A Switcheroo

It’s no big secret-my parents got stupider and stupider once I turned 12. They apex-ed around my 16th, and since there was no where to go but up, they became increasingly wiser, slowly but surely until I can finally admit, they were brilliant by the time I was 25.

And P.S. It is no coincidence that at age 12, I became more and more brilliant etc…

I had wonderful parents. They were dedicated to their family, taught me to be moral, and say please and thank you. Their job was done by my12th birthday.

All the damage, I did to myself whilst I was in my most brilliant phase from 12 to 18.

I’ve had a long, long time to think about this, and I’ve had the pleasure of watching other people’s kids experience the same phenomena. (No,no, not mine). (?!)

I thought there must be some solution: A SWITCHEROO. Everyone should get a new set of parents at age 12. Preferably “cool” strangers. I think I would have done well with Elvis and Priscilla and my parents would have knocked some sense into their Lisa Marie. (and don’t write and remind me that my chronology is wrong…I’m just thinking).

Today, all kids should turn out perfectly. There’s TV and numerous talk shows that tell them what to do, how to do it, and how to fix it, if by some misfortune they mess it up.

There’s OPRAH, DR. PHIL, DR. RUTH, MARTHA, JUDGE JUDY, and last but not least, JESUS. (I purposely put Him last, because He’s forgiving.) If any of them had been my SWITCHEROO parents, I would have gotten much smarter, much faster.

All of the above (except maybe Elvis), are people I would have looked up to, good role models, with sterling advice that I would have followed to the letter. Obediently.

Well, NOW, I listen to all of them, but it’s a little too late for Oprah, Dr. Phil, Dr. Ruth, Martha & Judge Judy to actually affect my daily life, but they are all entertaining and informative.

Jesus on the other hand, may have a message for me.

A January Forecast

It’s January again. Number 66 for me. Some Januaries have been more memorable than others, but in my wildest dreams, I can’t seem to name more than 10. It’s a fact then: Perception is different than fact.

I wonder if our entire lives are a bit like that. YIKES! I don’t really want to think about that. Well, maybe a little bit…

The weather is brutally cold and this year, it’s been more unpredictable. We haven’t been able to plan very much as the weather keeps us from keeping all those wild and wonderful plans.

My birthdays: One year, a friend gave me tickets for 4 to see Rita McNeil. 3 of the 4 concert goers had to turn around and head home in a white-out. I roped an acquaintance into coming to the show with me and called my daughter and her beau to join us. (They were in their early 20’s, so I actually had to beg them.) The show was very good. I got a parking ticket and a few gray hairs skidding through the snowy city streets and expressways, and vowed to never try to celebrate my January birthday again. This is one of the 10 birthdays I can actually remember, so the other 9 may be similar. But it doesn’t matter, at least, I had my girls in May and August, so they weren’t destined to  life long disappointment.

My 14th birthday.There was a school dance the night of my birthday and I came down with the mumps. The mumps! Fever, sick as a dog, determined to go to that dance, but I just couldn’t get up. Unfair? I thought I was scarred for life. At 14, that was about 2 days…

My 21st- It felt special but we were just too poor to celebrate. We were probably snowed in anyway.

My 50th- My Company gave me a Concord watch, to celebrate my sales performance of  the previous year. Nice. Later that day, I took a leave of absence for 2 weeks, suffering from high blood pressure and nervous exhaustion.

My 55th- 1998 Ice Storm. We were in the dark triangle for 21 days. Seriously, can it get any worst than that? (See my January 2008 post for Ice Storm details)

I’ll run out of brain cells…or readers before I recall any more. I refuse to complain though.

HERE I AM !!!

Where ever you are in the world, whenever your birthday is on the calendar or in the climate~

Enjoy your special day, know that you are a special person, a one-of-a-kind!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY,

PAT

and PS: There’s more snow in the forecast. It’s not looking good for the February and March revellers either.

OMG! Christmas…again!!!

It’s the same time every year but it always comes up as something of a surprise. I am never fully prepared (maybe we should celebrate it every four years, like the Winter Olympics). The panicky part is just like a bad habit, after years and years of wrapping gifts at midnight Christmas eve, ready to drop with fatigue and that wee bit of  Sherry which was a family tradition.

I don’t panic much anymore. My gifts are more thoughtful, less extravagant, and wrapped well enough in advance. The decorations can be done any day now and I passed the mini tree to my Grand daughter. One artificial tree is plenty and perfect so I wonder why I didn’t discover that  years ago. Maybe it was the Sherry that clouded my mind. “Too soon old, too late smart”.

I still love Christmas, but I am starting to understand older folks better, now that I’m one of them.  I am understanding myself better too…I always tried to “create the perfect Christmas memories”. All the little things I loved about Christmas were replayed year after year and every year, I found more to add. Like new pajamas for the girls on Christmas eve, meat pies, candles, flowers, all too numerous to mention.

It’s all passing into history now, along with the mini tree, and Christmas dinner that will be at my daughter’s home this year.

I thought that I would miss it all. I don’t. Other “traditions” have flooded into my life to replace the void, like giving to charity, taking a bubble bath on Christmas day, baking fruit cake and watching my daughter panic. I don’t have any advice for her and I don’t think that she drinks Sherry. Neither have I for many years, but this may be a good time to recapture that tradition.

May you have all the joy of the season, along with all the stress and aggravation.

Take time out to count your blessings.

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Pat

P.S.  To my family and friends: I LOVE YOU, love you, love you!

The Pack Rat

We all seem to have a little “pack rat” in us. At least those of us born before consumerism became a blood sport. I admit I would have been a more vigorous consumer if I had been born with a credit card tucked in my diaper. Those good old days of unlimited, unsolicited credit came later in my life and I had already developed a conscience and fear about my obligations to my family like life insurance and a savings plan. DRAT!

I have a minimalistic taste in furniture and accessories. I don’t like knickknacks or clutter. Everything has to be stored out of sight, otherwise it “hurts my eyes”. HOWEVER, what was out of sight, was pretty significant, until I retired and had time to sort through boxes and bags and finally decide (admit) that I would never be a size 10* again, use a deep fryer,  need Christmas dishes, or 15 sets of sheets, (that’s just the tip of the iceberg). My daughter profited by my new found freedom from “things” and had a few very successful garage sales. In the process, I started to love an empty closet, empty drawers and empty cupboards. Retirement is nice that way. I don’t need to mull over my wardrobe everyday, trying to figure what is appropriate and once that’s established, if it still fits, and then, I do or don’t hate the colour on me. AH! Blessed relief, and confession IS good for the soul so… * size 12 or 14 for that matter! Get it?

But the pack rat in me is still alive and well. I enjoyed myself recently by helping friends empty their barn of furniture and a ton of flea market, garage sale-type items.  I had the time to sort it all out and send it along  to new homes: rummage sales, student apartments, the privileged, under privileged, whoever thought they needed something different. I call it recycling.  I even kept a few useful things, for awhile…

I have two nearly-new ironing boards. No takers.

I wish

Wishing is different than praying. It’s also different from hoping.  Wishing is self fulfilling, personal, whimsical, and thoroughly practical. I was trying to think of a substitute word for wishing, but I just couldn’t connect with any of them. I wonder if it has anything to do with the way we are raised, and if people every where are “wish-full”.

I do know that most people pray at some times of their lives, even if they profess to not believe in God.         I also know that a vast majority of people are hopeful in their daily lives.

But wishing? Wishing is different.

I wish I could be 35 again. A do over.

I wish my parents were here. I wish I had valued them more.

I wish I had stayed at home with my children and known that their childhood was such a  short, precious event.

I wish I had been more honest.

I wish I had told my friends that I loved them.

It’s wishful thinking. At this stage of my life, I find myself wishing only on rare occasions.

I still wish I could lose some weight, regain some dexterity, read more, but I accept what is. There’s nothing left to wish for. I have everything I need. My children, my husband, my friends, my home, comfort.

I pray more. Much more. Not much for myself, but for others.

And I hope more. I hope for a better world, less pollution and crime, better government, and more health care.

And so it goes…I hope and pray more, I wish less and I am so thankful to have lived long enough in my world where it could all play out at a natural pace. If I had one wish left, it might be: I wish I could live forever.

 

 

Mining the Metro

This is strictly a personal account of what I heard about the Montreal Metro and I welcome any corrections and additions to this anecdote.

MONTREAL, Quebec, Canada November 1961~ Mayor Jean Drapeau revealed the plans for a subway which had been under discussion for fifty years. The work began in May 1962 and the Metro opened to the public in October 1966, just in time for Expo 67!

I moved to downtown Montreal in July 1963, so there I was right in the cusp. Again.  It seemed all too familiar- The construction, concrete & granite, the novelty, the excitement. A beautiful city, getting ready to take on the world.

Thousands of workers came to Montreal to work on the Metro. Many were immigrants, and very few had the kind of “safety-based” mining experience practiced in Canada.  Mines in Canada were being “raided” for their engineers, and miners, but not many came out of the north, where they were making good salaries, bonus, and had subsidized housing.

Some did. A young friend of ours (we were all in our early 20’s at the time), came to Montreal from Chibougamau, as we had, with the intention of applying at a major airline, as a pilot.  In the meantime, he decided to put his mining experience to work, so he applied for work at the Metro. Of course he was hired immediately…he had worked a few summers underground with engineers, so he was “pure gold”.

Every day, when we got together after work, he told stories of what was happening underground. He couldn’t believe his eyes. No safety practices were in place, tunneling, blasting, push, push, push. The last straw was the day he was ordered to go into a tunnel that had just been blasted. He said to his foreman that he didn’t see a crew go in to scale and rock bolt. (scaling: removing loose rock from the walls & rock bolting: securing large chunks of rock in place). His foreman said “what the hell is a rock bolt?” He quit. Thankfully, he didn’t perish in the Metro, he flew bush planes in the North in hair raising conditions and probably considered it child’s play by comparison with being a Metro worker.  He finally had a very successful career as a pilot for a major airline.

When I researched the building of the Montreal Metro, I couldn’t find any statistics on deaths and injuries but I remember an old saying “a man a mile” which referred to bridge building.

It was the 60’s and a Public Inquiry was unheard of. These were golden years of progress and we were not programmed to question authority, yet.

It is a beautiful Metro ~ Bright, artistic, safe, and a source of pleasure and convenience to the many thousands of travelers and commuters every year.

Summer, glorious summer!

Growing up in the North, summer became an elusive, dreamy thing. I do remember that the temperature hit 91F once in Chibougamau. That didn’t quite make up for the numerous -30,-40,-50’s f (!) that we endured the other 9 months. Am I exaggerating? Maybe so, but it was my reality. I hated the winter.  Winter sports, snow banks and biting winds held no attraction for me, and few fond memories. Just to top it off, we were the kids who walked a mile to school in the blinding blizzards. No school buses and car rides for us! How did we do it?

I longed for hot summer days and hot summer nights. When I first came to Montreal, I loved to walk after dark, down Ste. Catherine Street, with all the neon signs blinking, wearing sandals and a halter top and feeling the droplets of sweat running down the back of my neck. The novelty of warmth/heat after sundown has never worn off. I still love coming out of a movie theater to a hot summer’s night. And Montreal is still a beautiful city after dark.

I had a hard time adapting to swimming in a pool. It felt like getting into a giant bath tub with other people. It took me 10 years to be able to put my face in the pool water, after swimming in crystal clear lake water. (I never gave the fish population a thought) (now: UGH).

Summer is a time to recharge, reflect and reminisce. Time for Gin & Tonic and long hours whiled away in the gazebo where we make our “To Do” list, now that it’s summer.

I won’t be writing much during the summer.  I “gotta” go paint, plant, rake, trim, mow, and shine everything up, now that it’s summer!

“Cancer strikes again!”

I finally understand the term “Cancer strikes”.

Thankfully, not me.  Not yet!  Not my husband or children.  Not yet!                                     The past couple of months have found us bowled over by a diagosis of cancer in three close friends. The fear envelopes us and consumes our thoughts. We are shocked, worried, angry and aware of a certain amount of guilt lurking in the background of our minds. Why them, not me?  Will I be as courageous as they are? How can I even imagine my life without them in it? After all, it comes back to me.

I have to try harder, care harder, cry harder, and pray harder! Please help me to lift these three up in prayer.

Thank you.

 

 

A First Anniversary

One year ago, I started writing Mining Towns in Canada, on WordPress. I confess that I had no idea what I was doing, am not thoroughly computer savvy, but somehow I managed to navigate my site, hit and miss.  I didn’t know that it was going out on the web for all to see. What a surprise that was! I found out from reading FAQ’s, where I have gleaned most of the instructions.

I set out to write about my childhood which I claim is unique, my parents and family who I know are unique, and some random thoughts about this and that which I am sure are not at all unique, but that’s the point. I wanted to leave a record of my life for my Grand daughter, just the way I have saved the newspapers of the day she was born, the space walk in 1969, the Time magazines of 9-11, John Kennedy Jr. and McLean’s cover story of  Pierre Trudeau, a Canadian Prime Minister.  A very small ”time capsule” for her to  wander into “olden times”. (She’s 10, that’s what she thinks of it…now). 

 Organizing my thoughts and writing my life, felt something like getting all the boxes and envelopes of loose photos into albums at some point in life. (Oh, ya, I know you have those too). At least I think that’s what it would feel like.

I have “met” some wonderful people who have shared their thoughts and childhood experiences with me and many friends and family number among the more than 5000 readers who have dropped by my site.

Most of all, I am just astounded at the effect all the story telling has had on me. I had something I wanted to tell, I wanted it to be brief and comprehensible, and I tried not to over think and over edit.     I did just that, and in the process I was able to sort out my entire life!  Imagine that!

And just like the poem ” Friendship”

…Keep what is worth keeping- And with the breath of kindness- Blow the rest away.

FRIENDSHIP ~By Dinah M. Mulock Craik

• OH, The comfort-the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, 
• Having neither to weigh thoughts,
• Nor measure words-but pouring them
• All right out-just as they are-
• Chaff and grain together-
• Certain that a faithful hand will
• Take and sift them-
• Keep what is worth keeping-
• And with the breath of kindness
• Blow the rest away.
•