The Library a lovely summer thing.

I had a sweet nostalgic feeling today as I took my four youngest children to the library. We have been there a number of times this summer mostly on rainy days. I remember going to the library as a little girl. Along with taking out books to read and looking forward to that new adventure, there were always little activities, and reading groups to take part in.

Today my children asked me to go to the library. I remember the first couple of times that I took them.They were complaining about it, saying it was boring, and why couldn't we go to the mall for date night. Now they view it like I do. It is an adventure.

Sure we could go to the book store and purchase books, which we do about 4 times a year. It is just not the same experience. The book store trips have a build up of excitement like Christmas, you know you are going soon, and you think long and hard about what you want to buy, and how to get the best bang for your buck.

The library has all kinds of excitement. The last time we went, the girls learned how to put a book on hold if it was not in at the time. They get excited when they finish a book before the due date, and if they don't finish it they get excited to go online and renew it. They love looking up a book to see if it is in. It is the whole experience that makes this simple trip so grand. The joy of finishing a book and knowing that you can go and take the next one in the series out is great. The anticipation of starting a book once you get home is like a mini gift.

Then there is that sense of community that you get from seeing the librarians over and over again, and seeing other people from your community that you may bump into at the grocery store, or at the bank. Children's reading groups are great, they see the same children week after week and enjoy sharing stories and learning life lessons. The kids do crafts together usually based on a theme of a popular book.

How lovely it is to enjoy a summers day reading. Enjoying a cool glass of lemonade under your favorite shade tree, snuggling with the kiddies to read a lazy afternoon story. The library encourages one of the great summer activities that can be done again and again with your kiddies. 

Glorious days of Summer.

Well another day came and went without me getting much done in the way of completing my life's works. But, it will never be said that I didn't spend enough time with my children.

I got up this morning and had breakfast with my 19 year old Daughter M. Hubby P. and baby A, and then I was off to Toronto with A, and M followed in her own car because she had stuff to do later. We ended up Meeting my oldest R and granddaughter M. and all of us went to the beach for the day.

What a great day. I watched my two oldest girls play with the babies in the lake and play with sand, and I kept my eye on the babies, while the two adult girls, had a water fight. I have always wanted hoped and prayed that as my children got older that they would be friends. I see it in the older girls now, there was a period during their teen years that I thought they would not like each other later in life. I think as they went through their various hormonal changes they hated each other and could view each others faults so clearly. But at the same time, they went through their individual rough patches and life lessons that teens run into, with dating and backstabbing friends, hard teachers and tough coaches, they were there for each other.

They always took care of each other outside our home. No one could badmouth or harass one of them with out hearing from the other. That was the only thing that kept me from breaking down in tears every time they fought in our home.

As I watch the rest of them grow up, it gets easier to step back from their squabbles, and allow them to have their differences and angry moments. Because now, having the experience of the oldest two girls, I know that eventually we will all be having tea together, and cleaning  a kitchen after a big thanksgiving dinner.

I am so glad that I can procrastinate about some things and take the time to  enjoy the important things, like sitting on the beach drinking a carafe of tea, with my girls.

Euphoria

I had a day planned last week. It was one of those days that I thought I would not have much choice in. My seven year old S. had an appointment at the orthodontist to put an expander in. His orthodontist is in east Toronto I live in Burlington. So I made the appointment as early in the day as I could and called my oldest daughter R. who also lives in Toronto hoping she would have the day free and I could take the kids and meet R. and granddaughter M. at the beach.

As it turns out she had nothing planned so on Friday morning, I made sandwiches, cut up some fruit and packed the cooler. Off we went.

I was on the highway driving and the kids all 4 of them in the back of the van were in a great groove, playing and talking quietly, I had said a pleasant goodbye to hubby before I left, and I felt pretty good.

All of a sudden my heart started pounding, I felt a little shaky and wasn't sure what was happening. It was a feeling that I usually associate with anxiety, when there is a lot of cleaning hanging over my head, or a task at work that has not been completed, or when there is a month with an unusual amount of bills. As the feeling settled and came and went it was quickly replaced with a warm glowing feeling inside, rather than the normal scanning of everything in my brain to figure out what was causing the anxiety. I realized it was not anxiety but euphoria, an exuberance for my situation in life at this moment.

It was a wonderful, fantastic, and rare feeling, I almost burst into tears. I was in love, had all my work done, my home was in good shape, my children were happy and I had nothing to worry about! How odd; but wonderful.

I sent hubby a text telling him how much I loved him, and how I was feeling. I was almost overwhelmed, I turned and looked at the kids in the back seat and told them how wonderful they were.

When we set up on the beach, sitting there with my oldest daughter, I tried to explain to her this feeling and how happy I was with life in general. I really wanted to share it with her, I was loving the water and the sand and the sun and the wind. It was so fantastic. It has taken me so long in life to get to a point where my happiness is a general everyday feeling, and where I have spiritual moments when if feels like God is tapping me on the shoulder and saying, "glad to see you are finally enjoying what I have made for you."

That physical feeling that I often associate with stress and anxiety will never mean the same thing again. I think I had a wake up call this summer. A spiritual dipping in life. I am finding peace and serenity, not in meditation and quiet and loneliness, but in my family and sharing happiness with them.

It has been a fantastic summer of small adventures and moments of laughter and happiness, probably not much different from other summers. For some reason, my mind and heart have opened up to the experiences and I am taking from them, not just creating them for other people, but participating and living the happiness that I want for all of my loved ones.

I wish I could bottle it and teach it. I know so many moms who get caught up in day to day chores, and things that have to be done, they plug along achieving everything that needs to be done, and doing everything in their power to make everyone around them happy.

I have done that and more, because I am able to feel it and enjoy, I don't need to stand back and take a look at how everyone is doing. I know they are well and doing fine, because so am I.

Flight of Fancy

I know it has been ages since I have written, but summers days are long, and my family gets every second I can give them. Today, fortunately for my neglected writing, it is too hot to play outside. Big sis is here to spend time with baby. The lawnmower blades are tangled in rope, meaning I can't cut anymore grass and the weed whacker is out of gas. In light of the beautiful sight I have been seeing in out drive way for the last two weeks I have to do some writing any way.

If you happen to be visiting me in the next few weeks, do take your time coming down my drive way. If you take it slow and look, (really look), out the windows you will notice there are between 50 and 100 little yellow butterflies fluttering around. When you get close to them they funnel up towards the sky like a little tornado of buttercups.

It reminded me of my obsession with fairies when I was younger, every chance I could (which was not often because I was never on my own), I would hunt for faeries. I usually used my time at my Aunt Burt and Uncle Don's farms for hunting. My Uncle Don would warn me about various dangers,
 "stay away from the creek, don't bother the geese, don't eat any berries."
I would wander off for what felt like hours to me, but the solitary hunts never produced a faerie.

It was healthy though, what it did produce was imagination, I would look under bushes and rocks by the shaded mossy creek edge, and under a little bridge that went over the creek, ( I always expected to at least find a troll under the bridge). I always thought that I was looking at a place that a faerie had just been. A toadstool that had a dark spot on it would have been where a faerie had just been sitting, and bruised it when it ran off in haste. Little berries I would find around a bush would have been the leftovers of a faerie picnic at the edge of the meadow. I would find loose moss and think it was a faerie bed, or see a leaf fall into the creek out of the corner of my eye, and I would think I had just seen the slightest splash of a faerie who just dove into the water.

I remember once my Aunt Burt and I were having a picnic on the front lawn under a willow, and while I looked up thinking of how much fun fairies could have in a willow tree, an inch worm worked its way down its little silk thread.

My Aunt Burt laughed at my face and said, "don't worry it won't hurt you, it is spinning silk for the fairies, they need something warmer in the winter than leaves and flower hats."

The only thought in my mind at that moment was that there must be fairies if Aunt Burt said so. She was a severe woman, all prim and proper all the time. There was never a reason or excuse to relax the rules or put aside impeccable manners. So if she said so then I just hadn't found them yet.

That same day the sheep got out and wandered past the house and up the drive way. My Uncle was in town at the time, and my Aunt Burt and I went out and rounded them up (she did most of the work with the dog and the crook). I stood on the bottom rung of the gate swinging it open and shut for each sheep that came back. Latter that evening during our dinner of bread and butter, bologna and eggs (which was an awesome dinner to me), the conversation revolved around the suspect who left the gate open, all fingers pointed to fairies. Once again I pondered their existence as a fact while I ate my nice soft bread and butter.

I spent so many nights under my covers reading the children's book of poems I had, I studied The Fairies , I was certain that somewhere in that text I would find out where to find a faerie.

As I got older real life gave way to my fantasies, and where once I used to sit on the bottom of a swimming pool with a training brick to have faerie tea parties, I slowly forgot fairies, imagination gave way to training, hard work and focusing on goals.

As a teenager I had my first child, and I wanted so very much to keep her a little girl for as long as I could, but I almost couldn't remember how. With all the worry I had, and my mind whirling about her future, I was almost stuck and couldn't remember play. Until one day I couldn't find her soother, my Grandfather was there, he was sitting in a chair reading the newspaper. I was stomping around the house looking for the soother, obsessed with finding it and quickly so that I could go to bed myself. My Grandfather mumbled something barely audible over my complaining and stomping.

"Pardon?" I said.

"Its fairies," he said,"they are playing with you, must not be enough play in your life."

When my grandfather was being mischievous he got a twinkle in his eye, and a look of such delight on his face, I am not sure that he wasn't a faerie. What could I do but laugh at his suggestion. We ended up having a lovely talk about fairies. His central theme in the conversation was about love and life, enjoying what you have and not fretting about what you don't have. It was about childhood being a state of mind and not an age. It was about me growing up and being disappointed that with knowledge comes the loss of fantasy, magic and pretend. It was his way of telling me that responsibility was not a sentence to never imagine or play again, quite the contrary. Responsibility dictates, that imagination, fancy, pretend, kings, queens, castles and fairies, must be kept quite alive, and they are all very intact and it was my obligation to pass this on.

My grandfather was the last person to ever confirm my belief in fairies, and it is time for me to pass that on to my children and grandchildren.

I want them all to see the yellow butterflies, because I am pretty sure that the butterflies are just transportation for fairies, and I am sure that they are somewhere near by. We have a conservation area near by also, and I am sure if we go as a family for a hike, I can point out a ton of places to the kids where there was just a faerie, maybe just a second ago.

Here is an excerpt from that Poem, click on the excerpt to view the whole poem.

Up the airy mountain
Down the rushy glen,
We Daren't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all Together;
Green jacket, red cap,
 and white owl's feather.

The Parade!

The Parade of phone calls, kisses,birthday wishes and gifts, started on Friday evening and continued until Sunday night.

Every single gift and wish was so appreciated, but as the parade of gifts kept coming I found myself thinking, "What did I do to deserve such a life, such family, such love."

I think about my career as a mom, and I think of all the arguments, and the short fuses, the bad temper, the scoldings. I think about how many times I have looked at one of my eight children and chastised them only to get a true look of humility, and remorse, and a certain sadness at having dissapointed me.

My family is truly great! Love is what has been parading through my home and life in the last three days. I feel like a very undeserving recipient of all the glory that these children have written when signing the birthday cards, I can't help but feel I have let them down somehow, when I read all of their little musings about my skills as a mother.

It is really overwhelming to think with all of my mistakes and all of the trouble that my kids have to put up with  because of how long it takes to really learn how to parent,(and I am still learning) they still dig down deep, and come up with something nice to say.

A true testimony of how great they each individually really are. Kind hearted loving little, big, growing, changing, human beings. How fabulous, I will cherish the fact that a birthday of mine brings out the greatness and creativity of my flock, my family.

I wake up every morning praying to be a better mom than I was yesterday. I hope in some way here and there it makes a difference, because in-spite of, not because of, my mothering skills I have eight children I am very proud of, and who I know will be able to achieve all that I have not been able to thus far.

Why I'm Me! Right?

Who do we all want to be?

When I was a little girl, whenever I was having a hard time, you know those times as a kid when you were being punished and hated your parents, I would fantasize. I would daydream about the kind of person that I wanted to be.

I wouldn't think about my life though, or how I would live it. Funny enough I would daydream about what other people would think of me. What would people say about me. I would fantasize that people would say, what a good mom! What a humanitarian! What a kind, loving, wonderful, caring, sweet, graceful... well you get the picture.

When I was a little girl I guess I was messed up or something, to view my future, and choose my future according to what other people would think. Funny enough in a way I still, make choices and base decisions, on what I think, other people will think.

I sometimes fantasize about what my children think about me, I think about what my friends think about me, and it is truly silly. We have all done that thing where we are faced with a decision and you think about what someone in your life would do if faced with the same choice; and then you choose the exact opposite. You think to yourself, I don't want to be like my Mom, or my Dad, or I remember old Aunt Bertha and I don't want to be like her. So you base your decisions on who you don't want to be rather than who it is you do want to be.

I have been thinking a lot about that in the last year or so. Seriously I want to be me. I don't always know who that is because I spend so much time focusing on who I don't want to be.

I don't want to be a loud, manipulative, guilt pushing mom. I don't want to be a nagging, tired, plaintive, hard-done-by wife. I don't want to be a loud, flippant employee. I know who I want to be and feel like I am nothing like that, so I think the next best thing is to just focus on not being all of the undesirable things.

I am missing though, there is so much missing. People don't get to know me. People don't ever get to make their own judgments about who I really am, because I don't present it. I give them what I think is the least disagreeable rather than just giving them me, and trusting, that maybe I am who I want to be, when I am not working so hard, to not be, those things which I detest.

 I have just come to realize that when I am sitting on the couch, pooped in the evening, and belching because I just wolfed down a huge bowl of cereal as a bedtime snack, scratching my butt every once in a while, it doesn't negate the wonderful things that really make me who I am.

When I kiss my kiddies at night, and think of the ones who are not with me everyday, and get teary eyed, that does not negate the strength I have, and I hope, I have taught to my children.

When I get angry at the world because I can't figure out how to get my printer to work, I am not evil, I am frustrated, and that doesn't negate the fact that I am concerned with the world. Or that I do help make it a better place. I try very hard to make a difference.

I am going to let the little things slide, I will just be who I am. I think the rest will come. I don't need to fantasize about what people think of me, or what they say about me.

I just need to be.

Ahhh Friend or Foe?

So my old friend, or my old enemy is back once again. Nope not my period, not a headache, not a person. It is procrastination. The very reason I started this blog. I just realized how long it has been since I posted a blog, crazy.

Its not that I have not been writing because I do that pretty much every day. I have my little note book that I write things down in as I go about my day. The purpose of the little note book is to take a half hour at the end of my day to sit down go through the notes and blog.

Unfortunately when your life gets crazy you don't even prioritize and choose what you want to do, at least I don't. When my life gets crazy, I just tend to what ever is making the most noise. The kids, the hubby, the bills, of course personal grooming gets a bit of time too, although that is really getting pushed to the chopping block too. Sometimes it is bedtime before I remember I haven't brushed my teeth yet. I remember plenty of times to do  it throughout the day, it just so happens that I remember when I am out and about to talk to someone up close, rather than when I am in the house near my toothbrush.

I actually try to get into the bathroom to freshen up in the morning before I eat, I splash some water on my face and run a brush through my hair, wash the important bits up, and I hold off on the tooth brushing until I am finished eating. Then I get sidetracked by some job and forget to eat. You can see where I am going with this.

There are times when I don't have time for a shower, when a quick washing up will just have to do. There is always something else to do. I love having a shower in the evening because everyone is asleep and I don't hear babies crying on the other side of the door. The only problem with that is that I often can't blow dry my hair for fear of waking someone so I wake up with a muffin head. Then I have to try to find time in my day before I go out in public to re wet it and dry it straighten and style it.

Of course then there is the task of shaving, OK so I delve into a delicate subject, not for mixed company now. I DON'T CARE. Men hear this. Shaving ones legs and armpits is no where near as quick a task as shaving that tiny little bit of face. So to combat the amount of time it takes to shave my legs I have taken to measuring from the hem line of all my skirts, Capri's and shorts to my ankle, and when I choose my outfit for the day, I go into my shower with a tape measure, and that area from hem to ankle is what gets shaved.

I know for a fact I am not the only person who does this, in mom and tot classes everywhere if you were to slightly lift a hem, you would see the untamed forest of an unshaven mom. I am sure many women everywhere are saying, "so go get waxed". The problem with that is when life is laid back and easy, it is great to go get waxed, but when life is crazy, I already take three hours out of every two weeks to go get my eyebrows waxed and a manicure and pedicure. If I only have three hours every two weeks, I would much rather have a woman massaging my legs and taking care of my feet than a woman ripping hair out of an area of my body large enough to make 4 children a pair of pants each.

Wah Wah Wah! I know I am whining, I can't stand it when other people do it, but lets face it, it is funny. If I can make you laugh so be it, I will become the whining mommy.

I always hear people making fun of female comedy, "all they talk about is periods, not wanting sex, their husbands and their weight" but, that is half the population guys, women. We need a laugh too, we don't find things like the hillbilly up the street funny, we don't find farting funny, we don't think its hilarious when you do naked willy dances. We do though find comfort in each other, in trials, in successes. We find it hilarious when what we feared would make us different, actually is something that makes us all the same.

The biggest thing that most women have in common is their perceived lack of time.

Decorum

GRRRRRR!

I have so much to say right now about a number of people who are getting under my skin. I could have a whole hour long comedy show. I could write a blog right now that would have you rolling on the ground laughing your butts off at the ridiculous situations. You would also be laughing about the commonality of it and how much of it would ring true in your own life.

So why don't I you say? Because I am a decent human being who worries about the feelings of others. Because I don't want to hurt anyone. Because I believe in decorum. I think that privacy is important and I wouldn't ever want my embarrassing moments taken out and paraded around just for the sake of a laugh. Though I have noticed that many people who know things about me, such as undesirable personality traits, or physical features I loath, even fears I have, do not always keep decorum in mind, while they are teasing me or getting a laugh from a crowded room while reciting one of my shortcomings.

Decorum, the concept of which prescribes a specific kind of socially acceptable behavior for certain social situations. I have been really weighing the positive and negative sides of using my experience in real life to write about. I don't want to write a tragic tale though, or yet another self absorbed account of  a poor souls life. I am happy and live a happy life, so if I told my tale comically, it would be just that, a funny account of a profusely spicy life.

They problem is recognizing my own faults and poking fun at them is not nearly as funny if I don't poke fun at all the people who contributed and continue to contribute to my quirkiness, phobias, personality flaws and even some of the good stuff (although I think I should take credit for most of the good stuff). I just can't bring myself to go ahead and do it. The truth hurts. I have a hard enough time every saying the truth and hurting someone face to face, never mind attacking them behind their backs, in a secret novel, blog or article. I have thought of writing completely anonymously, the problem with that is, some of the characters in my life novel would just jump out and smack their real person in the face they are just so, errrr, uhhmmm individual?

I don't know if I will ever come to terms with it, I hope so, I don't want to silently suffer anymore ha ha ha. I want to let it all out. Maybe I can write and put a little disclaimer on my writing. "The expressed opinions are the opinions of the writer only, any family members, old friends, ex husbands and looney children have the right to write their own life story and defend themselves as they choose."

Hmmm, check in next week to see if I can defeat my addiction to social consideration, to see if I can overcome decorum, to see if there really is a decent person left on the face of the earth; who will not sell out their family secrets for money, fame, or just a laugh.

A bit more.

I drove to visit a sick relative in the hospital last week.  I still at that point, had not organized anything for my blog. I was driving around because I arrived too early to pay a visit.  I was going to head over to my grandmothers house to wait there.  On the way I passed a cemetery. I don't even know the name of it.  I never looked. I just found it a stunning site. As I was driving in the car contemplating how unfortunate it is in Canada, that we don't pay homage to fallen soldiers, or to our history as they do in America. Here was this cemetery that pops up in front of me, and it is covered with little Canadian Flags!  Why would this be? What was going on? Of course! It was memorial day for Vimy Ridge.

There were a number of ceremonies, and I was seeing the remnants of one. The waving flags, the flowers... The Cemetery had street signs that read, Flanders fields, and Normandy. It was moving, and where was I when the ceremonies where happening?

Here I am for about a month, wondering "where is Canada's patriotism, where is our National pride, and what are we teaching our children." I completely missed an opportunity to share history with my children, or just to participate with my community. I was driving at the time. Like I so often am, when I have some kind of revelation, or idea, or when I learn something.

I decided to drive through the cemetery. This got me thinking once again about that Cemetery where my great grandmother is buried. I made a mental note that I needed to get back there now that it was spring. P. and I decided to go this weekend.

We left on Saturday and made our way in that direction. I was so excited and jumped out of the car, I exchanged my heels for rubber boots, I came prepared this time. I started walking around the cemetery with my camera looking for this marker that would open my eyes, enlighten me, give me some info, possibly my great grandmothers date of death, at least a picture. It was freezing cold, it was windy and I couldn't find a marker. I found a couple but almost all of the markers that lay flat in the ground were so overgrown you couldn't make out one letter on them. I will have to do more research and find out where in the cemetery she is buried and go back with a map.

It was disappointing, but I am alive, and although I am curious about my ties to the past, we had some living relatives to go and visit and that is where we headed. The rest of my day was lovely spend with P's grandfather. A. enjoyed her visit with her great grandfather. The day was salvaged by my loved ones, and that is the way life should be.

Bigger than me.

I thought I would have some witty, comic, crazy stuff to write about. Maybe some kind of what not to do while travelling with kids, or the hillarious bloopers of our family holiday. Unless I make stuff up though I have nothing but awe, and fabulous memories to tell you.

Our family trip was miraculous, fun, amazingly smooth and humbling. The children all behaved better than expected, and everyone had a fantastic time, other than all the kids missing the parent they were away from.

I will probably have to blog in instalments there is just so much to tell. For the most part I am amazed at how small my world was and is. I am amazed that I have allowed my world to be so small. I have always thought that Americans, kinda went overboard on pushing their history and patriotism. I just thought that they didn't have to be so loud about everything. I never took an interest in American history.

To be in D.C. and take part in the various memorials, and museums, the architecture, the pride, it was overwhelming and some of it very humbling.

Every memorial, every monument and every bit of historic architecture that I visited, was powerful. I began to realize that the man made borders that proclaimed, this was a neighbor countries history and stories, did not put a border up between me and the human race. The politics and the history as told by a nation, may not be mine, but the individual stories. Stories from people who struggled, who triumphed. People who fought against the majority for what was right is my Nation, my people, the Human Race and every bit of history, mine or another nations, is as important as my own family history is to me.

It took forever for me to blog, it has been a month since our vacation. I procrastinated because there was so much to write, and I didn't know how to organize my thoughts into something viable and something that I felt would contribute to other people. I still don't think I am quite there yet, I have said in the simplest form possible what this trip meant to me and to my family, but I just can't convey the overwhelming grandeur of what I learned.

I came away from the trip envious of America, not so much for their History, Canada has history too. I was envious of how they treasure and husband their history, for how they make their history so accesible. The presentation of American Art, History, Monuments and Memorials was so well done I was moved on a number of occasions. I wish my children could walk down their streets, the places we live and work, and see that there is history, greatness and a future to build based on and learned from the past.

The Trip.

We are off, one more sleep and a full day of packing, and check lists and we are off. It will be our first family vacation. Although not all of my kids are coming with me, some are on their own, in school, or just don't want to go.

I am excited, I want to see new things and people. I am excited that my younger children will now get to meet P's sister and brother in law.

I really hope that the oldest coming with us has a really grand time. Soon she will join the ranks of the older children who are not coming. She will have other things to do, work, school a life. P and I  started our lives together pretty late, so I would like to have some experiences with my 15 year old stepdaughter before she is off on her own life. I know from my older three that time just passes so quickly and these next few years are the last few, before she gets too busy with her own world.

We are driving, a long drive for the little ones and P. We scheduled it so that hopefully the kiddies will all sleep the whole way. This takes away from the fun a little bit, there are great sights to see on the way. We just think at this age, a drive that long just won't be fun for them. We will put all of our energy into showing them a good time when we arrive.

This is going to turn out to be quite a social lesson for them. I want to use it to show them how to be good house guests. Courteous, polite, kind, generous, and well mannered. I also would love it if they could truly embrace the experience and not take away from it by bickering and fighting. I hope they just enjoy themselves.

I hope the kids will all take opportunity to sketch and to write, to document their experience and how they are actually experiencing it. I am hoping to have time to do some of the same. How fun.

Smithsonian's, George Washington's house, Gettysburg, Appalachian Trail, a little shopping, and who knows what else, we are on our way. Most important Auntie B, and Uncle J, family memories is what we are creating here. Fun family memories.

What I learn

As I was procrastinating this morning, I played "Who Wants to be a millionaire" on my cell phone. I answer a number of questions that have no relevance to my life. I realized just how much I learn from my children. A number of questions relating to music, movies, sports, and even American history. I have learned from my children. I didn't know what a Scrum was until one of my children had played rugby. I didn't ever take American history, but I overhear conversations between the kids and it sticks in my mind. A lot of music I listen to is influenced by the kids and even television shows that I watch. Its funny because I have never had a great memory, when it came to school work, I had to study hard if I wanted to really know the stuff. I would read it, write it, do it if possible and even then sometimes it wouldn't stick in my head.

If one of my children says something that is important to them though, I remember it. I don't always remember all the little things. I don't even always remember all the big things, but if there is a chance that this is something one of my kids loves, or is into, or is traumatic, then I remember it.

Yesterday I started a series of sketches that I am basing on childhood, experiences that are mine and my children's. Hopefully of all children so that it is a common ground for everyone. I got two pieces started, and I am gonna let you have a peek at one, that when finished will be titled Mine. I have a feeling that this will end up being a water color.

It is a picture of a sketch so not represented in the greatest here. It will give you an idea though.

Next

I think I have been procrastinating again. I have kinda stalled on my list of things to do. I had an idea last night that gave me a little shove. I have a few of my children who have been troubled, either by life decisions or health issues. This gives me a lot to think about and a lot of advice flows from my river of a mouth. Some of it necessary for the younger children, and some of it probably very unsolicited for the older ones. In any case my river of advice is always flowing with good intentions but as an adult child who has been the recipient of unsolicited flows of advice, I began to think about how I look to my children. How they receive the advice given, and what impression of me my advice gives them. This in turn leads me to imagery, when I  have a hard time getting my head around a concept, I often think in pictures before the idea is clear to me in words. I had these rushes of images in my head images that depict motherhood, childhood and the intricate relationships that are involved when the two mesh. I am going to start working on some sketches today, I think I have a number of series in mind. Motherhood, childhood, child transitioning to mother, and mother adult child relationships. I don't know what medium I want to use for any of them, I am thinking I will sketch them all and then decide once I see how they play out on paper, if they need to be painted in oil, watercolor, sculpted or just left as a sketch. I hope by the end of day today I will have one done and procrastination or other "things" don't pop up.

Procrastination strikes again!

Yes I did it again, I let myself down by procrastinating. I wanted to enter Canada Writes 2010. I have been practicing and thought I had a bunch of great submissions. I was all ready, I did enter one submission a few days ago, but you could enter as many times as you like and in a number of different categories.
I thought the entry deadline was March 3rd at noon. When I went to the site today at 2pm. I discovered that the contest was closed.

Sadly I had the contest deadline confused with the deadline to have my kids pizza order in and paid for. Maybe I could say it was not so much procrastination that was my undoing this time but my organizational skills which have gone by the way side.

Mind you had I not procrastinated and waited till the last minute I could have had a number of entries in by now. I guess I will never learn. I was not expecting to win the contest or even become a finalist. I don't think my writing skills are polished enough. I did use the contest as a writing exercise though and was eager to enter a number of pieces to say that I had done so.

I will have to exert more pressure on myself to develop better habits of completion and schedule. So for now below you will be able to see one titled Roadside Terror, Twitter Category.

Roadside Terror.

Driving to Grandmas's ,I just caught the scent. Torturous! Oh What to do, baby has poo'd. Ohhhh Noooo! Out of wipes, the smell is overwhelming. Treacherous driving conditions. My eyes are burning, my nose my nose! Swerving on the road, trying to keep control of the situation, I think I have wet wipes from KFC. Pray for me my friends, I am gonna pull over.

Went for the pants and noticed the stain, its all over the place people. I am gonna have to do a complete roadside change, with only two wipes and a full diaper. Got the bum clean thought I was home free. But baby pee'd all over the back of the Montana, on the only clean clothes we both have.

Grandma is going to have to wait. We are getting back on the on ramp to the 401, heading home. Baby and I are both pantless!

Can you help?

I want to enter a contest called Canada Writes 2010. It is a lot of spur of the moment writing though. So I need to recruit help.There are 5 categories. Ad, Blog, Movie pitch, Song, and Tweet. So I need my friends and family to email me or call me or text me with little assignments, so I can practice. Pick a topic, then pick one of the categories above, give me a time limit and I will get it done and send it back for practice. 


I think it will be great, to read more about the competition please click here.  Canada Writes 2010 If you want to join let me know and I will help you practice too.

Oh Canada!

For anyone who thought my last post was amusing or funny, I am glad. That was my intention. I wanted to come home after the experience and rant about the Ontario health care system. Instead I got the idea in my head to use it as a writing challenge. I decided to try and make it as witty and fun as possible. What a challenge.

I find most of my experiences with any government agencies or institutions do not end well, or when they do end I have not had an easy time of it.

Today I went off to the passport office to apply for A's. passport. I was there last week but needed different documentation. My experience last week was excellent. I was served quickly. The person who served me was smiling, witty and had a sense of humor. I applied for four of the five passports I needed. He gave me the information I needed to come back with for the fifth one, and wished me a good day. Today's experience was even better. The woman I dealt with today actually thanked me for my behaviour on my last visit. Saying is was nice that someone would just accept that they did not have the required documentation, go get it and then come back. She joked with me and interacted with A. I was in and out in 20 minutes. Hats off to the passport office.

My experience a couple of months ago when I went to replace one of the childrens health cards was not so pleasant. Now I must admit this was not so much to do with the staff although they were certainly not smiling and happy. We got there fairly early in the morning and it was packed. The office itself was filthy, so much so that I was afraid to let A. out of her stroller. I took a number and waited for about an hour before I was called.

During that hour there were drunks almost falling down, this was in the morning!. A. screeched a few times not being in the best of moods that day, and I had people all around me complaining. Give me a break, with the kind of people that my child and I had to be exposed to that day, a few baby shrieks should have been no big deal. At one point an oldish couple sitting behind us said "that baby needs a spank" and then latter remarked that "ear plugs were made because of babies like that little brat". I would like to point out here that A at the time was just a year old. I didn't say anything, I kept my cool. I could tell by the crowd in the office that had I exclaimed on the rudeness, and or the abusive nature of the comments being made, a third of the crowd would have jumped me, a third of the crowd would have sold tickets to watch and started taking bets, and the other third would have set up bleachers for viewing. By the end of that days experience I felt a need to take A. and I through a detox chamber for fear of louse and who knows what else.

There was also that time a few weeks ago when I went to the city to pick up some court documents, and had a long wait. I didn't have a horrible experience although it was not the best spent time of my life. So I guess between the Emergency room, the Ontario Health card office, the Passport office and the Court house, I have gotten a mixed bag of  experience from, Very strongly disagree to Agree totally, if I were filling out a customer service card on my treatment.

The difference must lay in the clients more than the service providers. I also imagine there is a  giant governmental training building for civil servants. There are long line ups of civil servants who go in for training. These Civil servants get their training and knowledge from this huge building, it is all hands on, and they learn by experience. So while the majority of civil servants go through this hamster trail of tunnels, and wickets and dour faced people to get their experience. I believe that the Passport office people, found themselves in a lovely garden with calming fragrance, and gentle music, where all of their efforts were praised with positive reinforcement and they never heard a raised voice.

Oh Canada, I praise all civil servants for their hard work and for having to deal with every corner of society that Canada has to offer, although I still think many an office would benefit from a mop bucket and some dettol.

Indeed!

Last week O. said she wasn't feeling well and complained of an ache in her back. I thought about it the morning she complained of it, and I thought I would give her the day and see if she felt the same way later in the evening. 

I have been known to make light of the kids ailments, once exclaiming to my son that if he was really going to be a baby about his chest cold I would take him to the hospital. Only to find out 12 hours later that he had a bruised liver. Or the time I told him to suck it up and get to school, after a trip and fall had him complaining that his knee was in a lot of pain, only to have my oldest daughter point out to me that the flap of skin hanging from his knee cap may indeed cause a lot of pain. Or the time he called me from school to advise me that his friends thought he had broken his thumb, and I replied "are they doctors? Really I will look at it when I pick you up from school!" Only to arrive and see a huge swollen hand that turned out to be a broken growth plate. 

Yes I am a harsh judge of ailments, but once I see it or feel my super mom instincts kick in I am all over it. With O. I thought it was probably a bruise from an accident at school the week before. So I thought if anything it should get better over the day. She came home from school and was complaining a little bit about it. O. doesn't usually complain about little things, I asked her if it was any better at all and she thought it was. We went on about our evening, horse riding lessons, beavers and piano lessons for C. and O.

When we all converged once again, O. came in the house in quite a bit of pain and looked very uncomfortable and uneasy that she was not feeling a hundred percent. I felt around a bit, I tried to use my super vision to see through her, to what ailment she may have, but super mom vision doesn't work on maple syrup and pancakes, which is what we had for dinner. I had to suspect a kidney infection by what my hands were telling me. My super mom instinct then kicked in. P. and I communicated telepathically and I told O. to get ready we were going to go the clinic. 

While this clinic is not our family doctors office, I do love it. It lives up to many of the super mom's standards. It is clean as a whistle, they register you with the efficiency of an albatross, they treat you with the speed of a cheetah, and explain things to you with the directness of a crows’ flight. The nurses have super human ability to make an unhappy achy sick child smile. I have never been there for more than an hour. 

We got into the mom-mobile and off we went. Alas, I found that the clinics kryptonite is time. They close at 9 and don't take anymore walk in patients after 8:30pm. So back to the mom-mobile we went. By this time little O. was shivering and I got her buckled into the car, and covered her with my coat and headed out for our not so local emergency room. 

Our closest emergency room is dirty, and is littered with some pretty shifty figures, including some of the staff. A split super hero second later we were on our way to the next best, and closest hospital Ontario has to offer. 

By the time we got to the E.R. it was about 9pm, they registered us quickly and gave me a bottle which I was suppose to convince my 9 year old O. to pee in. My O. having already developed some of her own super hero strengths was mortified at the amount of germs this would expose her too, as well as the social humiliation of having others in the waiting room see her prancing around with her perfectly flushable urine in a bottle.

She looked at me and said, "I DON'T HAVE TO GO!"

I explained that as a child of a super mom, there were just some missions in life she could not turn down. 

We turned our attention to the TV. that was airing the Olympic hockey game, and we had some subtle discussions about how cold the rink would be, and how cold it was outside tonight. I mentioned how cold the hand sanitizer we used a number of times that night felt on our hands. I also suggested to her that she may be feeling rather cold herself in the waiting room and continued to explain how they kept it very cold in there and even with her coat and my coat over top of her little body I couldn't imagine how she was not freezing. Then the super mom clincher, I happened to mention how I always had to pee every five minutes when I was cold.

O. got a look on her face, and did a little squirm in her seat, I could see my plan was starting to work.  I changed the subject from cold to wet.

"I wonder what happens if a downhill Olympic skier needs to go to the bathroom after they are dressed and on the hill?" and a couple of suggestive lines like, "I guess the summer Olympics are easier because you get all the free water you want to drink, and you don't have all those winter clothes to take off when you have to go. Although I would guess those female swimmers must have to do the pee pee dance a number of times if they have to go so bad and have a one piece bathing suit on."

It worked! "Mommy, I have to go, how am I suppose to do this?" So off we went to the bathroom. After a brief explanation, a little privacy and a promise to not expose the pee pee bottle as I passed it on to the nurses, I got a sample and we were happily sitting back in the waiting room playing a game of brick ball on my cell phone. 

I had assumed that once they had her urine sample, we would be brought in very shortly. There were only a few other people in the waiting room. It was now 10pm. We waited and O. started to dose, eventually the Olympic hockey was over, and men’s figure skating appeared. This gave us the opportunity to pass some time because we both like figure skating. So we switched seats to give ourselves a better view of the screen. This also distracted us from another patient who had come in and was complaining loudly about their 5 minute wait. 

At some point time stopped it just seemed to stand still, although the hands on the clock were moving, to O. and I it seemed like forever. We watched a number of people come and go, and listened to the bloated patient near us complain about his wait, when finally we were called in. It was now 11:30.

We were led along with our bloated, complaining, and now slightly volatile fellow patient into a room. It was called the day care room, it was a fair sized room with 6 beds all separated by curtains. I quickly realized that being called the day care room, and us being there in the evening meant we would get no care. I helped O. up onto the bed and tucked our coats in around her. She immediately fell asleep. I sat down in the chair and waited for a doctor. I heard footsteps walk towards us, but they turned to the bed next to ours. On the other side of the curtain I heard the conversation of a nurse, and our now belligerent, anxious, ready to run fellow patient. His story began to unfold and I tried to tune out the conversation out of common decency, as I heard his wife speaking for him, I looked up thinking that would distract me from the conversation. I heard words such as drink, alcoholic, drinking binge, and Dt's, and thought I was not doing a very good job of distracting myself. 

I looked down looking for something to distract me so I wouldn't be a party to the unseemly conversation on the other side of the curtain. I got my wish! A distraction so terrible, so disgusting, time once again slowed down as I tried to review the situation. I tried to figure out how my super mom senses didn't detect this breech in my standards as soon as I walked in the room. I was horrified to be staring at a splatter of blood on the floor, just under my sweet, sleeping, delicate O. 

I had allowed myself to become so distracted by the other patient and the super long wait, that I had not done my usual mom scan of the room to ensure that my child would be safe. I didn't make sure that our perimeter had not been compromised by disease, or danger! I felt like I could rip the Giant SM (for Super Mom) off my chest.

I quickly sprang into action. I could beat myself up over the lapse later. I scanned the room for disinfectant, iodine, dettol, bleach, liquid radiation, ANYTHING! I found nothing, not even a sink with running water. I pulled back the curtain a little bit, starting to get frantic, and trying to remind myself that I am super mom, I must remain calm. As I moved the curtain, I notice a hand sanitizer dispenser on the wall just the other side. I once again scanned the room looking for disposable towels, hand towels, nothing, not even those crappy brown paper hand towels. The only thing available was tissue, I flew to the table the tissue was on, moving faster than a spine tailed swift. I took handfuls of tissue, flew over to the dispenser and pumped gobs of the stuff onto the tissues and quickly threw them down on the blood spatter. 

Of course that took care of the stuff I could see. Considering the splatter was of no small size, I decided to do the surrounding areas as well. Thus ensuring there would be no spatter missed, in a few quick swipes I had also wiped down the bed that O. lay sleeping in. I was like a well oiled machine. 

1. Tissue

2. Sanitizer

3. Throw down on the floor

4. Stomp and wipe with foot

5. Repeat

It was while I was completing coverage of the last square foot of the area that a nurse pulled back the curtain, and said, "Oh My! What are you doing?"

I was stunned, what did she think I was doing? I stammered and stuttered. Trying to feebly explain, but I am "Super Mom".  My actions deserved praise not explanation! 

The nurse just shook her head and said, "I hope you are gonna, clean this all up."

I tried to explain, the blood, the horror, the disease. She just shook her head and asked me what   problem had brought us there that evening. It was now 12 am. I was worried about O. and afraid to touch anything and the nurse now thought I was more of a nuisance than the volatile alcoholic next to us. I explained O's situation and she went and got her a blanket from the clean laundry, that I could thankfully see from where I was precariously standing on a mountain of tissue and slimy sanitizer. She took O's temperature, turned on her heal and said casually, as she disappeared behind the curtain, "You should really get that picked up."

I felt thoroughly defeated, here I was saving my child and possibly the hospital staff from viral, bacterial and who knows what other kind of infection and she expected me to pick up the tissue? Did the Mayor of Gotham ever tell Batman to tidy up after his crime fighting victories? Was Spider man ever told that his villain fighting spidey webs were cluttering up Manhattan? 

I think not! I shoved them all into a pile under the bed, I wouldn't dare touch them with my bare hands. The doctor sauntered in, poked around waking O. working his magic, and deciding that O. had a bruised rib and kidney. Telling me that a couple of days should take care of it.

Sigh, so I bundle up little O. half asleep freezing cold, and I take my super mom self and plop O. in front of the nurses’ station because I forgot my bank card in the car. Why? Why do I need my bank card in a Canadian hospital you ask? Because I have to pay for parking, and both the bank machine and the parking ticket payer machine thingy are in the hospital. 

The nice nurse who speedily registered and triaged us when we first got there watched O. I ran to the car and back to the hospital paid for parking and led my very tired and sore little girl to the car, with no real resolution to her problem. Super Mom indeed I thought to myself. I took out the 5 gallon jug of purell and poured it over my hands and the cuffs of my sleeves and rubbed some onto O's. hands and sprayed the inside of the car with Lysol spray disinfectant, hoping to rid us of any surface germs. This was my feeble attempt after the fact, to redeem my super mom status. 

What the heck is this about anyways?

So last week I had two interviews. One with my grandmother and one with my mom. Both of them very enlightening about family and situation. I still have a lot of other family members to interview, if they will allow me too anyways. Personalities were explained through story telling and that was wonderful. So far the interviews have not led me to anything new in the genealogy department, but I do have two books that I have not finished reading that will give me some more information on how to go about my search.

These interviews did lead me to some other answers that I have been seeking. Why? Everyone wants to know why? Why do they have green eyes? Why do they have red hair? Why does Aunt Ethel always drink the cooking sherry? We all want to know why our family's are, the way they are, where does it all come from?

I have received some of the very basic answers. I realize, I am my mother, my mother is her mother, and my grandmother is her mother. I think each and every generation is a little better equipped than the one before it. Each generation doing a little bit better than the one before that. But the women of this family have not completely abolished a nasty little problem that we have had, as far as I know, going back 4 generations.

Realizing this was a little sad, I see that every woman in my family, this is my direct line I am talking about, has learned a lesson including me. I have also realized that those lessons have been learned fairly late in life. My mother didn't learn my grandmothers lesson in time to save herself completely. I did not learn my mothers lesson in time to save myself completely. The saddest realization to come out of all this is that I did not learn my lesson on time for my girls.
I am happy to say that I did learn the lesson. I am thrilled to say that life is beautiful and I am so happy. From one of my favorite songs I could say, "They will see us waving from such great heights." but I stop in my revelry and hang my head with despair. I did learn my lesson, but once again, my children are all here, they have learned my old lessons, not my new ones. I don't know where it will stop, I don't know where the cut off age is for my girls, I taught them the wrong lesson. I remember saying this to one of my children when I went through a dramatic life change. "I have made a mistake." I said, "I have taught you the wrong way to live!"

I now wonder, in sadness, will they take their own road and make their own decisions or is a life I taught them so deeply ingrained that they follow the hardest, bumpiest, longest most painful road to happiness.
I have to trust that it will work out, my girls will all be women, a few already are. I am ok, my mother is ok, and her mother is ok. All of us carry our own problems. Sometimes we let them go and sometimes we try to lay them at someone else's feet or we may even want to hide them.

Something else I learned though, is that the generations before me have passed on some traditions and lifestyles that are not so bad. One of them that I want to focus on is the Faith, our religion, I remember my Grandmother loving her faith, and my mother feeling the same, it was lovely to hear both of them talk about it, and it was lovely to feel very much a part of a line of women who did love their faith. I will take that and remember that it is one thing and as I dig there will be others.
Other fabulous wonderful things that belong to my family.

I had a nice discussion last night, Pancake, Fat or Shrove Tuesday which ever you would like to call it. We talked about it and I explained to the kids what it was all about, also explaining Mardi Gras to them and what this all meant in our religion. Tuesday nights are our family lesson night. Two of the girls take piano lessons and one of our girls takes horse riding lessons, the little guy goes to scouts. So pancakes for dinner goes over really well in my books on such a busy night. It touched something deeper though and made me do a little more research into my faith, which is one of the things on my procrastination list of things to tackle. I can say I know a little more and feel a little richer today.

Two in one day?

Wow, what on earth is going on? I have gone from skipping days to writing twice in one day. Woohoo, is it that I have become a workaholic? Quite the contrary actually. I have a million things to do and I am procrastinating. I have tucked the kiddies into bed, two of the older kiddies are watching t.v. and on a laptop. Hubby is on his computer working. I could be working, cleaning, doing laundry, or even organizing my recipes, these are all things on my to do list. I want to write though. I don't want to stop.

P. and I were talking the other day about being kids and running. We spoke about that great feeling you get when you are kid, running so fast that you think you could fly; or fall on your face. I remember it quite vividly. Running down a hillside, going faster and faster, and thinking that I wouldn't be able to stop if I wanted to, but if I  ran any faster I would fall for sure. I remember the excited shrieks coming from my mouth. I can feel my feet pounding the ground the momentum carrying me so quickly that I thought for sure I would fall head over feet at any moment. I remember falling to the ground at the bottom of the hill, in a crumpled heap of giggling me! Giggling and laughing so hard that it was hard for me to catch my breath, and harder for the people around me to tell if I was laughing or crying.

This is how it has been for me and writing the past three of four weeks. I get an idea, and I start writing, and I run with it. It happens so fast, my fingers start typing. I am thinking so quickly, and my fingers start flying. My heart starts pounding in my chest and I am going faster and faster and I wouldn't be able to stop if I wanted to, but if I type any faster I will trip over my fingers, break the concentration, loose the idea. Once I have poured it all out and taken time to edit (yes I do edit myself, it will get better) I find myself in that same giddy place, that place at the bottom of the hill as a little girl. Laughing sometimes so hard that I can't even tell if I am laughing or crying.

I wonder if this means I am crazy; I have thought about it which, I thinks makes me sane. Just like reading one of my own poems years later can give me a different feeling from when I wrote it. I don't know how reading my own work can invoke such happiness or sadness, sympathy or anything really, if I wrote it? I think what happens is  I must be really detached from the feelings in a lot of my writing. Just like when I was a little girl and detached myself from my feelings of fear, to only include excitement as I ran down a hill. I get so excited about a great thought or idea or part of a book, it all plays out in my head. How to describe it and catch the moment. It's all a part of the idea, so there is no feeling involved aside from the excitement of getting it down on paper.

Procrastination comes in many forms and is used at convenient times. I find now, it is like an old friend, it allows me to rest and build up momentum. I use procrastination to climb to the top of a hill so that I can run down it full steam ahead, laughing giggling and falling into a crumpled heap of me!

Project: Get a move on.

So my genealogy project is well underway and the huge urge I had to complete it is under control. So while I will  still be working on that project I thought I should also start looking at my list of projects and get some other stuff finished. Or at least start some other unfinished stuff. I have a lot of research to do for my novel. That will be next on my list of things to attack. This kinda combines with the genealogy project in a way.

My novel is not about my family but it is a series of different books actually, well that is how it is in my mind currently. The different books take place in different time periods and different places, so the research overlaps from one project to the other. Another project that overlaps is my self improvement. I am really eager to improve, grammar, spelling and composition. I want what I write to be really enjoyable. I want it to be easy to read for everyone.

This also overlaps into other areas of unfinished projects. I have this seminar that has been brewing in my head for years. So I have the general idea, activities and even guest speakers for the seminar. I have a lot of research done for it and most of the material put together. I think at this point the clincher of the deal is to complete my research and put it all together as a deliverable product. I have to take the plunge, git er done, as I have heard it said. I need to rely on myself and only myself to pull everything together to make it a truly productive and helpful seminar for women.

I started this blog thinking it would be funny and lighthearted. I would laugh at myself a lot and possibly make other people laugh and learn a thing or two. It has been so much more, I have spent a lot of time reflecting on my ideas and thoughts and realize that my writing is good. Not just from my mothers point of view, but actual people. I realize that what I have to say as important as I think it is, sounds much better and helps a lot more people if I just put a little time into it and research my ideas to back them up.

I flip around a lot from subject to subject and idea to idea. I am a gemini, (I use the word but place no stock in astrology at all). When it comes down to it, I am worth listening to,(I know there is a little vanity in this statement). I am happy with the procrastination blog and it's progress. I am happy with my progress. I am getting a little more organized and not in the, everything must be perfect for everyone else to see way. I am organizing my life, my priorities, my happiness. This means that although the house needs a sweep, I am going to sit with my kids after dinner and enjoy a little time with them. This means that although I would love to make 4 course gourmet meals for my family to show how much I love them, mac n' cheese is ok if it means I can help them with their homework after school.

Most of all I seem to be learning a lesson once again that I have learned many times in my life and forgotten about time and time again. That is that if I am not truly happy I can't expect others around me to be. If I want to give my family the best of me they don't deserve a tired worn out woman just getting by but able to do everything. So lately they have been getting the best of me. I don't spend all my time cleaning, I take time for myself, and I am enjoying it. Guilt is still a prevalent culprit and occasionally creeps up on me, for the most part I can chase it away, and realize I should feel guilty only if I am doing something that is not going to make me and my family happy.

So my blogging and procrastination are walking hand in hand and can coexist, thank goodness or my blog would falter quickly, and my life still goes on no matter what I put off till tomorrow.

"One of the greatest labor-saving inventions of today is tomorrow." Vincent T. Foss

Procrastinate? Moi?

Once again I procrastinate. I must say though I have not felt guilty at all. I only have so much time in a day. Things have been very very busy. I am still on the Genealogy project and really have not explored any of my other projects. It is just so addicting. I find name after name and date after date. Eventually I will be able to put it all together. I have spoken with my grandmother and I am going to go back to do the same again. I am also going to interview other members of the family. I am hoping that any bits of information will help in someway.

I am starting from the top and working my way down. You may think it is silly to interview different people within the same family. My grandmother should be enough, any information I got from anyone else, would be the same as my grandmothers since my grandmother would have told them the stories. I am quickly learning though, that different stories are told to different people, depending on the situation and the individual. I think I do it myself with my own children. We are not all together as a family all the time and sometimes a situation comes up, or one of the kids make a face, or does something to remind me of my childhood, and it provokes a story. I may have opportunity to repeat it to another one of the kids or I may not. Even if I did tell the same story to each child individually or apart, they may each interpret it in their own way and with their own meaning. I may vary my story forgetting bits or remembering bits on different occasions. This is the nature of story telling. So in light of that fact, I think the more people I speak to, the more bits and leads I will have to follow and that increases my chances of tracing things as far back as I can go.

I have been doing a lot of recording also, either vocal recordings or written recordings. I  feel a great urge to make records of our lives for our great grandchildren someday. Not every little detail, but I hope there is never anyone so embarrassed by me that they try to cover up who I am. If I do my future family the honor of being presentable as a grandmother and great grandmother then I wish to leave an easy to follow trail to all the answers of the questions I found I have about my great grandparents. Although our generations are so close together that it would probably be my great great great granddaughters time before I am forgotten (I hope).

I have no grand ideas about embellishing, elaborating or excluding details about my life. Or the lives of anyone before me. I hope that one day, of my own experience and standing, I will be interesting enough and possibly have recorded enough of my own personality, character and experience that a future generation will find me a worthwhile pastime to read about on a rainy afternoon. Or maybe even find a commonality in character, flaw or habit. I find it a comfort that I like Tunnocks tea cakes, cabbage, tea, and a whole list of other things, be it food, habits, ideas or style, that may be linked in anyway to my past. Even if those likes and habits were formed out of suggestion, due to ideas of what life may have been like, and what long dead relatives may have been like, as opposed to actual living relatives passing them on.

There are some traits that go deeper than eye color that are passed on though. This is what makes me want to find out more about my ancestry. My oldest daughters signature and that of my great grandfather, are almost identical aside from being different first names. How does this happen? My daughter had never met or viewed any of my great grandfathers writing. Where does the strength that the women in this family come from? Why do the women in this family keep making decisions, that end up causing us to need such superhuman emotional strength? These are the answers I am looking for. Our family is not perfect, has not always done well, has not always come out of whatever troubles we have gotten into, but I want to identify myself and connect to this family that is mine.

Thats it for tonight, my thoughts are yours to read.
Goodnight

Can't wait for Spring!

On Saturday January 30th, 2010. P. A. and I, headed out on a journey a road trip. We were heading to Lucan Ontario. We had traced my G.G.'s burial to St. Peter's Cemetery and this is where it was located. We didn't have an address for the cemetery. Just a lot and concession number. P. being who he is, and doing what he does, was able to find an old map from 1878 of Biddulph/Lucan township. He was able to use the old map as a guide to get us there. When we arrived in Lucan, we found that it was a small very Irish town, the picture below and to the left is the Lucan Canadian flag. It is also where the Black Donnelly's lived and died. This has nothing to do with my own quest, but it is interesting.

We found the cemetery St. Peter's. It is definately a nice spot next to a creek. Of course the church is gone now. The ground was covered with snow. Paul got out of the car and walked all through the cemetery, but G.G. has a plaque and not a headstone, so there was no way to find it. We will have to return in the spring. In the picture below to the right you can see P.'s tracks in the snow.

 I found that while I was sitting in the car watching P. walk around searching, I got quite emotional. I began thinking about my Grandmother. I have never been very close to her, and my children do not know her well. She is alive and well, she is their Great Grandmother and I feel like I am doing them (my children and my grandmother) a great disservice by not encouraging a healthier  relationship. I sat in front of the cemetery thinking to myself. This is where a woman rests, after having left behind 3 children a husband, a sister in law at the very least. Yet I don't think anyone has ever come to pay homage to her. I and a whole family of people are here because of decisions she made. Yet she slipped away without any notice.
I was stunned and shocked and it brought to light a lot of decisions I had made in my own life lately that I am not to proud of anymore. One of my biggest worries is slipping away. Having my life mean nothing, not having done anything of notice to change the world. Being at the cemetery, and realizing that my Great Grandmother was buried under the snow and soil, Ashes to Ashes and Dust to Dust. I realized that she did not, exist for nothing, her life has been noted three generations after her. Someone wants to know what she did, who she was, and what her life was like. I may not be able to get any of the answers I want, but because of her, I am looking and on a quest to find out.
As for her not contributing to this world, and I don't know of an exact count, but I believe she has 3 children, and 10 grandchildren, and approximately 20 great grand children, and approximately (could be off by as many as 10) 9 great great grand children, and 1 great great great grand child. Wow!

She obviously made her mark on the world, now she just needs some people to recognize that. Which is what I am trying to do. I have gone back and been able to find some evidence although there is not a lot. I have found records going back as far as my Great Grandmothers Great Grandmother and on the paternal side of my Grandmother I have found my Great Great Grandparents but that is as far as I have been able to go. So the journey continues. I have a few hours tucked away for tomorrow to research and if all goes well by the end of the week I hope to be able to go back to the early 1800's right now I am about in the middle of the 1800's. This picture to the left is how St. Peter's looked, this is a page from "Sure An' This is Biddulph" Lewis, Jennie Raycraft-Biddulph Township Council 1964.