was just reminded of the 'joy' of age three by a blog I follow http://dooce.com/2012/05/10/dreaded-year and, yes, age three was a challenge.  Other times, as well, have tested both my patience and my faith in my ability to parent.  But all in all, so far the ride has been an adventure and I have made the following observations about my philosophy of parenting:

First, our job as parents is NOT to mould, train or educate our children into the adult they will be.  Our job is to give them a safe place to figure that out for themselves.  It isn't OUR life and when we remember that fact and do not give into a need to preach to our children what WE believe to be the Truth, our kids will grow beyond any limited idea we may have for them.  I specifically remember my own mother NEVER telling me that couldn't do something -- even if she knew I couldn't.  She let me figure it out on my own and I am glad I recognized that 'gift' and was able to thank her for it while she was still on this earth.

Second, if you don't have your child's back, who will?  When I was in college, I remember going home for a weekend and telling Mom how one of my classmates had been afraid of going home for the break because she had gained a few pounds and she just knew "my Mom is going give me a hard time".  My Mom, without looking up from her coffee said:  "I don't get that.  The world gives kids so much negative and criticism, parents shouldn't add to it."  Criticism, even 'well meaning' criticism, eats away at person's confidence and joy.

Third, get to know your child's friends, classmates, teachers -- basically their 'world'.  I've heard many parents of teens say that they can't connect with their kids.  While this breaks my heart, I want to ask what steps they have taken to nuture and build the connections they are missing.  I work overtime or take vacation days so I can go on school field trips and participate in my daughter's activities.

I still remember the first time I had to make a 'choice' between career and the Pumpkin.  She was in preschool and I was still working as a lawyer in the North.  I had taken a Legal Aid file with a custody trial set for November 1.  About 2 or so weeks before the trial date, the Clerk called to ask if I would be okay moving the trial to October 31, since the matter for that date had settled.  My answer was no, I had other plans.  Those plans (as you may have guessed) were the Hallowe'en party at the Pumpkin's school.  My reality check was that in 10 years no one  would remember what day the trial was held, but I would remember if I missed the Pumpkin's  party -- and so would she.

In sum, the parenting philosophy I learned from my Mom is simply that we are here to support, love and cheer on our children.  If we do our job right, our children will become all they are meant to be.

Today I am blessed with a confident, funny, smart, loving and beautiful child.  Whether I get a bouquet of dandelions or breakfast in bed for Mothers' Day, I already have the BEST gift:  A Daughter who is beyond Amazing.  LOVE YOU PUMPKIN and thank you for letting me be your Mom!

I don't know why anyone is surprised my child takes fandom seriously.  When she was just a cluster of cells the size of a pea she went on an X-files Fan weekend in Vancouver.  I was (and still am) a proud X-Phile having done the on-line newsgroup, written X-files fanfiction and generally been a geeky uberfan. 

Now I pass the torch to my child.  Unlike her mother, the object of her fandom is an on-line graphic cartoon series called "Homestuck".  Initially the Pumpkin went through a Japanese anime phase collecting and reading books with such titles as Ouran School Host Club, DeathNote, Peach Basket, Pet Shop of Horrors and Souleater. 

Last year I dusted off my sewing machine and made her an orange kimono as part of an anime character costume for the annual Otafest in Calgary.  Despite the fact I thought my kid's costume ROCKED, she was much harder on herself.  No one, it seems, recognized her as the character she was portraying.  Okay.  I get it.  I think.

The past 12 months she has been busily planning, revising, rejecting, re-planning, sketching, Googling, researching and basically focusing her attention on having not just one, but two costumes for this years' festivities.   The amount of time and energy she has joyfully invested in this project is amazing.  Once she settled on her choice of characters, she looked at what others had done for CosPlay (a term representing a joining of the terms "Costume" and "Play").

The 'main' characters in Homestuck are a group of 12 'trolls' who are each represented by a zodiac symbol.  I'm not all that clear on the origins of the trolls but gather it involved some type of apocolyptic event where the only survivors were a small group of teenagers.  The story/online comic has been evolving for just over two years. 

This past weekend she 'test drove' one of her costumes at the Calgary Comic Expo.  This particular character is named Bec Blanche and, as far as I can garner, is a winged dog/warrior who has the power of teleportation. 

The costume, as you can see, is not your 'throw a sheet over your head and call yourself a ghost' variety.  The head alone took my kid hours of work.  She carved the doggie snout from florist form, using our 4 year old terrier as a model -- which confused him since her normal reaction to him coming near her bedroom is to chase him out.  Not only did she not chase him out of her room, she came and scooped him up off the sofa and plopped him on her bed to pose!  I did sew the skirt and I covered an old t-shirt in ribbed fabric to give the character the look of bandages it sports, but the concept and idea were all hers.

Anyway, we took her costume out for a test run.  It is clear that the only thing more fun than riding the C-Train is riding the C-Train in costume.  Watching people do double and triple takes was pretty entertaining.

We arrived at the location of the Comic Expo and spent about an hour in line.  Next year, we buy tickets in advance.  Apparently, people who came even 1/2 an hour after we did, did not get in on Saturday.  Although the venue (even as large as it was) was pretty packed, we had an adventure.  At least 50 people stopped and asked to take the Pumpkin's photo.  She even posed with a couple of little kids -- who thought she was very cool. 

Part of the reason for going to the Expo was to meet up with other "Homestuck" fans -- and that we did.  I got many photos of the Pumpkin with other fans of her favourite on-line comic.  The trolls not only have grey skin, but they sport horns that look very much like mutated and overgrown candy corn.  There were several other non-troll characters, which the Pumpkin took pains to try to explain to me. 

Although we left after about 3 hours -- all that walking around was exhausting and there wasn't anywhere to sit and relax.  The day was a success.  Pumpkin has figured a few things to 'tweak' on her costume and I have decided that this month, when we go to Otafest, I am definitely going in costume.  You are never too old to have an adventure. . . . .

Under the "B" . . . .

March 17 would have been my Mom's 90th birthday and to celebrate several of us are going to play Bingo at various locations.  I'm sure for many people the afternoon or evening at a Bingo hall would not qualify as a memorial event, but for us it is that and more.

One of my early childhood memories is of my Mom (and whomever was around the house) playing televised Bingo on Saturday afternoons.  The local Kinsman Club had a TV Bingo game with a prize of $3,000 and the catchy name of Kingo Bingo.  At that time (the 1970s), this was a considerable amount of money -- this was when a new car cost around that sum.  Bingo cards were purchased at various merchants -- in my hometown it was generally one of the local pharmacies -- back when drug stores still sold cigarettes and other instruments of vice.

In those days, we would pull out the TV trays and set up our Bingo cards, using pens to cross out numbers as they were called.  Mom would have a cigarette in one hand and a cup of coffee nearby.  Although I got to play a card or two, if one ever turned out to be a winner, I knew Mom would be the one phoning the station to call "Bingo".  We didn't need to worry about that.  In all those years, we never won.

Sometime in the 80s, Bingo Halls began to open in various locations.  They were staffed by a handful of paid employees, but the real workforce was made up of volunteers from various organizations in the community.  The clubs, sports teams and service organizations were able to make some money and the Bingo Halls were run as not-for-profit businesses.   Mom discovered "Winners Bingo" in the nearby town and she was hooked.  Roadtrips were frequent occurences with whomever was in town getting brought along for the fun.  My next older sister first went with Mom when Mom was visiting my sister.  My sister took along a book to read, believing she would not be playing.  Rules being what they are, she had to play in order to sit at the table with Mom.  My sister won her first game and the rest, as they say, was history.  She was pretty much hooked.

Before long, going to Bingo whenever we were together became a family thing.  Before the government decided that 'children' shouldn't be allowed to gamble, anyone over the age of 12 was brought along and initiated into the family tradition.  When I married Renfrew, his mother would join our Bingo adventures.  It became a family bonding ritual at its best.

Occasionally someone would win, but just spending a few hours together, was enough of a prize for me.  Stories were shares, memories were made and community groups were supported.  It was a win/win situation.

Before smoking was outlawed in public places, Bingo was a complete sensory experience.  We would, of course, sit in the "non-smoking" section, which was somewhat like the "non-peeing" section of a public swimming pool.  Mom had quit smoking before we began the Bingo tradition, but my still-hooked sister and nieces would scramble to the smoking area between games.  I'm not sure why as I am pretty convinced we were all maintaining a pretty high level of nicotine just by being the hall.
In the last few years of my Mom's life, Bingo kept her active and busy.  She would drive her friends to the local Bingo hall and they would spend the afternoon or evening visiting and playing.  It was always great to go along as she took great pleasure in introducing her daughters and granddaughters to her friends. 

So this Saturday my sister, niece and I will raise a Bingo dauber in honour of My Mom.  Who knows, maybe her spirit will nudge the right balls out of the machine and we'll even get to yell "BINGO".

Why is anyone surprised Whitney Houston is dead?

Please people....nothing surprising here -- shocking perhaps, but surprising no.

Whitney Houston was a woman with demons.  The demon of being a 'kid wonder' with a voice that was bigger than the world.  The demon of meeting, falling in love with and marrying a man with an impulse control problem.  Spousal abuse doesn't just happen in the poor part of town.  Whatever demon was driving her, drove her to the escape of drugs.

The stories of her trips through rehab have surfaced periodically over the last few years.  But her demons had a grip on her that wouldn't let go.

Regardless of the cause of her death, the Cause was lack of Love.  The illusion of Ego clouded her reality and she did not see that she was LOVE.  The rest . . . well it was all just details.

Now she can rest . . . her spirit, which was always pure, sweet and innocent will take the lessons from this bumpy, painful ride.

Rest in Peace, songstress.  May your next journey be an easier ride.

The California Aunt -- Auntie M

They say you do not remember days, you remember moments.  One moment (well, it lasted a bit longer than a moment) that sticks with me was the summer I was almost 16.  My mother's siblings had come to Southern Alberta on their annual pilgrimage from the South (California and Arizona, specifically).  Each year they would come up and start some project or other in the 'Big House'.  The 4800 square foot, two storey brick home where my grandmother lived with my maiden aunt (didn't everyone have one of those?) and my perpetually childlike uncle. 

One year they expanded the back porch so that it covered the entire area between the backroom (aka summer kitchen) and the far corner of the house.  It gave us a large space not only for barbeques and hanging out in the summer, but also an area to stack wood for the fireplace in the winter.  The new porch and steps also had the advantage of not crumbling under foot, as the old concrete had seen much better decades and was starting to randomly give way without warning.

This summer's project was more massive than anything to date.  They were going to turn my grandparents' old bedroom into a large, expanded bathroom.  Grandma was getting well passed the age where getting in and out of the cast iron clawfoot tub in the main bath was easy or safe.  A walk-in shower, complete with a chair, was going to be installed and a door created between what had once been the "rug room" which would now serve as her new bedroom and the new bath suite.

Anyway, as the adventure continued my aunts and uncle discovered that simply knocking a hole through the wall for a door sounded easier than it was going to be.  Why?  Well, my great-grandfather had the foresight to make the house a solid structure.  Solid -- as in 3 layers of bricks for the exterior walls and 2 layers for the inside walls solid.  Yes, this was going to take more than a reciprocating drywall saw and wheelbarrow for the debris.  It was going to require sledgehammers, muscle and possibly explosives.

So, there they were: three middle-aged women and one man going at the wall with an assortment of tools.  It was messy and, at times, hysterically funny. BUT the thing that I remember better than anything was my Auntie "M".  

Auntie M was smack in the middle of the 'Change'.  This meant hot flashes . . . intense hot flashes.  Add to that the summer prairie heat and a house without air conditioning.  One moment she was just standing in the kitchen having a glass of iced tea and the next she had whipped off her top revealing a bra reminescent of Marilyn Monroe or early Madonna (but this was, of course, before Madonna).

She was my mother's younger sister and the undisputed rebel of that generation.  She married for the first time at age 15. . . to a man who would be considered by many of us her love of a lifetime.  Even after they divorced, not too many years after they first married, he continued to visit the 'family'.  I, in fact, remember him stopping by the Big House in the 1990s to visit Auntie M when she was doing her caretaking duties.  It was like watching time wind backward.

Auntie M went on to marry twice more . . . with the last marriage ending in her mid-thirties.  After that she had what I believe was an active social life, but she had decided to pass on those marriage vows again.  I remember her comment to me (when I was nursing my own broken heart at her place when I was 21) about marrige and men.  She said that she much preferred being 'the other woman' because she didn't have to do the man's laundry and when he got on her nerves, she could send him home.  Although I have a different personal view on daliances by married folk, I have to say she had a point.  And it worked for her.

Her last marriage produced her only child, my cousin B.  To say he was the light of her life would be an understatement.  He was more of supernova.  From birth he was larger than life -- with blond hair and dazzling blue eyes that produced more than one crush among my friends when they would visit from California in the summer.  B was the quinessential surfer boy and we had a teasing relationship that grew from the fact we were both doted on by our mothers and, as was often pointed out by family members, spoiled.

Sadly, B developed stomach cancer when we were in our early thirties and passed away at a time when he should have been delighting in his three growing children.  Thanks to Facebook, I see much of him in his daughters and son.  Auntie M, well, I think her spirit only comes along once every few generations.  I don't think the world is quite ready for it again, yet.  But her oldest grandchild is pregnant, so you never know!