Life and Legacy

Lovelies, are you still out there?

I've thought about blogging many times over the last few months but I just couldn't. There was so much to say that I couldn't say anything. So much to think about that my mind was blank. So much to feel that I was numb.

On October 23 we learned that there were no more treatment options available for my Dad in his fight against lymphoma and on November 23 he passed away. During those short 30 days we spent as much time as possible as a family. We celebrated an early Christmas, had waffle brunches, played crib, joked and cried. We made the most of our time together and it was so not enough.

Since his death we have all been moving through life, lop-sided and fragile. We have lived and breathed, laughed and cried, celebrated and mourned but all in a kind of daze. Grief is like a weighted, too-small blanket. You struggle against it, try to stretch it to cover you, hide you from the world but in the end you are left lugging it around. It only covers parts of you, the most fragile and broken bits. The rest of you is left raw and exposed. You try to act 'normal', you try to live as you once did but nothing feels right. Nothing is right. It is wrong to love someone so much and miss them so much.

It's just wrong.

Yet there is life. And legacy.

Dad was a funny, strong, loving, protective, gentle soul. His heart was full. He was wholly devoted to and madly in love with my mom. He loved, instructed and debated with us girls with intention and affection. He beamed with pride at the mention of his grandchildren. He was a faithful friend, a loving brother and a doting uncle. He loved in gallons.

This is his legacy.

He taught us how to love, how to be family. He showed us what friendship, forgiveness, dedication and affection looked like in action. He was an example of integrity and intelligence. He lived his beliefs everyday - all day. He was proud of our country, our heritage and looked forward to our future. He was intentional in how he raised us and in how he related to each of his grandchildren. He had dreams for each one of us and he spoke them, prayed them daily. His faith wasn't a Sunday morning thing. It was a moment by moment relationship with His Creator. Family first. Heart family or blood family, either way, family is family and nothing is more important.

Dad is deeply missed with every second of every day. we wear our grief but we are also his legacy. We are walking, talking proof of the strength of his life. We are all he dreamed of in life, all that really mattered to him. So we live on. We live - well. Just as he taught us.

Just as he did.

We are his legacy.

Living Well

21 days. 21 days. 21 days.

21 days until the kid lets are back in school and my time is my own once again. At least from 9 til 4 it will be my own. I can work, grab a latte, visit with a friend, write, read (vacuum, do laundry, dust, clean bathrooms, grocery shop … ) all in relative silence if I wish. I can listen to the CDs I want to listen to, move around my house without being asked why or what I'm doing and go longer than 18 seconds without breaking up a fight or hearing about Dr. Who.

Just 21 days.

In the mean time, I sit on my patio, listening to my kids murder each other in the pool while I try to do the final (and this time I mean FINAL) revisions on my manuscript. In reality, these revisions won't be done today. I have lugged my ruddy laptop everywhere with me for the last six weeks and I am still two chapters away from completion. I have been distracted - big time - this summer. Between renovations at work (yay!), planning our summer programs in KidMin, doing some landscaping at home, putting in a pool, helping out some friends and running back and forth to my parents place and the hospital I feel like I'm unravelling. I just want to finish this book. And breath.

As most of you know, my Dad has been battling cancer for the past three years. He's had a few set backs this year and things haven't worked out as we had hoped. Trips have been cancelled, treatments have changed and changed some more and changed again. Just when we thought Dad was getting better there was another setback. My parents have been pretty private about the details of Dad's journey so I will try to honour that but you need to know that this has been a long and stressful six months.

Yet, still my Dad is smiling.

Right now he has an infection that has landed him in an isolation ward at the hospital. In order to visit him you have to go through two sets of vacuum sealed doors, wash your hands at least three times, don a lovely yellow hospital gown and wear latex gloves (after applying gobs and gobs of antiseptic hand wash between every step of cleansing and layering). This is an inconvenience for us but Dad can't leave his room. That is a nightmare for him.

Dad is an outdoor guy. He loves to putter, walk, garden, mow and snooze in the sunshine. He loves planning bonfires for the kids and BBQs with his friends. Days spent at the lake are his very favourite. He loves walking the beach, holding hands with my Mom, and watching the kids jump in the waves. Dad loves every second of summer so this confinement has to be a test on his patience but you wouldn't know it.

Dad has developed a bit of a reputation at the hospital. He has been in this ward a few times over the past six months and the staff know him well. They know him for his crazy pajama pants, his Mexico resort t-shirts and his huge grin. They know him for never complaining, always smiling and caring about their lives. They know him for being kind, patient and a pleasure to work with. They know him.

As I was leaving the hospital last night a group of nurses were standing by the desk. It was shift change and they were just getting caught up on their patients. One nurse asked another what patients they had. The nurse listed off four names, my Dad's being the last.

"You have Carson? Lucky! He's wonderful!"

I beamed with pride as I washed, antibacterialed and walked through the vacuum sealed doors. I thought about my Dad as I made my way through corridors and out of the hospital. The nurse was right. He is wonderful. I had spent seven hours with him that day. It had been tough, his temps were high and he was feeling crumby yet he joked, teased and smiled. He asked about each of my kids, about Mr. Awesome, my job and what was on my mind. We talked about plans and dreams and we talked about nothing. He dozed on and off but each time he woke up he smiled.

At one point, my mom rolled her chair to the head of his bed and leaned over til they were forehead to forehead. They stayed like that for several minutes, locked in private, intimate conversation. I almost took a picture of them but that's one image I want to keep just for myself. One mental picture of my parents loving well, living well.

Living well.

That's my dad. He has always lived well. He has always worked hard, loved well, been kind, generous and loyal. He has always volunteered his time and cared about those around him but all of this has been amplified in recent months. The worse his circumstances seem, the brighter he shines. He hasn't let setbacks and detours change him or steal his joy. He has been sad and frustrated at times but he has always lived well. In tough conversations with doctors and nurses he has been concerned for how they felt. In breaking hard news to me, he has been gentle and careful to not damage my faith. In comforting my sister, he has been patient, kind and protective of her. In loving my mom he has been constant, strong and sure.

He has lived well. He will continue to love well.

As always, he is an example to me. No matter my stress level, busyness or chaos I can still live well. I can still have a generous spirit and a kind heart. I can still see the needs of others even though my own needs are huge. I can still care for people when I need to be cared for. And I can smile in the face of uncertainty. I can because he does. I can because he has taught me with his actions more than his words.

I can because I am my father's daughter.

“Live simply, love generously, care deeply, speak kindly, leave the rest to God.”

~Ronald Reagan 

Here's to the Girls who Love the Boys!

This weekend I threw on a wig and strapped on some high heels and partied with my family. It was my cousin's wedding on Saturday but we were celebrating more than his marriage; on the B-side we have a lot to celebrate and be thankful for these days.

The kids were very excited for this swanky shindig; the boys got suits and Crafty got a new dress. Mr. Awesome dusted off his dress clothes and a borrowed a dress from a cousin. To tell the truth, I felt a bit like a drag queen as I got ready on Saturday. I hardly ever dress up and I NEVER get this dressed up so I felt a little conspicuous with the wig, sequenced heels, party dress and custom made fascinator but in the end it was a lot of fun.

We spent the evening visiting with family, teasing, laughing and telling stories. The groom looked dashing in his tuxedo and the bride was glowing. My aunt and uncle were all smiles as they celebrated with their son and showed off their new baby granddaughter. My dad was the recipient of dozens of hugs and my uncles looked at him with joy filled relief all evening and my cousins hardly left his side. We celebrated new starts, new life, new hope and the bliss of being together.

One of my favourite things about the B-side is how much the guys love each other. Uncles, cousins, nephews, fathers and sons and grandfathers all hugging on each other, loving on each other; it's amazing! They just can't get enough of each other and every time they're all together we take dozens of pictures of them; most of them goofy candids!

On Saturday night, as we gathered the boys together to snap a couple of pictures I got a little misty-eyed, seeing them all together, laughing and proud to be together. The picture is fabulous but not half as fabulous as what you can't see; the B-side women, lined up snapping photos like a group of crazed paparazzi. These women, these incredible, strong, loving women are the strength of this family.

In the movie 300 there is a line about Spartan men being the strong warriors they are because they come from and are supported by Spartan women. On Saturday night, standing with all the other B-side women I felt a little bit Spartan. These men, my dad, uncles and cousins, are wonderful men, in part, because of the women who love them, who have loved them their whole lives.

My grandmother was an incredibly strong woman, my aunts are forces of nature and I can see this strength and confidence in my girl cousins and in the women my boy cousins love. Even The New Girl has it already, the ability to love these guys through their flaws while bringing out the very best of who they are. I have never seen my Groom Cousin so happy, relaxed and content.

So here's to the girls who love the boys as they are. Here's to Grandma, Auntie Marie, Auntie Anne, Auntie Vickie, Auntie Debbie, Auntie Eileen, Auntie Leonie, Auntie Joanne, Auntie Dawn, Kim, Milka, Barrett, Helena, Paulette, Laura, Evelyn, Genelle, Rebecca and all the rest of use B-side girls. Here's to us and here's to the men we love!

A woman should soften but not weaken a man. ~Sigmund Freud

It's Raining ...

Its raining here, it's pouring, in fact. We are in a deluge of good news!

I love good news; I don't care if it's something huge or just a little happy happening, good news rocks. Good news, when shared, is a beacon of hope. It reminds us that good things still happen, that if my pal had some good fortune then I could be next, that even if the world seems like it's going to pot the possibility is great that things will turn around at any moment. Good news is a declaration of Magnificent Possibility.

Sometimes when I'm down I go trolling for good news. I'll scan my Facebook page, read our town newspaper or ask the kids what crazy awesome thing happened to them today. I'll also make a list of the good news in my own life. My lists have included things like finding Mischief's tie for an upcoming wedding, having the time to sip my coffeejuice and read a book and seeing that the kids picked up their miscellaneous junk from the front entry. I look for any little thing that can put a smile on my face.

Today I woke up to some spectacular news. First, I discovered that Mr. Awesome let me sleep in ... late! Then my mom texted me to let me know that my dad just heard back about all of his post-chemo tests and it's all Good News! He has no active cancer in his body at this point; the chemo did it's job! He still has some maintenance things to do for the next couple of years but all the scary words like bone marrow transplant have melted away in the light of this magnificent news!

Then I clicked on to Facebook and was greeted with dozens of 'May the 4th be with you' messages from my dorky pals. As I scrolled through my news feed I discovered that friends are getting books published, another one is celebrating a daughter's engagement and yet another is announcing her son's acceptance into university. There were posts about races won, surgeries booked and time spent with family. Good news is all over the place if you open your ears, and heart, to it.

In a culture where news reports are full of fear and violence, where people have made being cynical fashionable and where joy seems all but extinct it is our responsibility to be Bearers of Good News, Ambassadors of Hope. Those of us who can see the glass as half full need to remind the others that that means there's always room for more. We need to teach those around us how to see the good, how to celebrate the everyday happenings that make this life incredible.

Whether great or small, celebrate the Good that you see, embrace joy and live hope.

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy; they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom. --Marcel Proust

My Mom

Today is my mom's birthday. It's also Dolly Parton's birthday, too but since I don't know Dolly I'll stick to talking about my mom.

My mom is my mom. I've known her my whole life. She's the one who has always been there, in the back ground, keeping things moving. If my life was a movie, starring me, she'd be like a production assistant that had occasional walk on roles. Or at least, that's what I thought when I was a kid.

I thought that she was just some random mother making lunches, doing laundry and driving me places. I thought her life was all about me and my sister. I thought she was happy in her anonymous mom life, no longer a person of her own but A Mother. It wasn't until I became a mother that I realised she's been a real person the whole time.

My mom started her motherhood journey as a teen, still in high school, still sorting out what she wanted for her own life. I was born just six weeks after her 18th birthday and suddenly she wasn't thinking about exams, graduation and college. She was thinking about diapers, midnight feedings and oh my God, what am I going to do now?!

Miraculously, this situation that has taken out other teens hardly made my mom miss a beat. She still graduated from high school and she went on to business college and started her career. She worked hard, climbed the ladders she could and eventually decided to go back to school, to get a university degree.

I remember countless evening sitting at the dinner table with my mom, both of us scribbling away at assignments while Dad took care of my sister. All through my high school years my mom pulled double duty, triple duty really; she worked a full time job, went to university in the evenings and was still Mom. She juggled work expectations, university exams and was still very present in my day to day life.

I can only imagine how exhausted she must have been those late, late Friday nights when I would get home after being out with friends and crawl into her bed to talk about all the woes of Teenagerdom. She never once told me that she was too tired, too busy or just not interested in hearing about how That Girl made me look like a moron in front of That Boy or something like that.

Anyway, now that I am that Some Random Mother I can appreciate all that she was, all that she gave up and all that she worked for back then. I can see now how she postponed her dreams but never let go of them completely, that she put us first but never sold herself short, that she was always my mom but never just a mom. I respect her for all of her sacrifices and hard work. I treasure her for all of the moments she was my safe place, my counselor and my advocate. And I am in awe of her for the example of strength, perseverance and hope she lived every day ... still lives.

My mom is a mom, a wife, a grandmother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a cancer survivor, a university graduate, a volunteer and a corporate executive. She is wise, silly, compassionate, friendly, meticulous, loving, confident, funny, creative, independent and intelligent. She is filled with joy, lives with hope and walks in grace. She cherishes her family, treasures her friends and loves my dad madly, deeply, endlessly. My mom is precious, beautiful and wonderful. She's my mom.

Happy birthday, Ma!

The real religion of the world comes from women much more than from men - from mothers most of all, who carry the key of our souls in their bosoms. ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Brotherly Love

My dad and his little brother Len have a really special relationship. Maybe its because they are the youngest boys in a family of 13 or maybe its because they have always lived geographically close to each other or maybe its just because they really like each other.

Dad is a couple of years older than Len but for my whole life it always seemed to me that Uncle Lenny was watching out for Dad. Len was the one Dad always called when there was something wrong with the car, he needed help working on the house or he needed a lift to the hospital (seriously, Dad's really really accident prone!). Len is the go to guy for advice, help or just a laugh. Dad and Uncle Lenny are buddies.

As they have aged and their kids have grown Dad and Uncle Lenny have found a new rhythm to their friendship. They meet less over home projects and emergencies and more to just hang out. They drive to the cabin together to spend the day puttering around, meet for coffee and lately, Uncle Lenny has been hanging out with Dad during his chemo treatments and other Cancer Care appointments. So when Dad's hair started to fall out last week naturally Uncle Lenny was one of the first people to find out.

Dad called to say he was going to shave his head and Uncle Lenny said, "Me too!" So that's what they did. These two guys who have lived their whole lives side by side, doing the same things, helping each other out, met in Uncle Lenny's kitchen on Saturday morning to shave their heads. Both because they had too.

You see, this isn't just Dad's journey through cancer. It's Mom's, my sister's, mine ... it's all of our journey because we love him, so this is Uncle Lenny's journey too. As deeply as he loves and respects Dad is how deeply he has felt a part of Dad's battle. Uncle Lenny has shed many tears, has tried to carry the burden of worry and provide a strong shoulder for my folks to lean on.

Wherever my Dad goes, physically or emotionally, Uncle Lenny wants to go to ... just to be there in case Dad needs anything.So when Dad decided to shave his head rather than watch his hair fall out clump at a time, Uncle Lenny naturally shaved his head too. He went willingly where Dad had to go.

Although the reason for the extreme haircuts was sad, on Saturday Uncle Lenny's kitchen was filled will laughter and teasing. Uncle Lenny took the chair first and after my cousin shaved a couple of strips off the side of his head Dad declared that he had changed his mind, he was just going to let it fall out gradually. You should have seen the look on Uncle Lenny's face!

By the end of the morning both Bilco brothers were bald ... both because they had too.

The soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.
~1 Samuel 18:1

Remembering to Stand

This time of year is always a mixed bag of emotions for me and this year is no different. I feel pride, sadness, patriotism, grief and hope. I am overcome by the depth of sacrifice strangers are willing to make to protect freedom and ensure justice for people they will never know; I am amazed at how they can use words like duty and honour in the face of danger and death and I am humbled that they have given their all for me and my children and my children's children.

We have a strong connection to the military in our family. Mr. Awesome's dad and both grandfathers have served and my grandfather and uncle have also served and I have a cousin who is currently serving. I know the heartache and pride military families experience ... willingly. That's what gets to me. All the sacrifice, danger, injury and death is made willingly. They choose to put the greater good ahead of their own wants and needs. They choose to risk everything in hopes of bringing security and freedom to others. They choose to stand when running would be so much easier.

My grandfather rarely spoke of his time in the army; I only ever had one or two conversations with him about the actual experience of 'storming the beach'. His regiment was at Dieppe, they sailed across the English Channel in the predawn hours toward the unknown. Their hope was to launch a sneak attack, their reality was very different. Bad weather and poor communication had many of the men from my Papa's regiment, The South Saskatchewan Regiment, land on the wrong side of the river, increasing the risk to their safety and success.

His regiment was in France for less than 8 hours on August 19, 1942 but the losses they suffered were astronomical. They retreated in a chaos of bullets, explosions and cries of pain. Many of the wounded never made it off the beach despite the best efforts of the few in tact soldiers who made repeated trips between the beach and the boats, hauling as many wounded men as they could.

I asked my grandfather once how he did it, how he could keep moving, keep soldiering with bullets flying and death everywhere he looked. He didn't say anything for a long while and then he spoke.

"You just don't have a choice. Either you keep standing and moving forward or you die. I didn't want to die so I just kept moving." I find that more true these days then ever before ... either you choose to stand and keep moving forward or you choose to lay down and die. Putting it that way, its a no brainer.

Tomorrow, as our family gathers to remember all those who risked every thing, every time for freedom, justice and hope, I will think of my grandfather, standing on the beach of Dieppe. I will think of the raining artilery, the smell of death in the air and the sounds of war and fear filling his ears, I will think of him standing and moving forward. In the moment of silence tomorrow, I will think of how he made his choice to stand when there was anything but silence surrounding him ... and I will follow his lead. I will choose to stand and keep moving forward.

Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. ~Ambrose Redmoon


For a full account of what the men of SSR faced that fateful day see An Exercise in Sacrifice

Big C and little c

Big C has little c ... my Dad, Big C, has cancer, little c.


We found out several weeks ago but we've been processing things and trying to figure out what this all means for him, for us, for our future, for our family. We've all bounced back and forth between hope and fear, optimism and dread, disbelief and harsh reality. We have lived in the land of uncertainty, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst ... whatever that is.


The early days after the diagnosis were stressful. We knew very little other than the lump Dad had removed was a tumour after all and he needed more tests. All we knew for sure was that Dad had cancer and cancer is bad.


We all experienced some complicated emotions in the weeks that followed as Dad went for more tests, scans and doctor's appointments, while we were waiting to find out exactly what we're dealing with. What I realised in those long, drawn out weeks is that the doctor can't tell us what we're dealing with. He can tell us what type of lymphoma my dad has, what the recommended course of treatment is and what the prognosis is, generally but he can't tell US what WE are dealing with. Only we know that answer.


I don't know exactly what my parents, my sister or my extended family was dealing with, I could make a pretty good guess based on their reactions, but I couldn't tell you exactly. I can only tell you what I was and still am dealing with. I have dealt with disbelief, anger, frustration, fear and denial. Dealt with. I discovered a couple of weeks ago that I can't live with those things, I can't live in them. All of the negative emotions, the fear based thoughts and reactions, drain my strength, my perspective and kill my hope and it is hope that I need.


This is such a complicated thing to write about, to live through. This isn't our first dance with cancer though. My mom had cervical cancer when I was ten years old. And although I don't remember much from that time in our life I do remember my mom's friend, Helen, saying good night to me on the night of my mom's surgery and telling me that hope is the thing we hold on to when it seems like we're all alone. Hope is the thing we know for sure.

There is no protocol for how you should feel about this kind of diagnosis, how best to process and deal with the threat of Pain, Suffering and Death looming at your doorstep. No one can tell you definitively that if you do This, This and This then the cancer will go away, your fear will flee and your life will be filled with butterflies and rainbows. There is no guidebook for this and I am not qualified to write one but I will tell you that right now, in the middle of this little c story with Big C, that hope is the thing.

I don't know what comes next for my dad, we're told we just have to wait and see for now, but I know that the thing that will sustain us, that will carry us, that will protect us is hope. Hope and Faith.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not seen.
~Hebrew 11:1

Team Awesome

I'm not a very serious person. I can often be found/caught making a joke at the most inappropriate times. I know that I use humour and wit to cope with emotionally uncomfortable situations and I'm okay with that.

Although we've been dealing with some big stuff over the past couple of weeks we have spent a lot of time laughing and teasing and just being 'us'. Tears have their time and place, and we have shed a few recently, but for me, laughter trumps tears. Even at the most serious times we have laughed. It helps. The laughter has kept our worst fears at bay; it allows us to vent, be ridiculous and find comfort in each other. The laughter has brought us together.

There have been many jokes and crazy moments lately but nothing tops the night we returned to my parents house, a couple of days after the quadding accident. It was the first time I had seen my dad since leaving him and my mom in the emergency room, waiting for transport to the hospital in the city. He was in rough shape that night and truthfully I was a little nervous about what condition he would be in when we saw him again.

Thankfully he was back to himself, except for the neck brace, sling and multiple scrapes and bruises. We spent the evening talking about the accident and everything that surrounded it. We also spent a lot of time joking with each other. We teased that, in retrospect, perhaps putting the two most accident prone people we know (my Dad and Mischief) on a quad together was not the best idea. I ribbed my Dad that he couldn't just let me have my moment of pity with my sprained wrist, he had to upstage me with a backboard and neck brace and he teased me that the accident was all my fault because if I had never got married and had kids there would be no grandchildren to take quadding.

After a couple of hours, Dad started to nod off in his recliner so we called it a night. He was planning on spending the night in his recliner because it was the most comfortable place for him to sleep so Mom just hunkered down on the couch, in case he needed anything in the night. Mr. Awesome and I agreed that Mom should stay close by because the last thing we needed was for Dad to stumble around in the dark and fall down. They laughed and wished us good night.

Twenty minutes later I was laying in bed reading when Mr. Awesome came into the room, ready for bed. I glanced up at him and broke out in hysterics. I laughed until I cried, until I couldn't breath, until I wet the bed ... nearly. He was covered from the head to navel with glitter; he looked like a vampire from Twilight!

Turns out he had taken a shower and then grabbed a moisturizer from the basket in the bathroom to use. It wasn't until he had slathered it all over his head and torso that he realised he was using Crafty's Glitter Girl lotion. He thought he could slip into bed without me noticing and he'd just rinse off again in the morning before anyone saw. No such luck!

I laughed so hard and so loud that I thought for sure the kids were going to wake up. Once I calmed down I somehow talked Mr. Awesome into going back to the kitchen to get me some water. He snuck upstairs in the dark and was just about to open the fridge when I came up behind him and flicked on the lights. My plan was to reveal Glitter Awesome to my parents so they could have a good laugh to but we were the ones in for a bit of a shock.

When I looked into the family room I saw my Dad lying on the floor, sling side up. It seems my Dad wanted to sit with my Mom for a while so he decided to crawl on his knees across the family room, figuring this would be the least dangerous mode of travel. What he didn't count on was the charlie horse that would launch him, face down into the carpet.

Mr. Awesome went over to my Dad and tried to help him up but it was still kind of dark in that part of the room and he was having a difficult time so I flicked on the lights. Shazam! Glitter Awesome! My Mom was stunned, she could not figure out was Mr. Awesome was sparkling like a disco ball. I started to laugh all over again and my Dad looked up for the first time and burst out laughing. So there we were, my Dad rolling from side to side on the floor laughing, my Mom and I sitting on the couch laughing to tears and Mr. Awesome, still trying to help my Dad up while mumbling something about the label on the bottle saying moisturizer.

It took us fifteen minutes to calm down enough to get my Dad up off the floor and settled in for the night again. When we finally got back into bed that night, the wait of the circumstances was still there, but I was not carrying it alone. The laughter reminded me that I am not alone in the dark times anymore than I am in the light. Hope rides in laughter and brings with it true joy, healing and comfort. God is in the laughter, too.

Laughter gives us distance. It allows us to step back from an event, deal with it and then move on.
~Bob Newhart

A Near-Life Experience

I write fiction. I write this blog and book reviews but I also write fiction and in my genre of choice it is important to keep the happenings believable so the reader will relate to the characters. If I were to write the last two weeks of my life into a story line it would never see the bright side of an editor's desk because it would be completely unbelievable. The reader would balk at the over-the-top circumstances, drama and conflict and therefore would find the characters boring, this story would be completely unsellable.

But as they say truth is stranger than fiction.

I can't share everything that has happened because I am still processing some things, figuring out others and there are a few things that are not mine to tell but I can tell you this ... vacation isn't always as rejuvenating as they say. When I signed off nearly two weeks ago I expected to return to my keyboard refreshed, refocused and ready to go. I am none of those things.

Our vacation plans never even got out of the gate due to a serious illness in my uncle's family (it was his cabin we were going to). He insisted that we go to the cabin without him anyway, so instead of 13+ people for the weekend we arrived at the cabin as a group of seven.

The first two days there went off without a hitch except for when I sprained my wrist and when Mischief's ankles got sliced when he got tangled up in the dog chain. Except for that, we had a great time those first couple of days. By noon on the third day my uncle and cousin arrived with a few quads. The plan was to take the kids for a ride and then we'd have a BBQ and bonfire before my uncle headed back into town. We didn't make it past the quad ride.

My dad momentarily lost control of the quad he was driving (with Mischief on the back). Mischief was thrown clear of the quad and tumbled into a bush. My dad ended up under the quad on top of a tree stump and boulders. Mr. Awesome took my parents and Mischief to the hospital (the same hospital I had been at earlier that morning with my wrist injury) immediately and I followed later with my uncle.

Mischief was cleared immediately; nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises. My dad, after a long 24 hours of x-rays, scans, back brace, ambulance rides and two hospitals, learned that he had broken his collarbone and torn some ligaments in his neck in addition to the scraps and bruises that were covering much of his torso. All things considered we feel pretty lucky that both quadders walked away from the accident.

There are other things going on, things I can't write about now but I promise I will sometime soon. I just need more time to get more information, process and figure things out. What I do know for sure is that life is a precious, fleeting thing. That even though it sounds so cliche, we really must savour every moment, live the life we want to live and not just the life we settle for. We need to do what it takes to make our dreams a reality, we need to make memories with those who are precious to us and we need to be grateful for each day we have. We never know when life will take a turn and suddenly we are out of chances, out of time, to do the things we really want to do and be the person we really want to be.

I read a quote a while ago that kicked my procrastinating self in the behind. Before the accident and everything that surrounded it I realised that I need to live today and not wait for everything to begin tomorrow. I need to do the things that are important to me now instead of waiting for the right circumstances or a more convenient time. My life won't be anything if I just sit around waiting for something to happen to me. I need to start moving, start making things happen. What's that saying? You can't steer a parked car.

Anyway, I'm not dying and I didn't have a near death experience but I don't want to settle for a near life experience either. Do you?

A year from now you may have wished you started today.
~Karen Lamb

The B Side

I have a huge family, on both sides. My mom is one of 9 kids and my dad is one of 14. I have more aunts and uncles and cousins and second cousins than I can count. We have family from coast to coast and beyond!

On the K side, my mom's family, we have all (for the most part) grown up geographically close and therefore we became relationally close. We all spent holidays, birthdays and summers together. I can remember countless Sunday afternoons at my grandparents house playing tag in the front yard or raiding my Nanny's sewing room for treats. My childhood was filled with everyday moments of just hanging out with my K cousins.

My memories of The B Side, my dad's family, carry with them a whole different vibe. The B Side has always been a family geographically divided, with about half the family living in Ontario and the other half living in Manitoba, so when I think of time spent with The B Side I think of weddings, Christmases and Summer Holidays, all the special occasions of life. I think of driving to Thunder Bay for sleepovers at Auntie Eileen's, barbecues at Auntie Debbie's and running wild through the gardens at Auntie Marie's or the anticipation of cousins coming from Ontario to visit with us! B Side family gatherings were always an event and in the center of it all was Grandma.

My Grandma was a force of nature. She was all business and little play. She ran a tight ship and proclaimed to have little patience for nonsense but we all saw the twinkle in her eyes as her boys teased and joked and rough-housed with each other. She would half heartedly threaten to pull out the rolling pin for something other than progies and the boys, her boys, would hug her and kiss her cheek in response and she loved every minute of it! For the record, 'her boys' were not just the ones she gave birth to, her boys were her sons or grandsons or any other stray friend who need a place to sleep and a few good meals. Although she had very little, she always enough room, food and love for one more person.

She loved us girls just as fiercely as she did the boys. I remember countless sleepovers, card games and cooking lessons at Grandma's house and each memory is filled with smell of her delicious cooking and the sounds of laughter. Her house was always overflowing with people and pets. You couldn't move through the house without stepping over babies and cats and dogs and running into grown ups playing cards or sneaking a spoonful of perogy filling! It was a busy little kingdom and Grandma was the queen, holding court from her favourite chair in the corner of her kitchen.

This past weekend a bunch of us from The B Side were together to celebrate my cousin's wedding and amid the hugs, laughter and chatter I noticed something. I noticed something or rather someone was missing. Last year, at the age of 92, my Grandma passed away and this weekend, at this very special occasion, I missed her. As I watched my dad and his brothers tell family stories and tease each other incessantly, I missed her. When my cousin grabbed the sprinkler and chased the next generation around the yard, I missed her and as we all stood on my uncle's driveway to say good bye to the out of towners I missed her.

Last night, after the kids were in bed and the house was quiet, I logged on to Facebook and scrolled through pictures from this past weekend. It wasn't until I was halfway through the pictures that I realised that Grandma had been there, at the wedding and family barbecue the next day; she had been there the whole time. She was in the middle of all her boys, horsing around on the church lawn, she was in the bell tower as my cousins rang the church bell and she was in the mischievous giggles of the little kids as the danced and ran and played. She was there with us, amounst us, in us.

We are my Grandma; all she worked for, sacrificed for and lived for. She lives in each of us, from the kids she gave birth to all the way down the line to the generations she will never meet. I see her in my uncle's laugh and in my baby niece's smile. I see Grandma in the hugs and plates of food that flow freely from the kitchen of each of her children and grandchildren. But mostly I see Grandma in the unwavering devotion to this family that each one of us has. She gave that to us ... and it is more valuable than buckets of gold could ever be!

If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.

~Thich Nhat Hanh

Gran and the Tortoise

My mom is not an animal lover. She doesn't hate them but she's just not the type of person to go all mushy over kittens and puppies. It took a lot of hardcore campaigning for her to finally give in and let me have a pet. My pal's name was Casey, he was a Bichon. He was a quirky little dog and I loved him but when he died, shortly after I got married, I was devastated.

When Dude was four years old, he started asking for his own pet. I didn't want him to have to experience the pain of losing a pet but I also knew the fun and joy that a furry little pal could bring, so I caved ... and bought him a fish.

Not the heartiest of pets, those fish critters, we had two deaths in under a year. Dorothy the Goldfish, lost her will to live after being fed a handful of cheerios and Mr. Bluefish died while in the care of a known fish hater, investigation still pending. After the trauma of those two deaths, we decided that Dude needed a pet who would stick around a little longer. So we got him a tortoise. Her name is Tuck.

Tuck has been a member of our family for nearly four years. She is pretty low maintenance but still a lot of fun for the kids. She spends most of her day chewing on lettuce in her tank but every evening she gets to roam free in the basement. We all get a kick out of watching her. She has a funny little personality and she's a just right pet for us.

We took Tuck with us to visit my parents at Christmas and had to leave her behind because we didn't have enough room in the van on our return trip. She's been at my parents' place for a month and like I said, she's fairly low maintenance but my mom has been a little stressed out. She's afraid that this pet, with a life expectancy of 40 years, will die on her watch.

The first week or so that my mom was Tuck-sitting was pretty mellow. She called a couple of times with questions and sent a few Facebook updates but that was it. In the last week or two, though, my mom has gone a little nutty. She called me last week because she was worried about Tuck,

Mom - She staring into the corner of her tank and digging. And she bangs her shell against the glass sometimes.

Me- That's what she does.

Mom - She tries to climb out, too.

Me - She wants to get out. She likes to roam around for a little while every day. If you let her out she'll stop doing that.

Mom - She's looking at me, it's freaking me out.

Me - Just let her out for a walk in the family she'll be much happier. Keep her from going under the couch though because you'll have a heck of a time getting her out.

Mom - Okay, we'll let her out when Dad gets home.

Me - Good, put her on a towel though.

Mom - Why?

Me - Because she tends to poop after she's walked around for a bit.

Mom - That's gross.

Me - That's what she does and if you don't clean up the poop right away, she'll eat it. The guy at the pet store says its normal but still...

Mom - That's disgusting. When are you coming for her?

We talked for a couple more minutes then say good bye. About ten minutes later the phone rings again. It's my mom.

Me - Hello

Mom - Tortoises aren't supposed to eat and poop in the same place, it's not what they do.

Me - Ooookay.

Mom - She also should be getting more fruit.

Me - She doesn't like fruit. She likes Romaine lettuce, carrots and green peppers. Where are you getting this information from?

Mom - I Googled it.

Me - You Googled 'Tortoise'?

Mom - Yes, I was worried.

Me - (laughing) You're worried? That's nice, Mom but she's fine. Let her out for a walk and she'll be fine.

Mom - She's staring at me, her face is red and I can hear her breathing. I think she's having a heart attack or something.

Me - (laughing hysterically) She's not having a heart attack. She's a red-footed tortoise, she she has red markings, that's normal. She has nothing to do but look around, get over it. If you're really worried about her, take her out of her tank, give her a cuddle and sing to her. She loves it when you sing to her.

Mom - (offended) I'm serious and I'm not going to cuddle her or sing to her! If you're just going to laugh at me I'm going to hang up.

Me  - Bye.

I hang up and the phone rings again, almost instantly.

Mom - This better not show up on you're blog!

Me - (still laughing) yeah, okay Mom.

When the Child Becomes the Parent

The Internet is full of articles about when the time comes that the adult child must become the parent for their aging parents. When the parents begin to have memory problems, mobility issues and other health concerns. Its a sad and stressful time for many families and something I've hoped I would never have to face but despite my parents' relatively young age I fear this is already happening in our relationship.

My dad is a pretty smart man, he never graduated from high school or went to university but he is smart. He is a logical thinker, diligent and hard-working. He is self-taught and has always been very motivated to learn new things. He is also a very good teacher.

Growing up my dad was the go-to person with homework problems, questions about politics or anything else I didn't understand about life. There was rarely a time when he didn't have an answer for me and more than giving me an answer he loved to challenge me to explain or defend my answer. The man loved a good debate, still does.

But this past weekend, while we were visiting my parents, I realised that the time for witty banter may have passed and we might have to seriously look at placing my dad in a long term care facility. And it's all my sister's fault! She thought it would be a good idea to introduce my dad to Facebook. This decision brought me to the brink of my sanity limits on Sunday when he tried to log on to his FB account for only the second time ever. Thus began one of the most painful experiences of my life.

After wracking his brain and searching the office for 15 minutes he finally found/remembered his log in information. Once on his account he had 60 some odd updates and messages. We explained to him how to read those updates and left him to it. Within minutes he was panicking. He had accidentally clicked on an ad and was taken to a site where a large breasted woman promised that he, too, could have natural looking cleavage.

After navigating back to Facebook, and explaining the difference between ads and updates, we left him to reply to some messages from family. After typing away for several minutes he started to grumble that this was going to take forever. I asked him what the problem was and he said that every time he replied to someone, something else popped up on the news feed. I told him that he didn't have to respond to everything he saw.

Turns out he has been congratulating people on becoming friends, making random comments on people's walls and requesting friendships left right and center. I tried to help him but it was no use. He was all over the place, causing havoc like a toddler in a department store, and having a great time. He kept getting lost in the sea of ads, events, invitations and friend requests until we finally told him that the right hand side of the screen was off limits.

This went on for more than an hour. He left random messages for friends and family members and more than once accidentally requested a friendship with a total stranger. My patience was wearing thin and I finally put my foot down and took the netbook away when he started messaging my mom...who was sitting two feet away from him, returning his messages via her Blackberry. The two of them were cackling like children and getting carried away.  Thankfully only a portion of what they were saying to each other actually made it onto FB so we still have some friends.

Yesh, parents these days!

Where It All Began

Many cultures have an oral tradition of passing their history through music and narrative storytelling. The younger generation would gather by the fire to hear the tribe's bard or shaman recount tales of battle, leadership and love. This was how history was taught, the younger learning from the elder.

This is how I was taught, too. But my tribal fire was a stool in my grandparents' living room and my bard was my nanny.

My earliest memories are ones of sitting on an old stool beside Nanny's knitting chair. I would watch her needles fly and the ash on her cigarette grow dangerously long as she told story after story of her life in war-time England, her voyage across the ocean with my infant aunt and her new life in Canada as a wife and mother (of nine children).

Often times she would tell the same stories over and over and when I was younger I thought she did that because she was old and her memory was failing. But as I matured I realised that the stories she repeated often were the ones she wanted me to remember, the incidents that shaped her, changed her. She wanted those moments remembered.

She had a brilliant way of describing things, of painting a picture for my young imagination to grab hold of, so that I felt as if I was right there with her on the streets of London, teasing the guards at Buckingham Palace or racing down the street to make sure my family had survived the bombing in my neighborhood or holding my infant daughter in my arms watching my mother grow smaller and smaller on the dock as my ship left port, carrying me away to my new life in Canada.

The hours I spent at her knee, hearing the adventures of her life are the greatest inheritance I could ever ask for. I learned more than just the history of her life in those stories. I learned about spunk and wit and courage. I learned how to survive heartache, how to live on hope and how to embrace adventure.I learned that love and loyalty are more valuable than money, that family is family even if an ocean separates you from your loved ones and I learned that hard fought love is the hardiest.

So if I can spin a good yarn, if you appreciate my wit and candor, know that its not me, really. All that I am as a writer, a storyteller, and much of who I am as a person, comes from her, my Nanny...Doris Telfer Kirton.

An Exercise in Sacrifice

On the evening of August 18, 1942 the men of The South Saskatchewan Regiment were gathered and told that they would be going on another training exercise. The men were taken to Southampton and loaded on to one of two ships, the 'Princess Beatrix' or the 'Invicta.' Once on board the troops were issued new guns and grenades, it was then that they realised that they were about to embark on something much more than a training exercise.

Throughout the night the men we're briefed on Operation Jubilee, the Allied forces first attempt at a France invasion. Along with the SSR, troops from 13 other regiments, including the 14th Army Tank Regiment were being similarly prepped. As the ships sailed toward Dieppe in the calm, cool predawn hours a German convoy spotted the ships and opened fire on the on the far flank. Unable to communicate effectively with the other ships due to damage to the aerial, the raid continued as scheduled, no one knowing for sure if the Germans on shore had been alerted to the coming attack.

At approximately 5am, the first troops of Operation Jubilee landed on the beaches of Dieppe. The men of the SSR were assigned the task of securing Pourville, a small village to the east of Dieppe that was a major defensive position for the German Forces. It was through Pourville, or GREEN BEACH, that other regiments would pass and rendezvous for the assault on Dieppe. It was vital that the SSR secure the bridge and two main roads that sectioned through Pourville swiftly and completely.

Due to choppy seas and mist, the majority of the men landed on the wrong side of the river estuary in Pourville, creating confusion and a hasty scramble to position themselves correctly. By this time the Germans were on full alert and were spraying all beaches with gunfire and mortar blasts. Most of the first wave of the SSR were able to scale the sea wall and make their way through the treacherous barbed wire to begin their sweep of the houses along the first streets.

This successful advance was short lived as it soon became apparent that the Germans were better prepared than first anticipated. Most of the key objectives were well guarded by pillboxes and slit trenches containing dozens of German soldiers with machine guns and heavy artillery. The men of SSR made many brave and valiant attempts at securing Pourville, losing many good men along the way. In the end they were called to retreat along with the rest of the Allied Forces of Operation Jubilee.

Due to the heavy counter assault the Allieds were experiencing and the choppy seas most of the landing crafts were unable to approach the beaches for the retreat. Soldiers who were retreating had to sprint across the beach, dodging gunfire, mortar explosions and the bodies of their fallen comrades. Many of the wounded were picked up and carried to the landing crafts, waiting off shore. Several brave soldiers made several trips between the beach and the landing crafts to evacuate the wounded.

In all the Allied Forces were on the beach for less than 8 hours. The Canadian Regiments bore the brunt of the casualties with 907 killed, 2,460 wounded and 1,874 taken prisoner. Of the 2,210 Canadian soldiers who returned to Britain after Operation Jubilee only 236 were uninjured...and 200 of those never made it to the beach in the first place.

By many, Dieppe was considered to be a practice run for a future Allied full scale assault, a way to test the German defenses. These brave men went into this operation full in, they were committed and ready to fight. They may have been scared and unsure of what to expect but that did not stop them. This was not a practice run for them, this was the real thing. They really fought, they really bled and many, many of them really died.

Remember these men and the sacrifices they made to ensure success in the years that would follow. Remember their wives and children and parents and the love they carried, and carry still, in their hearts for their brave men. Remember that today, the same kind of men and women are living and serving all over the world in the name of the freedom that the soldiers before them fought for.

Remember.

A Manitoba Soldier Remembered

In May of 1940, with the war in Europe gaining momentum a young Manitoba man, not quite 18 made his way to Camp Shilo and joined the Canadian Army. At the time a regiment from Weyburn, Saskatchewan was training there and this soldier was folded into that regiment along with about a dozen other Manitoba men. They trained at Shilo for less than 8 months before they were sent to Toronto then to Halifax to board The Penland for their deployment to England.


On December 25, 1940 this young soldiers landed in Scotland and along with his regiment made his way south to the coastal towns where they continued their training and served countless hours of patrol duty. It wasn't all work for these bright eyed soldiers, though. They often had the opportunity to go on leave to London.

During one weekend leave, this soldier was playing Canadian football with his friends in Green Park in London. He went running for an over thrown pass and wound up running head long into a fiery little red-head, knocking her off her bike and into a pond. With his pals hooting and cat calling him, the soldier waded into the pond, helped the young lady out and picked up her badly damaged bicycle. After much apologizing and pleading, the young lady permitted the rowdy group of soldiers to drive her to work, as she was already late.


Over the weeks that followed the young soldier couldn't stop thinking about the pretty little redhead and on his next weekend leave he sought her out. At first she wouldn't give him the time of day because she knew that she didn't want to fall for a soldier, especially a foreign one, but he wore her down. He spent every leave for months showing up at her work, the hospital where she volunteered and at Green Park, her favourite place to sit and read.

His persistence paid off. She finally agreed to go out with him because she was already in love with him and an engagement soon followed. Their wedding plans were postponed several times due to the young soldier's training schedule but on August 1, 1942, he sent word that he had been granted a 24 hour leave and they were married.

Through the heart ache of the war, the death of a child, the birth of nine more children, hard times, good times, flush times and even more lean times, they loved each other. They spent their free time at the Legion, danced every chance they got and held their family close. They lived and loved each other for nearly 50 years when the young soldier, now a husband, father and grandfather passed away on November 9, 1991. He was surrounded by the family who loved him, loves him still...misses him still.

He was my grandfather, my Papa...Arthur 'Chim' Kirton. We remember.

The Blue Berets

Patriotism isn't a one day event...neither is remembering.

I grew up as the daughter of Mr. Canada. My dad is one of the most patriotic people I have ever met, he loves our country, our freedoms, our resources and our quirks. He watches Hockey Night in Canada, Corner Gas and CBC News religiously. He has read Farley Mowat's books and knows more about Canadian history and politics than most people I've met. Canada Day is second only to Christmas for the traditions and celebration we have. For crying out loud, the man's cel phone ring tone is O Canada! He is passionately Canadian.

And he passed on all of his love and passion for his homeland to me and my children.

I remember sitting with my dad when I was a small child and talking to him about Canada, our history and our heroes. He didn't wait for Remembrance Day to discuss the importance of remembering and honouring the men and women who have sacrificed all so that we may enjoy the freedoms we have. Every day we had discussions and, as I grew older, debates about politics and history. He taught my sister and I that it is not our right to vote but our duty, that Canadian politics and resources impact the world and it is better to make peace than war.

It has not only been during times of war that my dad has educated us on the sacrifices of Canadian soldiers but during times of peace as well. He has pointed out that Canadian forces have been present is Bosnia, Croatia, Rwanda and Haiti during times of great civil unrest, that the Canadians Peacekeepers stand up for freedom even if there is no financial or political gain for us. He has reminded us to not only honour the Green Berets but the Blue as well because it is peace that is the gift and war is sometimes unavoidable on the path to peace.

To all the men and women who wear the Blue Beret...blessed are the peacemakers. Thank-you and God Bless.

Top Ten Signs I am Turning into My Mother

10. I now make my bed everyday...including five decorative pillows and an 'extra' blanket in case I get cold in the night.

9. I dusted and cleaned the windows yesterday but did it again today because I thought they were streaky.

8. I used to think of granola bars as health food now they are a 'treat' in the kids' lunchboxes.

7. Every night before bed I must have a cup of tea, check the weather for the next day and moisturize my hands and face.

6. I don't care how light it is outside and how many neighborhood kids are still outside playing bedtime is bedtime!

5. I hear phrases like, "because I'm the mom" "I'm not your maid" and "I don't care if you don't like it, that's supper" coming out of my mouth on a daily basis.

4. I carry extra Kleenex and hand sanitizer in my purse.

3. As I have gotten older my hair style has gotten bigger.

2. I never go anywhere without wearing earrings and a watch.

1. I seem to be stock piling paper products...paper towels, napkins, toilet paper, loose leaf...it doesn't matter...I must have copious amounts of it all!

;-) Love you Mom!