Because I am the Oma!

I have enjoyed a most wonderful weekend because my "other daughter" Tracy came with Samantha. I'm not a naturally gushy person. I do not melt for babies and toddlers. In fact, I actively dislike some little children. Sometimes it's due to lack of exposure, or the chaos they create, or they are just brats. But there are some little people I really enjoy.

I have a special relationship with David and Jonathan Lee. These are two beautifully brought up little lads that I have lots of time for. Their parents Miles and Vicky are Born Again and I disagree with almost everything they embrace. Still, I have decided to overlook their views because their hearts are so big and there is so much love in that family.

I love Oscar, Tania and Diane's little guy. We just clicked right from the get go. He got my special love when I noticed the blatant favoritism being shown to his cousin Kai. Kia is Jerzy's genetic grandson, whereas Oscar is not. So Jerzy talks up Kai (and now Nicko)but not Oscar. My heart immediately went out to Oscar. I identify with the least favoured child because I was one in my mother's (the Balharrie) family. I know what it was like sensing the perpetual chill. Oscar needs all the love he can get now because his life will not be easy as he grows up. Having lesbian parents in an unforgiving world will require lots of inner strength and confidence from that sweet boy. He needs a firm foundation of love and I'm willing to contribute to it.

Samantha is Tracy's 2 1/2 year old. She is a going concern, very bright and very active and exhausting. But for all that, she is a lot of fun and oh so loving. Tracy has a few mothering habits that can drive one to drink, but with another child due in three weeks, she won't be able to keep it up. She discusses decisions with Sam and leaves herself open to argument and testing all the time. The child runs the mother and by a miracle the child is not a brat. She is tiring and demanding but very good-natured. On a couple of occasions I intervened very firmly, without debate and Samantha responded immediately, but she was not afraid of me. She was relieved to be stopped. Tracy is aware of this tendency to over explain and under discipline. She discussed it with me and I reminded her that she is the mother. Sometimes it is necessary to stop the child firmly. All the child needs to understand is that Mommy is the boss and no means no. That being said, Samantha is a darling child full of daring-do and curiosity. Willy is the cat version of Samantha. She only stops being active when she drops, eats and for story time. Interestingly, unlike most cats who would run and hide from Samantha, Willy saw a real playmate. He was right in the middle of it all the time.

I love Tracy dearly, and really enjoyed being Oma for 24 hours. Hearing Oma repeated so often was wonderful. I quickly got used to it and played my Oma role in the playground, at mealtimes, in the big chair with story books, pretend cleaning and at bedtime. Sam procrastinated at bed time to show me her pajamas, then she came back downstairs to show me her slippers and then I had to read before she finally went to bed. Like all grandparents, I was also pleased to see them go home.

We went to the exhibition yesterday and Tracy loved the sculpture. She also liked the black and white graphics. Paul had reminded her that they are on a tight budget but nevertheless she wanted to buy the "Brooklyn Rain" or the "Cat-tails" to take home. Since they are prints, I suggested she wait till we get home to discuss it. I didn't want the gallery to know she was interested because I intended to give her both prints as a gift for the new baby. She was stunned and very, very pleased. Why is it that the young people with no money are prepared to buy art, when my older friends with lots of money are afraid of committing to an art purchase? Lots of positive feed back but no sales won't pay my exhibition expenses.

Samantha went home with a very fluffy stuffed bunny for Easter. The bunny took Tracy and my fancy because it had the face of a Tomcat with big ears. Sam took it to bed last night. The great thing about having a child around, is that it permits us to be kids again too.

"Beware the Ides of March"

I think the time has come to revisit the Ides of March in my days of yore. I have just celebrated my 70th Birthday with a big party and an exhibition that Maya named Equinox. It is a powerful testimonial to life - a wonderful way for me to mark the Ides of March. I was not always able to do so. I used to hide away and celebrate my birthday in isolation and before I got sober, 35 years ago, I spent March 15 drunk. I just wanted it to go away.

My mother died at age 50, on March 15, my 22nd Birthday. Instead of going out to dinner with her, I went to identify her in the morgue. She was driving into Montreal from the family home in Pointe Claire to meet me and Alfie for a birthday dinner. Apparently she suffered a heart attack on the road, and being the excellent driver she was, she signaled, pulled onto the shoulder, stopped and slumped over the wheel. A driver behind her saw this and pulled off to check on her. She was dead.

Meanwhile, I was dressing and getting ready for her arrival at our apartment. Alfie and I were still in the early stages of being married. Mom was coming in to dine and spend the night. We had begun to really get along at last after many years of friction and I was enjoying her finally.

It was getting late and my Mom didn't arrive, nor did Alfie. I was all dressed up and getting agitated. It was not like my mother to be late, and what was Alfie's excuse? He worked at the university two blocks away. It was a short walk home.

That evening it was a very long walk for Alfie around and around the block. The police had called him at work and it fell to him to come home to tell me that my mother was dead. He couldn't face it. I had just begun to recover from my father's sudden death 22 months earlier.

Eventually, he had to come home and he had to tell me. The entire building could hear my anguished screams. I couldn't take it in, it was too unthinkable. Later, when I was making the identification, it sunk in. My mother was gone. I was alone. I had no parents left, no siblings and no history. Nobody was left to remember when I was small, what my first words were, how I hugged my cat, or that I loved donkey rides. I was well and truly an orphan on my 22 Birthday.

We think of an orphan as a child left alone to face the world without parents to protect it, but everyone is somebody's child and faces the loss of parents with difficulty. At the time of that loss, everyone is an orphan. There was an added dimension to all this because after my mother's death, I was also completely abandoned by my mother's family, her brothers and their families. Following the Wake the Ottawa relatives sighed with relief in the knowledge that I was married. They said things like "it's so lucky that your married" or "your husband will take care of you now". Which, when translated into reality-speak meant "thank God you're not our problem". They left with the standard, "if there's anything we can do, call us" and I never heard from them again till 20 years later when one intrepid cousin set out to find me. My mother's older brother Watson came to Montreal weekly to teach at McGill University and never once called to see if his 22 year old niece was ok. The saddest part of this sorry tale, is that I never saw anything wrong with this treatment, so convinced was I that I had no value in their eyes.

So there it is. My Ides of March was something grim for a long, long time. How can a daughter celebrate her birthday when it was the anniversary date of her mother's death? Both parents gone and worthless me still alive. The survivor guilt was huge. "Beware the Ides of March" really applied to me.

What took me from that dark place to a public celebration of my 70th Birthday? In a word, Maya. When she was born, I became her mother and stopped being my Mom's daughter. The pendulum had swung from pessimism to optimism. I was no longer looking back. A child forces one to look forward. How could I hang on to my guilt and still light the way for my daughter? I had sobered up before I became pregnant and had begun to see life as a gift. My parents hadn't raised me to cower in shadows. They were fighters who believed in making a difference and with Maya's arrival, I realized I too had a chance to do my best.

My parents died young (50 and 52) and I believed I would too. Once I outlived them,I began to realize that maybe I had better make other plans for my life, do some good for people, help my corner of the world, and respect my abilities and talents. Who knows how long I have left and what my health will be? But I'll take what comes one day at a time.

Mood: ecstatic!!!

I can't believe how quickly the weekend sped by and how wonderful it was. In 20 minutes I'll turn 70 officially, but I've been on a weekend long party. A huge crowd turned up at my Equinox reception. The gallery was filled, upstairs and downstairs, with happy, chatty friends and friends of friends. It's estimated that nearly 100 people turned up. They came in two waves and then stayed so by 8:45 we could hardly move let alone see the art. Awesome. The Blue Tomato is a little gallery and the owners said they have never had such a big turnout for an opening.

The first wave poured in the door shortly after seven (very punctual). Artists don't come en masse and on time. They wander in alone or in small groups. These prompt arrivals were mainly PSO musicians and former MNR colleagues - people accustomed to being on time. The second wave arrived just before eight. Friends and associates from the arts and theatre community that I've known through volunteer work. In and out throughout were the artists themselves, students from my pottery class, my teacher and the gallery's own followers. My gardener and his family were happily in conversation with some of Peterborough's high fliers and because nobody was told who was who the mingling was most successful. It was a most diverse and friendly assortment of people who had no idea that most art openings are cliquish and cold affairs. There were the precocious children of musicians and the beautifully behaved gardener's children. All ages and social groupings were represented in a social event centered around art and a 70th Birthday, and it all worked.

By making the opening my birthday party, folks came for a social evening. Those few who came for a "cultural" evening were confused and perhaps even disappointed. They probably left. The rest stayed, ate appetizers and Birthday cake, drank wine, beer and juice, and even looked at the art. All evening three friends from the PSO played Renaissance music and balloons festooned the downstairs gallery. I had a ball. It was my party and I didn't cry. I didn't want to.

The festivities spilled over into Sat. when Allana, Norah, and Nicole arrived to see the show, with Glenn and Maya. Allana and Norah bought paintings which touched me deeply and we all went for a late Cosmic lunch. Ray asked to join us (an amazing departure from his anti-social norm) and was mesmerized by the three beauties from Toronto (what a naughty monk). Glenn was surrounded by Maya's very hot friends and a good time was had by all. I am now officially 70 and a private celebration will take place at noon with an hour-long massage. Who said growing old sucks?

Posted on Mar. 15th, 2010 at 12:59 am

The Facebook Connection

I find Facebook truly revealing in ways it was not intended. Constant exposure to certain "FRIENDS" is raising questions about the value of these friends. Of course social networking of that kind is superficial. Nobody is going to enter into deep dialogue because it's much too exposed. But what passes for conversation is really vanity on display, particularly the update section. As I update I'm tempted to write complete lies about my day or insane revelations about my feelings. No-one would notice and nobody would care.

Three "friends" are particularly annoying. One, uses her posts as a marketing tool for herself and her art. It's ego tripping and it just doesn't interest me. Having known her for many years, it occurs to me that Facebook is an ideal medium for her self absorption. She has always grabbed for attention often at inappropriate times in unacceptable circumstances. Whatever the conversation, she could always bring it round to her. I inherited another friend who was in a relationship with someone I do care about. They have gone separate ways, but I don't defriend him because I don't want to hurt his feelings. He has nothing to say but says it often. All he seems to do is drink and party with equally dull people. Another, is a lovely person I do want to hear from who has become a mother. Her posts are all about the child and only the child. I want to say "dear God girl we've had babies and we know" but I don't. Other young parents on my 'friends" list still seem to take an interest in a world beyond the nursery.

To some, I too have become tedious with constant updates about the progress of my show. In truth, I am only really sending the updates to Maya, my daughter, and a few select friends. Facebook is a handy and quick way of saying "hey, I'm busy but ok".

Facebook also is a remarkably selfish tool that brings out the worst in some people. I'm reminded of parties in my past, where I would wander from group to group in the hope of finding an interesting conversation. Eventually, I'd drink enough not to care or, having wandered into the kitchen, I'd find a group of nerds happily talking about atheism in Turkey or archeology in Kurdistan. I was so grateful to the nerds because they knew there was more to life than hockey and shopping. They had passion for their interests. Occasionally on Facebook, I bump into someone (a friend of a friend) who is sharing an interest or a passion. The ensuing discussion pulls me in and I find myself commenting to the extent that Maya has asked how I ended up commenting to someone, when I'm not even on that friend's list.

So why do I use Facebook? Sad to say, I use it to stay in touch with her world and to ward off that demon of the elderly, irrelevance. I'm sure that without Facebook, I would simply drift off into loneliness. I use this social network to pretend that I have a real social network. I don't of course, my phone rarely rings and the people that I have known are dying. I have close friends in Toronto, but if I want to see them, I have to drive there. They can't come here, but their adult children are so wrapped up in their own lives, that a trip to Peterborough might as well be a trip to Atlantis. It's a one way highway to Toronto that rarely brings people out to Peterborough not even for my show and 70th Birthday. I was there when they were born and shared a lifetime of special events, but that was yesterday. I don't like to drive in winter anymore.

Some of Maya's friends have adopted me and will be making the trip to Peterborough to see my show. This touches me deeply because they came into my life much later and became my friends through the internet. They stayed in touch with me while Maya was in the Yukon. I needed that connection and I'm deeply grateful for their affection.

I also have to commend Facebook for allowing me to connect with old friends from my youth. That's how Clifford found me. My very first steady boyfriend and I are friends again after fifty years of separation. So I take the good and the bad of Facebook. I just have to learn to ignore the empty prattle as I would at a cocktail party of yore.

Time to end for now. Anon.

DONE AND HUNG!!!

So folks the show is up.....thanks to Ray and Freya. Ray set all the paintings out around the gallery and began the groupings. Freya did lifting and handing and holding while I said things like higher, lower a bit to the right etc. But Ray was the real star. His experience with those fiddly s-hooks and chains made everything go smoothly and his aesthetic sense is impeccable. Our ideas click instantly and he is funny while he works. I added my wicker settee, a mirror and a plant to improve the ambiance. We had a very successful and stress less day. Thai food for supper was delicious but we were almost falling asleep in the restaurant.
He's not getting any younger either.

Did I mention that the show looks really good? Seeing it all together in one space is a revelation. I never realized that it all ties together so well and that I have a clear Claire style.

To quote Mambolica, "I am made of awesome".