Category Archives: family

The Christmas Poem – 2015 Edition

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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the blogs
Edward Hotspur had his bacon, Angie’s Grapevine had her dogs.
The synonyms were used by Idioglossia with care,
And Conscious Cacophony, her feelings she would share.

Short Stories was nestled, all snug amongst his words,
While Susie Lindau had artistic visions taking pictures of the birds.
Graceful Press was getting poetic, authoring memorable scenes,
And Drinking Tips was creating while snacking on Poutine.

JannaTWrites newest blog had created such a clatter,
And Carrie Rubin’s comments only added to the chatter.
Away to the keyboard YeahWrite flew on its quest,
Tore open the gates of creativity posting its newest contest.

The Modern Philosopher, his brilliance did show,
And masterful words from Dianne Gray, were shared from below. (well, Down Under, but it didn’t rhyme)
When, what to YarnSpinner’s eyes should appear,
Ned’s Blog, in all its glory, showing no WordPress fear.

With a well-versed writer, so lively in blog,
I knew in a moment it must be Trudging Through Fog.
More majestic than eagles the stanzas were put,
And I knew in a heartbeat, Campari & Sofa was afoot.

“Now Grammar Ghoul! now Wordy! now Moi and Leigh!
On, Margie! On, Harlon! On, Bad Guy! on, Wine and Cheese!
To the top of the Fresh Press! to the top of the wall!
Now write away! Write away! Write away all!”

As Rarasaur roars before the wild hurricanes fly,
When they meet with Two Sentences, and mount to the sky.
So up to the Matticus Kingdom they flew,
With Yadadarcyyada and a Writer Fellow too.

I didn’t have my glasses on but I thought I still had heard,
Nicole Marie and Candice Curry happily sharing their words.
As I closed my keyboard, and was winding it down,
The Silver Leaf Journal was making a sound.

Jill Weatherholt spoke with a great deal of fervor,
And words were carefully crafted by The Mercenary Researcher.
A bundle of phrases HastyWords took from her stack,
And Shouts from the Abyss, the words he attacked.

With their keyboards they created with zest and with zeal,
They wrote just as passionately as brunch for every meal!
It was Apoplectic Apostrophes, the words she did reap,
And, in between writing, they read shrinksarentcheap.

They wrote from their hearts, like it was their favorite job,
And inside of them all lurked a Geeky Book Snob.
The Cutter rambled and wrote to make you think,
While a little Fish of Gold was readied with paper and ink.

On The Homefront took a few precious moments to reflect,
While somewhere during Red’s Rants and Raves their writing they did perfect!
JoeTwo spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Blending a symphony of phrases, responsibilities they did shirk.

The Lonely Author pounded endlessly on the keys,
While Scraps of Paper were tossed at the typewriter with ease.
 You’ve been Hooked had amused us, EagleAye surely did see,
And we quickly lost H.E. Ellis to the feeling of writer’s glee.

Inspiration sprang to its feet, to its words gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a high powered missile.
But I heard it exclaim, as our brains turned to fog,
“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good blog!”

 typewriter

(image credit: lhj.com)

 ~~

Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and happy holidays.  All of the links should take you to a large number of the blogs I follow, so if you are looking for new things to read, they are just a click of a mouse away!!

It doesn’t really get easier with time

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I read a post on Facebook today from a friend of mine who is at the one year anniversary of his father’s passing.  I would like to tell him that it gets easier with time, but I can’t.  So many people offer those words as an attempt to comfort those who have lost a loved one.  Since I have lost both of my parents, and many other loved ones for that matter, I am well versed at saying ‘thank you, I hope so’ when those words were spoken to me.

But I have learned a great truth about loss.  It doesn’t get easier.  The pain of loss is never really assuaged by time.  The polite phrase spoken by so many holds a great sentiment but very little truth.

What I have learned, however, is that the pain is slowly muted by the memories.  That pain still burns like a lingering flame, concealed far below the surface, and it can be turned into a raging inferno with a single spark.  But that pain is much less visceral than it once was and shouldering their absence seems much more bearable.

With each passing year I recognize a growing trend in my patterns.  Habits that I picked up subconsciously from those loved ones who are gone seem to emerge inexplicably but they are familiar and comforting traits.  Idioms used by my dad tumble out of my mouth before I even have a chance to realize what I am saying.  My arm in the window of my car as I drive, elbow on the bottom and only two fingers hooked in the top, is exactly how my mother used to position herself driving up to the cottage when we were young.

It doesn’t make the loss any easier but it is those little things that make us know that their life lives on through our lives.  We get to keep some of the best parts of them alive because mimicking their characteristics keeps their spirit close.  The pain will always reside in us as proof that the love we had for them was fierce.  It doesn’t get easier,  it just gets manageable.

(image credit)

 

 

I almost slipped away

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cropped-Hands-touching

The pull was strong.

Celestial light enveloped me,

suspending me.

But I couldn’t leave.

As much as we promised,

and wanted to be together forever,

our unborn child deserved life.

I inhaled,

my hand slipped from yours

and the light was gone.

microstories242

 

 

 

 

I left a piece of me

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I wanted to leave piece of me behind,

something so unique to me,

that you would remember me

once I had gone.

I don’t want you to doubt

whether I was ever here

in the first place.

I want my imprint

etched into your brain,

so you know that I once was,

and always will be,

a part of your existence.

jeep

I left the ghost of me to remain

long after I had gone,

marking the place

that I once held in this world.

I may appear in several ways,

in the most unusual places,

but always know

that I have left a piece of me behind

for you to notice

just when you miss me the most.

~~

I saw this photo on Twitter (@ChicagoProblems) and immediately thought of how loved ones try to send us messages after they have passed.  They never drove a jeep but my mom and dad do send us indications that they are still with us in spirit.  And Mom and Dad, if you reading this, White Rabbit, White Rabbit, White Rabbit.

We should give thanks every day

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Although our Canadian Thanksgiving has come and gone, I came upon this post I wrote at the beginning of my blogging journey and I wanted to share it again.  May my friends south of our border feel as many thanks as I do each year during our celebration.

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(image credit)

My family is a collection of characters.  They are as unique as snowflakes.  No one member is remotely the same but they are all intelligent, articulate, thoroughly amusing and fun to be around.  There is never a dull moment at the cottage when the relatives are in town.

With our hectic lifestyles and spanned locations, we don’t get to see each other as often as we used to when I was a kid but that just makes holidays and get-togethers that much more special.  Since it is Thanksgiving weekend, we gathered once again to celebrate the holiday and enjoy each others company.  The stress of life and all of the troubles that we face during the day seem to melt away when the family reunites and nothing else matters except the people who embrace you when you walk over the threshold of the door to the family cottage.  The outside world ceases to exist and laughter and love wrap themselves around our family members like a warm security blanket.  The food is abundant, the conversation is easy and the feeling of love is overwhelming.  There is nothing more important than family.  We can be thankful for all of our possessions, our jobs, our wealth, but all of those things are replaceable.  Family is not.

Thanksgiving is a time to truly reflect on what is most important in our lives.   I am certainly thankful for my health, having a job that I love, co-workers that I admire and respect and possessions and a home that I truly appreciate.  But I am most thankful for the branches on my family tree that continue to envelop me and wrap themselves around me when I need them the most.

With each passing year, the trunk of our family tree grows stronger and it roots itself more firmly in the soil of our existence.  That tree has weathered many storms but still manages to endure the bad times as well as flourish in the good times.  Its bark remains tough but the core of our family tree still remains tender and nurturing.

As seasons come and go our family tree continues to thrive.   I am thankful for my ancestors who planted the original seed.  I am thankful for my family members who have passed and still hold roots in my tree.  And I am abundantly thankful for the family who continue to create branches on that ever-growing tree.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.  I hope you all take a moment to give thanks for the things that are truly important in your lives.

Turns out I’m not the biggest loser

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For the past month I have been diligently somewhat enthusiastically following a strict regimen of caloric intake to participate in a weight loss challenge (#wlc) with my best friend and her husband.  I have made many sacrifices and changed my shopping lists multiple times to adhere to the necessary guidelines of not eating food I should not be eating.  After thirty days, we have all weighed in and, although I am proud of my accomplishment, Daniel won the battle.

The deal going in was that the “losers” had to eat what the victor had been using as nourishment during the challenge.  Daniel decided to change the rules and we had to succumb, I’ll admit enthusiastically, to a double cheeseburger today.  Once the arbitrary new guideline had been established, I hungrily began making my shopping list for dinner.  I already had frozen burger patties in my freezer but the necessary garnishes were required to complete my meal.

I felt like a thief, looking over my shoulder across the parking lot, as I smuggled my contraband ingredients to my car.  The jar of pickles, processed cheese slices and bun lay hidden in my grocery store bag as I tried to conceal my guilt on the way to my car.  I have been known to cook several very upscale meals but, when it comes to my burger, my cheese of choice is synthetic Kraft Singles and nothing else will do!

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The burgers were cooked perfectly.  The pickles were just as salty as I remembered and the almost-real cheese dripped from the burger patties just as it should have.  My dinner was delicious and the anticipated two extra pounds were worth it.

As I say my “White Rabbit” three times tonight at the stroke of midnight, I can only hope luck will find me once again this month and continue the trend of shedding pounds.  I may not be the biggest loser but I’m still a loser, and I’m okay with that.

A little blood on Halloween seems almost redundant

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I used to love carving pumpkins.  I was one of those weirdos hoping to have the most creative pumpkin on the block, so I bought a carving kit and some patterns and locked myself in a room to avoid distraction.

Walls were spattered with stringy pieces of eviscerated pumpkin.  Elongated strings of profuse verbiage slithered under the doorway, assaulting the ears on the other side of the door, and small drops of minor arterial spray infused themselves into the paint on the wall.  But at the end of the painstaking process I achieved success!  The copious amount of band-aids, blood loss and light-headedness were worth the effort.  My pumpkins were the talk of the town.  My then-boyfriend’s children (who I still refer to as my step-children) were even proud to acknowledge the creativity on our front doorstep.

After my first attempt, I became a little less guarded when it came to the carving process and the whole family would get involved.  Where there were originally only two arms covered in pumpkin guts, eight sticky arms reveled in the joy of dissecting the large gourds and separating the seeds from the gooey mess.  Each of us skilfully created our masterpieces and sat back with a smile as the toothy pumpkins returned our stares.

The house would begin to smell of the roasting pumpkin seeds and, after a massive clean up, we would light our pumpkins and snack on the seeds in the darkened living room.  The memories of those nights of laughter and camaraderie are the ones I still hold close.

As the eve of Halloween approaches, I am slightly saddened that those years are so far behind me.  I live on a street where no children trick-or-treat so there is no need to create any more scary faces.  Perhaps this year I should take advantage of the fact that my digits are all still intact and drag out the carving tools once again.  I’m sure my dog would like to sit in the dark with me staring at faces like these:

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Happy Halloween everyone!

I should have saved at least one

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My mother and I never had a traditional greeting when we called each other.  Instead of the banal “Hi Mom”, I could not help but deviate to the voice and the very unusual way Steve Martin used the word in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.  If you’ve seen the movie, you’ll know what I mean.  For those of you who have not had the pleasure of viewing this 1980’s masterpiece, allow me to introduce you.

When she was still with us, I would dial my mom’s number and when I heard her voice say hello, the first words out of my mouth were “Muther, muther”, doing my best to imitate Steve Martin as the classic character of Ruprecht.  She would always respond with an elongated “yeeeessss”.  It was our thing.  It was something only the two of us shared and it made me want to call her all the time just to hear that extended response because it made my heart smile every time I heard it.

It’s been just over a year and a half since she left and I still find myself nonsensically picking up the phone to call her.  There are still things in my life that I only want to share with her and, although I know she has all of the details of my life, I just want to hear her voice one more time.

I think back to all of the voice mails she left for me and I berate myself for not saving any of them.  Even if it was the most trivial narration of what had happened in the dining hall, that simple communication contained the timber and gentleness of the voice I have known for longer than I have physically been on this Earth.

Sometimes I think I have been able to pull that sound from the vault of my memory but it will always be missing that special element.  It will always be missing her, just as much as I am.