J IS FOR JOY

Well, it’s that time of year again. 

When after months of waiting, I arrive at my destination of choice to celebrate another trip around the sun. 

This year has me nicely perched next to the ocean, in a luxury home we've rented, in the Bahamas.

Once again, I packed a #petrocanada
glass so I could watch the sunset
...and have a drink with my Dad.
TAKEN: APRIL 10th, 2024

Yesterday was an OK travel day. The airports are always hectic but we have learned to navigate them with a ton of off the cuff comedy and a boatload of patience. Afterall, I know where I am going to land, and I realize that in itself is a privilege most never get to experience.

As our taxi zipped along the highway next to the beautiful blue green ocean, I felt myself become overwhelmed with emotion.  I found myself fighting back tears. Tears of joy.

Joy that we can afford to travel as we do, and joy at the best life I have been obviously blessed to be living.

In a nutshell, I will leave you with this. Life is short people. When in doubt, please always refer to Rhondi Rule #779:

Make sure you don't celebrate your 75th birthday.... by living the same year 75 times!

F IS FOR FORTUNATE

Just a couple of life long friends catching up while unconditionally supporting each other. 
TAKEN: AUGUST 11th, 2016

I have been fortunate to be surrounded by amazing friendships my entire life. 

The truth is, I can count the number of those wonderful peeps on two hands (with the help of a few of my toes). I suppose I relate to each and every one of those people by referencing the simple saying that, 'good friends are hard to find... and impossible to forget.'

The friendship I am sharing today started in the early throws of high school. I was a year older, and he was one of the most genuine and comedic people I had ever met. From that initial introduction, I simply wanted to get to know him better and spend more time with him. Just like yours truly, my parents loved absolutely everything about him.

He left our small town for university and never came back. I stayed, and I am still here. Yet, thanks to the evolution of the internet, I see him and hear his voice almost every single day.

The photo I am sharing was him stopping into my place of work to bring me lunch and catch up. He was on a solo cross Canada/US motorcycle tour that spanned more than fifteen thousand kilometers. It was the last time we've seen each other face to face outside of social media.

He was back to see his parents this past Christmas, and though my path of reconnection was paved with good intentions, I sat at my desk and worked on an eight million dollar construction estimate. Before I knew it, he was back on a jet plane and home again.

I expressed to my husband how disappointed I was that our window of time to visit had closed and he'd already left. My husband had a great suggestion. 

He thinks we should simply hop a plane and show up unannounced at his post retirement storefront on Vancouver Island. Lord knows we'd know when he'd be there. 

....Fortunately, we have his regular Facebook posts to thank for that!

MY EMPTY CHAIR

A very powerful photo of reflection snapped as the sun began to set on December 25th.
TAKEN: DECEMBER 25th, 2023

 

The year twenty-twenty three, though a great year for me professionally,  was also one of staggering loss. Between the people unexpectedly passing, combined with my moving on from those that weren't good for my mental health, saw that final tally exceptionally high.

I'm not exactly sure why, but from a young age, death and great loss has always affected me to my core. 

Part of me wonders if it is attributed to the fact that my parents had me later in life, and I began experiencing death at a younger age than most. I lost my fathers' father and mothers' mother less that three months apart. It was the fall I started grade five; and it hasn't stopped since.

I think the fact that I nursed both of my parents (in palliative homecare) to their deaths by the time I was forty, then lost my very first love unexpectedly at forty three, had something in my mindset give way. I remember the exact moment I made the personal decision to unapologetically live my life to its fullest. To which I have.

This past Christmas, as the house filled with all the smells that represent the holiday season, I paused before I took my photo to say a quick prayer for every single one - living or dead that parted this year.

Whether you agree or not, I believe you truly suffer the stages of grief for both. With acceptance being the final part of the framework that makes up our learning to live with the those we've lost. 

If I am being totally honest, I suppose that is what my empty chair actually represents for me.

...Acceptance.

SOME AFTERPARTY PETRO

TOP: Our festive holiday view of the falls in our sleepy little town
BOTTOM: Watching the sunset, waiting for my coworkers to arrive.
TAKEN: DECEMBER 15TH, 2023 

Last Friday, my husband and I rented a large AirBnB home overlooking the Bracebridge Falls, and hosted an afterparty for fourteen; which included the seven coworkers I am closest with and some of their life partners.

I was pleasantly surprised by the individual reactions I received as they walked through to the kitchen and spied the gaggle of Petro Canada glasses neatly lined up on the counter. There was one on display for each of us.

None of them readers of my electronic journal, I told my story of how my collection of over two hundred glasses came to be, then poured them a spot of holiday spirit.

I explained that whomever enters my home for the first time, always has to raise a glass and have a drink with my dad. Because my home couldn't sleep ten like the rental could, I brought my glasses to them -  as if they were entering my home for the very first time.

 As I told the story, one of the project managers I work with (who is the same age as Jukebox) Facetimed his parents so that they could meet me and hear my silly story about my glass collection. Similar in age, they remembered when my conversation pieces were all the rage. 

Then, as so many do, promised to keep an eye out for them in Southern Ontario and have their son deliver them to me. As it does whenever anyone offers to help grow my obsession, it warmed my heart.

As I reflect on the last year, I am grateful it has been exceptional. I think I finally have this work/travel life balance thing in check. I took the business to the next level at work AND I got to have a drink with my dad in some pretty cool places. 

Under the stars at the Bellagio fountains Las Vegas, in the sun on a beach in Jamaica, rockin' Broadway in downtown Nashville, and with fourteen work buddies overlooking the beautiful Bracebridge Falls. 

Life is really good!

And keeping my pops memory alive with my Petro Canada water glass collection is just an added bonus!!

U IS FOR UNCLE

My Uncle Roger and I. One of my best buddies growing up!
TAKEN: JUNE 27th, 2005

I have always loved this photo of my Uncle Roger and I. 

Though we are both smiling in the moment, it was a day surrounded by sorrow. It was taken in my side yard, the afternoon after we buried my dad.

Growing up, I really didn't understand that my uncle had special needs. It never crossed my mind why, as a grown man, that he still lived at home. 

I just knew that I loved spending time with him, and at the end of the day, he has always rated at one of my favourites.

Later in life, I learned that he weighed over ten pounds when he was born, and the home birth had been a hard one. I believe the prognosis was that he would never mature mentally past that of a young tween. Which was perfect for me growing up!

He passed away in October of 2019 at the age of 86 and their is no doubt that he immediately went straight to heaven.

After all, look above his head... He was already boasting his halo in 2005!!

H IS FOR HEMMINGWAY HOUSE

As we approach the first anniversary of my best friend Smarties' death, I can't help but focus on our last phone call. 

He loved Earnest Hemmingway's writing and made me make him two promises before we told each other we loved each other and hung up that very last time:

1) That I'd go to Hemmingway House before I left Key West (and)

2) That I would read EH's offering titled Africa; as it was his personal favourite.

I did go to the home/museum the very next day, and it was an amazing step back in time.

From the approximately sixty six toed cats (descendants of his originals) that the estate caters to, to the luxurious inground pool that cost $20,000 to construct in 1938, to the wide offering of historic Hollywood memorabilia on display; I was in awe. 

Once again, Smartie was right. I needed to go. 

Not only was it $9.00 very well spent, I can always look back at my photos of that day and hear his voice kicking my ass to reassure him that I would go.

With regards to the book. I haven't read it yet.

... But I have promised myself I eventually will. When I'm ready.

One of the six toed cats at the ticket booth.
TAKEN: APRIL 8th, 2022

Only so many were allowed in at one time.
As you can see, there are cats everywhere.
TAKEN: APRIL 8th, 2022

I didn't pay to tour with a guide. I started by walking the grounds.
Yes, there is a pet cemetery for his cats.
TAKEN: APRIL 8th, 2022

A portrait in one of the many rooms displaying memorabilia.
TAKEN: APRIL 8th, 2022

Some rooms are dedicated to his specific offering and the history behind it.
TAKEN: APRIL 8th, 2022

I found his writing studio the most interesting. 
TAKEN: APRIL 8th, 2022

A statue of him in a park in Mallory Square (with other famous settlers)
TAKEN: APRIL 7th, 2022

LETTER WRITING MEMORIES

I got a call on January 4th from my oldest brother, as we'd missed connecting over the holidays.  

When my phone rang, my husband gently cautioned that if I answered, we would probably chat for hours. I acknowledged his comment with a nod, then picked up. I went to bed when my phone died, at 2am.

Through our long-winded catchup, he asked about any old negatives I may have in my possession (pre 35mm film) of photos my mother would have taken. On a mission, the next day I went through all the boxes in my cold storage space under our front entry stairs.

Up to my home office went boxes and bags of photos and negatives, as well as a hodgepodge of items I hadn’t looked at since we moved into our current home in 2002. I did find what he was asking about. I also found a series of handwritten letters from a girlfriend that were decades old. 

Holy time warp Batman. When I began reading the letters, it's like I had been transported in a time machine. I had forgotten my college sidekick and I had stayed in touch for as long as we had. 

With none of her letters dated nor having a return address, I know I had three children and she and her husband were hoping to try for their first; my only other clue are the 43 cent stamps.

Naturally curious, I headed to the internet to see what she’d been up to. My first issue was all of her letters were signed with only her first name. Though I knew her maiden name, I couldn’t for the life of me remember her married name.

Hours and hours later, and primarily seeking out obituary notices, I managed to find her. Not her specifically, but a website where she'd appeared on the ‘sunshine list’ in Peel Region.

The next piece was I remembered I had a photo of us. (I find it amazing that I have had the photo I am sharing tucked away in a photo album since it was taken.) There were six of us that travelled from Hamilton to Kitchener for the weekend to celebrate Oktoberfest, including the festive parade. 

If my memory serves me correctly, it was the fella whose family hosted us that took our picture. And I remember her saying  in the that moment, "we have to get a picture of us together." This was it.

I am going out on a limb here but judging by the look on my face, my guess is we were having a blast by indulging in a wee bit of alkohol spirituosen and polka party fun.

That said... I would have to double check my German with Google translator to be sure!

Us celebrating Oktoberfest in Kitchener with one of her letters as the background
TAKEN: OCTOBER 1984

REMEMBERING 2022

I don’t know about you, but I am happy to shut the door on the past year and look to the coming year with a genuine amount of hope and sincere optimism. 

Personally, it has felt like I have been in mourning for the majority of the year. I didn’t write nearly as much as I had hoped because my heart was absolutely aching with both hurt and despair. Trust me, in spite of my mantra, it hasn't been something I would ever be able to laugh about.

Professionally, after taking the last three months of 2022 off to help my husband heal from a life saving surgery, I started the year with a new career challenge that has proven to be an excellent move for me. As I look toward retirement, I love that I am mentoring and team building with an amazing group of young, very upwardly mobile, professionals. 

With the past year in the rearview, I have great hope for 2023. All the best in the coming year everyone. Cheers, and thanks once again for reading. 

~ Rhondi

PS: For the first time, for my annual 'remembering' post, as I reminisce electronically, you can click links to journal offerings that you may have missed.

PSS: Enjoy!

Most significant moment (centre): The sudden passing of my closest friend and confidant, Brian ‘Smartie’ Smart. Who left us Easter weekend 2022. I am truly heartbroken, and the loss of his presence will be missed forever.

January: A snapshot from the desk of my new job. A refreshing challenge I have loved, to which I said to my boss on our last conversation before the holiday break, "look what you and I have accomplished in our first year. I can't wait to see where we land after our second!" 

(Link: Leapin' Life Balance)

February: Knowing my wonderful Puddin' was living on borrowed time, my husband and I spent Family Day (aka: Family Furbaby Day) at the cottage with 'The Oreo Gang' . It was the beginning of the end of an era. 

(Link: The Oreo Gang)

March: As the carpool picked up Goob to head to work in Port Cariling, the glow of the sunrise lit up the car. I got out of the car to capture this moment. We enjoyed a beautiful month of March.

April: For the first time since November 2019 we were able to travel. We flew into Miami then took a roadtrip to Key West. Smartie called me to wish me a Happy Birthday, and made me promise to go to the Hemmingway house, which I did the very next day. We talked for an hour, said our always call ending 'I love you and I love you too'. He was dead a week later. 

(Link: S is for Smartie)

May: The month saw the beginning of house as well as cottage renovations. Both took until the end of November to complete. Much more to do in 2023.

June: My beautiful Puddin' succumbed to her cancer. She was my very best furbaby friend. Our Annie was so affected by the loss that we had to stop saying her name. My life just isn't the same without her.

July: I surprised my husband with a road trip to the town of Bethel (where the Woodstock Festival was held in 1969) and then through the Catskill Mountains to the town of Woodstock New York for his birthday. For music lovers like us, it was both a moving and Bucket List experience.

August: We had a heat wave that was crazy off the charts producing extreme heat warnings. It was so hot, that we were in the water more than out. We felt like kids again! 

(Link: My Happy Hat)

September: They say everything comes in threes, and I had three that were major for me personally. First Smartie, then Puddin', then lastly my beautiful Auntie Cai. I credit a lot of who I am today to her and her life guidance. I miss her very much and always will. 

(Link: In her memory ~ Sweet Dreams of Cairo)

October: Our third roadtrip had us take our pups on a more than two thousand mile round trip to the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We rented a house that slept twelve on the ocean that was perfect. If you've never been.... GO!

(Link: Outer Banks Paw Patrol)

November: Yours truly celebrated a personal milestone with the 11th Anniversary of my wee electronic journal. In hindsight, maybe I should have named it 'Silly Story Central!?!' #yagottalaughaboutit 

(Link: Eleven Years Young)

December: A photo just can't illustrate the amount of snowfall we received in Muskoka that began the evening of December 23rd. So much so, that the massive dumping felt like we should have been placed in a State of Emergency. The photo in my collage was day two of four that were brutal. 

Link: Our Great Neighbourhood)

SMARTIE MEMORIES IN NOVEMBER

Smartie getting a driving lesson from his grandson.
TAKEN: AUGUST 27th, 2021

I am sitting at my home office desk and a wave of varying emotion just hit. 

It is 3:52pm and gloomier than usual outside.

I can hear the wind howling and my phone is buzzing with severe weather warnings and the radio's been boasting cancelations all afternoon. All of it reminding me what the next few weeks will offer, which is absolutely nothing special.

As my hump day workday ends, my mind began to wonder. Tomorrow is Thursday. And as I have each week since that terrible day last April, I realized that I won’t be getting my weekly call from Smartie tomorrow; or ever again.

I remember the day we met. It was in April of 2004 and we hit it out of the park from the get-go. Both working in manufacturing, we stayed on straight evenings so that we could save big dollars on daycare. An eighteen year friendship, that ended with his death on almost the same day in April that it started.

That said, as I type, it’s like I am stuck. Whenever I mention him to others in passing, I instantly tear up. Which is immediately followed by an apology disclosing, “I just can’t seem to get over his death.”

I feel a true emptiness, and all these months later his absence is still raw. Each time I get try to process why, I wonder if it could be because I wasn’t offered proper closure. 

Because, for obvious reasons, I wasn’t invited to his intimate private service. 

I could make excuses, but the truth of the matter is that I disliked his wife in high school and absolutely detested her by the time their marriage ended. Not looking to expand on why, other than to say he was my friend, and she was not. Either way, he’s gone and I truly miss him.

As I stop typing and glance out the window, I see the snow is now blowing on a 45 degree angle. 

I guess I should get my ass into the kitchen, get some grub going, and feed the pups while we still have hydro.

Once again, thanks for listening to me blather.

A SERIOUS DRY SPELL

No matter what they look like, or where they are found, they're all truly appreciated.
(On the left, never used. The right, death by dishwasher.)
Left TAKEN: NOVEMBER 15th, 2021
Right TAKEN: NOVEMBER 19th, 2022

As you know, the term 'dry spell' usually references a type of drought (weather wise or even sexually). You know, a drawn out period of sorts.  So it is with great angst that I post that I am still recovering from my very own dry spell. 

Neither of which I just referenced, yet one ten times more serious, personally. I'm not joking. Can you believe that I just went a span of three hundred and seventy days (that's 3-7-0) without finding any of my beloved Petro Canada glasses? 

So, now that I am somewhat rehydrated and on the road to recovery, I am alerting the freaking electronic journal masses!

As I began to write today, I tried to remember when it was, after my dad died, that my husband found my very first glass. I know it was a loner, and it was from a Habitat Restore in an adjacent town. I would bet money that is was the spring of 2007.

I'm not exaggerating when I share that I remember how excited I was when he text me a photo with the caption 'look what I just found'. Also, that it was in that moment I realized if there was one, there had to be more; and my great journey began.

I could say I am embarrassed, yet I am in fact quite proud to admit that I have acquired glasses as far south as Toronto and as far north as North Bay. I am also proud to disclose that I have accumulated more than two hundred of these gems. All specifically the water goblet as shown above.

I need to go back and label all the post I have written so they appear when I am reflecting like I am today and go searching. That said, one of the most painful posts that reads light hearted, was posted Boxing Day 2014. 

Though not specifically shared in the post, our immediate family was estranged from our daughter. All because her mentally abusive and controlling boyfriend made her pick between him and her family, and we drew the short straw. 

A truly terrible time all around, I wrote 'Had A Drink With My Dad' about how I envision my day would have been spent, had my dad still been alive to spend the holidays with us. 

On that note, I guess you could say if it takes a village to raise a child, it also takes... A really strong readership and killer group of kickass Facebook friends, who've helped this cat collect some silly and outdated glasses for the purpose of being stored in bubble wrap.

So, thank you. All of you are a part of my ongoing journey.

SWEET DREAMS OF CAIRO

This photo is worth more than a hundred thousand words.
It genuinely exudes my love for her.
Caroline (Caï) Perrault (née Marceau)
TAKEN in: MATTAWA ONTARIO 1983

There is no other way to share this, other than to say that my Auntie Cai was unequivocally one of the most amazing people I have ever met in my entire life, and today I had to say goodbye. She was 89.

Growing up, my aunt was a beloved mother of her four children whom she cherished. 

And, as silly as this may be read, I have always thought of myself as her fifth. Then, this afternoon, I realized that those of us that thought our ourselves as her special extra 'plus one' were in the hundreds. 

A well respected teacher for more than four decades, she guided yours truly, as well as all of her students like the great beacon she was.  

Growing up, no matter what I had happening in my life, my aunt was always an anchor for me. Providing unconditional inspiration and endless encouragement, not to mention a calm wisdom to the somewhat harsh realities that surrounded me.

In my formative years, my summers on Lake Temiscaming were most memorable when my cousins (whom I truly deem siblings) were at the camp next door. 

I remember the first grand-baby shower, I remember the first big job offer, and most importantly their guys embracing my now husband as one of their own from the time I brought him around. Most of all, I remember how being in their company, felt like I was home.

That said, just like many, we see most family members at weddings and funerals. 

As we gathered after mass today to celebrate her life, I asked the quorum around me how she ended up being called Cai, where her first name was Caroline?

My cousin Tootsie answered immediately. "When she was my teacher, she told us that she always talked constantly about how she wanted to visit Cairo, the largest city in Egypt.” The nickname stuck.

As I share a picture of she and I, my eyes fill with tears. Damn, this pretty lady literally made a difference in my life!

Rest easy and sweet dreams my love. You definitely helped mould me into the person I am today. You will be loved and missed forever by all who had the pleasure to meet and know you.

Don’t forget to say hi to mom, dad, uncle Vic, and all the others in your company. Bring them up to speed about what we've been up to. 

Please let them all know... We will always miss them too. xoxo 

Y IS FOR YAWN

Do you want to yawn too?
TAKEN AUGUST 21st, 2021

I remember my mom telling me a stories when I was a kid about yawning being contagious.

Before she married my dad, she worked in downtown Toronto and rode public transit. Thanks to the daily grind of boredom, she would purposely seek out someone to look in the eye and immediately pretend to yawn. 

She would then observe how long it took for everyone else around her to begin yawning; which is DNA evidence of where my warped sense of amusement comes from.

As you can imagine, I'm feeling just as my Miya Maria is looking as we rode home from the cottage last summer. I'm not yawning due to the boredom of the daily grind or sheer exhaustion from chasing my tail, actually it is anything but. 

April has been a whirlwind of emotions for me. Highs and lows. Days filled with happiness followed by days of deep sadness and in some cases total devastation because of my unexpected loss Easter Sunday.

Never one to quit, I am one letter away of finishing the April A-Z challenge and I am glad a persevered. 

I did well to post daily in the beginning... but at this stage, I am just happy I am going to finish. 

...Smartie would have wanted me to.

U IS FOR UNDERSTANDING

In memory of my best friend that passed away Easter Sunday 2022
TAKEN: AUGUST 28th, 2021

 

S IS FOR SMARTIE

One of my best friends passed away on Easter Sunday. Though we were separated by thousands of miles, we spoke on the phone at least once a week. He was mere fifty six years of age.

My avid readers will recognize his name as well as his photo, as he has appeared in several journal posts over the years (even has his own label). All very raw and still in shock, I am struggling to deal with the loss. 

As a result, I have decided to share what his oldest and dearest childhood friend "Howie" posted for him on the exact day my letter S was due. 

I think it paints a perfect picture of this wonderful man. The words brought me to both tears of laughter as well as deep sadness. Words can not describe how much I will miss him.

Rest in peace Smartie. Keep my seat next to you warm and your wit razor sharp....Until we meet again.

Love you always xoxo ~ Rhondi

I miss my buddy

He’s gone.  That’s what his ex-wife said to me when I answered the phone the evening of Easter Sunday.

All who knew Brian entered a new world in that moment.

So far, that world is one of shock, disbelief, boundless sadness and equally boundless gratitude; feelings all common in the wake of the loss of loved one. The shock, disbelief and sadness will settle.  The gratitude for all he brought to my world, will remain forever.

His laughter was matched only by his ability to make others laugh.

At the end of grade 7, we went on a class camping trip to Bass Lake Provincial Park.  As far as we could tell, our teacher, modeled his classroom management style after Joseph Stalin. From the perspective of a bunch of dumb, gangly 12-year-old boys, he was mean.

The camping area was a large, rectangular field. Perfect to ensure boys tents lined the perimeter of one side, girls on the other.

In line with our teacher’s overall approach, there was a seemingly endless list of rules. Among them, very precise direction as to when all were required to be in tents and very ominous threats of consequences if not.

As 12-year-olds we had yet to develop much in the way of foresight and probably worse, we had yet to develop any awareness of our limits in that regard.  Despite the dire warnings we came up with, what we believed at the time, was an airtight plan. Immediately after sunset and tent check, we’d leave our tents, bolt across the field under the cover of darkness and visit our classmates with the utmost confidence that none of this would stir even a hint of suspicion. 

Once darkness set in, tent checks complete, the zippers of 16 tents rang out and the charge was on. 

Almost instantly the flaw in our planning was exposed.  Who would think that teachers would patrol the tents after dark? Clearly 12-year-old boys didn’t.

Thankfully almost every one of us detected the flaw immediately, dove back in our tents, with adrenaline surging but safe from suffering the wrath of our teacher supervisors.

Everyone, that is, but Brian.

Peeking through our tent doors, there he was. His silhouette like a gazelle, bounding on an open plane, all on his own, in the dark, cool, damp, spring air completely oblivious to his solitude.

It turns out that teachers must develop an extraordinary capacity to identify 12-year-old running boys in the dark of night.

But as Brian’s luck would have it, that wasn’t his biggest problem.

In a highly predictable twist of fate, the world’s most fearsome teacher spotted him immediately. We cringed as we heard him yell: “Smart, where are you going?”

At that moment, the magnitude of Brian’s initial mistake compounded significantly.  For instead of responding with something like, “I’m just running to the bathroom”, he chose instead to announce, with a completely misplaced sense of sarcasm, at the top of his lungs, “I’m going to an orgy”.

And to make matters much worse, as he was sometimes known to do, he added, “where the fuck do you think I’m going, you asshole?”  

It was too much for 12-year-old boys. We spent years laughing about it.

And that’s what he did more than anyone I know. He laughed a lot and he helped other people laugh a lot.

Equal to his ability to make people laugh was his ability to build big friendships.  He had more best friends than anyone I know; he did it effortlessly, sincerely and happily.  He was as comfortable with his 3-year-old grandson as he was with the 93 year olds he was working with as part of his studies to become a healthcare aid. 

I will always be proud to call him my best friend as I know many others are too.

The span of his musical taste was broad. Together, we saw John Lee Hooker, The Clash, Peter Tosh, Black Uhuru, Talking Heads, The Police (actually more than the musical kind), the English Beat, Flock of Seagulls, Eric Clapton, the Hip, Nash the Slash, lost some/most of our hearing watching the Headstones at the Rivoli and watched some dude throw a banana 125 meters and land right at the feet of Joan Jett - an act of athletic prowess I have yet to witness again.

But his greatest achievement is undoubtedly his family. His son, daughters and his wonderful grandson; they featured prominently and lovingly in virtually every single conversation. Each of his kids inherited his greatest attributes. 

Among the many things uniting the human experience is our frailty. None of us live perfect lives. We all deal with challenges. 

All of us, in our own way, do the very best we can to accommodate those challenges. 

We love our families and friends and care for our communities, our country and the planet.  We count on those we love in our time of need.

This was especially true of Brian.

I am grateful for every second he lived his life.  

I will miss him for as long as I live mine.

R IS FOR REALITY

 

#truestory #lifeisshort

Q IS FOR QUANTITY

My quest for a greater QUANTITY continues
TAKEN: APRIL 17th, 2018

From the April -Z Blogging archives.
This was originally posted April 20th, 2018

One of our employees walked into my office on Tuesday morning with a list of specific work related questions for me.

Mid conversation, he noticed one of the glasses I collect next to my monitor that an architect had delivered to me. It was neat to observe his general curiosity as he asked, “is that one of them?” 

He then continued to tell me that he thought he had come across an older one on the job site he was working on (inside a garage we're going to tear down). So I asked that he snap a picture of it, and send it to me when he landed there later that morning. When his email arrived, my heart filled with love as I discovered another one was finding its way home.

Though she’s still in transit, I have to admit that this one looks like it has had a good run. I will say that my guess is that her previous owner used the dishwasher to keep her clean, which is why the paint is so worn.

I will admit that years ago when I began my collection I use to put them into the dishwasher as well, but it seemed they were meeting an quicker than normal death; so now I wash every single one used by hand.

Curious where I'm at in the quantity department with these beauties?

Last count was 126. This gals makes it 127, with no end in sight!

DINING AL FRESCO

In the midst of purchasing our current home, the lawyer called the day it was to close to let us know that the old shed in the backyard was encroaching on the neighbouring lot line. His professional opinion was that we should make the sellers move it. 

Being the superstar handyman my husband naturally boasts being, he instructed the deal to close announcing that he would gladly relocate the shed. Pictured in the photo background, I don’t think he’s opened the door since he moved our crap into it and that was almost twenty years ago!

Anyway, when my father stayed with us in his end of life hospice care the winter of 2005, he was quick to establish friendships with the local fauna including these photogenic furry tailed bandits. 

During his last housebound winter, he introduced an outdoor dining experience like no other - and by the time he left us that June, his newly established extended family understood what a glorious food source this happy go lucky chap turned out to be.

One of my many generations of  friends born the spring of 2020.
TAKEN: NOVEMBER 2020

Once I'd passed that mournful summer without my dad, I noticed not very many of his furry friends remained come autumn. The ones that did escape the owls and foxes were a small family of grey squirrels and they had build a beautiful drey for themselves high up in our back gully. Fifteen seasons later I have fed and nurtured many generations, and all have offered me great memories and wonderful friendships from a distance. 

Now back to the shed that was never moved but still needs to be... Each and every spring I  open its door to see what our six months of winter hath delivered. 

Not because there is anything in there worth salvaging but because I know in spring when others awake with a hungry belly, that ugly brown shed offers one of several escape locations of trust, offering quick easy ground access for all of my dining friends.

I don't think of it as a 'members only' condo unit per se, more an exclusive diners club that offers a covered option should it be raining when I ring that afternoon dinner bell.

...Signifying their dining al fresco restaurant is officially open for service!

HAPPY TO HELP

A minute and a half away from celebrating my 5th anniversary with my current team, Tuesday was an extra special day for me at work.

A client walked into the office and handed me this lovely gift with a heartfelt personal note to say thank you. Though we socially distanced, she offered an ear to ear smile when I told her I would hug her if we weren't in the midst of a global pandemic.

Thanks Alberta!
TAKEN: JULY 7th, 2020

She's such a lovely lady. One that knows when she calls at the last minute and asks for help, I offer it unconditionally. Not because I want to sell her something, but because I pride myself on providing great customer service; one of the most important and successful career hats I have worn for close to 20 years.

When I changed careers in 2004 and went into business for myself, it was serious grassroots market research that defined my path to the here and now. Having never really been in sales prior, I discovered very quickly that with my keen ability for analysis that sales and marketing was definitely that sexy little black dress that absolutely fit me perfectly.

Shortly thereafter, my dad fell ill and he lived his last six months in hospice care in our home. While managing that, every single free moment of every single day was spent on the phone in my home office. 

You see, in the midst of his end of life care, I was trying to build something special. That something special, had been clearly identified by the large amount of data I had collected and analysed. 

That said, I would be lying if I said I did it alone. There were two great friends coaching me on how to get a seat at the 'big peoples table'. One still remains one of my closest friends and has an MBA in marketing, the other was a friend with a degree in journalism; with a brilliant mind, and marketing background. 

I could always count on the latter to be brutally honest with me. He ghost wrote for my clients for those first few years.  His name was Greg; he has since passed.

I remember how hard I worked that first year. When things really started to blossom, with a keen respect for his knowledge I  asked Greg to review my 3 year business plan. 

All these years later, I will never forget the moment he looked me in the eye and told me that I was onto something.  Three months after that, he and I celebrated after my very first full page ad appeared on page A5 of the Toronto Star. The  value of the upload of that one ad in 2005: $60,000. 

Print led to great success with radio, then in 2007 I produced my first series of television commercials. I still watch them every once in a while to prove to myself what I'd actually accomplished. It was a life changing.

Not gonna lie, it is always nice to daydream of those years gone by, yet when a simple gift bag arrives for the little extra effort that was supplied, makes one realize they're on the right track.

Proving, one should never bet against karma .

P IS FOR PAMELA

Pamela and her big brother,
TAKEN: DECEMBER 2010

If you’re a reader I know you've previously met my sister in law Pamela. 

But, if you’re discovering my electronic journal this month via the April A-Z Challenge, I am happy you’re going to get to read about  her here today.

I met Pamela for the first time when I began dating her step brother; she was four years old.

I distinctly remember that day. So much so, that I remember she was barefoot on her tricycle. 

She energetically zoomed over to me in the driveway and introduced herself with a level of confidence most adults never achieve in their lifetime. It was like she was a beaming ray of absolute sunshine.

Through her teen years, like most of us, she maintained a core group of friends and had her heart broken a couple of time before meeting her life mate. Together the relocated back to her home town and eventually, his young daughter joined her father and Pamela hit the ground running as a family. The three became four when they welcomed a son.

She was amazing. A real pistol that was one of the most caring people I’ve ever had the privilege of getting to know. She was quick witted and smart, she was beautiful and funny but most of all she was a wonderful and caring mom.

We lost Pamela, at the age of 39 on October 28th, 2019. 

I still struggle with the suddenness of it all but more so that I sense her death could have been prevented. We all miss her very much. Then again, we all know one thing to be true. Which is... Goodbyes always hurt the most when the story is not finished. 

Rest In Peace my sweet. Until we meet again.

M IS FOR MY MOM

My mother, whom lived from 1930-1987
TAKEN: JULY 1947

This is my Mom.

If you haven’t met her via a previous post, allow me to introduce you to my mother Inez.

She was 17 years old when this photo was taken and the only one I own that was taken before she was married.

Though I have very few pictures of her, that doesn't mean that all of my life long memories aren't vivid, colourful, and still very much alive.

She was a fighter.

She won most every battle she set her mind to, but sadly she eventually lost the war. She passed in 1987 of ALS (more commonly known to the masses as Lou Gehrig's Disease).

I love and miss her very much.