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.

I’M AN IDIOT!

In my everyday life, I feel I have an abundance of amazing acquaintances, and a rather small group of very tightly knit confidantes. Two of the latter are former colleagues that I worked with for a decade, which began close to thirty years ago.

All these years later, I swear we will be racing our wheelchairs down the hallway of the only nursing home that will admit us as a trouble making trio in our twilight years. One I speak to every day, the other I speak to sporadically but when we do connect it’s always as if time’s stood still. I unconditionally trust them both.

Today, on my regular carpool call to Smartie, I disclosed I’d accidentally stood up our mutual friend (that I haven't seen face to face in a couple of years) for lunch. He assured me that he’d understand, yet I still felt like a big bag of poo. In an effort to cheer me up, he decided to reminisce about the time they’d participated in management sensitivity training together.

The task at hand was to turn to their partner and pay them a compliment. Smartie recalled the other had a female coworker (and close friend) that he was to compliment, to which he turned and with a straight face nodded declaring, “nice tits!”

My car instantly filled with laughter and I could see the look on everyone’s face as this infamous character once again brought down the house with his timing and general off colour wit. 

"Man, I’m mad at myself for missing lunch," I whined. 

Then Smartie reminded me that a true friend overlooks your failures. So, because today was an epic fail, when I got home I took an end of the day selfie simply to remind him what I look like.

That said, being apart doesn’t change the fact that we've recognize that for years we'd always keep in touch. I suspect that and our keen senses of humour and love of sarcasm are why our roots will always run so deep.

....And that I know I'm a fecking idiot for standing him up!

Snapped an end of day selfie so the lunch date (that I haven't seen in two years)
could remember what his idiot friend named Rhondi looks like!
TAKEN: NOVEMBER 14th, 2019

MY UNEXPECTED VISIT

I came home from work last night & climbed straight into bed. So weak with fever that I never bothered getting out of my dress clothes.

I just plopped my snotty self under the covers in an effort to achieve a level of complete relaxation that would ultimately lead to the comatose state I’d been craving all day. Those two hours of deep sleep were heavenly.

When I finally woke up, I managed to haul my ass out of bed long enough to get my jammies on, yet by 8pm I had called it a night. When my alarm went off at 5am, I text my boss and went back to sleep for another four hours. It was in those four hours that something extraordinary happened: I dreamt of my Dad.

Words can't accurately describe how glowing & vivid my dream was. I could actually hear his voice. I recognized the clothing he was wearing and navigated his surroundings like I was actually there. The scenario was as if he'd never spent is last months in hospice with me, rather been placed in a home for palliative care.

Though it was a sunny spring day outside, I was anxious when I was dreaming because his level of care was not what I thought he was entitled to. When I awoke (after what felt like spending the day with him) I was in the midst of dreaming that I was trying to locate my cellphone in his room; which was actually my cellphone signalling me notifications that my boss needed my assistance with something at the office. Just like that, our visit was over.

As I greeted my day still groggy, I realized it was just my fever breaking. Yet, because we had such a vivid visit today, as I sat at the computer sneezing like a poltergeist throughout the day, it felt like he was there with me. 

You see, once I'd get my snot & sneezing outbreaks under control, I'd sit quietly and listen for my Dad to acknowledge me with a kleenex box and his standard… ‘Gesundheit!

Fever breaking or just a silly dream, I love that my mind had us enjoy today together. 

As always, I'm forever grateful for him stopping by.

There is NEVER a bad time to get a visit from my Best Friend...
TAKEN: MAY 1985

MY PERFECT GLOW

I don’t know about you, but there's a handful of things that instantly remind me of early childhood happiness. Those few things are so vivid, that in a nanosecond I feel four or five years old again. This time of year, it’s the beautiful nighttime glow of multicoloured Christmas tree lights that warm my heart.

All these years later, I recall the longest trimming ritual (aside from placing the single strands of silver tinsel) was putting the heavy tin reflectors on the large string of bulbs. Boy, those large painted bulbs got hot so quickly, that getting to enjoy their illuminated beauty in the evening was always a treat. Simply because they were never allowed to stay on very long. All reminiscent memories but the awe of those beautiful lights remain ingrained in my spirit; all these decades later.

From the time we bought our first home, an artificial tree was traditionally assembled & disassembled using specific calendar days as a guide. Then, when my dad passed in 2005, I didn’t have the energy nor the desire to bother, so a real tree was purchased less than a week before Christmas was set to arrive. I’ve purchased a real tree ever since.

ONLY multicoloured
lights for this cat.
TAKEN: DECEMBER 24th, 2018

This year, I hit the jackpot at my grocery store tree lot. I paid my forty five bucks and brought this absolute beauty home. 

As I began to string the lights from the inside out, I had to make an additional trip to Canadian Tire for more lights. In total, I managed to load my tree with close to 600 of one of my favourite things.

Running on a timer at dusk, from the time I turned that last corner on my street before landing at the house, I could see the glow of my lights in the living room window. 

Then, each night until the Christmas break, I would finish the dinner chores and settle into watch my evening episode of Jeopardy. I would find my channel, stretch out & admire my beautiful tree.

Then, every night, something always made me stop and reflect.

It wasn't because the kids are grown and gone, doing there own thing, there wouldn't be much under it. It was that my Dad wasn’t sitting on the couch next to me...

Enjoying my beautifully lit tree.

A LITTLE MORE EXTENDED FAMILY

I was working away at my desk this past week, when my phone alerted me that I had a message via Facebook Messenger. When I opened it to see what was up, I was a tad surprised as to whom was sending me a note. Don't get me wrong, it was a pleasant surprise, and the photo she sent me was an even bigger one; she had found five Petro Canada glasses at the Muskoka Lakes Re-use.

Her note was similar to all the others I regularly receive. "Thought of you... maybe they aren't the right 'shape' but if you want them, I will get them to you." My heart instantly filled with gratitude.

I have known Miss JJ since we both hit high school. Though we lived in different towns within the District of Muskoka, our paths always crossed on and off the ice at the Gravenhurst arena. Once we both moved onto post secondary school, we never got in touch with the other again, until we found each other on Facebook.

Looking forward to seeing her again, she took the glasses home, washed and wrapped them, then personally delivered them to where I work. I was so glad to see her that I wrapped my arms around her and gave her a hug, then gave her the 10 cent tour of the amazing company I work for. I was ecstatic, not to mention it was like we'd seen each other yesterday.

After she left, I felt the need to share with my 3 new administrative coworkers, who she was and that I hadn't talked with her face to face since high school. That lead to why she'd stopped by and a quick explanation about my asinine glass collection. In the end, they seemed happy for me and thanked me for sharing.

Walking back to my office, I realized that I stopped blogging around the same time a coworker I was close with left our team. She was the only one that knew about or ever read my blog, probably because she and I had so much fun together outside of work that she regularly made character appearances in my posts. Unfortunately, we have lost touch. But as I have pontificated  here several times before, you can't stop change only manage it.

So, just as I have opened and welcomed these five new and unique to me gems into my extended family of kick ass Petro Canada glasses, I have to remind myself, yet again, that life is always gonna be tough, right up until the moment it isn't. Which is why I always strive to keep an open mind, as well as an open heart.

Thanks again Miss JJ... As promised, my new extended family members fit in perfectly!

ALL HAIL CAESAR.... and my newest extended family member!
TAKEN: JULY 21st, 2018

Q IS FOR QUANTITY

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

MY CUP RUNNETH OVER

This morning I awoke and decided to stay in bed simply because I could. You know those kind of days, when you wholeheartedly embrace being a fornicating canine? Anyway, as the morning progressed closer to the noon, I text my daughter and asked if she would like to join me for lunch: she said yes.

As I landed at her apartment to pick her up, she appeared to be walking toward me carrying a relatively large cardboard box. I knew it wasn’t her laundry, because that is usually presented to me in a very task specific kind of basket, not a box. So, with my curiosity piqued and her wearing a cat shit eating grin, she arrived at me and announced, “...I have something for you.” Inside were more of the very treasured Petro-Canada glasses I obsessively collect!

Thanks to everyone for every effort
to help grow my special collection. *hugs*
TAKEN: MARCH 17th, 2018

Being in the middle of town and opening that box today made me realize that my more than decade long act of collecting these beautiful holder of anything liquid (in memory of my father) has evolved into a true tag-team effort. 

This lot came from a blog reader and personal friend of Staccs that I don't really know. So I want to say, yet again, that I am truly grateful to all that call, buy, deliver, and even text message location deets; while truly remaining on the lookout.

The interesting twist to this post is that when I got home and sat down to begin to write this one, I did what 99% of us do when we sit down at a computer, I checked my Facebook.  As soon as it populated, I discovered it was the anniversary of the death of a man that I spent a phenomenal amount of time with he and his family during my teen years.

Looking at the photo she'd posted and reading her tribute to her dad, embraced everything I would say to mine if I could. That I love him, and miss absolutely everything about him. Every... single... day.

I know there are so some naysayers out there may think the glass collecting obsession is silly, but it doesn't phase me. Instead,  if I could offer one vantage point of logic to their negativity it's that what they don’t know is, in the very minute I hold one of these new to me special treasures in my hand, I'm in a wonderful moment with my Dad. Today I could hear his laughter in the car with my daughter and I; and there's nothing even remotely silly about that.

Cheers to both these awesome guys today. Hope they are sharing a burger & a beer.

Not to mention having a good laugh about my asinine glass collection!

THE LOVES OF MY LIFE

A thorn between two roses and the true loves of my life.
TAKEN: JUNE 11th, 1988

Yesterday would have been my fathers' 89th birthday and tomorrow I will celebrate my 29th wedding anniversary. If I've asked you once, I feel I've asked you a hundred times; where the hell has does the time go?

It seems like it was only a minute and a half ago that I was listening to my father and his father chat in the living room of 222 2nd Avenue. His mother would be humming away in the kitchen and his brother, as always, would have been looking to instigate a tickling match. It would have been the early 1970's.

The 70's turned into the 80's and by the end of the decade I was married. The 90's brought children and the decade was a blur. All of that said, after surviving the whole Y2K fiasco, it was the middle of the decade that changed me and 2005 will always be the year that will be etched in my memory for the rest of my life.

Not a day goes by that I don't miss my dad. He was the first man I ever loved and I love him as much today, as I did the moment he died in my arms. Fittingly, my other true love was with the both of us on that fateful morn. Even more than a decade later my husband will become emotional when we chat about how he left us. Our conversation usually ends with him verbalizing "...he was my best friend."

With the kids grown and gone we often talk of how we've become the others closest companion. We spend 99.99% of our time together working toward our common goals. When we began this journey more than three decades ago we were much more individual. As most can relate, friends, even greedy self-absorbed siblings, come and go but we will always have the other. He has embraced my love of the outdoors and I have resigned myself to not argue when he wants me to be adventurous with food. I must say, it is our mutual love of sports, music & travel that has become our strongest glue.

It's hard to admit that my dad leaving us the way he did produced crack in the foundation of our strong marriage but in hindsight we realize it was a lot of the subjective actions of those around us that was our issue, not our commitment to each other.

As I sit here typing on my laptop and watching my husband quietly chip away at a crossword puzzle I never finished, I can't help but daydream. I wish my dad was sitting with us. He'd be playing solitaire and humming amidst complaining about the crap card he'd be turning.

Once he realized he had lost yet again, he'd stop to acknowledge my pups. Probably because they'd be under foot but more importantly so that he could take the opportunity tell me that he thinks I take better care of them than I do my man. Yep, those were the days. When the loves of my life would tag team with each other in an effort to get a reaction out of me.

Good times. Really.... GREAT times.

A SMALL TOWN IN MOURNING

Last Friday night after arriving back in town late, I quickly picked up my pups at the house and headed to the cottage. I prepared a quick meal, read a book for a bit, then decided to watch a movie. Shortly after midnight I headed upstairs and checked my Facebook one last time for good luck. My entire body froze as I read the tragic headline aloud: Woman dead following gun shots in Wellington Street area, Bracebridge.

As soon as I looked at the online news photo, I knew who'd been killed. In hindsight, the more unsettling in the moment was that before my husband saw any photos, he matter-a-fact-ly announced her murderer by name. Almost a week later, I am truly sad to write that we were both correct. Once again, our small town mourns as a wonderful woman tragically lost her life in the terrible war against domestic violence.

Gone but never to be forgotten.
TAKEN: MAY 29th, 2017

Out of respect for the family, my post isn’t to retrace steps, nor point fingers. My personal reason for writing's more to put a focus on awareness. You see, the morning following the incident, a publication ban was placed on the episode. For the rest of the weekend the radio waves remained quiet of the incident and the online posts were only updating readers that there had been first degree murder charges laid and nothing else because the ban was in place. All I kept asking myself was... will a deliberate hush of quiet allow the loss of this beautiful soul to be in vain?

The thought of protecting the murderers' identity was absolutely and utterly incomprehensible me. I got stuck at the simplistic thinking of why should he be given the luxury? Shouldn’t he be showered with the exact amount of respect he offered his wife? As I began to voice my concern to others, every single person expressed the very same opinion; that he deserved nothing. 

Finally, Monday afternoon I took it upon myself to start making calls. My first was to one of her closest friends. I listened intently then explained the reason for my call. I wanted to rally support to get the publication ban lifted. The sole purpose being, if removing the gag order saved only one woman as a result of understanding how last Friday nights tragedy transpired, her death would not be in vain and she would be the others saviour. I am pleased to report that the publication ban was lifted at the beginning of her assailants bail hearing on the morning of May 30th.

So I beg all of you reading, no matter how painful the idea of domestic violence is, please talk about it. Talk about the ‘who, what, where, when and how’...  hell, yell it from the roof top. Because it's my humble opinion that in a society where one in three are the hard abuse statistics, awareness will always be our best front line defense tactic in saving innocent lives.

Outside of that, what I do know to be true is that I am going to follow the upcoming events at the courthouse intently and with a true sense of personal commitment. Moving forward I am going to spearhead more fundraising to help any of those one in three women that are currently under fire. Partially because I am blessed that I will never be in need of the truly valuable support services and secure shelter, yet more importantly to maximize the hope of never having to write about this again.

Thanks for reading but more importantly no matter where you live or what you do, please always work towards raising awareness against domestic abuse and improving these horrible and very senseless crimes.

Rest in peace Wendy Boland. You may be gone but I promise you will never be forgotten.

SHE JUST SCORED 20 MORE

This past week, my sister in law posted to her Facebook page that our local Habitat Restore was closing. Via her share, they even apologized for the inconvenience. 

As all my long standing readers know, I am regular there (as well as every other Restore from Barrie to North Bay). Anyway, it turns out it was only closed for the day which was ultimately a huge relief.

When we were there last Saturday, we ran into couple we've been friends with for years. Aside from discussing how it took extra long for our nests to actually empty, the conversation also touched on the glasses I collect. 

I was somewhat sad when I admitted that my ongoing fear's that they're coming to the Restore, Value Villages and Salvation Army stores via estates of elderly folks that hung onto them the way my parents did. Even though I have about 6 dozen, I admitted out loud for the first time that I figured I'd eventually no longer be able to find them; but I will always continue to search.

Because I spent today working on e-filing 2016 income tax, I didn't make it to the ReStore. After I finished the terrible tax deed, I decided to plug Petro Canada Olympic glasses into Google just for fun and multiple Kijiji sites replied to my search.

Because they come in all shapes and sizes and I only collect one style, it took me a while to sift through everything. Then I hit the mother-load: 20 glasses for 5 bucks in Mississauga. The piese de la resistance was that she wanted to sell them as a set and they were originals from the 1988 Calgary Olympics.

I stared at my screen, then decided that I was OK with the price. Though I generally only pay twenty cents a piece at the ReStore, I am willing to pay a whopping twenty five cents on the black market. (Seriously, that last sentence made me laugh because I'd probably willingly have paid 5 bucks a piece.)

I have to share that this past week when the thread on my Facebook had everyone feeding me intel on why the Restore had closed, one specific response was absolutely and unequivocally perfect. My cousins' explanation as to why the store was closed was short and to the point. It simply read, "...they probably ran out of glasses!" 

As I filed our taxes today, then trolled around the online black market for my glasses, I couldn't help but think how my kids might feel at the reading of my will. 

I can assure them that it won't be anything long and drawn out and I suspect may sound something like this: Your mother loved you all very much. She is leaving you (which is to be divided equally and without prejudice) 15,472 Petro Canada glasses and the balance of her bank account.... which is a total of $0.53 cents.

What? Travelling to pick them suckers up all over the country would've been expensive!!

This was the last time I scored... Thanks Habitat ReStore (in Huntsville, Ontario).
TAKEN: OCTOBER 16th, 2016

POPPA's GONNA ROCK INSTAGRAM

Last year around this time, my Boss wandered into my office and announced he was starting to use Instagram. Knowing I'm the social media junkie I am, he was shocked when I announced that it's the only platform I’d never embraced. In hindsight I’m not sure why, because from a very young age I’ve always loved taking photos.

After him coaxing harder for me to step up, I tried to jump start my effort last winter. Yet again, I still didn’t truly grasp the concept and it felt extremely forced. Then, this past Labour Day Monday, I woke at the cottage to watch the sun rise. Just as the sun officially peeked through the trees, I unwrapped myself from my blanket, ran up from the dock, and snapped a picture. For whatever reason, I shared my freshly snapped photo on Instagram. It was like a switch flipped and I realized it was about the moment, and what a specific picture offered me personally in that moment.

Flash forward to the past Canadian Thanksgiving Monday. We get such little time together as a family, I was ecstatic for what the day was going to offer. Anyway, I must have taken 100 pictures that day on our trek of Huckleberry Rock in Muskoka. When I got home, I had so many to choose from I didn’t share any. I did update my personal Facebook page but outside of that, I’ve just sat at my desk since and admired the truly amazing day we shared.

With that, I know my avid readers and friends know about my obsession with the Petro Canada glasses I collect. So none should be surprised at what my favourite Thanksgiving picture is. When we arrived back at the house, I asked my 3 birth children and my 4th child (whom I consider a true member of our family) to enjoy a drink with my Dad.

We did.

My Instagram caption read: My very favourite people on the planet having a drink with my Dad.
Cheers Poppa!! #iloveyou #imissyou #familyfirst #wishyouwerehere
TAKEN: OCTOBER 10th, 2016

For the first time today, I have shared my Petro Canada glass obsession on Instagram. 

Not because they needed to look at a bunch of corny glasses but because my photo resembles the respect we all still have for my father. How even after all these years, he is still very much loved and truly missed. Welcome to Instagram Poppa. I’m sure those peeps will love you as much as my Friends, Tweeps, and Google+ Pals.

Now, if I could only figure out why the bazillion hashtags accompany photos....

I'd be cookin'!

MY QUIRKY COLLECTION OF CRAP

I was originally suppose to be home staining the exterior of the house this weekend. Then, toward the end of the week, Mother Nature decided to forecast light rain for the entire weekend. Not wanting to lose valuable outside chore time, I figured I could burn brush at the cottage instead.

Well, it became evident early Saturday morning that it wasn’t going to rain. So, we bolted into town to pick up a couple of items we needed for next week. Like I do most Saturday mornings, I headed to the Habitat for Humanity Re-Store to check for the couple items of crap I collect. No glasses for my Dad, yet I did score another edition of Trivial Pursuit for my Mom. (I think that brings me to 10 unique versions).

Standing at the checkout, I bumped into my high school physics teacher. We had attended an event together this past summer and it was nice to see he and his wife again. They admitted to be Re-Store regulars too, as they refurbish and sell antiques. Anyway, when he noticed I didn’t score any glasses, he asked about the game. I explain that Trivial Pursuit was not only my Moms favourite game but mine too.

That said, I went on to explain to he and his wife that I am the polar opposite to a pack rat. That I do a clean sweep of my home and cottage twice a year and if I haven’t needed or used items in the prior six months I get rid of them. Then I said... “Look, whether you believe it or not, I am very particular about the crap I collect.”

Without missing a beat, he quickly replied, “I can tell. Just look at your husband!”

These are a few of my favourite things!
TAKEN: SUMMER of 2016

The four of us immediately burst into laughter. My husband acknowledged the quip as a good one, and I acknowledged that 30 years later, we are in fact the others most cherished collection. 

You know what? It’s spur of the moments like the one I experienced yesterday that once again confirms the notion that I have always believed; it really is the small moments in life that make things memorable. 

That, and if nothing else… 

Ya Gotta Laugh About It…!

A COUPLE MORE REASONS WHY

For the last number of months, I had been talking with a really fab co-worker about a milestone birthday she had approaching. Though I repeatedly tried to convince her that she was worthy of a kick ass destination celebration, she'd decided to take some time off and celebrate in a very low key fashion. 

Well, from her announcing that 'low key was she' mindset, every chance I got, I encouraged her to pack up her man and get on a plane.  Short story long, when they decided to bolt to Jamaica, I squealed with sheer delight.

A tad puzzled by my overzealous reaction, I explained my story that all of you regular readers are all too familiar with. That my mother died at the young age of 57, which has left me with a very deep (and somewhat distracting energy) to embrace adventure; which includes getting as many different stamps in my passport before I arrive at the age when she passed.

I don’t know what it is... but the thought or news of death rocks me to the core.

Trying to ensure my mother shared our day...
TAKEN: JUNE 1988

I’m not sure if it’s because I started experiencing death from a preteen age, or it's the long standing deep seeded feeling I have that I will die young. Either way, the last couple of days have affirmed what I've believed since my mother passed in 1987; life is short and be sure not to let it pass you by.

Why so reflective? In the matter of 24 hours, two young lives were lost in the small town which I live. One was the age of my eldest and the son of a friend I went to high school with, the other a business acquaintance that occupied my Sales & Marketing lane. One was somewhat expected due to illness, the other, my lane occupier, was a very sudden loss that has left a large part of our community in shock. 

As I began searching for a photo to accompany my post, my thoughts immediately shifted to my Mom. In turn, I rummaged though boxes, dusting off all of the proofs from my wedding day in 1988. Out of the blue I remembered asking the photographer to take pictures of me with the last photo I have of my mother before she became ill.

When I was done reminiscing over all of the proofs, I realized something. In almost 100% of the photos taken at the house, her picture is propped on the handmade coffee table my brother made, as well as her last Lazy Boy chair is in sight. I honestly never noticed that detail until tonight.

I can't believe it. Almost 30 years later, how amazing is that?

PS: I couldn't help but put the photo focus on my Mama.

Mom and Me with my Jr. Bridesmaid Joni.
TAKEN: JUNE 1988

A LETTER TO MY DAD

Dearest Dad,

Well, it was 11 years ago today you left me. Where the hell has the time gone?

For obvious reasons, you've been on my mind this month. So, out of the blue, I mentioned our 11th anniversary at work yesterday. Then, when I got home tonight I realized nothing tells someone you love them more than writing them a letter; so here you have it.

As you know, the kids are doing great. I wish you could chat with them, laugh with them, one more time. You’d be so very proud. I know I talked to you often when Sweetie was out West, and though she's still healing, I am pleased to report she's finally found her stride. Both the boys are working hard and finding great individual success, which I know won't even remotely surprise you. I will admit that as parents, it seems a tad surreal to be simply standing at the sidelines and watching. Then again, as empty-nesters, more good news as we too have finally found our way.

I'm enclosing some updated photos of the crew. The one of Sweetie and Goob was taken last week when we met for lunch, the one of Jukebox & his Dad was taken when we traveled with friends to Mexico for my last birthday. I'd attach an updated picture of me, but just like Mom, I always seen to be behind the lens of a camera.

Goob & Sweetie                                                   Hubby with Jukebox.
TAKEN: APRIL & JUNE 2016

Finally, not looking to avoid the subject, I've nothing to report on my siblings. As you predicted when we did your will, everything unfurled exactly as you expected. That said, just as I use to worry about that 911 call you begged me never to make, I've reconciled myself to the fact that the right thing's happened in both scenarios. I will admit, I find it a tad surreal. You know, how we both ultimately kept our dignity. Yours in your choice of how you wanted to die, and mine in life. You'd be proud of how we've risen above it all. We've just kept our course... and let all the other stuff go. 

Well, I guess I should run. We miss you Dad. We miss you a lot... All five of us.

Every. Single. Day.

Love always,

Rhondi

M IS FOR MISSING

My father and I on my wedding day.
TAKEN: JUNE 1988

Today... I am missing my Dad. 

Joseph Herve St.Onge - 1928 - 2005

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there; I did not die.

(Written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye)

J IS FOR JOURNEY

At this stage of my life, I am a firm believer 'your only impossible journey is the one you've never attempted to take.' I'm sure that's my inner entrepreneurial spirit lashing out but as my nest emptied I continually reminded myself that in mid-life there wouldn't be an adventure I'd not entertain. 

Before I get ahead of myself, I feel I should admit that I am anything but a daredevil. As a matter a fact there are two things I am truly afraid of: the dark and the unknown. So, you can imagine my conundrum of inner turmoil, once I mentally convinced myself that it was time to hop on the new adventure bandwagon!

My personal Facebook cover photo last September...  GREAT adventure thus far!

I'm not going to lie. I was filled with mixed emotions when we moved the twins away to school on Labour Day weekend of of 2011. I had such angst that they were leaving, yet excited for what that meant for my newfound personal journey. As the late summer turned to fall, it quickly became apparent that I was completely alone, and my road to self-discovery didn't include a GPS nor a much needed flashlight. 

So, on a teary 2011 November night, I started this electronic journal. I'm so thankful that I've had people with me since its inception, and equally grateful for those that only stop by once in a while. The truth of the matter is, today you're reading my 600th post. 

The absolute truth is this journal journey has helped me process more life lessons than any appearance on Dr.Phil, with my plight starring in the last 600 episodes. So, as I continue to evolve and figure things out on the fly, I'd like to say those three special words, that are not only called for on this milestone day but most appropriate here tonight. 

...Thanks for reading!

TODAY, WE REMEMBER BLAIR

It's a given that most people think of today as St. Patricks Day. I suppose until 2011, I did too. 

It just so happens that 5 years ago today, one of the great ones answered their call and as a result my friend Blair McLaren passed away. 

I know that name won’t specifically resonate with the majority of my readers but trust me when I write that he was a very well respected businessman. Though not where his career would end, when I was growing up, he and his wife owned the local sporting goods store affectionately known as McLaren Sports.

Myself & Blairs' daughter Sarah. Happy to be able to still call her my friend.
TAKEN: APRIL 1983

If I close my eyes, I can remember the day I sat in their store and he outlined my feet for a custom made pair of John Kenbli skates. I was so excited that I was floating, and of course my mother was being my mother.

I remember the ordeal as embarrassing and I distinctly remember the conversation as generally uncomfortable. He explained the manufacturing process and expected lead time for delivery. Then, they talked about why the price was the price. 

As he answered all of her questions, in an nano-second he earned her complete and unconditional trust. He promised never to disclose to my father the money she’d spent in his store on my fateful day; and he never did. 

Over time, teaching their daughters to skate, led me to babysitting for he and his wife. I also remember it was the end of an era when they closed the store to focus on building a corporate family business ~ aptly named McLaren Press. 

What his wife and girls don't know is that 20 years later, when I opened IDP Muskoka in 2004, Blair and his brother Scott were one of my very first calls. After all, every new marketing agency with a solid business plan, needs a great trade printer. I remember the meeting. 

It started with Scott (whom lived across the street from me at the time) then he called in Blair. Much to my surprise, the two of them made me an offer to join their team 24 hours later. Though I declined, Blair always remembered the fire in my belly and my overall vision. He was truly the first successful man that supported the concept of women leading in business.

Even with life being as busy as it was, no matter when I ran into him, he never hesitated to stop and ask me how I was doing. Never rushed nor forced. He was always genuine and very happy for me.

Musings aside, the funny thing is that all these years later, I still have those skates. Matter a fact I cherish them. Always have. Always will. 

So, tonight, I ask you to raise your green beer, glass of wine, or a glass of water to Blair.

Loving husband, wonderful father, grandfather, employer, friend. He may be gone but most definitely will never be forgotten.

Cheers, Blair...Thanks for the memories.

MY ONE AND ONLY VALENTINE

Wednesday or Thursday of last week, a coworker asked me if I had anything special planned for my husband for Valentines Day. I simply shrugged my shoulders and quietly mentioned that it's something we've never celebrated. I could tell by the look on their face they were curious, so I told them why. All they could bring themselves to say was that they were sorry. I thanked them for the kind sentiment.

My Momma & Me in Gaspe, Quebec
TAKEN: JULY 1972

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was just past midnight, February 14th, 1987, when the phone rang in my apartment. All my father said was,"your mother's gone." My first reaction was an instant sense of relief; as ALS (more commonly known as Lou Gehrig's Disease) had her suffering for long enough. 

My husband and I were only dating when my mother passed but even if we'd never married, I don't believe that I would ever have taken a Valentine other than my Mom. She was stoic in the end. So brave, though I'm sure she had to of been scared. You see, death was something we were never allowed to talk about when she was ill, that's just how she rolled. If I had to describe the last six months of her life, the one word I would chose, would have to be heartbreaking. 

At my fathers request, I left a good job in the City the May prior so that I could stay with her through the day. I was a waitress in the evenings that summer (for a bit of spending money) but my father needed round the clock help. Out of sheer necessity, he took a six month leave of absence from his job that September but she still needed the both of us. As you can imagine, that time my father and I spent together, changed our relationship for the rest of his life. Our unconditional support for one and other remained in tact until the day he died.

Anyway, I told my coworker last week that I would write about my mom today, as I had every year since I started this electronic journal. I also mentioned that I suspected that she no longer needed to by my Valentine because she'd been reunited with my Dad. 

Having said that, I know there's no written rule that you have to pick and declare only one true love today. So here's hoping you love yours as much as I love mine...As today will always be our day.

Happy Valentine's Day Mom. I miss and love you very much. xoxo

A FRIENDSHIP FOREVER IN BLOOM

Well, it’s that time of year again. When I crate up the crap from the previous business year and haul it out to the garage. I have a teeny section out there dedicated to what’s left of my consulting business and I go through what’s there a couple of times a year to ensure I’m not hanging onto anything I don’t absolutely need. You see, I am anything but a pack-rat. 

Anyway, by the time I was done this morn, my desk was cleared, and the hanging folders housed in my drawers were pretty much sparse. The last thing I had to do before I could cross the completed task off my list, was tend to my dried office flowers. Those I deal with weekly, and have been doing so for about five years.

...I love you Don-igan!
(TAKEN: DECEMBER 29th, 2015)

It was the spring of 2011 and a co-worker (with a prize winning green thumb) brought them in as a gift.

I wasn’t surprised by his generosity, rather more accurately moved by the beauty of what he'd been able to nurture and grow. 

I remember that they were bright white and smelled amazing. I recall asking what type of flower they were but as quickly as I asked, I had forgotten the name. When they dried, I brought them home. To this very day, I still have them. 

Matter a fact, I am pleased to report that they aren't the only thing I still have: I still have both of them. The wonderful flowers that were gifted to me on that beautiful spring day, as well as my friendship with the gentleman that so generously gave them to me. 

Both are the only things I truly cherish from that specific journey and time in my life. I am so glad that that ours will be a friendship forever in bloom. So, here's to an amazing 2016 for both of us...

Lord knows, there's a boatload of people that understand we've definitely earned it!

HAPPY 87th BIRTHDAY POPPA

As a family growing up, we never much bothered with birthdays. Matter a fact, I am embarrassed to admit that I’m not even sure when my mother’s was: whether it was the 23rd or the 24th. Even when she was alive, I always confused her birth date with the day my parents were married. That right there shows how much emphasis was never put on the silly recognition of any of it. Then, everything changed when my Dad celebrated his 60th Birthday.

Happy Birthday Dad...!
TAKEN: JUNE 9th, 1988
Photo (c) yagottalaughaboutit.com

With so much focus being put on my wedding, I decided to throw my Pops a surprise party. You see, his happy day happened to fall two days before I got married. His home was shamefully strewn with everything imaginable for a young bride's big day yet as my day drew near, I wanted him to know that he was as appreciated as he was making me feel I was. Twenty seven years ago today, I can report he was truly surprised. Not only by my gesture but by the love of the people that filled his livingroom.

Just look at that smile!

In hindsight, that night was a catapult for he and I. His 60th Birthday was a new beginning of how he and I looked at celebrating the day of his birth. With me being married the 11th and the twins eventually being born the 5th, no matter what we were up to at the time, everything stopped for that one single week a year.

One of the most memorable parties was when the twins celebrated their first birthday and he celebrated his 65th. Our small little 1,000 square foot home across the street from his was bursting at the seams with family and friends. As time passed, each and every year the celebrations got bigger and understandably more cherished. True to the occasion to the end, we spent the majority of his last B-Day together in the emergency room. Though his spirits were good I would have never imagined a little better than two week later our jokes and paper hats would be replaced with funeral arrangements.

I had an American lawyer friend comment last weekend on the affinity that I have of my Dad. He admitted that he has the same with his but that his father is still alive. As silly as it reads I feel like my Dad is still with me too. I still talk to him and we mention him all the time in our home. Though he may be out of sight, he most definitely will never be out of mind. You see, not only was he my Father, he was my friend.

Happy 87th Birthday Poppa. We all love and miss you very much.