Dad's anniversary

They say that when someone has died, it takes a while for that feeling of loss to become something we can manage. I was reminded that one day I would think of the happy times, not the last months of my father's dying. Today, 7 years later, on the anniversary of his death, I think of the life he lived, that I knew of and was part of. Not the years before, when he raised his first family, my brothers and eldest sister. But of the second family I felt intimately part of, made of my my second sister and I.

Tonight I am thinking about my father sitting next to his desk lamp, painting life on red clay. I am thinking of him flying gliders, particulary the red one he loved so much. I am thinking about the short time that my parents separated and how happy I was to be reunited with him again. To sit at the same kitchen table where he made art, watching him preparing a cup of tea for me.

But my mind moves back and forth from his living hours to his dying hours. I can still see him on the hospital bed, the smell of chemicals, a curtain drawn between him and his roommate. Moments when he was conscious, and lovingly acknowledged my presence. Moments when he was unconscious, not responding to light, to sound. And I think about the the times I visited him at the hospital and how I prayed that the loud cries of pain that came from a pain-ridden dying body, trapped in a bed, in a cold green room, under thin white blankets,belonged to someone else.

Iremember his asking us, when he was aware, and could talk to help him die.Then days later, watching him cry, his face wet with tears. Wanting so desperately to talk, to walk, to be well again. Letting us go, but not ready to let go. Watching us come and go until he slipped away into unconsciousness.

I think of our final choice, which I did not consider at the time to be a gift of kindness. But now looking back, it was the only gift we could give him. To release him. The doctors pulled his feeding tube. Then one August day, he took his last breath. And now, somehow, we breathe his breath, because we are part of him and he is part of us. The pain has become tolerable, but the memories are a mix of great joy and tremendous sadness.

A place for thoughts

I am sitting in the place I love the most..my gloriously green, and leafy backyard. This is certainly a different garden from the one I had when I moved in. Back then it was a large backyard, full of weeds and scorchingly hot places..lit by the sun. Since our big, happy move into this house, we have added numerous plants. David added this wonderful pergola that I am sitting under..it gives so much shade. He also added a fantastic side garden which is part ornamental and part herb garden. In addition, the children enjoy their playfort which David and my father-in-law lovingly built together on a hot summer day. My mother in-law helped too.

This garden is a wondeful place for quiet, roaming thoughts. For the preservation of spoken or unspoken words. For quiet play or boisterous play. For bird watching, and watching the dozens of squirrels get so close they get underfoot. This is how it is for ou rlittle chipmunk that has become a little more confident and gets very close to us when we are hanging up our clothes on the line or having a snack outside.

I have really needed this place of thoughts to go to. Currently I am thinking about what to do in terms of my child who has a learning disability. I want what is best and to promote the learning process in a way that is encouraging. I wish I knew what to do. I have to think things through and plan ahead somehow. We have spent so much time here learning and growing together. I remember him sitting on the grass, watching the clouds roll by. I have always been impressed by his sophistication and incredible vocabulary. Life has many surprises and guess the L.D. is one of them. I hope one day he will see it as a gift, not a challenge when he can use to it help other people.
our

fuzzy pink pajamas

I haven't blogged in ages. I'm sitting here with a sinus infection, in fuzzy pink pajamas, feeling like I've been run over by a truck.

My children will be home soon.

It is dark and the singular sound of a robin calling to its mate punctuates the silence..

Tomorrow, I will need to sort through the piles of laundry on our blanket box. Remove the roll of tissue paper on the antique desk. Actually the top of the desk will be a task on its own to tidy. A balled up kleenex, a pile of paper, a hairdryer, David's camera. My phone book. Lip balm.

I hope I'll be able to sleep soon. That I'll wake up feeling healthy. That I'll get to spend time in the garden, playing with my kids.

Jacob Scheier

It is taking the kids a while to fall asleep. Everything else in house is quiet except for their voices... They are making up an elaborate story about my youngest's crush. The eldest is now pretending he is in a spaceship and he is blasting off.

I am thinking about Jacob Scheier's visit and reading on November 26th. The Winner of last year's Governor General Award for poetry. His book is amazing and what is even more amazing is that I knew his mother. She was my professor in university all those years ago and I thought alot of her. Now her son is carrying on her legacy..she would be so proud. -The 26th is also David's birthday..this will be a special day in many ways..David will most likely be going to atleast one of the readings..he is a writer of Haiku. Wow, don't I have a lot of cleaning up to do around here before the exciting upcoming visit. I feel blessed.

Pink Bow

Winter is almost here..but today was such a gorgeous day... My son and husband rode their bikes downtownish to get their haircuts and Ella and I wandered a little closer to home. We stopped and had frozen hot-chocolates..then hit a used bookstore and picked up a few books there. Finally, we proceeded to the Art Centre where we spent time in the Green Room looking at fish in the fish pond and a variety of heavenly plants. Ella looked so pretty in her pink top, frilly pink skirt and furry pink coat to match. Before leaving the house she grabbed a pink bow for her hair so I fastened it to the one side and she looked so lovely. She has been looking so tired lately..hope my little girl is okay. Today was such a nice day that I wish I could do it all over again. When time goes by this fast it feels like stolen moments.

Almost winter

For a few brief moments I looked outside my family room windown this evening, and saw a sea of leaves scattered over the beds that I had so lovingly tended to this spring and summer. I don't think I will pluck the dead impatients from their beds but rather leave them alone to eventually become the dried earth under snow.

If felt strange to look at the bird bath that was frequently visited by birds and squirrels and to now see it vacant of visitors. But to see handfuls of leaves in its flower shaped stone bowl. Even the picnic table that David tiled this summer is buried under a mess of leaves.

I really dislike the winter. The stores are already filled with winter clothes, and Christmas merchandise. I wish I lived in a place where it was spring or summer constantly. I am not one who really appreciates or needs the change of seasons. Though I do enjoy the rites of spring. The first buds, the thawed earth. The first hint of green and new life. Summer is also a celebration of sun and warmth, and flowers, and herbs, and fruits and vegetables. And winter is time of slumber, only its short days make me feel as though I too should be hibernating..sleeping the days of winter away. And finally waking up in the spring.

H1N1

What a scary and exhausting couple of weeks it has been. My husband, son and I have been home with suspected cases of H1N1. We seem to now be on the mend but I am almost afraid to speak so soon. It has so far managed to skip our daughter and I hope that this is the situation and that she will not become sick. I have barely left the house at all except for going to work the last couple of nights. I finally returned to work on Tuesday after days of being bedbound with cough and fever. David is also back to work, and our son will hopefully be returning to school next week.

I have cabin fever and have forgotten what fall looks like, feels like and smells like. The only thing I have noticed so far is the mountain of leaves I'm going to have to rake when my energy returns. Hopefully soon Ross will feel well enough to venture outside with his sister and the two of them can play in the leaves.

I have had a crazy mirage of dreams the last few nights. More so with the fever. I believe I had deliriously happy dreams with the fever and now that I am without it, my dreams have been growing increasinlgy frightening.

I have a mess to clean, to sort through before going to sleep. I can hear my daughter annimatedly talking to herself. My son on the other hand, is quietly absorbed in something.

The destruction of our tree

It is night and my glands are sore, I feel feverish and I have a cough. I can hear my kids watching t.v. behind the thin wall that separates my bedroom from the family room. I am sitting up on the bed, over the burgundy fleecy blanket that belonged to my father..I think soon I will drape my shivering body in it. David is next to me working away on the lovely turn-of-the-century table we bought from a local antique store that was closing shop.

My mind is swirling right now. I am thinking of the tree that stood infront of our house since its construction in the 1940s, if not before. Yesterday it was chopped down and even though it was a relief in important ways because it would no longer threaten our safety..I thought of the home it had been for its animals. Yesterday, birds and squirrels were furiously knocking on our windows, as if to tell us how upset they were by the destruction of their home. Today, a low stump is all that remains.

Today was cold, all day. I sat in the waiting area, waiting for Ella to finish her ballet class. I went home, and immediately climbed under the covers where I have spent most of the day. I am exhausted, my thoughts are slowly fading into the darkness that seeps its way in at night.

Fall

This week Ross started grade 3..it has been a good week for him. He seems to like his new teacher and is busy making new friends. Ella started Junior Kindergarten and today was her first full day. I am so accustomed to always having her there that it actually made me feel quite miserable to not hear her laughter, or her walking or skipping around the house, or her talking to herself. I went grocery shopping, then I watered the garden and put some laundry away. I put her ballet clothes away for her so that I'll know where to find them for her ballet class. I hope she'll still be interested in ballet this year because she really is quite graceful.

Lately Ella has been liking the sound that the crunchy leaves make under her feet. Normally I dread fall because it is making way for winter, but today she made the sound of fall leaves sound like music.

I wish i could sign up my very talented son for drama lessons. He loved the theatre camp this summer and I thought he would enjoy a similar outlet this fall. But he seems exhausted and it wouldn't be right to push him.

Fall

I am in my garden looking at the great bunches of red impatients all around me. By the swing, on both sides, they have swollen into 2 gorgeous mounds. And under the Juniper tree as well, a great red slope of flowers. The leaves have started to fall. The flowers on the hostas are no longer
fragrant and my lilies of the valley have dried up. My roses however, are still busy making blooms on their thin red branches. The white ones smell like the Italian body talc that my mother used to powder me with after a bath. The sunset tinged ones smell of jasmine.

I am watching Ross in his playfort. He decided he wanted a tree fort so he pruned back our cedar tree, and it's cut branches now adorn the wood spindles of his fort. Ella is spending time talking to her imaginary daughter. She has 4, and this one by far, is her favourite. She hasnt' said that she is her favourite, but her actions speak louder than her words. At this moment she is pretending to buckle her into her silver toy car. Apparently it is Urella's birthday today so she gave her a present, and now apparently her daughter is sharing her toys with her little mommy. So as I write, Ella is now walking around the car with a purple haired doll in her hands talking animatedly.

Ross is looking like an English gentleman with his navy shirt tucked under his wool vest. He even sports a tie most days. I wish I could send him to a private school because he'd love the whole uniform thing. But we don't have the money to send him to that kind of school

Ella looks like a little fairy, with longish wavy hair, a pale yellow dress, big blue eyes on a small face. Her rainboots kind of detract from this picture, but she put on the first things she could find to go outside.

Ross just found a sleepy worm by our garden box, so he moved it into the back garden so it won't be stepped on. He seems to love insects of any kind. He found a large creepy looking bug on the bike path the other day, and he picked it up lovingly to examine it. Then he tried to find a safe place for it under the trees. Bees, and hornets don't frighten him. It looks as is he was bitten on his face but hasn't said anything about it.

He loves bumblebees like the rest of us. Their quiet, unassuming ways.

I want to remember this moment. I wish all moments were like this. With children, in shorts, watching fall's first blush on leaves and seedum. I dislike the winter..wearing heavy coats and layers, boots, hats. Having to face cold, icy, snowy days.

Dad, in my garden

I was sitting in my family room with my children, when I looked out my window to check to make sure the wind hadn't knocked down a blanket i had hung up to dry. Next to it, I thought I saw my Dad standing there in his pale blue shirt. Am I falling asleep.. Am I awake? Was it really him standing next to the blanket that had once covered him when he slept? In his warm burgandy and white fleecy blanket which now I cuddle into when I sleep.

I admit to feeling tired tonight. Tomorrow my son and I will be attending the Gordon Lightfoot event and most exciting af all, my brother will be unveiling his bust of Mr. Lightfoot.

My daughter who isn't feeling well, is pretending she will be going to the Ball tonight. And my son is watching The Temple of Doom. My husband is listening to a lecture. I should be writing an article tonight.

The bees

It feels as if Fall is here. Another cold morning...too cold for the bumblebees. Their dried up golden bodies still clinging to the thin branches of plants in our herb garden. Only yesterday they worked fervently moving plant to plant, as if extracting something delicious. Today they are lifeless, and I remember how much I love bumblebees. How this summer, they let me get close to them, seemed unafraid of me. Or perhaps, unaware of me.

The missing tooth and the tooth fairy

I'll never forget the time that Ross came back from having a playdate at Ivor's house. He'd had such a great time but yet he looked preoccupied with worry. I asked him what was wrong and he told me that he had been playing in Ivor's basement when Ivor had accidentally punched him out and that his tooth had accidentally fallen out. And he was okay he'd said, only he'd lost the tooth and it was somewhere in his friend's basement. They had looked everywhere but they couldn't find it anywhere, and he was worried that he would not get that special visit from the tooth fairy if he couldn't provide the missing tooth. Ivor's mom had even promised to put off vacuuming for a few days in case the tooth were to turn up. The tooth never did turn up, so we surmised that the tooth fairy had found it after all. So one morning, Ross discovered a gold coin under his pillow, and was sure that this was proof of the special visit he'd been waiting for.

Ella and Nadya

Ella asked me today to write about Nadya, her first friend. I've written about Ivor, her brother who was also Ross' true first and best friend. So here it goes. Nadya and Ella were 3 when they met and there was a bond right off the bat. They took to another very well, and looked so much alike that others thought they were sisters. They loved another, and played generally very well, but like sisters, they had their fights too. And quite often, they both needed a nap to melt their frustration with another. Ella would curl up on Nadya's bed, and they would take turns flipping through pages of bedtime books, and tell each other stories. Sometimes they would actually fall asleep, with a baby blanket, often a quilt Heidi had made, wrapped around them.

One day they got into a lot of mischief. Ella stayed behind at Nadya's house and while I was away they managed to get into paint and painted the carpet as well as themselves. It took a while scrubbing it out of Ella's hair and off her skin but I can't imagine the time it took for Heidi to scrub it off her carpet and anywhere else it had gone.

We often referred to the girls as twins. They were so much alike. They loved to dance when they were together. They would take turns turning up the volume when listening to Heidi's radio and dance. Sometimes the music got too loud and turned a little into a battle of wills.

The last time we saw Nadya, we turned on one of Ella's favourite songs, Dancing Queen. Ella grabbed on to Nadya's hand and they danced and looked so happy to be together doing the thing they loved most..to dance. I was a little heartbroken..because I knew Ella was having so much fun, she hadn't been this happy since seeing her friend months before. I was heartbroken knowing that this happiness would turn to sadness when she would have to see her friend leave once more for her home in a different province.

She often compares other little girls to Nadya but they are not the same. And this lack of sameness is so hard for Ella. She dreams of her forever friend and looks forward to a time when they will dance.

To Ella, on being a Ballerina

You seem to step lightly where ever you go. It does not seem to have anything to do with your height and frame...it has to do with your graceful little movements..the careful footwork. The walking and skipping and twirling on tippy-toes. Even when you're running through the water at the wading pool. When you were still in-utero there was something magical, and mysterious about you. Something fairylike. Now here you are, determined, strong-willed and lovable. You love to dance. You love music. You love to pretend you are the prima ballerina. You are Odette in Swan Lake. You are wonderfully imaginative, graceful, whimsical. You are definitely the queen of fairies.

To Ross, on becoming a Poet

Ross, you are becoming a poet, my dear. Rather, you are a poet. You sit at the round kitchen table and write a poem. I don't remember writing poems when I was 8, I think I was 10 or older. I am amazed by you. I am amazed that your first poem got published this year, and that you sit there, and write these poems so easily, and with so much skill. You are simply amazing. You know how to use language and give it meaning and form. I am so proud of the person you are becoming and the poet that is emerging.

Night

The air is cool. It is cool for August..it feels more like late September or October. The leaves have started to fall, their colour just beginning to fade. I hacked away at the plants today in the front beds. It took all my energy to hack the sturdy gray branches down, and uncover the mulched earth. It felt good for the first while..I had an almost manic energy..leaving my kids to their own self-management so I could separate plants that had taken over their space and had already begun the journery toward destruction by choking the plants around them including our helpless blue spruce. After awhile, I felt drained and I hardly looked forward to hauling the twigs and branches into pails and bins. I feel somewhat guity thinking back at the holly I managed to attack and dislimb. I chopped it down to its exposed roots. It seemed to make sense then..it had grown wild and taken over everything else..but there was something nice in the way that it laced everything in its corner and ..beyond. But I managed to strip it bare of any life..I don't really know what I was thinking. It was green and ornamental and now I sadly miss it. --Ella is sleeping soundly next to me. Ross has gone upstairs and is getting ready to retire for the night. I'm sleepy but I can't sleep. The cars seem to punctuate the silence in the air. I liked it when we first moved to this neighbourhood. Now I dream of Thornbury. Of its nightime silence..its curtain of stars, the bay out back..melting into a sea of sky. They cove bringing refuge to its sleepy swans. But I'm here..and this is still a good place to be. I don't live in the shadowy, depressing blue house anymore. I live here with the pine trees, and the japanese maple, and the other maples and the cedars and locust tree. With the flowers that come back to greet me each year, the birds that move back to make families and build homes for their families. The backyard bunny that likes to hide among the hostas..the chipmunk that likes to sit under out picnic table. The flowering hostas that smell like heaven at this time of year. And all the windows in our house that let us look out onto the gardens.

Dad's Anniversary

I can feel you here as I look out the window and I see a tree branch moving with weight of the wind. It is so hard not being able to see you but then again when a cool draft moves across my shoulder I can almost see you. Your warm smooth hands, carressing my shoulder, my hair, my face. I am waiting to smell your Old English Cologne in the air. Hanging like music, suspended in the air. I would like to hear your footsteps, see your worn-in slippers in the corner of the room. Here you whistle a cheerful tune as you spin your clay pot in your hands, carefully, dreamily. Good night Dad, but never, good-bye.

Ella and Ross

I'm watching Ella print her name at our picnic table. Ross is running with a broken tree branch in hand, re-enacting the battle of Stoney Creek. The plants and flowers that surround me are welcoming. The lilies of the valley have stopped blooming but their faintly intoxicating scent fill the air. The alliums are past their prime, just a slight flurry of purple standing on top of long, erect stems. I love the hostas..they are growing large, casting leafy shadows across the garden. We are being watched by chicks and robins. Somewhere within these tall trees, nests are tucked away, loved and protected.

The ferns are getting to be tall and enormous. A baby dogwood is growing in between. Our vines are beginning to leaf, as well as our climbing roses. My favourite of all is an unnamed rose climber that is growing along my children's swing set. It doesn't have thorns, and produces clusters of soft white petals in the summer.

This is the place where I feel the most peaceful. Rabbit statueary peeking from behind hostas and lilies. Statueary of children overlooking the garden. And the sound of my children running and playing, and colouring on Dave's slate picnic table.

Tori Missing

It felt like the longs weeks had blended into one, and there was that feeling in the air of hope mingled with fear. There was the possibility of her returning home, or so I thought. Then the unimaginable happened. Murder printed in dark ink, embedding its painful mark behind and sending shocks of terror into once-hopeful citizens.

First, it is a feeling of terror that takes over someone when they first hear the news. Then rage, for the loss of life, and for the agony of her family.