Comme ça passe vite... Vingt-cinq ans déjà...

 

Y'a personne comme dans les vues qui vient me voir, me consoler

A qui veux bien l'entendre, c'est dur à oublier

Tu m'manques, on a plein de choses à se dire

Après la pluie l'beau temps, mais l'orage peut durer longtemps

J'veux pas non plus cacher ma peine...


Paroles de diverses chansons de Dany Bédar

Vingt-cinq ans déjà quand Mom m'a téléphoné pour me dire que c'était fait

Vingt-cinq ans déjà que j'ai ramassé ton chapeau qui gisait là

Vingt-cinq ans déjà que je prie pour que tu repose en paix

Vingt-cinq ans déjà que j'oublie un peu plus le son de ta voix

Vingt-cinq ans déjà et c'est encore dur...

...tu me manque Vieux.

Post Christmas Blues

Ok, so, Christmas is over.  Already.  All this preparation for one day.  Each year, despite me loving this holiday, I can't help but think it is crazy to put out all these decorations, spend all this money not only on gifts, but on food, clothing, etc. for one day!  It's crazy when you really think about it.

We celebrated Christmas' Eve with Hubby's side of the family, at a cousin's.  It was a pleasant evening; good food, good talks, good company, the kids seemed happy with the gifts, so overall a pleasant evening. Today we (Hubby and I) did sweet nothing but watched TV (finished watching "Bad Blood" - watch it if you can, a series about local (as in Montréal) Mafia), also watched a few movies; we took it easy and enjoyed our time alone.  Spoke with my mom, she called from Florida.  Christmas isn't what it used to be... I have very fond memories of past Christmas, as a kid, and even older.  It used to be a fun (but stressful) time.  We got to see relatives that often we only saw at that time of year.  Now that my mom does the Snow Bird thing, we don't really do anything with on her side of the family.  It's a shame really but since they all live far away (as in six+ hours from here) we don't visit often and we all have our families, so it is what it is.

This year again, I kept true to myself and sent many Christmas cards, and got many back as well.  Between the cards I got through Postcrossing and those from friends and relatives I almost filled up both my doors, check it out!

I will be sad to take down the lights... I love how everything looks with Christmas lights, not only indoor but outside too.  It makes everything prettier...

We've had a few parties leading to Christmas, starting with my birthday one month before.  Had invited a bunch of friends over, played games and spent a few hours together which was nice.   One of the parties we had was for my meditation group.  That is always a fun night.  We do a big pot luck and a gifts exchange.  It is not really a dance party or anything of the sort, but more a fun night among people sharing an activity together and getting together for Christmas.  This year, I had made thirty of these Santa sleighs, as a gift for each member.  They came out really nice and were well received.
 

I think the worst party this year, was Hubby's company.  After being there a few hours I left him there and went back to our room.  He had reserved a room at a hotel nearby (thankfully!)  and that was great; I could escape and he didn't have to drive back so he could party on...  Corporate parties are often a bore for the spouses, and that one sure was!  For me at least!

I've been thinking about this past year overall, and I won't be too sad to see it end... it's been an interesting year to say the least.  A few things have changed, hopefully for the better (time will tell!), some friendships were lost, new ones were created, and who knows what the future holds... One thing for sure, time is flying by and before I know it I will be taking down my Christmas decorations and feel a little sad... I'm most likely to have the Post-Christmas Blues... not because of what I've spent, but because the most wonderful time of the year is now over...

 

Argh! Turkey. Elections. Did I say Argh?

I can't believe we are already in October; that today is our (as in, us, Canadians) Thanksgiving. 

I don't know about you, or if it is a French vs English thing, but Thanksgiving was never a big thing for us.  It was basically a day off.  We didn't do the turkey (that is a Christmas thing for me), we didn't give thanks, and we didn't even really get together as such...  It was more like the last day off before the Christmas break.  Since I've been exposed more to the English side of things, I've come to realize that more people might celebrate that day.  Nothing like our neighbors the Americans though., but still.

I will give thanks for what I've got.  I'm thankful for my health in general, for my good husband, for the family I chose, i.e. my friends.  I have a good life and for that I am thankful, and not just today but most days of the year.  I write most because I know some days I do forget...

This time of year my favorite "holiday" would be Halloween.  That I celebrate!  As I kid I used to dress up and go trick or tricking.  I just loved it.  I remember wearing my snow suit under my costume because it was so cold, or wearing a big garbage bag over my costume because it was raining.  The joy of living here, you never know the type of night you'll get.  All my goodies for the little monsters are ready.  I started assembling my little bags and realized that I had done them all.  I have one hundred and twenty of them, and I'm hoping it will be enough.  As long as the weather is cooperating, it should be good.

Things have happened here and there, and at times I feel like I should be a fucking recluse, with no neighbor, no screeching kids, no hyper sensitive people, no relatives, just myself. And maybe Hubby (depending on the day, ah!)

I've been trying to get things together for Canada Posts to issue an official Postcrossing stamp.  I've asked Canadian members to help me in this.  The response rate is low.  Oh, I guess I should be happy that some did answer my request, because after all, we are Canadians - we are great at asking for things, but when comes time to actually do something or to get involve we go roach (as in we disappear as soon as the light in on us).  We're are great for wanting, but to actually act, that is a whole other story.  And when you are one (of the rares) who do actually do something, you are judge for being a shit disturber or someone who's disturbing and even a bully because you are pressuring people to do something.  No matter what you are fucked.  Damned if you do and damned of you don't.

We've had Provincial elections, and for the first time in a long time, people actually elected a majority government that wasn't Liberal or Québécois, a first since 1966! Oh, by the way, if there is anybody from any of the political parties, the elections are now over, so please do remove all those big card boards.  We've seen them all, please take them down.  Last elections I had to send an actual email to a party to ask them to actually stop littering the neighborhood with their signs. As I was reading a news feed earlier I came across an article stating that the 'new' government was racist, because the Premier didn't want any religious signs (that old debate, again), and the Muslims, etc. were up arguing about it all.  Why are we supposed to remove any religious signs (as in crosses) from City Halls, Parliament, schools, etc. even if we are (mostly) a Christian nation and yet it would be allowed for women to wear a hijab or men/kids to wear a kirpan?  I don't get this not good for one, and yet the others do it.  If we are a lay-society,  then everybody is the same and shows nothing... but then that would be too easy.

We live in one crazy world that is for damn sure!

Things I do miss...

Ever had that feeling that you were born in the wrong time period?  That you're an old soul stuck in the wrong body for the times?  I've been thinking about that lately, oh this is not a new thing, quite the opposite.  I remember thinking, as a kid, that I should have been born before.  I was brought up a certain way and because of that, I often stood out.  I guess my values were different than those of the people my age.  Maybe it came from my parents (read strict father and his crazy ass ideas), I don't really know.  I do know that as I'm getting old...er I do miss some of that.

What do I miss exactly?  Many things, like for example:

Dressing up - I was raised to dress up when came time to go somewhere like church, or to attend a funeral.  If I went out with my parents to visit a relative or even to go to a restaurant, I had to dress up.  I didn't have to wear tulle, but I had to wear something nice, and preferably not pants (I did say my dad had crazy ass ideas!).  In doing so I had to behave a certain way, I had to sit properly and it "forced" me to be more lady like, not slouching as much if you will.  I remember feeling proud of my nice clothes.  To this day, whenever we dress up to go somewhere, I still feel this feeling of pride as soon as I wear something nice.  Many fashion advisers will say it, dress the part, and it is true.  When you dress nice your whole posture changes.  We've lost that with all those "jailin" pants that is for sure!

Modesty - Maybe it is because of the new clothes styles, the "gang" style many people wear, the casual went from a nice pair of khakis to rip jeans and showing more skin than I do in a bathing suit. The sad part is, many (read, a shit load too many!) should cover up.  Please do not say that everyone is entitle to show as much or as little as one please, that we should accept all sizes, etc.  Give me a break.  Some things should remain private and unexposed, and I'm no prude, but I do have a gag reflex!

Handwritten letters - I used to have penpals back in high school, I still do and I have my postcards.  I just love to write.  The feel of pen and paper is nice.  We can express ourselves in writing often way better than if spoken (in my case anyway!), and for me the coolest thing is finding an old letter written by an ex-boyfriend or a relative long past, and remembering them through their words as if they were still talking to me.  So many souvenir in old hand written documents.

Memorizing phone numbers - to this day I still remember our phone number from the store.  I used to know so many numbers by heart, now, I can barely remember mine!  That muscle hasn't been trained in many years, since the arrival of speed dial and the Smart phones.  I don't even know my own mother's phone number!  I have it programmed in my cell, so I don't need to remember it, right? Riiight!

Saying "Please" and "Thank you" - that used to be a given.  I find it sad to see a TV commercial (about Tim Horton I think) where they say you can only say "Ice Coffee" to get one, and oh, of course, you can say "Ice Coffee Please" or "Ice Coffee Thank You".  It is a very sad reflection of our manners or rather lack of manners.

Saying "Sir" and "Ma'am" - another nice thing that has been lost.  Granted I will admit, being called ma'am by a twenty something stings a little, but then again when it does happen I appreciate the respect.  I remember being afraid of my elders, relatives, neighbors and even complete strangers, because I knew that if I didn't talk to them respectfully I would get it (it being whatever from an earful to a good whack!).  We had to show respect to our teachers, to people working in public (from waitress to nurse to office personnel), to the parents of friends, we weren't on a first name basis and did respect them (or at least acted like we did!).  I hate it when I call somewhere or meet a contractor (which is something I've been doing the past few weeks) and to be talked to as if I'm someone they know.  We have an expression (in French) that says:  "We didn't watch the pigs together", as in we're not that familiar, let's keep it clean.  It's not even about being snow, I see it more as mutual respect and in some way showing some modesty, keeping things on a neutral basis if you will.

Doing mental math - I'm not math person, far from it.  I had to learn at a young age to count, since my folks had a store and I did operate the cash register (we had one just like that!  We used the crank when there was a power failure).  I had to know how to give the change back.  You know, before the electronic cash register?  There is nothing that infuriates me more than going to a store and giving $10.25 to the clerk for a $8.15 invoice.  When they look at me with that puzzled, confused look I want to scream (no not really, I would much rather smack some sense into them!).  When I tell them to simply give me back $2.10 they are completely lost.  I don't know how many times they will hand me back my quarter and the change for the $10, so a dollar and eighty-five cents of change, grrrr. Morons who can't count, unless their cash register tells me the amount. And if their cash doesn't work, then forget about paying, they are royally screwed.

Cursive writing - actually never mind cursive, simply writing full words and sentences! Ah! Seriously!  Sometimes some younger friends will text me (we have more than twenty years difference) and in order for me to understand what they are sending me I have to read it out loud.  I just can't get on with that, I like words and like to write them.  I don't do "gr8" or "CU", so no I'm don't type fast nor do I use my thumbs, what can I say I'm vintage!

Are there any things like these old habits that you miss?

30 Day Music Challenge: Day 29 - Remember from Childhood

Day 29: A song I remember from my childhood

There are many my mother used to play on our old record player, like Claude Valade's "Aide-moi à passer la nuit"

ou Claude Francois, "Le téléphone pleur"

and finally, this one, which turns out to be an ear worm! Soeur Sourire's "Dominique"

No matter what. When your time comes...

No matter what we say about Bacefook, one thing is for sure it does keep people in communication (or whatever you want to call it).  I find out stuff about people, not because I'm being told directly but because of posts on Bacefook.  It is a way for us to keep in touch, an impersonal one for sure, but a way nonetheless.  Granted sometimes I would rather not know or read about some of the stuff people post, but eh... Some people share just about anything, others  share very little, some only superficial crap... I try to keep it general and not go into personal stuff too much, but then again I have this blog, where I've shared TMI at times.  Sometimes it bit me in the ass, but thinking back it was maybe a way for the Universe to cleanse my environment, get rid of juice suckers or too sensitive people with whom you have to watch every little thing you say and do and how and when, etc.  Way too much work for what it's worth.

Last night, or rather earlier this morning, I was looking around Bacefook, when I came around a post from a guy I used to train with in the late eighties. We weren't close friends, but we would see each other regularly at the dojo and didn't mind each other, I guess.  His post was about the death of one of the higher belts in our local organization, a known figure in themartial arts scene.  I read his post twice and then went on to other people's pages to see if this was a bad joke or what.  As I read and saw pictures of the defunct being posted many places, I realized that it was not a bad joke, but that fifty-six years old man had really died of a heart attack, of all causes.  I offered my sympathies to his sister (which I kept in touch with through Bacefook only) and his wife and went to bed.  I was really shaken by this news.  Of all people to die this way... unreal.

Today, I went back to Bacefook and seeing the quantity of messages on his wall, and his family's it made it ever more real... He was really gone.  I've met him in a dojo in 1984, I was training and we were to do a demonstration together for a local TV show.  The daughter of my instructor had the hots for him and they were always flirting and fooling around.  I've had some uncomfortable moments once, at a karate summer camp, when he end up in our room (room that three of us girls were sharing) with the daughter for a "short (or rather quick!) visit".  Throughout my years of training, he was always around, always training and always the same funny guy.  He was a nice guy.  I never thought of him as a friend per say, but more than an acquaintance too... weird, he was there and it was a fact.  He always remained loyal to my instructor, even when politics got in the way.  Their friendship was real.  They were the three or four amigos, always traveling together, hitting the bars, and being fools together.  As they aged, they somewhat calmed down, had kids, and find a mate.  They were still the three (or four) amigos, always ready to laugh and play.

For the past ten years, if not more, I'm no longer active in karate.  Between all the political crap going on, my body talking to me, and life in general, I stepped down from the dojo floor.  I haven't kept in touch with many people either.  Whenever we would run into each other, we were always courteous and could enjoy a drink together.  Last time we met I think was for the funeral of Lowe Shihan in Hawai'i.  I was in touch with his wife, through Bacefook, and would communicate every so often.  As I sit here, thinking that he is now gone, feels really strange, as if I'm being made aware that life is short, that we truly are here only for a short period, and that we never know when our time has come.

There will be service for him this week.  I will go and pay my respect.  I will run into many people I haven't seen for many years.  We will reminisce. A lot of these people still train.  I would lie if I said that I miss it.  I do miss the hitting something on a regular base, that yes.  I miss some of the people, but not enough to contact them, I guess...  

Strange how one random look at Bacefook reminded me of how fragile life is, how not matter what, how much you keep in shape or not, when it is time for you to go, that is it.  You're done.  He was "dangerously in shape" as he used to say... and yet... Sad.

Goodbye 2015

This time of year I usually do a little recap of the year, not only to reminisce but to give me some perspective on how my year went.  2015 was quite the year, and I would lie to say I'm sad to see it coming to its end.  It wasn't all bad, nor was it all good.  We had our fair share of crap and good times too.  I guess the bad has to come with the good, right?

This year, unlike the previous last two, I've experienced less stress... because I had to let go of all my clients when we took off for our Norway escapade.  Looking back, that was the best time of the year for me.  When I try to see why, the same reason always comes back: I didn't know anyone and didn't have to walk around on eggshells all the time. Weird how I'm realizing this now.  I loved our time away, because I was with my husband away from everything and discovering new things/places/people together.  There were no expectation, no relationship, no family, just the two of us and we loved it that way.

This year, once again, Postcrossing took a lot of room in my life.  It helped me (I'm sure, not to feel lonely and lost in the Arctic).  I've met new people, online and through different meet ups.  I was about to write it was all fun, but deleted that phrase because it wasn't.  This year, I've once again realized how people get easily upset.  They get offended by the stupidest thing, and worst thing is when it is in writing.  People will read "tones" and intents and rather than ask a question, or to do a perception check, they will get upset. Just like that.

Managing my Bacefook group has had its challenges.  Yes, I am blunt, direct, abrupt, call it what you want, but one thing for sure, I will answer you if/when you ask me a question.   I've lost members.  Some I was happy to see leave, others I didn't really care, and some I still wonder why, since they wouldn't tell me (I did ask).  When I ask for explanation I'm told I'm confrontational, so no matter what I'm fucked.

This year (again) we had a water damage, a big fucking mess.  We had to move out while the repairs were being done, etc.  I don't remember having to pack and unpack and cleaning up the places where we (had to) live so many times in one year.  So much so, that when came time to get the boxes for our Christmas tree I was done with boxes and didn't want to see any more boxes. Most likely the fact that we had no snow whatsoever until today might have contributed to my not feeling very Christmas incline.

Can you believe that I've received 337 official postcards and sent 336, of course that doesn't include all the ones I've sent at meets, while in Norway, through games, lotteries and such.  I'm thinking that for the new year, I will limit myself to officials only and slowly (but very surely) let go of my group, passing it on to others, so that I can sit back and enjoy the anonymity.  Yeah, I think that is what I will do.  Do my things and that will be it.  Now, here's a good resolution!

Since there is fresh white snow outside, it is now time for my dear husband and myself to go for a walk around our neighborhood and enjoy each others company.

Wishing you, dear blends, a very happy New Year, may it bring you health, peace, love, money and time to enjoy it all.  All the best to you and yours!

Lest We Forget

As I sat with my laptop on my knees, I knew I wanted to write.  I had ideas I wanted to put on the web.  I've look for some images, and now I feel jammed... Weird.

Before coming here, I had never thought the Germans (as in Nazi) made it this far North.  Then a few weeks back, when the kid came and stayed with us over a weekend, we visited this little fishing camp area not far from here which also turned out to  be next to bunkers and others left behind by the Germans after the Second World War.  To think that some place as remote as Bodø could be of interest is flabbergasting to me.  One of Hubby's co-worker had mentioned this place, a few hours away from Bodø, called Rognan where they have cemeteries for German soldiers, Yugoslav and Russians war prisoners.  Prisoners who were "used" to dig tunnels in massive rocks, slaves of the Germans.  Saturday we drove to Rognan.

German Memorial

Memorial stating that 2,732 German soldiers were buried there.

The grounds were well maintained, especially considering how remote that was. It wasn't really well indicated, only a few little signs here and there. The German part was pretty. It has a nice monument, and as I walked around the graves, actually saw one that had a picture. The thing that struck me there was how young those men were. Most were in their early twenties. Sad.

Across the way, was another stone fenced area, this one dedicated to Yugoslav prisoners of was, who died in captivity of German.

1,657 Yugoslav prisoners of war were buried there.

And behind it all, stood a one stone memorial dedicated to the Russian prisoners of war, who had been buried in a mass grave.

111 Russian prisoners.

On our drive back, we saw not one but three rainbows, because yes, again, we were visiting while it rained...

Could have been worst, like it must have been for those poor cyclists doing this Tour or Rally, not only was it raining, it was cold, windy and oh so hilly!

When we got back I started writing postcards. I've been touched by the compassion I've experienced this past week.  As I've written, a dear friend, back home, lost her son suddenly.  I felt that I had to do something for her, to bring her some type of comfort.  I thought of sending her flowers, you know the typical thing, when it dawn on me that one thing that brought a smile to my face was finding a nice postcard in the mailbox.  So, I've asked my Postcrossing friends if they would be kind enough to send my friend, a complete stranger, who needed some kind of human compassion a nice postcard.  I've received twenty-two answers.  As a thank you, I've sent a card back to each one.  I have no clue how my friend will react to this idea of mine, I'm sure I will find out soon enough.

Human compassion is a darn strange thing.  It will surprise you in some people, and just like the opposite is true, people whom you thought would show some empathy are nowhere to be seen.  I guess deep down, I always hope  to see the good in people, and yet, it often isn't the case.  I do know better than to expect anything of others.  Compassion, empathy, sympathy whatever you want to call it, when you're on the receiving end of it all it feels damn good. 

Fifty years ago...

Today I've realized that I've missed my parents. The couple they were together.  The couple I knew as Mom and Dad. 

Today I've realized that it would have been their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Amazing to think they would have been a couple for that long, with each other almost every day until my father's death.  To think not only were they married, they worked together, they raised  me together.  They were a couple.  Not a perfect one, far from it (in my views anyway), but they worked.  How ever crooked they might have been.

Yep, today I came to the realization that I miss seeing my parents, together.  I do miss my father.  I think of him often.  I seldom really do think of the two of them together anymore, and when I did at lunch, it made me a little sad. 

Knowing myself, I would have most likely throw them a big party to celebrate this milestone.   Today, I did nothing of the sort, only thought of them and thought of my mother who left for her moose hunting trip early this morning...

Times do change.  So do people... it seems.

2013 by way of the alphabet

I did this last year, and since I always do a review of the year we're about to close I thought of doing it again this way.

Apron: something I started wearing one when I bake

Bowling: activity we did one night, was fun, but really a once a year thing at most.

Cold Shoulder:  what I've been getting from Hubby's cousin, don't really know why (even if I did ask)

Dermatologist: managed to see one, burned me with dried ice and didn't resolve issue. Damn Quack!

Expectation: what I still had, since some people manage to get me down... when will I learn?

Flushed: what I did to a few of my clients.  It did take a load off, somewhat.

Garage Door: after many arguments with our neighbor and discussions with the condo admin.,
we finally got an automatic door closer installed!

Henna: what I had done for Hubby's 50th... on my ass!

Idiots: those we seem to find more and more of, even without looking for them!

Jowl: reason why I'm happy not to have Richard Fish (from Ally McBeal) in my entourage

Kitchen: a place where I seem to be spending a lot less time than I used to

Las Vegas: where we celebrated on thirteenth wedding anniversary

Mother: someone I haven't seen much of lately

Neighbor: the worst one we've never experienced finally moved away!

Obscurity: what I was in when I wrote this list, due to yet another power failure

Postcrossing: what I've been spending lots of time on...

Québec: province where we live and think it might be time to move out off

Rings: what are too loose on my fingers...

Stinkypaw: what I sort of reveal to everyone on Bacefook...

Tobi: my sweet boy, I miss dearly

UVs: what I caught too many of in Punta Cana, DR

Visits: what we made too many of, especially to funeral homes

WW: what I joined and lost twenty-three pounds, before the Holidays that is!

X-Rated: what I should probably be

Yuletide: when we did a lot of "social", time of year obliged

Zoom: what 2013 did, it zoomed by!

Dressed for the occasion, I say!

I'm going to really read old when you'll read this, but in my days they didn't have sweets Halloweenified as much as today...  We did have some candy wrappers with a witch - remember these?  They were (are still are!) my favorites.  So tasty and sticky - just got to love them!

Another one of my favorites, to this day are those sweet things:

And lastly, as far as candy is concerned, I loved these babies:

Any of those, I couldn't have just one.  That hasn't changed much, I'd say...

I remember when I would go trick or treating and once in a while would get a regular size candy bar, it was just that a candy bar.  Aww, those were the days. 

Imagine my surprise and actual pleasure to see these this past weekend, while shopping with Hubby.  Not only are they full size, but they are dressed for the occasion, ain't that cool?

Antiquated?!

You know times are changing, fast, when reading something on the web our sharing options are Twitter, Facebook or email... Whatever happened to being able to share something on a blog?  When did that option became obsolete?  I haven't been blogging for ages, and yet when I did realize earlier that I couldn't share an article on here, it made me cringe.  Wow!  Is blogging already a thing of the past? 

This made me think of all the things that have changed in the last few years.  How some things were way bigger before and are now so small and so much more powerful; and how dependent we've become of technology.  It is almost as if some of us lost the ability to think for ourselves, we have a machine (read computer of some sort) to do that.  I know that I do rely on my calculator.  I need one for work and use one daily. I do less and less mental calculation - I use my calculator for that too.  Some people don't ever use maps anymore, they use a GPS of some sort.  I like the easy aspect of the GPS, and still can use a map.  Think about our cell phones, those babies have changed.  Remember the big bricks from the eighties?  Now they're so sleek and can do so many more things than a simple phone call.  Cameras, those have changed too.  I remember Hubby's camera when we met (about twenty years ago), it was big and clunky with this huge flash and it weighed a ton.  Now we have a little digital thing and it may not offer all the options the manual one did, but for me the non-initiated photographer, it is great.  And oh so light!  Remember our boom boxes? Or our sound systems, with the subs and huge speakers?  Last weekend a friend was playing music in his back yard using a little speaker box, wireless, connected to his iphone.  Crazy!  I know things have changed, I see it and yet at times it freaks me out.

I guess I'm getting old...er. Sigh.

Sentimental value or just plain crazy?!

Whenever I see hoarders on TV I can't understand how someone could live this way.  The keeping old stuff part I do get, what I don't get is the amount of trash, etc.  Anyway, since we've sold our house in the suburbs (six years ago already) to move to a condo downtown we've had to let go of many of our things.  It always amazes me how much we can accumulate. 

Hubby often complains about how much crap we own, and how much we lack space.  He's right about the lack of space.  We do have a storage unit, offsite, that mostly serves as storage for my Christmas gear and our camping stuff .  Of course it also stores our winter tires, boxes of books we don't want to get rid of just yet (like all our Tintin, Astérix & Obélix, Calvin and Hobbes), and a bunch of other goods.  Last weekend we spent over three hours in our locker sorting through boxes and making quick decisions as to what we were keeping or re-storing.  We did manage to get rid of a few boxes and decided to sell all our camping equipment and some other things.

On Sunday I've posted on a local website a bunch of items for sale and sent an email to a bunch of friends, hoping for the best.  Well, it's been working. We've sold a few items, only had one person who negotiated ($5 less than the asking price).  Granted, we're not asking much for most of these things, even if we did pay good money for them when we bought them and even if they are in good condition, we want them to go so we priced them to go.

Some of our things are not ready to let go just yet and this despite the amount of space they take our or little we used them.  I do understand the reasoning (or lack of) behind keeping something for sentimental reasons, and it pisses me off that I show this weakness towards, let's say, my big doll, Louise, which my grand-mother had given me when I was a few years old.  When I did open the box she was in, I knew I should have taken it out to the "sell" pile, but I couldn't.  I still remember how I had cut her bangs (they're still crooked) and how she sat on my bed for years.  About ten years ago, my mother gave me my first pair of walking shoes, which I didn't know what to do with until I saw Louise and tried them on her.  They fit her and have been on her feet ever since.  How could I let go of that doll now, after all those years? 

I will say/write this though, I was very proud of me for letting go of a bunch of stuffed animals, even if each one reminded me of something or someone.  It was their time to go I guess.  If only I could apply that logic and detachment to some other things too... argh.

Of all the things to forget...

We all know, as we get older, we tend to forget things.  I still have a pretty good memory and remember certain things with vivid details.  Sometimes it surprises people.  I don't try to retain information or memories, it just happens.

Often though, I will wonder if I really do remember something or it is because we've talked about it or because I've seen pictures that I do remember.  Then, there are times where I wish I could forget some things.  Doesn't seem to work like that...

Tomorrow will be fourteen years already that my father passed away.  When I close my eyes and think of him I still see his face the last time I saw him alive, when I held his face in my hands, told him I loved him and that he didn't have to do it.  The look in his eyes, the pain and sadness emanating from them was so great, he was a mess and it showed.  My next flash of his face was at the morgue, he looked so, but oh, so sad.  My poor father.  I often force myself to remember a picture of him taken a few years before his death, where he smiled and looked happy.  That is how I want to remember my dad.

Last week, while chatting with Hubby I realized that despite my best effort I was losing touch with my father's voice... I can't really remember what he sounded like.  I recall what and how he would say certain things, but the sound of his voice is fading away.  I'm not from a generation when people did video much, we didn't even do home movies.  My folks took pictures, lots of them.  I have the albums to prove it.  I have no recording of his voice.  I miss hearing him calling me "ma grande".  That is one thing that today's kids should cherish, having videos recorder/recordings readily available to them.  You have a (recent) cell phone you can create memories to last you a lifetime.  Makes me think of those messages we've heard after 9-11 that had been left by the victims before their deaths... as much as it is sad it is also a source of comfort for those you did get them.  I've often wished my dad would have called me before he walked to the shed.  He didn't.  I guess he needed all his strength to do what he was about to...  He didn't leave a note either - he didn't know how to.  He left quietly.

Despite the years, it still hurts.  The pain isn't as sharp as it was once, but it is still there...

 

Once more. Only once.

Yesterday was my father's birthday. I've stopped going to his grave, a few years back, on his birthday.  I haven't been there actually for a few years now.  I think the last time was when we buried my mother's partner.  I guess it pissed me off more than I thought that my mother chose to bury her last beau next to my dad...  Weird, I'm thinking of this now.  I wasn't too happy with the idea and had let her know, but she didn't see a problem or anything strange with it.  Picture this, on one side of the stone are written my maternal grand-parents names, as well as one of my uncle.  On the other side was my father's name, my mother (without the exit date, of course) and maybe now her last beau.  I'm writing maybe because I don't know if she had his name added to the stone.  And yet, I'm the weird one who sees (or creates) issues for no reason... yeah ok!

Yesterday my father would have been 71 years old.  I'm realizing he wasn't that old.  He did die young. 

Yesterday, I looked for a picture of my dad and found a nice one of him, the way I remembered him.

I've looked at it in details, as if I was trying to re-print his face in my memory.  Looking at that picture I couldn't help but feel I was forgetting my father.  Maybe it is because on Sunday we've watched a bunched of episodes from "Charmed" (wanted to watch that series again) and in one of the last one we've seen, the girls had gone back in time and visited their mother.  At times I wish I could do that.  I wouldn't change things necessarily, I would just want to see and hear my father's voice again.  I think I remember his voice, and yet... I'm not sure.

He's been gone for thirteen years already.  At times it feels like it was only a few months ago and other times it seems like it was ages ago. I wish I would have a note or something he'd written me, something I could see and touched, knowing it had touched him as well.  I don't have much of him.  He didn't write, he would signed his name in all the cards I've ever gotten from my parents, but I'd like to have more than his first name in a birthday card.  When I hear of someone who committed suicide and left a note, I sort of envy these people.  The time he did commit suicide he didn't call me, unlike his previous attempt.  He had tried calling me.  When he did take his life he didn't.  I guess he was pressed for time and didn't want to chance it with me trying to dissuade him... I still see him the last time I was at their place, as we were leaving I held his face between my hands told him he didn't have to do it and that I loved him.  I still see the sadness in his eyes.  I don't think I will ever forget that sadness, that look he had.  Even at the morgue, on the gurney, he looked so sad.  I felt sorry for him, for his sadness, sorry for his pain, sorry that I couldn't do anything more to help.  Strange that I'm thinking of this now...

If I had one magical power, I think it would be to go back and time and visit those who have left me...  I would have quite a few people to visit...  I would love to hear their voices again, hear them laugh and see them one more time... What about you, if you had one magical power, what would it be?

Being Green

Received this today, and just had to share.  It made me think and remembered how we used to do certain things.  I guess it's not true that things change for the best.

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to the older woman, that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days." The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

 She was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day. Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled. (I remember when my folks had the grocery store, how many bottles the stock room had)

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags, that we reused for numerous things, most memorable besides household garbage bags, was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our school books. This was to ensure that public property, (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribblings. Then we were able to personalize our books. (I still use brown paper bags whenever I ship something - quite sturdy and often the perfect size) 

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. (Ones of the thing I enjoy about living downtown - walking distance from many places.  Hated that in the suburbs to have to take the car to go anywhere.)

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. (My mother used cloth diaper for me. That is one of the few things I do miss about our house - my clothesline. I love to hang my clothes.)

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. (I do remember the small, black and white, TV.  Last night I made muffins that I blended by hand, I still enjoy doing that even if I do love my Cuisinart.  For packaging I often will use the shredded paper from our shredder.  We never had a lawn when I was growing up - city child what can I say!)

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. (I use a water bottle daily, and will buy refills for my pen, and even ordered some blades refills from Hong Kong for my razor.  To be honest, it wasn't because of an environmental concern but because I liked my razor!)

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint. (The "turning their moms" thing isn't about being green, that's about mothers making a choice to be a taxi.  In the house where I grew up, I had one outlet in my bedroom, but you should have seen the extension cord and all the things connected to it, ah!) But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

Generations before us did mess up the environment, and we are only now realizing the impact of it all.  For lots of things the younger folks are also committing serious fouls.  Time will tell.  To any younger folks who feel the need to give older folks lessons about conservation, please do remember they don't like being old in the first place, so it doesn't take much to tick them off.

Intimidating he was, and this despite his size.

Here's what I think:  we all have been victim of it at some point in time and I also think we've been the intimidating one for someone else as well.

It's been all over the news and the social medias.  That is all we hear about since this teen girl committed suicide recently. I've been wondering if intimidation has become worst for the kids nowadays?  It's always been and (I believe) will always be.

When I grew up, in a very rough and though neighborhood,  it was a common thing to see fights.  People would settle their differences with their fists often.  I don't think "my time" was worst than today's.  It was different.  People stood up for what they believed in, and mostly for themselves.  My parents (read, mostly father) pushed me to defend myself.  I had troubles with some bullies in school, and my father would make sure I would stand up on my own.  If I'd come home crying after being beat up after school, I'd get yet another whack from my father for being weak.  He believed I had to learn. I did.

It may seem harsh (or even worst) for some, but I think that my father's technique made me stronger.  If I had problems, I had to find a solution rather than cry to my parents.  I would talk about it with them, and sometimes, without me knowing, my father would talk to my teachers or principal.  He interfered once, with me by his side, and it wasn't pretty.

Picture this, mid-seventies, I was eight or nine. At recess, in the girls' bathroom, there were always 2 or 3 girls hiding in stalls.  I would go in for a pee and they would climb on the toilet in the stall next to where I was and watched me.  Until the age of eighteen I didn't wear jeans, and very often wore skirts or dresses.  My father had a girl, and girls didn't wear pants that much (yeah, he was a special man).  I was often teased for being dressed different.  One of the girls, the leader of the pack, would often flicked my skirt, so I started wearing shorts under it.  She was a real meanie.  The things she would say and do to me.  I will say I was also a bit dumb.  She'd tell me to wait for her after school (to beat me up) and stupid me, I would!  I had reached a point, where I would avoid going to the washroom at school.  My mother started asking questions when I complained of belly aches.  I told her I was being watched when going to the bathroom and how I was teased.  She (naturally) told my father.

One morning as I was getting ready to leave for school, my dad told me to wait for him.  He walked me to school.  I remember being so nervous.  When we arrived in the school yard, he walked towards the head office and told me to follow him.  We made our way to the Principal's office.  Our principal was an older nun, who was very strict looking and didn't smile much.  When she welcomed us in her office, my father explained to her he had taken time off his work in order to address a situation and asked me to tell her what had been going on in the bathroom.  Sister Gertrude wasn't happy to have her morning start this way and it showed.  I told.  My father then asked Sister Gertrude if she ever had to pee in front of someone or in fear?  I still can see the look on her face.  He asked her what needed to be done so that this matter be resolved.  She reassured him and promised to take care of it all.  My father then said: "If I have to come back because of this, you will know how my daughter feels, trust me on that".  Let's just say I was hoping my father  wouldn't come back to school. Ever.

From that day on,  at recess, two teachers were in the bathrooms and the bullies were talked to.  I was called many things, but the worst of it was behind me and my skirt never got flicked again.  I did continue to wear shorts under it until later in high school...

Twelve years already...

...and yet it seems like yesterday.  No matter how they die, when a loved one passes away, that pain never really goes away.

At times I feel like I should be "over it", and still, when I think of my dad I feel somewhat sad.  I do miss him.  His image is still vivid in my brain, and I hope it remains like that, because I don't want to ever forget how he looked. 

As I'm typing this, I'm playing with the little feathers that used to be on his hat, that same hat he wore the day he took his life... Twirling them between my fingers reminds me of him, how he looked, how he dressed and how he would always wear his hat at least until late May.  He was always afraid to catch a head cold.

Strange how something as trivial as red feathers can bring back so many souvenirs.

Yeah, I miss my old man.  May he rest in peace, wherever he is.

Here's a tip for you...

Brave Astronaut wrote a nice post about being a regular, and in there he related an anecdote about his soft spot for wait staff. My parents owned and operated a restaurant for many years, so I, as well, appreciate the work involve. Maybe because of that, I may have higher expectation (let’s be honest here, I have high standards about almost everything), but I also tip well, for a job well done. When I waited tables I appreciated the good tippers. When we went to Greece I wasn’t too comfortable with the “service included” policy they had. We made do with it, and were lucky enough throughout our trip, to get decent service, but still. Whenever we were really pleased we would add more gratuities. It only made sense.

During the summer 1999, we made our way to New York City, Manhattan more precisely, for a karate tournament. We did the tourists’ things and one afternoon ended up at a restaurant by Time Square. We were there with friends. All four of us sat in this busy restaurant, can’t remember its name, ordered some drinks and some food. The service was slow, but then again the place was quite busy. We finally got our drinks. Then, one of us got his appetizers, followed by another, and another. Then my meal came. I asked the waitress about my salad, I didn’t mind having it at the same time as my main course. She went to look, and didn’t come back until about twenty minutes later, asking if I still wanted it. All four of us agreed: the service was really crappy.

My husband tends to be the type who will complain in “private” but will avoid a confrontation. He was making comments about the service, and such to which I told him “to stop complaining because he would leave a nice tip anyway”. We talked about leaving no tip since our waitress was really bad. On top of forgetting my salad, she had mixed two orders and forgotten drinks. She really wasn’t doing her job well. I’m sure you’ve also been in a situation where you’d think of not leaving any tip, because of poor service, but then when the bill came you did leave some. We’ve often done that: think about it, but that's it.

That fine day in the Big Apple, my husband took it upon himself to actually walk the walk. The waitress brought us the bill; Hubby took it, checked it out and scratched out the tip amount to simply sign the credit card bill. As he did this, the rest of us, got up and left the restaurant.*

As he was leaving, he was almost at the door, when the waitress tapped him on the shoulder and said: “Sir, the service wasn’t included”, to which he answered: “I know, but the service was crap”. She got pissy and went away. I think that was the only time I ever saw him leave no tip at all, and it still brings a smile to my face when I think of it.

* To this day, Hubby says that we ran out of there, but we just left. Really. Ok, we might have walked fast a little… it was embarrassing after all ;-)

There goes a man...

I've first seen him in "The Outsiders", in one of my English classes, in high school. Then there was "Dirty Dancing", "Road House", "Ghost", "Point Break", "To Wong Foo, Thanks..." and last year "The Beast" (TV show).

In those twenty plus years, I truly enjoyed this man. It wasn't about his looks, even if they didn't hurt. I liked him, I loved the way he moved and last year in "The Beast", even if you could see he was sick, it was nice to see him acting again. Plus, he seemed like a loving man and was with his wife for over 30 years, that is something in Hollywood (and anywhere else for that matter!)

He represented, on screen, what I like in a man: power and grace with a little bit of crazy.

Patrick Swayze
Aug. 18, 1952 - Sept. 14, 2009

May he rest in peace...