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!

Oh NO...they changed Facebook...

NOTE:  I actually wrote this a couple years ago - - one of the other times they changed Facebook, but it is suddenly relevant again.


Ah, THEY have changed Facebook again.

Predictably there are complaints, petitions, and vows to stop using it due to the aforementioned changes. The comments pour in:

"The new format sucks"
"They didn't warn us"
"I want the OLD Facebook back"
If a 1,000,000 people join, they will change back.
"I don't understand this."
"I can't find [insert random name of application here]????"

As I was reviewing all these comments -- which seem to appear everytime Facebook changes anything -- something occurred to me: FACEBOOK IS A METAPHOR FOR LIFE!!

In the past 2 years -- almost exactly 2 years -- my life has had several unscheduled, unsolicited makeovers. Yup, I got hit upside my  reality by fate, chance and, believe it or not, CHOICE.

Now the changes brought on by fate and chance -- well, I have to admit I did NOT like. Initially, I screamed, I yelled, I threw things (both imaginary and real) and cursed the Universe for visiting them on me like some outside programmer deciding that what I NEEDED was not what I had.

The new format of my life SUCKED.
I wanted the old life back.
I did NOT ask for these changes.

YUP, I was NOT happy with the person who organized and created my universe.

Somehow as the changes kept coming fast and unexpectedly, I decided I could either complain and bemoan them OR I could change my attitude. I sure had NO power over the Divine Programmer of the Universe -- He was not asking my opinion and clearly for some reason HE was bent on getting my attention.

Well, HE GOT IT. Somewhere around 18 months into the cataclysm that was my life, I LET GO. I decided to stop fighting the CHANGE -- I realized CHANGE IS INEVITABLE. Change is the only way to GROW. Even BAD change lets me grow. WOW -- in fact, the biggest and most positive changes I have made came from what, objectively, looked like a BAD change in my world.

Think for a minute -- from the day we tumble into this World as ittty bitty little bundles of cute, we are changing. At first the changes are pretty basic -- our diapers, our stretchies, our formula. They start getting more complicated the more time we spend on this planet. Some, we get input into. Some, well, they just HAPPEN.

When my Mom died -- unexpectedly on the heels of the end of my marriage, I sure did NOT have any input into that little scenario. In fact, in the scheme of things it was the WORST possible timing for two of the biggest piles of change that hit most of us. I was angry. I was shocked. I was pretty much a mess. I went into autopilot and did what I do best -- I took charge and COPED. I managed the funeral, wrote the obituary and Mom's eulogy. My siblings and I spent hours on end sorting and cleaning out Mom's apartment -- where she had been living for YEARS. I did what was needed to care for my child - and frequently thanked the Powers the Are that my co-parent, while having resigned as spouse, continued to be the Parent he needed to be.

As I got further into the change process, I started looking for HELP. I found and read books --> When Things Fall Apart (Pema Chodron), Year of Magical Thinking (Joan Didion), Welcome to your Crisis (Laura Day), Finding your own North Star (Martha Beck) and the book I now recommend to anyone who has had life change the rules mid-game, Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser. I was a veritable student of how to handle change. My 'team' expanded as I returned to the psychologist who helped me contemplate the end of marriage and my doctor who 'managed' my medications. My posse of girlfriends kept me afloat (and I thank them from the centre of my Soul).

About 3 months ago, something occurred to me. I was HAPPY. Truly HAPPY in a way I have not been in longer than I care to remember. I have given up needing to control things. I have FORGIVEN, deeply and completely, both my 'humanness' and the humanness of everyone in my world. It was not until I got to the FORGIVING part that absolutely everything else fell into place. Now I work daily to make my focus in life doing 'My Father's' work -- loving unconditionally and forgiving everyone for EVERYTHING.

So, now as a new series of 'changes' sweep across Facebook, might I suggest everyone just take a deep breath and RELAX. Adapt, adjust and move on -- it's NOT the end of the world - not by a long stretch just another change you can approach as a way to 'stretch' those change muscles. I am pretty sure the seismic changes I got handed were there BECAUSE I had become too resistant to change. I felt I didn't need to keep learning and re-learning to adapt to changes. I had it ALL figured out. . . now I just accept what is TRUE --> none of us have it figured out. Because if we did, we would not need to be here, in this life, on this earth! 

Rites of Passage

It happened, damnit.

For the past almost 13 years I have been part of an 'on-line' family.  A group of women who started out on a very public message board for working mothers and who, over the years, have migrated through several different incarnations and who now have a private board where we 'meet'.  This group of around 35 women come from almost every part of North America.  I am one of several Canucks who have found we have more things in common with our American sisters than we ever imagined.

As with most families, we have been through our good and bad times.  We have held each other's virtual hands through the journey.  

We have celebrated accomplishments -- ours, our kids', our spouses.
We have cried over losses, big and small.
We have weathered the changes that life throws our way
We have sent our kids off to first grade and to college together.
We have watched our parents age, become ill and transition to the next life together.
We have cried for each other as marriages have broken down and ended.
We have rejoiced at new loves and new beginnings.
We have bragged without shame about our amazing children and their accomplishments.
We have held each other up when those same children stumble and fall.
We have encouraged each other in stepping out of our comfort zones, whether it is for a new job, a new career or even just a new hairstyle.
We have prayed when cancer has threatened those we love.
We have laughed over the silly things our families do.

The difference these women have made in my life defies description. They kept me relatively sane through the 4 years I lived in Canada's northern wilderness.  They reminded me that there really was still a world out there. 

They listened to my rants and tears when my marriage came apart at the seams and I had to find a new way to be in the world.   Now they listen to my dating adventures and remind me to laugh.

When my mother died as my marriage was ending, the words of love and support I got from my cyber-sisters were often the only thread holding me together. 

This past week we experienced the one Rite of Passage I prayed we never would face.  As I turned on my computer I was met with what I at first thought was a posting error.  It was a link to an obituary for someone with the same name as one of our members.  This CANNOT be right.  It is too soon to lose anybody to the next life. 

I held my breath and clicked.

Damnit.  Double damnit.  It was not an hallucination.  One of our members has gone where there is no mainframe or server.  She has logged off one last time.  We are collectively in shock.  The reality has hit us in the face. 

And so we say farewell to our sister.  We cry for her three beautiful daughters who will grow into adulthood without their mother by their sides.  We mourn for her husband who is undoubtedly overwhelmed by his loss and the loss his children are feeling.  We pray for strength for all of them, and for all of us. 

Goodbye, Dearest Ilka, you will not be forgotten.  We will keep your daughters in our prayers.  Know you are loved.  Godspeed, my Sister, Godspeed.