If you’ve had any problems with a toxic parent, click on the link below:
Age is never so old as youth would measure it. -Jack London
I love my grandmother.
She has always been like a mother to me.
This summer she is moving out of the tiny outport town she’s lived in since her birth in the early 1930’s.
I’m certain she knows every tree, every movement of the tides in the harbour and is intimately acquainted with the fine lines in cliffs towering over the little salt box houses.
As of late, she’s celebrated her older sister’s approach to her mid-nineties, the death of dear friends and relatives and she’s outlived 2 husbands.
She never gets a cold.
Yet she says to me, “please god, if I’m alive next year, you’ll be home for the reunion,”
“nanny, don’t be silly, ofcourse you will,” I reply.
By comparison, my grandmother has her all-bran cereal, one orange and a cup of tea for breakfast every morning.
She has done this for decades.
Even into my mid-thirties, I can keenly remember the smell, the pop of citrus as she breaks the skin on her orange and pays attention to gently opening the juicy flesh over a paper towel, rocking sleepily in the chair behind her listening to CBC radio morning as a ten year old.
How could she not outlive me?
I rush into Starbucks, grab an Americano and some processed pastry, eat and text and zip off to work.
She walks miles every day, knits, makes her own bread, is always busy, has an active social life and a healthy spirituality.
Me, I hop on rapid transit,attempt to get some time at the gym and I’m satisfied opening a can of ‘whatever’ for meals.
I will always love her, respect her and listen to her carefully when she advises me.
That is the least I can do for all she has given me. Life, wisdom, unconditional love and safety in the storms of my parents’ divorce.
This summer when she moves into the city, to live next door to my aunt, the youngest of my father’s sisters, I will miss that tiny town as well.
But as long as I have her, I have my foundation and my safety.
I will love you always nanny…xo forever
For age is opportunity no less
Than youth itself, though in another dress,
And as the evening twilight fades away
The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day. -Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Well, after spending the evening with a friend’s baby, our desire for a family kicked in to high gear.
Yeah, can you imagine someone calling me mama?
Well, we have a few donors filed away and money being saved for the event.
In one year, one of us could be expecting. I’ll keep you posted!
How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself.
I consider it an honour and a privilege to be acquainted with a diverse group of women, from counsellors and health care practitioners, to teachers, home makers, retail employees and people on social assistance or welfare.
Every one of them adds to my collective knowledge and wisdom and I don’t consider any of them more or less important than another; they are too dear to me to think such things.
However, an interesting conversation arose the other day during a conversation between women friends of mine whose adult siblings maybe didn’t fare as well as they did.
They feel guilty and sometimes apologetic because they are more financially or professionally successful than their sisters.
If you come from the same home and have the same privileges and opportunities.
It begged the question: “Are men out there apologising for their privilege? Are they feeling guilty for reaching higher benchmarks in their careers than other people?”
I don’t think so.
Why do women think they have to apologise for their success?
We are far beyond the times when we have to be dependent on others for our financial well-being or measures of accomplishment.
Just food for thought.
peace, love and TGIF monkiss
I got my vitamin D and a little sun burn on my pale irish skin today from a hobble in the park across the street. Yay!!
She brought me a hat, a sweet brown fedora lookin thing, my shades and we hit the trail and the speed of crawl
I never remember what we chat about on our walks but it usually involves some hilarity, a trip or occasional fall with some more laughing to follow.
Today for some reason, in the middle of an empty field, we decided to pull up my shirt to see how my surgery scars are healing, they’re nowhere near boob zone and I still don’t know why we decided that was a good time and place,
I think its because we forget other people most of the time and are just generally used to be stared at when we’re together.
I think we also scared some kids and parents on the play structure several hundred feet away because in poking a finger at one scar, we realised a suture was missed and clumsily, my wife poked at it, causing it to come out and fall on the waistband of my shorts.
We both screamed a little like two ladies who saw a tarantula with an AK-47.
It didn’t hurt. I think it mostly it was the shock that it popped out that gave us a start.
Then I snuggled a giant oak tree and admired some shoots newly poking their heads out of the ground, aaah lovely.
“You stepped in some dog shit with your boot,” said B
“Noooo I didn’t,” I replied, “I would’ve seen it.”
So because I didn’t see it, to me it didn’t happen.
Well, I’m definitely smelling something a little dog shit-esque in the living room right now.
Yep. Pretty sure it’s me….*groan*
Happy spring dear readers!
My wife loves mutant planet on Discovery science channel.
I love it too. But not to the same extent. I also hate our PVR now, or Tivo or whatever you call it where you are. Why do I hate it?
Because every time I”m doing something in the livingroom, B says, Ciaran! Ciaran! Wait, you have to look at this. She pauses mutant planet, too far back, too far ahead then too far back again. Lookit that, the snake! the snail! How that monkey has crazy feet or this frog attacked a fish.
I love my wife, very much. Though sometimes, I just want to sit in the same room and play video games or write or check my social networking pages.
Damn you mutant planet!
She cries when cute animals get hurt and then I feel bad for saying ‘hey, leave me alone.’
Given, I only do that after the 9th time in an hour when she’s taped 3 or 4 episodes and watches them back to back in an evening.
I’m soft hearted that way.
So I say again, damn you technology for never letting me get a moment’s peace when mutant planet is on.
p.s we can’t watch mutant planet Australia anymore because *spoiler alert* a kangaroo died.
see what you did mutant planet? see what you did?