Family

Four days left in my London visit. Where has the time gone? Glenn brought me here on December 22, and I'll be going home on January 2. I've had a wonderful time enjoying Christmakah festivities, relaxing and digesting all the food. I've been eating way too many holiday treats and have just put my WW regime on hold. It is too frustrating trying to work the program, when every home I visit has treats, when all the meals are rich and and festive. There are so many traditional treats that if not eaten, would make me feel too deprived. As soon as I get back home, I will go back to WW and resume my diet. Meanwhile, I'm being naughty and loving it.

We went out for brunch earlier and then to the Museum to see Maya's show. It was a really nice time that culminated with a visit for drinks with Maya's friends. Glenn was off, so it was fun having him along. I wish he could get two days off together instead of one day twice a week. It's simply impossible for him to get enough rest and take care of his personal business with such a work schedule. He is chronically tired.

We had a great week so far with Christmas eve spent at home, where Mambo and I cooked a traditional turkey dinner. The 25th had us opening gifts and then driving to Florence for Christmas dinner with Glenn's family. Boxing Day was leftovers (I love Christmas leftovers); Monday Maya and I went to eat Indonesian food, Tuesday we bought a new futon for the LR couch (my bed for the week) and put the old lumpy one outside for the trash pickup. This morning I saw the poor old discarded thing outside at the curb and felt a pang of sadness at our betrayal. Then I remembered that I slept really well last night. All pangs of sadness dissolved. We humans are fickle creatures.

The feline boys are having a ball. They play together and follow each other all over the house. My Willy has no time for me but all kinds of time for his cousins. It's like kitty camp here. Willy will be so let down when we get home. He'll sleep for three days.

Family, no matter how small, is a good thing - and we are family. Dec. 30th, 2010 at 03:27 am |

Maya's response to my Rock and a Hard Place.

I should be writing Spic and Span: a recent history of being clean, my upcoming exhibition. It's about attitude to cleanliness, hygiene and the "freeing" of a woman's time* through mechanisation that took off between 1920 and 1960. I should be all over this show. I should be having a great time writing it.

Except I can't focus on it at all.

Partly, there's an air of chaotic hilarity at work because naturally things are effing up all over when it should be a nice quiet week. Mostly it's because Glenn will be bringing my mom and her cat to stay with us for Christmas. I am distracted because I am thinking about what we'll be doing while she's here - I have all next week off - and we always have a lot of fun together.

I'm also thinking about what new ways we'll piss each other off. I don't know what's going on, but we're bickering a lot lately. It's not our fun, mutual snarking and teasing, but really unpleasant sniping. Mom accuses me of bullying her because I get mad when she lays guilt on me. She says that guilt is something I am projecting because of something lacking in me when really she's simply expressing her feelings. But this writes off my own feelings and puts the onus entirely on me, which is unfair. She also has suggested that recently, it's been like talking to teenaged-me, which is REALLY not fair, or true. If I ever become that person again, ever, please lock me up for the good of society.

Yes, I guess I'm not the most attentive daughter in the world. No, I don't comment on every blog/lj/fb post she makes. No, I don't call as often as I should. I know she's alone and I am her only daughter, but what she doesn't realise is that I'm not calling anyone, or answering every post out there. When has she asked me if I'm okay or is everything all right? She actually hasn't. I don't turn around and tell her off for it, though. We lead separate lives in separate places. It's not as she thinks, that I'm brushing her off or she's not my priority.

She is one of my priorities. One of a few priorities that pull in different directions. And yes, I feel shitty that I can't give all the attention I want to her and maybe that makes me neglectful. I think about things like living in a duplex with her, but she won't leave friends and familiarities of Peterborough, and for now (and in the forseeable future) I really can't see me moving there. I think about how to organise my future life to maximise use of our cottage so we can be there together. I think about what if something happens to her all the time. I know she doesn't want me to dwell on things like that, but I do. There you go.

Anyway, I will make a real effort not to get defensive. She'll be here for 10 days, so hopefully this will give us time to sort out whatever is getting in the way of our relationship, but I have a feeling that the "whatever" is probably me having an increasing number of grown-up responsibilities and stressors that get under my skin and take me away from the things that really matter most. Short of quitting my job, selling my stuff and moving home again, I can't really think how to stop those things from taking over my life. I nap a lot, which is an excellent form of escapism, whereas calling my mom probably makes me feel I should be telling her about the things I don't want to think about. Maybe that's why I don't call as much as I should. *sigh*

And yes, she can read this, just as I can read her blog posts wherein she writes about her concerns and hurts. Even if I have trouble expressing this stuff to my mom verbally, this is the stuff that's going on in my head, even when it seems I don't care.

Oprah's ugly secret

Oprah's ugly secret

Happy Solstice!

What a wonderful sunny day for the Solstice. This morning I went to my friend Mary's internment. There were about ten of us present at Little Lake Cemetery. Mary's niche is in the same cairn I selected for Elliot and I. In fact she is on the opposite side of the wall. The location, up on a hill under a grove of spruce trees is beautiful. The snow was glistening in the sunlight and there was no wind. A perfect Winter Solstice day.

It's almost a year since Mary's death and her husband David created a most beautiful ceremony. He spent some time researching different burial rituals and selected the elements that suited Mary's best. So we had symbols and readings from Ojiwa, Jewish, Wicca and Christian ceremonies. We all participated and then one by one, we laid pebbles in the niche. The niche was closed and it was over. It was a beautiful and dignified goodbye. We went together for lunch and then went on with our afternoon activities feeling joyful rather than sad. Mary would have approved.

My afternoon was mainly medical, getting the routine tests done before I head off to London and Christmas. Then I filled the bird feeders, topped up the bird bath, watered the plants and wrapped my last presents. Now I must pack my things and the food and I'll be ready to leave my happy home for Maya's and Glenn's happy home. Willy is still not aware that he's going anywhere but he'll have much fun with his London cousins.

Pleasing Ray.

This was a very good day. It combined many positive elements to make up a full package of good stuff. I visited Ray's studio in the afternoon to look at some of his recent paintings. He is a superb painter who's representational art reveals an extraordinary technique and a visual vocabulary that I envy. He has started painting abstract expressionist works that are much harder for me to relate to. Still, I could see the progress in his work as he evolved from fairly basic imagery to ever more complex work. The increasing complexity has resulted in some very fine paintings.

Then he came back to my place for dinner, conversation and some telly. I gave him my calendar for Christmas, that he opened immediately. Ray was always difficult to give anything to. He has little interest in most material things and no desire to collect stuff. Occasionally I've pleased him with an art book or a specific CD, but overall my gifts have left little impression. Not so this time. He loved the calendar, studying it carefully, commenting on the juxtaposition of images, layout fonts etc. He was immensely pleased. I couldn't disguise my glee at finally giving a present he liked.

We are older now, and we have mellowed since we were together before. He was very wise to move away to Deep River six years ago. That distance ended my obsession and gave him some perspective. It's such an easy relaxed friendship now that the sexual tension is gone. He is the only man I really like much more than I loved. We know all our foibles from our old relationship but we accept each other more in this new friendship. Nothing is at stake now and nobody needs to win. I like the easy way we are together and I'm grateful for our second chance. Old dogs do learn new tricks it seems.

For Barb...today, I'm ok.

Today, I'm very relieved because I had one and a half hours of good, friendly and accepting conversation with my daughter. I didn't "guilt" her once. I was a real person and we exchanged experiences and ideas without any issues arising. So nice for us both. We signed off happy and amused, looking forward to our Christmas visit together.

I'll be there from December 22 till January 2 and it will be warm, welcoming and fun!!!

I'll get to see her latest exhibition, visit with some of her friends and mine, see Glenn's group perform, putter and read. Willy will play with his cousins and they will be naughty together and we will be happy. How's that for setting expectations? Are they unrealistic? Maybe (just in case) I should climb back in from the limb and say what will be, will be.

I am having a very busy December with lots of social life, concerts, lunches and dinners. It's fun, but I'm growing tired. This week coming, I have a tea, a lunch and art exhibition in Toronto, my physio, my own group exhibition art exhibition, a concert, a hair appointment and a supper to attend. I still have some presents to wrap and deliver and the Christmas food shop to do. It's like people have suddenly realized that we are coming to the end of the year with life's loose ends to tidy up. The December social whirl is like a Dyson vacuum cleaner swirling around the room gathering up all of life's dust bunnies - necessary but could be done at any time.

My rock and hard place.

I'm caught between a rock and a hard place and it's really making me sad tonight. I had another one of those conversations with my daughter where I ended up feeling like the baddy. Again I was accused of making her feel guilty. I'm always causing her to feel guilt these days for a variety of reasons that usually start with me saying something like: I guess you haven't read my posts, or, you didn't hear my message, or, we haven't spoken lately - all true. This can be a completely non- accusatory statement of facts, but is received by an audible bristling at her end. I'm becoming so sensitive about this, that I find myself affecting a lighter tone, or worse - wishing I hadn't called at all. Today I heard myself denying that I was guilting her while wondering why she feels so guilty. I actually am apprehensive about going there for Christmas.

The rock, is my calling her (though, she has repeatedly said "you can call me too you know") because I want to hear from her. The hard place, is having my calls misinterpreted and ending in these negative feelings. All I know, is that there is something not right in this recurring dialogue. I sense I'm being driven away by being squeezed into a stereotypical mother-in-law role. Since I don't criticize, don't badger or whine, I like Glenn, and don't interfere in their lives, I resent treading on eggs around the person I birthed, raised and love.

I don't know where this is going, and I would like to improve our communication. If she were a friend, I would walk away because the friendship is not satisfying my needs at present. She is more than a friend, she is my daughter and I can't just walk away. Other women have wonderfully open and generous relationships with their grown children. I thought we had one too, so what happened and what was my role in damaging it? I can't even ask her because she will deny my perception and accuse me of guilting her again.

I do know one thing about guilt. We usually do it to ourselves when we believe we are falling short in some way. I learned in AA that I felt most guilty when I was failing the expectations of the Roman Chorus in my head. The accumulated "shoulds" of all the people I needed to please
throughout my life became my Roman Chorus. My parents were dead, so there was no clear embodiment of a source for my guilt. I'm very much alive in Maya's life so perhaps I have assumed the role of her Roman Chorus. This is not of my making but I may push her buttons unwittingly. I'll have to back off, and she will have to separate me from her Roman Chorus to set us both free to be ourselves again.

Women are very funny people.

If humour be the elixer of life, laugh on! (Apologies to Shakespeare)

Women alone, without men present, are natural comediennes. Yesterday, I had a holiday tea with a group of former colleagues from my pre - retirement days. We convened at a posh tea room in Ptb. that specializes in traditional English teas. Being close to Christmas, the rooms were filled with * ladies who lunch*, and us.

Our stories were so funny and the asides so ribald we were constantly disturbing the dignified calm with our peels of laughter. Fortunately, the owner of the tea room, The Magic Rolling Pin, is also a MNR retiree and knows all of us us well. She placed us in a room on our own where we could do less damage and then came popping in periodically to join the conversation. After two and a half hours of so much laughter, my sides hurt and I came home exhausted and happy. They say laughter is the best antidote to aging. If that is so, I just added a couple of years to my life in one afternoon.

Claire was cranky and needed her nap.

I spent Five hours(10:00 - 4:00) in a City sponsored cultural planning workshop with earnest culture vultures (arts and heritage mainly) hammering out a cultural policy for the city of Peterborough. We were in eight break-out groups of about eight per group and moved around the room to different topic tables with facilitators to guide the discussion and record the comments. A typical workshop - think tank format like ones I used to organize for the Ministry when I was working.

It sometimes is fun being old because the bright young things on the rise assume I don't know much or have forgotten what I did know. Case in point - my extensive background in marketing and communications. I usually bide my time before showing my hand. I finally exposed myself when we got to developing a *vision statement*. Many a marketing meeting founders on the dreaded vision statement. While the people in my group nit-picked their way through a morass of verbiage, I quietly pulled the key words together and wrote a draft vision statement, which I handed to the frustrated facilitator. She read it out loud and there was a collective sigh of relief because I'd nailed it. Another younger woman in my group had compiled the list of key words for me. We looked at each other, smiled and knew immediately we both had marketing backgrounds. A nice moment, I confess. Earlier in the day, after three facilitators had tried to maneuver our group discussion onto their agenda, I asked innocently, I was under the impression that this is a free flow of ideas, am I wrong?" The response was, of course it's an open discussion, so I asked why are you editing our comments? The facilitator looked like a deer in the headlights but the preempting of the process stopped. All in all it was a day of hard work by good people who really care about the cultural future of Peterborough.

There was a half hour lunch break and we were hard at it again in the afternoon. I ended the afternoon mentally exhausted and physically drained from bad air, poor acoustics, too many voices talking at once and lack of exercise. We broke for supper and were asked to return at seven p.m. for another two hours of public meeting input and discussion of our ideas. OMG, are they mad? I'm an old person. I declined the two more hours of reinventing the wheel and went home for supper and a nap. Like I said, sometimes being old has its own rewards - naps.

We have too much!

I have had a very creative few weeks. My right brain is well stimulated by the new stuff I'm making in pottery. I have made some lovely organic vessels that are both useful and sculptural. I decided that though I'm not a potter, the medium does suggest some utilitarian objective for my sculpture so I'm making sculptural vessels. It's an interesting process and I'll see where it leads me.

I have also been making an art calendar, using the Staples templates and my own art and photography. It has been very challenging because I was pushing the boundaries of the template. Eventually we arrived at a very acceptable proof and I had the job printed. I was called today to advise me that my job is ready. I'll pick the calendars up tomorrow. So everyone is getting a calendar for Christmas. It's an expensive process but once I figured how much my gift buying costs, plus the wrapping and postage etc. I decided that this was no more expensive, and a much more personal gift. I hope my friends like them.

I have also designed and written my Christmas letter this year. It complements the calendar.
It is a photo collage of friends, pets, places and good memories - 2010's high points, with the message on the back. The copy centre manager, was so taken with it, she plans to copy the idea for her Christmas letter. I've done all the shopping for the children in my life so basically I'm done. I just have to address stuff and mail it.

I wish I could say that having everything done protects me from being sucked into the Christmas consumerist vortex, but alas, it only marginally protects me. As long as I stay away from the shops, I'm safe. But when Christmas draws near, I get swept up too and buy last minute items we don't need. Maybe it will be better this year. I just need to keep repeating "I don't need anything" to myself.

We have too much.

It is satisfying to make things for people and the process has been exciting. It was particularly gratifying to hear the Staples technician say how great the calendar looked after our struggles. She was impressed and so was I. She was great, because she never urged me to compromise my concept to make it technically easier. She kept saying we'll make it work. That, dear reader, is good customer service.

I'm also pleased with my growth in computer savvy. I'm doing things now that I never dreamed possible a few short years ago. I actually love my laptop now. Since I discovered creative applications I slowly came to embracing it in my life. It truly is a most remarkable device. Yes, I am old, but not so old that I can't learn a few new tricks. My little gray cells are still working, Im glad to report.

Becoming aware is hard.

I believe that there is no amorphous majority, happy and blissfully unaware. I believe that is the propaganda that keeps the consumer economy rolling. If we are all told that everyone else is happy, we will keep buying stuff to make us happy too. Women are kept in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction with themselves for not being beautiful enough to be loved. The same applies to men and the general population who are repeatedly reminded that they are deficient, their work has no value, their beliefs don't count and democracy is a sham. So they turn off, don't try, don't vote, and don't think. Their only release comes through escapism - addiction, sports, entertainment and shopping. If everyone was feeling contented and satisfied with life, there would be no need to consume more, to compete so aggressively or, ultimately to go to war. Not good for our present social and economic order - evangelical capitalism.

Humans are like leaky vessels, the more we pour in, the more is needed. There is no end to the tragedy of wanting more because the void in our souls can never be filled. Not until we become mindful, can we get off the treadmill. That takes time (we do not have enough) and a conscious effort (too difficult in so little time). We are given choices, but we aren't always aware enough to understand what we need to do. It's so frustrating. It's so much simpler to just buy a new TV.

If some of us are different, it's only because we awakened to notice what is happening and we give voice to our fears. Once blessed/cursed with open eyes, it is impossible to close them again. Alas?!

We are all strangers at the table.

Dearest Friend,

I haven't commented on your search for love previously, because I couldn't get past the terror it strikes in my stomach. I didn't want to rain on your parade with negativity. But with your last letter, you force my hand and I can't avoid commenting.

Your hopes and expectations are so open and out there, that I am afraid for you because at seventy we are more vulnerable than ever before. I also feel jealousy and admiration for your courage to try again. I don't trust my own judgment enough to dare take on another relationship. I asked myself after my last failure, why I kept repeating the same pattern and expecting a different outcome? Surely I had enough evidence that I could recognize a disaster in the making. But no, I would sail into the new relationship because this time it would be different.

I want you to be happy. I wish for your "this time" to be the right man, the right relationship, the true love, the right time. I do keep my fingers crossed for you, knowing full well, that if it works, I will lose you. You will become one of those women with partners whose coupleness underline my singleness. As for you always being the stranger at the table, I've learned that we all are strangers. From the moment of our birth, we can't go home again. The mother- womb is gone forever, even as we surround ourselves with family, friends, activities et al to hide the loss of mother love, safety and security from ourselves.

I have always felt like the stranger at the table. Even at my own table. That's how I became an alcoholic. I wanted to belong or be blotto. Story after story in AA that begins with "I always felt like I never belonged..." and I came to understand that what I thought was my unique loneliness was really the human condition. We build communities and relationships to bridge that condition. Mostly we don't succeed escaping our solitary selves. Sometimes we do succeed.

So I wish with all my heart, that you succeed dear friend.

Love,

Claire

Thank you Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving has come and gone and my tummy is going to have to make an adjustment back to sensible eating for WW points. I began the shift back from gluttony today with an all vegetarian supper. I made a delightful ratatouille in my slow cooker using every vegetable and legume I had in the house, seasoned it with ground ginger, parsley, soy sauce and lots of garlic, and served it with mashed potatoes. This would have been the ideal return to my senses had I not eaten two helpings and had a bowl of rum and raisin ice cream for dessert. Oh it's going to be an uphill struggle returning to the program.

Kathleen returned from a weekend at her brother's in Toronto, happy but tired. She had been to the AGO and really enjoyed the three exhibitions she saw. It's really fun to have someone to talk art with again. I have missed being with someone so knowledgeable and excited. It's amazing how many works of art I have filed away in my memory. She'll mention a painting like Rueben's Slaughter of the Innocents and I can draw the visual out of my memory. My Art History education was excellent and Kathleen's Mount Allison education has given her a very good foundation. She landed in the right boarding house by sheer serendipity.

I have had a wonderful time celebrating Thanksgiving with my friends. As soon as people realized I would be alone, I received invitations to two dinners. Saturday evening I attended a French style meal that began at 6:30 with the soup course, slowly wended its way through a fish course, meat and vegetables course, salad course into a dessert course which concluded with a cheese, liqueurs and coffee course at midnight. Throughout there was intelligent, witty conversation and a variety of wines (I had Perrier). I haven't experienced such a cosmopolitan evening in years. It was reminiscent of long lingering meals I've enjoyed hosting and attending in my Montreal days.

Sunday evening found me at other friends where I enjoyed a family style traditional Thanksgiving dinner. It too was delicious and very warm with family banter and pets and people who were very comfortable in each others' company and very welcoming to an outsider. I truly felt blessed by this abundance of affection and friendship and although I missed Maya, it was only a fleeting loneliness.

This has made me rethink my sense of loss with her off leading her own life. I never expected her life to have been so cut off from me. We had always been so close, I imagined she would continue wanting to share with me. In truth, she communicates very little. We speak on the phone maybe once or occasionally twice a week. She is remarkably involved with her London life and when we speak there isn't much to say. Our principle communication tool is the Facebook update, where we can at least see superficially what we each are up to. I understand that Glenn is her confidant now, but I can't remember this kind of withdrawal ever happening with previous boyfriends. I was still part of her life then. Perhaps Glenn's distance from his parents has influenced her. I feel I've been shunted to a siding, not very useful but available in case of an emergency.

I've started behaving defensively which is not good. I make my plans and arrangements as if Maya is not in my life. That way, I reason, I won't be hurt when she overlooks me. I worry about what I should say to her so she won't think I'm "guilting" her. I'm treading on eggs and it's making me angry. I suppress the anger which builds up more defensiveness. When she does call, I'm hoping it will be fun, but waiting for the shoe to drop - what does she want from me? I have to deal with this, because it will become very unhealthy if I let it slide.

The first step is to recognize that I have a life and it's a pretty interesting one. She can choose to be interested but doesn't have to.

The second is to appreciate the friends in my life who care for me and enjoy having me around. I have to make more effort to include them.

The third is to realize that these things are true with or without Maya. I'm more than just Maya's Mom. She doesn't define me and I don't define her. She is moving on without me and so should I. When I say to her " you must do what is best for you" I should take that to heart and apply those words to my life as well. I have to decide that the first person I need to care for is me. Hard to do after a lifetime of caring for others.

These are baby steps to recovery from chronic momism, but they seem huge. I must apply them one day at a time.

Moving right along...

So great to start pottery again. I warmed up making a platter and small leaf plates instead of launching right into a sculpture. I need some time to get my hands used to working the clay. Since I'm having more arthritis in my hands, they require a little coaxing. Making some utilitarian items seems like a useful way to begin. Its been a few months since my last sculpture and my hands have declined somewhat since then. Frigging aging, it's not all parties and lunches.

I'm also on the Market Hall restoration campaign team. I found myself saying yes when I was invited to join the cabinet and I'm not sorry. We are a group a serious arts and culture go-getters in Peterborough and it's exciting to work together to complete such an important and historic project. Market Hall is a wonderful old building in the heart of this city dating back to the early 19th century. It was the brokerage house, commodities exchange and farmers market of its day. CP Rail had offices there and it was the hub of transport and the mercantile trade. It boasts a clock tower and some magnificent carved roof beams. The ground floor is shops and restaurants and the lofted second floor has been a splendidly versatile theatre space since the seventies. It was saved from the wrecking ball by some heritage-conscious citizens when private developers were building a shopping mall where the opera house of the same vintage was torn down. They were moving in on Market Hall when enough citizens said ENOUGH and brought the vandalism to a halt.

The city bought it and turned it over to an arts cooperative to create a gallery and when that failed, a theatre. Market Hall is a perfect venue for smaller, chamber orchestras, jazz and folk music, dance and experimental theatre groups. It was also falling apart, was not easily accessible for the elderly or disabled, improperly insulated etc. Last year Market Hall qualified for the incentive funding both levels of government were offering to stimulate the economy and the reconstruction began. Architects were hired, focus groups met, grants were received and we are well on our way to completion of a brand new state of the arts theatre. Now we need to raise the final three million to match the city's grant. I have complete confidence that we will do it. Peterborough is a really generous town and our campaign director is awesome. It's a positive and forward-looking project that people care about.

So between pottery/sculpture classes, physiotherapy and Market Hall I should be keeping out of trouble for a while.

Oh what strange fate is now upon me.

What follows just came in from a dear friend and I'm in a quandary as to what I should do. I have made some deft edits to keep the identities of all involved private. I'm posting it in this journal as an interesting continuance to my last post. This is the Suzanne I was writing about. This is her admission to M that she and I are no longer in touch. She intimates that the reasons for the rift are complicated and they surely must be because if she had a stroke after our breakup and never contacted me, she really didn't want me to know. I would have been the first person she would have turned to since I too had to come back from a stroke. She knows me well, and would have known I'd be down there to help her in a nano-second rift or no rift. So she chose not to tell me. What could I have possibly done to elicit such an intense anger? I sincerely hope she is making a good recovery and is getting the help she needs. At this point in time, I don't know what I can, or should do. Do I call her and risk another angry rejection? Do I just let it go, and act as if I don't know? I really am very confused not only about what I should do, but also about my emotional response. I'm coldly detached but angry as well. A part of me says she was never there for my illnesses and another part says, that's no excuse for not reaching out to her. I need to think deeply and seek some guidance. In the end it comes down to, what can I live with? That is the pressing question.

Shalom Claire:

May you be inscribed in the Book of Life for the coming year … geez that sounds pompous!

Anyways, hoping that you are happy and healthy.

I very, very,very ,very rarely do this, but I am sending you copy of an e-mail exchange between Suzanne and myself.

Best

M. S.

Hello M,

Just a quick note and an update. Your colleague wrote us about writing an article for you At that time, (middle of August) I put her on our mailing lists so that she would know what it is we actually do. In the last week or so, I spoke to her again about what schedule she might be on. But since that time, I have had second thoughts about whether or not any publicity is a good idea.

First, something I haven't mentioned. For some complicated reasons, I haven't maintained my relationship with Claire since May of 2009. Also in late June of that same year I had a stroke and almost closed down FP altogether. As it turned out, something in me continued to want to get up, go to the computer, and continue sending out the human rights "news." So I have continued to do so, but no longer raise any money or receive any kind of salary. Now I'm just doing it because I still can, and because it still needs to be done. We also continue to get emails from all over the world every month that our work is appreciated. That being said, F P is no longer an entity that can be relied on. It takes a back burner to my recovery, which is going well, but damage is still there. My left hand has an electrical energy of its own now and even a tiny email like this one is difficult to accomplish, and full, full, full of corrections. So I am thinking that it would be better not to call attention to an organization which may or may not continue, my health permitting.

That being said, this news is not common knowledge. The Board and I have agreed to just more or less restrict what is done to the mailings, and the mailings continue to give me strength and purpose. Sorry I took so long to let you know, and hope you will understand. Getting old is turning out to be no joke. Also, a big thank-you for your help at the beginning when we were just getting ready to fly. Your critical analyses of certain papers at that time were very helpful, and gave me the courage to get up and go. I remain and will remain quite grateful.

Best wishes and hopes that all is well with you,

Suzanne

Friendship. Can we ever get it right?

I had another interrupted conversation with Julie today. It can't be a coincidence that Jerzy always needs to go out or do something just when I call, and Julie has to lie down. She was so glad to talk to me, and we were having a sensible conversation when she said, "I'm tired and must lie down". I said ok, but then she kept on talking, sounding not at all tired. We talked for another while, when suddenly she said, "Jerzy needs to go out and I have to go now". Out of the blue, the conversation was over.

In thinking about this later, I suspect that he must have wandered off the first time so Julie got an extension on her talk time. Then he came back and the conversation was over. She mentioned that he had been hovering around and showing impatience. Things are not so good at their house. Julie seems to be more and more isolated. I think I'll go for a short visit next week. I won't sleep over but just go for the day. This is worrisome but there is not much I can do. So I'll prepare myself for another unpleasant encounter with Jerzy and hope I can make Julie happy.

Friendship comes with a price and sometimes its a high one. Some part of the self has to be given over to the needs of the other. This works well as long as the benefits one derives are equal to the personal sacrifice. It's when the benefits decrease and the sacrifices are disproportionately uncomfortable that the friendship is tested. Sometimes it is memories of better times or gratitude for past gifts that sustain the friendship. If those feelings are strong enough loyalty sustains an imbalanced friendship. Such is the case with Julie. But, apparently that is not the case with Suzanne.

The situation with Suzanne is more ambiguous and in retrospect was never really equal. We had done a lot to help each other over some difficult years but with a lot of self-interest being the driver. Suzanne, I always suspected, saw herself as superior - more talented, more inspired, and emotionally stronger. I had more advantages with jobs, money, life skills etc. but Suzanne never really respected those things. My advantages were useful, but not the right stuff. I'm only guessing now, because I can't really get a good read on her. Her struggles, her stresses, and her achievements were important. Mine somehow, not so much. I recognize now that Suzanne was the center of our friendship. As long as all eyes were on her things went well. For all her pride, her misfortunes were always front and center.

Even way back she could be treacherous. We sometimes worked together in the cutting room - she as editor and I as assistant editor or as production manager on her clients' projects. Sometimes the pay was bad and the hours worse but the film was something we believed in. Credits were often the most important motivation. Twice Suzanne removed my name from the credits to save the client title fees. In one case the producer cut me because I had rejected his advances. She didn't know his real reason because she never consulted me. So I always kept her far away from my clients because she couldn't be trusted not to undermine me. That should have been a clue. Just call me clueless.

Over all the years, she never hesitated to call me to discuss her situation. It didn't matter what I was experiencing, if she needed my help or advice, she called me. I can remember many many times when the conversation never included a 'how are you Claire'. Mostly it was all about her.
To be fair, she did help when Elliot died. She secured the funeral home and arranged for his cremaines to be sent to Toronto. When Alfred died, she helped me clean his apartment, and she made his cemetery arrangements on my behalf. The help she gave Don after Alfred's death was admirable, but I will always feel she had a personal agenda. She deliberately tried to violate my memory of Alfred. She had gone through all his personal letters and stuff and would insinuate that she knew stuff that tarnished his memory. I found it very unpleasant and told her that I didn't want to hear those revelations. It was none of her business how Alfred lived and how we felt about each other.

Don was greatly impressed with her and because he is blind, he relied on her help. It was kind of her, but I suspect he was the agenda. She now has Don's undying gratitude and when he can no longer function I'll bet she will run his affairs. Everyone is useful to Suzanne and if they are not, she won't linger with them long. Suzanne is a fascinating woman, strong, unyielding and unable to compromise. She severs relationships rather than seek the compromise and she severed ours abruptly, when I was ill, and without explanation. Apparently, a 39 year friendship didn't merit the respect of an explanation in the end.

Did it hurt? You bet it did. In retrospect I realize that I don't miss her even a little. I don't miss her narcissism and insensitivity at all. Maya always said that she didn't like Suzanne and felt that Suzanne was a control freak. Maya particularly disliked the imbalance in our relationship and called her an emotional taker. Maya is perceptive, and I think she may be right.

Suzanne prides herself on her ethics but it really is her blind spot. Every time M. a mutual friend, sends me greetings via Suzanne, she never tells him that she is no longer in contact with me. She lets him believe that I'm still on the board of the NGO she runs. She needs him. He is a respected adviser that I brought to the organization. He only learned of the schism while visiting me. That he was allowed to assume I was still involved, really disturbed him. How ethical is that, I'm wondering.

I guess what I'm grappling with is the tenuous nature of friendship. Even at seventy, I still can't seem to figure it out. We are social beings and need each other, but betray and damage each other ad infinitum. We bring to others the sum total of our experiences wrapped up in various defenses and strategies and agendas. Some of us have been badly battered along life's path and yet we still try to connect with others. It's a bloody miracle that we connect at all and even more so when we are able to sustain a friendship. I guess we keep trying because we hope that this time we'll get it right.

Today is Yom Kippur...

and I'm fasting. The Day of Atonement is the most important day in the Jewish year - a day for self-sacrifice, contemplation and renewal. We make amends to others and to God and particularly to ourselves for our shortcomings, misdeeds and our spiritual weakness. Indeed, it is a day of perfecting ourselves and forgiveness much like working the Fourth and Fifth Steps in AA. I'm completely at home in these steps.

In the past few years, I was not well enough to fast, but this year I am, and I'm doing so with gratitude. I have much to be grateful for. My life is good and my spirits are high. I have a beautiful home, and a wonderful garden that I enjoy. Although I'm not rich, I have enough money to live in modest comfort and I have good friends to share my comforts with. My daughter, Maya, is doing well in her life with a very fine career and outstanding academic achievements. She has found love and stability with a kind and decent young man and they are both really fine and good human beings.

My great joy in life has always been my cottage, and it continues to provide retreat and happiness. I am grateful as well for my ability to still do meaningful work, provide assistance to the arts and cultural community and for rediscovering my creative muse. I'm painting and sculpting again and had my first exhibition in forty years. I'm aiming for another in a year or two.

There are so many pleasures and interests that keep me going - my love of nature and wildlife never deserts me. My latest cat, Willy brings me love and laughter daily and I have hope and anticipations for another spring. My gardener's optimism always keeps me planning for the future and I'm grateful for it.

There are things I could do better and lost opportunities I wish I could recover. I will never stop wondering what my role was in Suzanne's abrupt severing of our long friendship. I could have tried harder to discover why, but wasn't I perhaps relieved to be quit of her? Couldn't I be less self-indulgent and live with fewer things? Wouldn't this beloved planet of ours be in better shape if we all lived more simply and I should set a better example in my own life. I have too much stuff. I could also try harder to see Julie more. I used to see her once a month and now it has slipped away to once quarterly. Or is my absence justified as a form of self preservation? It's not just Jerzy's nastiness that keeps me away, it's also Julie. I can't bear watching her decline. She, whom I love above all friends, is slipping away. Conversations with her are now becoming frustrating. I suspect I'm being cowardly. When I confront her growing confusion, I confront my own fears. I must try harder because she derives so much pleasure from seeing me. So continues my contemplation and now I must decide to try to make some changes.

Soon it will be sundown and I can eat again. Let us hope that as my hunger is satisfied, I will also sustain my self-awareness and my gratitude.

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can, and
the wisdom to know the difference.

My bitter sweet day.

On June 13, I wrote about the disappointments of old age, particularly when it comes to relationships with men. I don't mean romantic relationships so much as warm and reciprocal friendships. I shared my thoughts and feelings about being invisible at precisely that time in life when we are most interesting. Joking about it and accepting the reality doesn't make my invisibility any less painful. So just imagine how wonderful it was to be able to talk about my family history, and tell some of the stories that made the Hogenkamps special. To be interviewed for a documentary film about a seminal period in our lives, was exhilarating and very validating. For three hours yesterday, I was not invisible and I was able to share some important details about life under the Nazi occupation of Holland. Thank you Lloyd Walton for being so interested, and inviting my recollections into your film. Thank you for making this film about Holland and the Canadians. Being part of it made me feel very proud of my Dutch heritage and my Canadian heritage. I have the best of both worlds.

Yesterday I also had a reminder of just how unimportant my friendship is to others. In my June 13 post, I discussed the amazing rediscovery of my very first boyfriend all these years later. He found me at a difficult time in his life. His wife was dying of Cancer, and he was dealing with that and ultimately, her death. Finding me must have provided a needed distraction from the pain and loss he was feeling. We corresponded regularly and I tried to help him deal with his different stages of grief. He approached me, and I welcomed him back into my life with no expectations except friendship. After all, we had both survived some serious personal struggles.

He came to see me and we visited together, pleased in each other's company after so long. We exchanged a few more emails and he just drifted away. I made the effort to keep the dialogue going, but eventually decided that I had served my purpose. I had provided a fantasy briefly, that bridged his transition from being a couple to living alone, and now he's moved on.

Yesterday I received a curt change of address notification with no comment or greeting. He has moved his life to Cornwall, Ontario without a bye or leave. It was insulting really.

I know I shouldn't be resentful, but I'm definitely hurt. He decided that my friendship wasn't worth his effort, and in his moving on, I wasn't worth more than a change of address notice. I wouldn't have done that to him if the situation was reversed. I really valued his return to my life and believed he held me in similar esteem. It appears that I was mistaken, and sadly, that will be his loss.

In one day I experienced the Yin and Yang of being human, being old and being a woman.

The Film Interview

Yesterday was a very good day. Some time ago in the spring, I ran into an old colleague at a retirement party. He is now retired and has a film company. He told me that he had been commissioned by the Canadian Veterans Association to do a documentary about the liberation of Holland in 1945. The film was to capture the memories of that time before the remaining vets passed away. He had been in Holland on the 65th Anniversary of the liberation and was overwhelmed by the reception given to the Canadians. I suggested that he focus on the Dutch survivors as well, particularly members of the Resistance. They were a big help to the Canadians and they too are disappearing, taking their stories with them. Well, amazingly, he acted on that and has talked to a number of Dutch Canadians about their memories. He had interviewed a number of Dutch people while in Holland but needed material to weave it all into a coherent whole. He asked if I would share my family history and yesterday was interview day.

He arrived and set up at 1:00 for what he thought would be a one or two hour shoot. It turned into a three hour shoot and we could have continued longer. Fortunately, I had in recent times started writing some of it down in this blog, so it was fairly fresh in my mind. Apparently, during the interview I was so animated and articulate, as well as emotional in my telling of the stories, he couldn't stop filming. He also shot some still photos from the family album as well as war stills from footage in Dutch books I have. He went away with a feast of information that filled all the gaps in his film - a veritable documentarian's dream. He said everything I talked about supported other stories and he now had the bridging material for the film. The Dutch perspective merged with the Canadian perspective. From this vantage point in time, that's the ideal way to tell the story.

It was a wonderful experience. Just knowing that someone will be able to see this film and know something of my amazing family, gives me huge pleasure. Usually, I am concerned about my image on camera - is my hair and makeup just so, am I sitting straight etc. Not this time. I couldn't have cared less. This film is not about me. I'm just a conduit to a much bigger story - may parents and their generation.

Most of it will end up in out-takes I'm sure, but I can hope.

It's Rosh Hashanah already?

It has been a while since I communed with my blog. I seem to be in a state of extreme business without actually doing anything substantive, just picking up the pieces of a fall schedule.

I've rejoined my pottery class to resume sculpting. I can sculpt without joining a class of course, but I need access to a kiln and the wise experience of my teacher Karen. She knows a lot of stuff about clay, firing, glazes et al that I need to explore. I was so happy with the leaf platter that I made I want to try making a few more plates in natural forms.

I have also agreed to be on the Market Hall fund raising cabinet. I know I said that I had enough committee work to last a lifetime, but this is such a worthy cause and I believe I can be helpful. I have some PSO experience to share and some good contacts that would support this venture. A new, intimate and state of the art performance venue with an adventurous mandate is badly needed in Peterborough. It's in my area of interest so I'll feel a greater commitment than I did on the Dragon Boat Festival committee. Of course I care about finding a cancer cure, but others care more deeply than me. I was right to resign.

I'm also trying new ventures like taking the bus tour to the ROM to see the Terracotta Army exhibit with Trudy. We won't need to drive and we'll enjoy a day away from the norm. Oh my God I'm a senior. I'm taking bus tours for seniors, so I must be one. Has it come to that already?

On the other hand, I completed six paintings while at the cottage, of my beloved landscape but working in a new medium. After my exhibition, it became clear to me that I had to push myself out of my comfort zone. I needed to lose some control and experiment more so I switched to painting with acrylics. I bought bigger boards, larger brushes and $235. worth of paints. I had hoped to become more abstract as well but that didn't come. Instead I did some very vibrant and interesting landscapes after an initial struggle to learn the medium. I came home pleased.

Today I did my first ever painting of my garden. Now that was definitely outside my comfort zone. I missed the openess of the lake and the reflections. I also missed the expanses of rock. The back garden is so enclosed and canopied by large leafy trees it feels like painting the inside of a large box. I don't know how I like the painting yet. I need to do a few more to put this painting in perspective. I may be working outside my comfort zone, but I'm clearly painting inside the box.

I'm ready to start my physio again tomorrow. I've become lazy since I came back from the cottage. I was much more active there. Although I only swam a few times, I did much more walking and climbing. It was healthy and enjoyable. Jane is such a great travel companion. She understands country life and quickly falls into a routine. We got along so well. Most interesting was watching her interest in photography mature. She explores a subject and does a whole series of shots as she gets to know it. I was fascinated by her patience with wildlife, the hummingbird in particular. It became very clear that her talent was handicapped by the limitations of her camera. I suggested she ask for a new camera at Christmas. She needs a better macro lens.

The best part of our cottage stay was visiting with friends. We had our annual picnic at Lac Nicholas with Jean and Michael Reeves, the entire family Nicholas and two dogs. Lots of food and good conversation was had by all. We were there from 1:00 till 5:30, a long time for the two Jeans now in their eighties. Then we went off to the Gatineau to spend a day at Barbara's place. Again, we had a wonderful visit and met Barb's beloved Kenya - a friendly hulk of a dog.

Joan Roberts and her friend Susan joined us at my place for another swell day. Joan is also in her eighties and is delightfully sharp and active. She loves to swim and we went in together floating around on the water talking and laughing. I put in my ear plugs and Joan took out her hearing aid and we proceeded to shout at each other. So funny.

Elizabeth my dear friend from New York days also visited and shared her experiences from coping with her sister's stroke and dementia, to moving her into a nursing home. Elizabeth endured all the responsibility for the house and her sister, only to discover that her sister had drawn up papers giving the bank dual power of attorney. So Elizabeth can't make any decisions on Claire's behalf or about the house without asking the bank's permission. She broke down and wept while telling me the story. It was such a huge betrayal to Elizabeth that after all these years of caring for her sister and sharing her home, in the end she was not trusted to act on her behalf. Her sister's final act, was to treat Elizabeth like an irresponsible child. My heart was aching for her.

Finally, once I came home there was the celebration of Maya's 33rd birthday. She and my "other daughter" Tracy celebrated together at the Waugh cottage on Rice Lake, complete with Tracy's two babies, her parents Bruce and Nicki, Maya's Glenn and me. It was fun and warm and familial with much baby bouncing and reminiscing. Good fun and a first for me, Maya and Glenn went home to London and I came home to Peterborough alone. I was ok with it and kind of treasured being on my own. My new student Kathleen moved in the next day and life goes on.

Happy New Year - Shanah Tovah to everyone.

Best friends for 21 years, celebrating joint Birthday

Another Adventure

It is the first day of September and feels like a heat wave in early August. It looks like early September though. It's the sun you see. It sits much lower in the sky. I'm very sensitive to light and it's effect on colour. The shadows are lengthening, the shade seems deeper and the sun's rays cast a golden glow over everything. I love it so much. With the shortening days comes die back in the garden - much less cultivating and more cutting down happens now. I don't love that. It makes me sad.

Just like my garden points to a new cycle of life, so does the arrival of a new student for the coming academic year. She has just moved in today all shy and polite, anxious to make a good impression. Her name is Kathleen from Nova Scotia. She arrived with her mother and they both have auburn hair. A red- headed Kathleen - how suitable. It's early days but I hope we will adjust to each other effortlessly.

In case you're wondering why I put myself through these changes every year (five now) let me be clear, it's not for the money. There is not enough involved to make much of a difference to my economic status. I like having a young woman living with me. I enjoy the youthful energy, the new interests and the company. It makes the long winter go faster and takes me out of myself.
I enjoy her field of studies (Museum Management) and it's a way of supporting the program.
Willy enjoys having another person to pester and play with. It's all good really. Some students I've liked better than others, but I've disliked none.

So here goes, another adventure is about to begin.

My Facebook Rant

It's time decent people of all faiths (including Atheists) started to fight back against the real enemy Extremism and stop sniping at each other. Muslim, Judeo-Christian, Buddhist, Wicca et al embrace fundamental human values of tolerance, love, respect, honesty, and reverence for life. Let's give the KKKristian, Islamist, Zionist and Atheist ultra right some serious push back. The commercial media is having a feeding frenzy on extremist fear mongering and name calling. Decency and respect, don's sell ads and air time. It's time to rethink our responses to negative sensationalism. Make your purchasing power, your communication skills and your voice count. It's just not cool to remain silent any longer.

See More

Anti-Bullying Is So Gay | CommonDreams.org

www.commondreams.org

The right-wing Christian ministry Focus on the Family is protesting anti-bullying efforts in Colorado schools and elsewhere as sly attempts to suppress Christians and foster "the gay agenda..."

Why Stephen Harper Will Continue to Attack the Arts

Why Stephen Harper Will Continue to Attack the Arts

I'm sorry folks. I don't usually become political in Paws Awhile, but this is very important to me, to my country and to the future of political debate in Canada. The idea that the Conservatives are planning a deliberate attack on Arts and Culture to stimulate a visceral public reaction, thereby dumbing down real discussion, never occurred to me before. I'm simply not Machiavellian enough.

The idea that Sun Media could be attempting a Fox News North coup for communications in this country, is a terrifying prospect. Tea Party politics is not the Canadian way, but Harper's conservatives seem to be orchestrating a move in that direction. By positioning support for the Arts as encouraging terrorism because vital funding will be directed away from national security a deliberate lie is being perpetrated. It's like saying growing spinach will undermine nuclear energy, hence all our resources should go to nuclear energy for continued security. We can't live without the nutrients in spinach, nor can our country thrive without the nutrients our Arts and culture provide. But throwing that concept out there stirs up a lot of emotional energy that distracts people from the key issues of education, health, welfare, economic growth, environmental protections and democratic responsibility. Concerns not high on the Harper agenda.

Right wing extremism has always tried to shut down the Arts throughout history, not because artists, writers, filmmakers, musicians et al are threatening, but because their ideas, questioning, dialogue, and open communications are. The attached article prepares us to be vigilant in defence of a vibrant democracy for Canada. Lets give Harper's agenda, Sun Media and Tea Party values a wide berth and a resounding defeat at the polls and on the airwaves.

The Dog Days of Summer at the Cottage

I'm getting myself organized to leave for the cottage on Monday. I always go through an "I don't want to leave" phase. I really like my garden and home in Ptb. I don't need to get away from the city stress. My place in Ptb is not at all stressful. In fact, it's just like the country here. Once I get to the cottage, I need about two days to acclimatize to the quiet and new surroundings before I start wondering why I don't live there all the time. By the time I need to return, I'm very sad about leaving the lake and my life there.

This scenario repeats year after year and has done so for 42 years. In the last ten years, there have been many upgrades to make my life easier. I was really good at living simply in very rustic surroundings but I've had more challenges since my stroke. Things have been added like outdoor lighting, raised and leveled paths outdoors and new flooring indoors plus a new sink, a shower, a microwave all to facilitate my mobility, make things easier, and improve safety. I'm very glad I can still get there to enjoy the wildness of it all.

I hope everything goes smoothly and I don't end up with a broken foot, poison ivy, hives and the myriad small problems that have afflicted me in past years. Willy is going with me and I hope that all his adventures will be positive ones. Once we come back the summer will be pretty much a wrap. The birds will be flocking to prepare for migration and the garden will be tired, overgrown, and blousey, my most unfavourite time in the garden.

I bought new paints, brushes and big sheets of water colour paper. I'm going to try something new this year to break away from the tight control of my usual medium. There is no internet so I'll see you all at the end of August when I get back. Be well and take good care of yourselves while I'm away.

From Herons to Poutine - It's Home

Maya is back in the city after almost two weeks at the cottage. Or as we say in Quebec, the camp. She went with Glenn and the three boys (cats) and I'm told a good time was had by all.

It is a very basic camp on a private, small lake with only one other camp around the point and out of sight. I have owned it since 1968 and prior to that I lived on a farm 15 minutes away. It is a very unique place and completely irreplaceable in this day and age. We are close to all amenities but so secluded that it seems like wilderness.

Over the last 42 years, very little has changed because we fall between the tourist and cottage areas of Montebello and Lachute. The people here are real, they come from generations of farmers and loggers. We are also protected from the outside world because our lake is one of a chain of private lakes up our mountain road. Each landowner on the four lakes shares the same wish, privacy and very minimal disturbance of the natural order. Hence we still hear wolves in the fall, Whippoorwills in the spring, loons and owls all summer, and otters, beaver and muskrats share our water. Deer and Moose wander our woods and there are signs of bear. It has become clear to me over the years, that private ownership, leaving a small environmental footprint, is a superior way of protecting nature, than governments. Governments change and so too their commitment to protection and heritage. Whereas, we are families that pass our values on with the land, to succeeding generations.

Maya is my succeeding generation. She has such a close connection to the land the cottage that I really think it would be very sad if she couldn't make more use of the place. But she needs to be there to discover what she is missing. The longer we remain away the more tenuous the connection becomes. We forget the people and places that matter the most, and we forget our roots.

That is both a blessing and a tragedy for the human race. The blessing of forgetting accounts for our adaptability and survival. We can adapt to almost anything. The tragedy of forgetting is the loss of our heritage and our centre. Throughout the ages we have learned that we forget our heritage at our peril. We loose touch with our values because we have lost or destroyed what is essential to a sustainable environment. Then we have no choice but to adapt to a "brave new world". The end result is something like the Gulf Oil Spill or Bhopal, or the Exxon Valdez - environmental risk-taking and banditry and ultimately the destruction of our planet. No other species fouls its own nest as we do.

I hung on to the cottage, through good times and bad (it wasn't always easy), to ensure that we never loose sight of ourselves. I deliberately kept it basic because living simply, without the distractions of "modern" society, not only is cheaper, but teaches us to enjoy what is. Making do with our own intellect and skills has built confidence and restored harmony in us both. Living within the rhythms of nature has nurtured our deep respect for nature. It has kept me in balance from a sometimes crazy life in Montreal to New York, and Toronto to Peterborough. It always reminded me that there was more to life than career, money and blind ambition. I learned I could do great things in sincere and simple ways. It kept me spiritually honest.

This little space in the universe is my legacy and it's my deepest wish that Maya can continue to derive sustenance from our rare and precious cottage.

I may be wrong, but please hear me out.

It came up again in conversation with my daughter. It was about where she could go to graduate school and each time it arises I stiffen and a cold hand squeezes my heart. Today the challenge was, "you seem to want me to stay within a 200 mile radius until you die". I replied, that it would be nice and heard back "that's rather limiting don't you think?" The subject was dropped.
What was unspoken was "you could live for twenty more years."

What is wrong with me? Why does the idea of her going far away scare me so? I gave her the wings to fly and encouraged her to use them. She was encouraged to go to Manitoba and to the Yukon. I'm quite disgusted with myself. What has changed? Is aging the culprit?

I'm 70 now and a PhD is a four year commitment. I'll be 75 by the time she completes it. What is my expectation for a quality life at 75? Possibly good, but realistically, not so much. I'm on life's downward slope and can't slow the decent. Maya is all I've got in this world and everything I've built and created and saved will pass to her. I have carried the ball all these years to give her a leg up in this world. I have put her first for so long, that I feel selfish when I worry about myself. I look for some sign that she gets it but how can she understand?

Maya is adamant about keeping the cottage but has not assumed much of the physical and financial burden. I'm running out of steam and cannot reasonably be expected to carry the load while she is away for another five years. It's my dearest wish to pass the cottage on to her because if we let it go, she will never find such a place again. It is irreplaceable.

Glenn is now a factor in her decisions and that is as it should be. What I keep hoping for, is the compromise that also includes me. I have an absolute dread of becoming ill and not having an advocate nearby that will fight for me and take care of my best interests. It's not the dying I fear, but dying alone because she is too far away to make it back in time. I'm afraid of ending up in a nursing home without visitors, and in my most negative moments I can see myself on the floor of my house for days before anyone notices I'm missing. Those are the darkest thoughts that grab hold of me when Maya talks about going away to Edmonton or Halifax or England.

I work at staying well and keeping involved and engaged in life, because I refuse to become a burden. I'm usually a positive person and I've tried hard to keep her free her from guilt, but now I need her to know my concerns. I want to be considered in her decisions and I need my reality acknowledged. She has to know that the choices she makes affect others, and face her decisions with mature awareness.

We need to sit down and talk about this without reservation or defensiveness. I need to trust her and she needs to make decisions today that she can live with tomorrow. There are no easy choices in an adult's life.

Friends but hold the tissues.

One of my favourite reads at night is Oma's blog Gone to the Dogs (link below). This is by a very good friend from long ago when we were in high school. Our lives took very different twists and turns causing a long separation. We would hear snatches of news about each other from a mutual friend Pat.

Pat was very keen to get Barb (Oma) and I back in touch but I was very resistant to the idea. So much time had passed and I had very little nostalgia for my high school days, I was sure revisiting Barb would be a mistake. Pat didn't push. The reunion probably wouldn't have happened had Pat not become gravely ill with cancer last year. Barb and I decided independently to go to England to see our friend. Our visits overlapped and within two days we knew that we couldn't lose touch again. We believed that Pat was dying and went to her. We talked and talked and remembered why we had liked each other back all those years.

Barbara the girl was extremely pretty, petite and vivacious. She was everything I wanted to be but wasn't. I was tall (1950s not so good for tall women), extremely slim, and not at all vivacious. I was not unattractive, but unable to see that. I had good legs that reached up forever and was blessed with a quirky sense of humour. Boys liked me, but they loved Barb. I wasn't jealous exactly, I felt gangly beside her.

She was very bright and shared my passion for horses. We used to hitch hike to Oka from Pte. Claire to ride at a stable there. Then we would hitch a ride back home again. I told my parents that Barb's father drove us because I was forbidden to hitch hike. I suspect she told her father a similar lie. It was a different era and hitching rides was relatively safe then.

Our friendship was not terribly deep. We were not confidants. She lived with her father and Oma which was different. Most families had two parents. I had no idea that she was unhappy at home or that her past was touched by loss and sadness. She had no concept of the problems in my home, my mom's bipolar disorder was peaking then. We sought each other out for distraction from our problems, not to talk about them. We saved our deeper thoughts and discussions for Pat and another mutual friend Peter. They kept our secrets so Barb and I never knew about each other. In our final year at John Rennie High, Barb dropped out and to my utter amazement married someone who wasn't in our school. I heard she was pregnant but because stuff was pretty intense in my home I let go of the friendship.

Then I went to university, Pat went to teachers' college and we met and married our respective husbands. Pat stayed in touch with Barb and so did Peter but my life was completely out of Pte. Claire by then. My father died in my last year at school, followed by my mother and Peter all within 22 months. It was a terrible time of loss. Pat moved to England so there really was nobody to connect me to Barbara.

Forty years passed filled with divorce, relocation to New York, remarriage a baby and another world. I wasn't even close to Pat then because when I visited her and Tom in London, after my mother's death, Tom made moves on me. When I rejected him he fomented unpleasantness between Pat and me to get even. I left believing it was over, but with time our friendship revived. We had shed our husbands but resumed our bond. That was when Pat occasionally mentioned Barb.

I learned that she too had been through a lot, had gone back to school with two children and was doing interesting work in the Third World. It is extraordinary that we three friends all ended up single mothers raising our children with lots of imagination and limited means. What strong women we were and what survivors. So finally Barb and I met again and Pat was the catalyst. I'm delighted to report that Pat did not die and has completed treatment. Though not in remission quite yet, she is feeling much better. Barb is still interesting, doing folk art and teaching. I'm going to visit her in August and looking forward to it. As for me, you can follow my life here, on Facebook and Live Journal.

This would make a great Chick Flick possibly starring Bette Midler, Cher and Diane Keaton. It's good for at least two boxes of tissues once Hollywood gets through with it.

Letter to Barb about Bimbos

Hi again,

Your description of Micheline is priceless. Change the names and put it in your blog. If you're afraid people will recognize them, publish for friends only. I laughed and laughed. Oh do I know the scenario well. So many intelligent male friends have gone down the bimbo road. It's inexplicable isn't it? It's some tawdry wish fulfillment like driving a BMW sports car, and taking up sky diving. Somehow, this enactment of the youthful cliche makes men feel they have still got "it". Go figure.

I had a three year affair with a man who had married a beautician. I was the other woman he escaped to when he wanted some class and a mind with his body. So bizarre. More recently, my first boyfriend hunted me up while his wife was dying of cancer. He apparently needed the fantasy of me (his first love) to keep him strong during that long protracted and fearful illness. I listened, provided strength, accepted the ups and downs of his mood swings and understood his fear of losing her. Our emails were daily.

He came to visit after his wife died, and was received by the 69 year old Claire. The real, today me was his age and far removed from his memory of the 15 year old he drew strength from and once loved. It is now a year later, and I rarely hear from him as he is moving on with his life. He lives an hour and a half away, but when, for a whole month, he couldn't make it to my exhibition, I knew that he was not really interested in knowing me. It's sad, because we were such good friends as kids and some potential existed to be good friends again. He is probably out there searching for his Micheline as we speak.

I've noticed something else lately. Men are not very interested in what I might have to say. When I was a young and foxy woman, I attracted men like flies. At cocktail parties they would gather around me but talk to each other. If I mistakenly injected my ideas or observations into the conversation their eyes would glaze over. It took a long time for me to realize that my role was to stand there and admire their ideas, not have my own. In middle age, as a career woman, I was listened to but generally viewed as a threat and ball-breaker when I had ideas before my male colleagues. Now finally, I'm no longer eye candy nor am I a threat. I'm an old woman who doesn't even know enough to be sweet. So generally, the men's eyes glaze over again when I speak. Only the young men find me interesting or knowledgeable.

No wonder I don't generally like men in my peer group. All my life, they never let me be me. Besides, they are truly unattractive. I think cougars are women's revenge for all the bimbo Michelines we've had to endure.

I hope that we both continue to accept the things we cannot change.

Thanks for the laugh.

Your friend.

A bit crazy, maybe?

Early June brings a complete colour change in my garden. The palette has moved from pastel to primary colour. It starts with the poppies. They raise the crimson flag. In about a week's time all the early Bee-balm is blooming with intense red and interspersed with the yellows - Potentilla, day lillies and yarrow are getting ready to burst forth in a sunny blaze. I finally got it right and have the succession of blooming times happening.

Gardening is like painting but a whole lot slower. When you get it wrong you have to wait a year to see if you fixed it. That is the challenge. Gardeners are life's greatest optimists. We keep trying and believing that things will work out next time. That means we believe time is on our side, the weather will cooperate, the insect and animal world will be in check and the balance between our efforts and nature's forces will be in harmony etc. It rarely happens that way but when it fails we step back, survey the mess and say "I'll move this, transplant that, and add something new, so that next year it will be perfect. There is no "perfect" but we choose not to recognize that.

Gardeners are indeed optimists or just maybe a bit crazy!?

Oriental Royalty - Their Perfect Moment

I took photos yesterday before it rained. Poppies are perfect for such a short time, I was afraid the rain would batter them. So here are some of my beauties. Few flowers are as dazzling as Oriental Poppies. In a certain light they glow like stained glass. They come up early each summer, demand little and offer me about a week of breathtaking beauty. Then they drop their soft red petals and all that is left is a dark brown seed pod sticking out of a mass of hairy leaves. Later the leaves brown and become quite unattractive taking up space. I never move them (they hate to be moved) but attempt to disguise the unsightly bunches of leaves with a foreground of annuals. I must respect these exotic queens of my garden because they honour me with their brief show of perfection.

The garden and other summer favourites like bird watching and art puttering take up so much of my time. Forgive my entry deficit. More will come later.

Thank you, Mom!

From left to right: Front - Me and my little cousin Julie Balharrie. Middle - Great-grandmother Gilchrist; Grandfather, James Balharrie; my mom, Florence (Balharrie) Hogenkamp. Rear - my dad, Jan Hogenkamp; Grandmother Florence (Flossie) Balharrie; Uncle Watson Balharrie.

Writing recently about my mother, has put me in a reflective mood about Mothers' Day. Most years I've thought so little about it. I always considered it a contrived celebration to strengthen the card, restaurant, flower, candy and gift industries. Of course when Maya was growing up we made a big deal of it because she would make me cards and gifts and write me poems, created as school projects, and encouraged by desperate teachers. She was very creative and enjoyed these special assignments greatly.

When she grew a bit older she made me coffee and served breakfast in bed. One year she put a big homemade signin the garden below my window so I could see "Happy Mother's Day. I love you Mom" when I raised my blind. She was infinitely imaginative and each year was a surprise. Oh how I loved Mothers' Day then.

Later, it started to lose its fun appeal and became more of a cultural ritual. Maya left home, went to university, then away far but she always called or sent a card. Yesterday was the same, she called, we talked and it was nice. The real fun this year was in receiving all the greetings from other Moms out there. We all seemed to feel the need to congratulate one another and through the magic of email we did. My other daughter Tracy sent me greetings and a sweet photo of her family.

I reflect on all the years I never could wish my mother Happy anything and I understand my own ambivalence. Still, Mothers' Day was not important when I was growing up. I think my Dad and I would give her flowers but that could have been for some other occasion because I don't really remember. At any rate, let me say it now Florence Balharrie, my Mom: It was you who taught me dignity, and it was you that passed on your values, your dislike of pretension, and love of reading and the arts. Proper deportment for every occasion may seem irrelevant today, but knowing how to behave smooths a lot of rough water and provides confidence. You taught me how to recognize quality and avoid kitch and eschew the superficial. You insisted on truth in all things, in particular you taught me to honour myself. Quaint as it may seem in the 21st Century, you raised me to be a lady- with manners, respect for others, and class. Looking at society now, I wish that more people were learning that lesson.

Thank you Mom. I hope I haven't disappointed you, and oh yes - Happy Mothers' Day!

A second chance after all,

In going through and editing my photos, I came face to face to face with the physical resemblance between Maya and my Mum. My mother died 15 years before Maya was born so I never saw the connection at all. Then, in organizing the pictures side by side in a collage, it jumped out at me - Maya looks like my mother. Yes, she looks like her paternal grandmother, Rose, but dear God she looks like my Mom as well - same face shape and same smile - and I'm pleased with that. I look more like the Hogenkamps, than the Balharries, but I still have their DNA in me. So Maya does look like me and my mother and my grandmother, since my mom looked like her mom (a Ghilchrist to be specific).

What an amazing discovery. Why it took so long to see this is beyond me. Perhaps it's because I spent so many years not wanting to be like my mother, that prevented me from seeing her genetic and cultural influence. She was such a complex person in my life and my feelings were so layered that I just distanced myself from her. I muted my memories and shut her away so she couldn't hurt me. It's time to let her out of the box and recognize her influence on me and her many gifts. Her spirit was very strong even as she was very weak.

She longed to be accepted by a father who never could. It mattered a lot to her what people thought. She was convinced that she didn't quite measure up to the opinions of others. Hence she was an education and social snob. She was a well read, very gifted, quick and articulate woman who always believed that people were looking down on her from some unfathomable place that she couldn't attain.

Yet for all that (fear) she had huge courage.

She lived through a combined seven years in a TB sanatorium, where she was expected to die but survived. She trained to be a registered nurse and was struck down with TB in her final year
so missed graduating with her class. When she returned all those years later to complete her training, she was not allowed to nurse because she had had TB. She finished her training anyway.

At 27, she sailed to Holland to marry a man she hardly knew in a foreign country where she didn't know the language, history or the culture. She always referred to that decision as her salvation. Without my father she saw her life in Ottawa stretching out in unending narrowness.
She learned Dutch and became fluent within a year. She had to because to speak with an English accent could have cost her her life once the Nazis occupied Holland.

She raised her child in occupied Holland while her husband was away in the resistance and she never complained of the danger. She loved Holland and always longed to go back after returning to Canada. After my father died. and after years of being a stay at home mother, Mom went back to her first love, nursing. It was probably too hard for her by that time but at age 48 she became a geriatric nurse to prove to herself she could do it. She still was a snob, still cared what the neighbours thought, still was embarrassed by her radical, ban the bomb and civil rights marching daughter, but she never ever said I was wrong. She just wished I could demonstrate less visibly.

We had come a long way towards being friends again by the time she died so suddenly at 50. I was devastated to be left alone with all that unfinished business between us. The things she never saw me do and become. She never saw me get my Masters Degree, become a teacher and university lecturer (it would have warmed her snobbish heart). She wasn't there for her grand daughter's birth. It would have been her second chance at mothering. She had an acerbic sense of humour and was the master of understatement.

Sitting one rainy day, in our (Alfie and my) yet unfinished farm house, the windows leaking a tidal wave, with pots and pans everywhere catching the water. The sound of dripping water was filling the air, and my mother smiled sweetly. "This is such a wonderful house" she said..." just a few minor wrinkles need ironing out". It was her understatement at its finest, calmly delivered without a hint of criticism.

Sometimes I don't even know if she was aware of her understatement. Once we were sitting in her garden after I had married Alfie (which she greatly approved of) and the subject of children came up. She leaned forward in all earnestness and said " remember dear, never ever strike yor child in anger, because when out of control, you can really hurt your child". I stared at her in confusion, she couldn't be real? My mother, the past master of corporal punishment was counseling me against hitting my children. I don't know if she was even aware that I had once been afraid of her. I think she had erased that whole dark period of her illness out of her mind.

I said nothing. She died a year later. So much was left unsaid. I'm glad Maya looks like her.