Paws Awhile

Tentative Steps of Optimism.

2012-01-09T16:29:00.000-05:00

Hi again. It's now the ninth day of the New Year and I'm putting one foot ahead of the other with tentative steps of optimism. Yes I paid my bills, organized my receipts for taxes, packed away Christmas for another year and did several loads of laundry.

I have also resumed work on my website which is shaping up very nicely. I am so grateful to Heather for getting me going on this. It is looking like becoming an awesome site, a work of art in its own right. I have decided to add a Guest page where I will host other artists that I admire with a showcase and link to their own sites.

The first guest artists will be painter, Ray McGirl, and photographer Heather Bickle. They are each exceptional in their fields and it will be an honour to promote them. Since the site is called Art et al and I am also promoting my advocacy work, the guest showcase is most appropriate. I hope we can launch it quite soon.

Maya and Glenn have taken possession of their new house and are now engaged in the dreaming stage as well as packing for moving. There is cosmetic work to be done and some structural stuff to the basement to soundproof Glenn's music studio. I bought them an area rug for the Living Room and three coordinated scatter rugs. I also bought them a gift certificate for Molly Maid to help them clean the new house and a clean up the apartment after they move out. It will save them so much grief. I just wish we lived closer to help them select tradesmen, and to supervise their work while the kids are at their jobs. Alas, from this distance, I can only advise.

I need to clean up my sculptures for the AGP Triennial and prepare a submission for the Mental Health show. So there is much to do and I'm so pleased to be thinking of work instead of myself. It's not good for me to be rummaging around in my head for too long. So back into the world..

Get Me to a Nunnery and Other Good Ideas.

2011-12-30T15:21:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and I'm unraveling. My positive state of mind is growing very negative, very quickly. This is a cause for concern because it reminds me of my teenaged anxiety over not being included. Everything is happening somewhere else, and I've been left out. This is particularly insane because I normally don't like the to-do around New Years Eve. When I'm in London we go out for a lovely dinner and later the kids go to a party and I stay home with the cats. I watch TV and then they come home. It was a wonderful evening for both generations. I just wasn't prepared not to see Maya at all this season and that is taking its toll as well.

I used to make beautiful N.Y's Eve dinners in New York and Toronto and invited all my closest friends. We had fun, it was warm and meaningful. I would also include strays and orphans at my table. I always took steps to ensure that I wasn't alone. This year I am alone on the eve and for the day and all the old fears are creeping back under my skin. Wow. I'm 71 and the ghosts of 17 are coming back.

We had hilarious parodies of classic N.Ys parties after I moved to Peterborough and Mary was still alive. We would dress up with cocktail hats and fedoras, or funny hats and masks to dine out splendidly and then bring in the New Year at Mary and David's or my place. It was gentle fun. Mary usually fell asleep before midnight and had to be roused for the toast. Wayne told stories and we gossiped about work. We belonged, there were no outsiders and we went home after midnight. Except for the few occasions when Ray was present or Gary Forma, I was always the only unpartnered woman and it didn't matter.

I find myself at 71, still unpartnered and very much alone. I need to understand why I can handle this 364 days of the year but not on New Year's Eve? These fears are totally baffling and very unhealthy. What other demons from my past will arise in my old age.? Why haven't I faced them years ago and how can I put them to rest? For that matter, how is it that I have spent so many years alone? Am I so formidable that no man ever wanted to know and love me? See how damaging this state of mind can be? I'm alone for New Year ergo I'm unloved.

Claire, get off your duff or "get thee to a nunnery" before you turn into a geriatric Mildred, all. about me all the time. Ewe, what a dreadful fate. Focus on the good stuff.. Two of my sculptures were selected by an AGP jury for the 2012 AGP Triennial. I sold some art, I had a nice show at Chasing the Cheese and my painting is really improving a lot. My health was good enough to permit me to travel. I had a great visit with Pat here and a wonderful trip to Holland. People love and care for me there. It's time to start moving forward again; to rejoin my classes at the Peterborough School of Art, and to resume a diet and fitness regime.

Lets start today by paying bills and organizing my tax files. Now doesn't that feel like fun.

In the company of good friends.

2011-12-28T01:24:00.000-05:00

Two days since Christmas day and the last night of Chanukah. The holiday memories linger as I prepare to assume a normal routine again. It was a surprisingly pleasant time this year. I say surprisingly, because I have not spent Christmas with Maya and Glenn. I stayed home alone and I was afraid it would be terribly lonely. It was actually quite enjoyable. I'm happy to note, I survived the periodic stabs of loneliness.

Yes there were some. Mostly, I didn't know what to expect from a family-less Christmas. For example, I bought two tortieres and a stuffed turkey breast in case I would be required to produce a full Christmas dinner for surprise guests - like whom? Elija, perhaps? I have cooked for others so many years, that I just couldn't bear the reality: nobody would be coming for Christmas dinner. I was invited out for Christmas Eve lunch. Unpartnered women get invited to lunch a lot because there is no room for them on the Ark of couples dinner parties. It was a lovely lunch with a true friend that I enjoyed greatly. But Christmas Eve I spent in my own company until I went to Church. It was beautiful to be in the fellowship of others on such an important evening. Christmas day was spent with my two cats. We opened a few presents, catnip toys for the cats and then I ate an omelet for lunch and a lobster for supper.

In retrospect, I did find it lonely. It was not self-pityingly lonely, but I found the day long. I treated myself to a long soak in a scented bath, listened to Christmas music and went to bed early. Boxing Day was the big day for Christmas dinner. I was invited to spend the afternoon and evening with the Mutton family, in their new house. It was like days of yore when our two families spent every Christmas dinner together, sometimes here and more often at their place. The kids were the same ages and enjoyed each other. It was always fun and yesterday was no exception. Only with the passage of time, another generation of little children have been added. They now have a young nephew Colin and a beautiful baby grand daughter.

We played games after dinner as always and Phil retired because of a bad cold. Colin was wound up from too much sugar and because he was over tired, but baby Claire chortled on happily.Wayne was so pleased and happy and they all were genuinely happy to welcome me back into the fold. I felt wanted and part of the family of man. I drove home at midnight filled with gratitude and blessed with good friends.

So all in all it was a good Christmas experience. Having my daughter near me is better, but if needed, I can do well in the company of good friends. My cats are recovering from several days of treats and new catnip toys. They liked Christmas very much indeed. Life is good.

On traveling home December 7, 2011

2011-12-15T14:29:00.005-05:00

Well, I'm on board the plane waiting for take off. I'm in the exact seat I had when I left Canada. It's so much more comfortable in Economy Comfort. Everyone has been very nice at the airport and I got assistance from check in to the gate.Martine came with me on the train , so it was fun and relaxed. One train from Nijmegen to Schipol. We checked my baggage, had a bite of lunch (delicious) and then we said good-bye. It was sad to say good-bye to the kids and Jan but saying good-bye to Martine was saddest of all (except for little Karol).

That dear little dog knew something was up and was glued to me for the last forty-eight hours. He slept with me, followed me into the toilet, sat on my knee during TV, waited for me at the ATM machine etc. Whenever Norah came near me there was a jealous outburst.

I'm on my way over the Atlantic. I had a very good supper, some juice and Tonic but cannot sleep or even nap. When flying to Canada we are in constant daylight.

On privacy and the Dutch Connection

2011-12-12T10:12:00.007-05:00

Wait a minute guys. What is this about adding my mobile phone number to the security check? How does giving more information equate with more security for me? What if I'm a neanderthal without a mobile phone or a misanthrope who won't share? Does that mean that I will eventually be denied access to my own blog? So the more we surrender our privacy, the greater our access to self-expression? It may soon be time to step away from blogging to protect some shreds of privacy.

Relax guys, nobody reads my Blog anyway. I won't be starting any geriatric revolution in the foreseeable future. Three old women and my daughter doesn't constitute a threat to the status quo.

I have returned from the civility of my beloved birthplace. Holland was wonderful and maddening and enticing. It's a geographically tiny land which is getting ever more developed. Driving is a nightmare but the trains are awesome, on schedule and comfortable. They have some design flaws that impede access for the elderly and infirm. I didn't see many old folk on the trains. Could it be the steps onto and inside the trains? or could it be the lack of baggage storage space on the Schipol trains? Or the absence of maps inside the trains so that you can plan when to get off in advance. Some trains make announcements, others don't.

If you are not spry, an opportunity to preplan your entries and exits is a must. Alas, even with a good transit system, the designers are too young to understand mobility problems. On the other hand, there are still a great many young men in Holland who are willing to offer a helping hand. I was impressed with the courtesy shown me everywhere I went. Young women were generally less sensitive and courteous. If a woman was providing assistance, she was usually middle aged or over.

My friends in Rotterdam were kind, generous and a pleasure. Quita, is possibly the kindest and most thoughtful person I know. She structured our social life exactly in accordance with my capacity. As a result. I found my four days with her were perfectly paced and really interesting. We spent an afternoon in Voorburg where we lunched and had a nice afternoon shopping with a childhood friend Paula. Paula and I are Resistance children. Our parents were closely connected through opposition to the Nazi occupation. We were occasionally allowed to play with each other when we were secluded from other children. So there we were in Voorburg, women with a lifetime of memories dining and talking without skipping a beat. The next day, it was off with Quita for a day at the Rotterdam Kunsthal seeing the Stanley Spencer Exhibition. It was a splendid show and a fine lunch. My friendship with Quita is a blessing. I met her when Maya was six and in the same class with Justin, Quita's son. The kids loved each other and the parents had an instant rapport. When I was hospitalized for emergency surgery, Quita took Maya in till I recovered. A huge act of kindness when we barely knew each other. So here we are 28 years later - still friends.

Hernen, is my adoptive home ever since my parents died. My father's best friend Gert v d Steenhoven, became my surrogate father when I was so suddenly left alone. I always had a safe haven with him and his wife Nell. Their only daughter Martine, came into my life when I was thirty. I watched her grow up on my visits to my "Godfather" and was available when tragedy struck their home. Nell died suddenly when Martien was 16. An only child like me and motherless at an early age, Martien needed a safe place and an understanding woman. Oom Steen sent her to me for six weeks the following summer, and we became sisters during that critical time. To this day, sisters we remain, so all our visits are family experiences. Jan, her husband, and the three now teenaged kids are my niece and two nephews. No family bond is so tight as the family that chooses to be related. We are such a family. My days in Hernen were perfect days of family life sharing Sinterklaas festivities, Peter's 14 birthday and Astrid's 16 year old female dramas. It was little Leo (ten) that still was child enough to find me relentlessly interesting. It was great fun to be in a family again and very sad when I had to leave. Whatever happens though, we'll still be there for each other and that is a very comfortable feeling.

Maya, I fear, will not find her comfort there because she has grown away from the Dutch side of her heritage. Where she lands in the fullness of time, I can't say. She is forming her own connections with people that bring meaning to her life. The Dutch connection may end after me. That makes me very sad, but what will be will be.

Globalization and Positive Change

2011-11-23T13:26:00.003-05:00

This is a bon voyage post because I'm leaving tomorrow and will not be blogging for a few weeks.

Amid the media pros and cons regarding the Occupy Movement, a personal response says - thank God - people are finally getting it. Our society is at risk not from the demonstrators who clearly love their country, but from the corporate interests who are overtaking and controlling the major societal decisions being made by government.

Globalization is a two pronged fork and it is only logical that one connects to the other. As corporate governments decide to broaden the market place for the benefit of the few, the people are growing ever poorer and disenfranchised. The many that have been bought off with cheaper international goods, can no longer pay for those goods because their jobs have also gone global. For some people, it has become very clear that the ubiquitous MacWalmarts have cost them and their local economies dearly. Corporate greed is swallowing up our way of life, killing the middle class dismantling unions and indenturing the working class.

I worried for a long time that people were passively being co-opted into acceptance of the status quo. I wondered why the people couldn't see what was happening to them. But, Globalization has also occurred in the communications sector so that we can all see what is happening in Egypt, Syria, Sudan, Libya, Greece, Italy and Ireland. People are rising up and saying NO. Nothing begets a movement better than witnessing massive injustice and resistance.

I see no distinction between the Arab Spring, African Diaspora, Greek riots and Occupy Wall Street, except location and style. We cannot keep propagandizing the joys of democracy without people wanting some. The Global 99 percent are angry with their leaders, businesses, banks and governments for selling their interests to the Global one percent, without any light on the horizon. If the powers that be don't shift their priorities soon we could be witnessing an ugly Global revolution.

The corporate media also have a choice to make - either keep obfuscating the truth in support of the status quo, or respect the depth of this movement and provide some analytical guidance for positive change. Instead of articles about dirty tent camps and traffic jams, lets see more articles questioning bank profits, environmental rape, downsizing's effect on local economies and corporate tax shelters. The Occupy Movement may be "leaderless" and lack a cohesive structure, but it's common issues are very clear to the corporate power structure. They will fight back hard and dirty.

They will go after the communications industry and try to close down the Global access to truth and free speech. But the people are also getting wise and we are seeing the first stages of a global revolution - not for communism, socialism or capitalism - but for an equitable share of the pie. That, ultimately, is the meaning of democracy.

It is time for world leaders: corporate, political, and religious to act responsibly and provide some positive change.

Guidelines for dealing with Geriatric Mothers.

2011-11-21T01:46:00.005-05:00

It's been quite a while since my last post. I have been very busy with my art and stuff - hanging a modest show of painting at Chasing the Cheese; preparing two submissions to be judged for a group show at the AGP; working on my website; designing my Cat calendar for Christmas giving and wrapping up details for my trip to Holland this Thursday. It's all falling into place nicely so I'm taking a few moments to update Paws Awhile.

Maya was here for a couple of days to have a visit before I head to Europe. I'm glad she came even if she did need to work. We got along well even though I was overly sensitive to the "aging" remarks. I joke about it myself as a kind of defense against my own fears, but if it is raised too often by others, I begin to suspect that my frailties are clearer to others than I care for. Because we don't see each other often and she fears my loneliness, a kind of ironic banter between us masks our true feelings. When I really try to express a feeling that may makes her uncomfortable, she kind of bullies me into silence.

So we adopt the banter to half express ourselves. What she doesn't realize, is that I am moving on with my life and developing a loving detachment about hers. I must survive emotionally and with dignity without becoming dependent on her. We were always there for each other, we had no one else but each other as she grew up. Her life is now half of another partnership, and she can talk with Glenn about serious concerns. I don't have a partner to share with, so sometimes I open up to her. When it touches feelings that make her uncomfortable, she closes me down. It's a no win situation for me.

So let me be really clear Maya:
1. I am over the moon happy about your commitment with Glenn to settle down. The house is a brilliant decision that makes total sense. Yes I'm sad that London is so far away, but it is what it is.

2. I'm delighted that you are looking seriously at starting a family, and that Glenn recognizes that single parenting is not your preferred option. I also realize that being the more distant grandma will mean I will have a smaller role in your lives.
But I can be the eccentric Oma that comes once in a while for good times.

3. You are not responsible for my life and its ups and downs, so you need never feel guilty. If I qvetch from time to time, let me. I'm getting old and often feel achey. I put up with your adolescent moods and complaints and still loved you. You can put up with my geriatric moods and complaints in return, and still love me. You need to hear me without assuming guilt. My moods aren't about you

4. Unlike you as a teenager, I will not grow out of it. It can only get worse - it's a condition of old age. There is not going to be a happy ending. The most we can hope for is a sane and peaceful ending. Accept it, tuck it away but prepare your life accordingly. Make some effort to include me where you can and treat me with respect always. As I have always done with you.

5. Remind Glenn that though I'm not his mother, I will love him as my son. And, he will earn my undying gratitude when he recognizes that I can't help getting a little deaf, and speaks so that I can hear him. He has a good mind, and thoughts that I would dearly like to hear.

6. Remember always that I love you and want you to be happy. I would like to be happy too. You may not always need to hear from me, but I may need to hear from you, so humour me. Call or post me just to say hi.

...and b.t.w. Mothers do have special powers - like it or not. You'll see.

Meeting David Hockney

2011-10-21T01:52:00.004-04:00

Thanks to Maya, I was able to experience the excitement of being a real, respected and innovative artist again. She had managed to get us both invited to a Twitter Party for David Hockney at the ROM. Twenty invitees arrived for the private showing some geeks, some art lovers and then there was me. I was introduced to several clever young things from the ROM marketing and curatorial staff who all wanted to see my iPad art. I showed a few paintings and before I knew it I was being thrust at the guest of honour with my iPad. David Hockney was dressed for the opera, where he was heading, and probably wishing he could have avoided this party. Nevertheless, he took the time to look at my work, ask some really good questions about the process and be generally supportive. I thanked him for his time and for showing us the way in this ground breaking exhibition of his digital art. I was the only one his age there, and the only one doing what he's been doing. Two old dogs clearly had learned new tricks. It was one of those rare unforgettable moments in my life. Then after our encounter he was whisked away to the opera by his handlers. It was telling that they let our conversation happen. I was taken seriously.

I had a truly remarkable day. The exhibition "Fresh Flowers" was absorbing and stunning. David Hockney takes us into the process of creating digital art as his work develops before our eyes. This man's ingenuity completely validates iPad art.

David Hockney actually looking at my iPad art , has validated me. I'm still recovering.

Thank you darling daughter for doing this for me. It was a very wonderful gift.

We reap what we sow.

2011-07-20T13:34:00.005-04:00

We are in the midst of a scorching heatwave. It is pretty difficult to function outside at all. Between my blossoming phlebitis, and the fibromyalgia, I'm having a bit of a struggle. The left ankle is starting to terrorize me by swelling, itching, aching and bubbling. This is dangerous stuff that can quite literally ruin my summer. So, off I went yesterday to the after hours clinic for an aggressive antibiotic to fight ulcer infection. I hope it works. We did start it early so maybe we can head this off at the pass. The other irony is that this always happens when my doctor or I are on vacation. He saw me before he left and all was well. It's the heat and humidity that brought this on. Even though I'm indoors in the AC the pressure still affects my legs. It's a hereditary curse I can't escape.

Speaking of what we can't escape, I recently was told that Alfie Pinsky's widow, Nicole Durand, died alone at the farm and wasn't found for a few days. I find that very sad even though I realize she was a bit of a misanthrope in later years. That farm was my home for ten years. I helped design and build the house. The chicken coop was converted into my sculpture studio, and the stable was Alfie's painting studio. A lifetime of sculpture production was stored and deteriorated in the barn. The house was filled with Quebec antiques that I purchased at farm auctions and refinished myself. When I left Alfie, I walked away and left everything behind. It all became hers when he married Nicole.

Alfie partnered with Gooderige Roberts to buy the farm and that farm has historic meaning because Gooderidge painted so many landscapes there. Gooderidge and Joan were very close and like family really. He started to breakdown there and his decline was visible in his paintings. At the end of his illness, Gooderidge was hospitalized and Joan came less often. During that terrible time, I used to babysit Tim so Joan could focus solely on her husband's needs. Gooderidge was suffering from anxiety and depression and wouldn't let Joan out of his sight. Timmy was an additional target for his anxiety so when I had Tim, Joan could focus on allaying Gooderich's fears. So many memories and many are so sad.

I wish I could say that Alfie rose to the crisis with understanding and compassion, but sadly it wasn't so. He began to express resentment about the extra maintenance work he was doing (grass cutting and a few repairs) to help Joan. He also would criticize Joan for the psychiatric care Gooderidge was getting (shock therapy)even though there were no other options being recommended at that time. With each shock treatment, Gooderidge's memory would worsen. Alfie undertook a series of interviews for the National Gallery's planned retrospective of Gooderidge Roberts work. He was so worried that Gooderidge would forget everything, he became aggressive in his questioning and it frustrated Gooderidge upsetting him even more. Joan was angry with Alfie and the foundation was laid for a rift in their friendship. The retrospective exhibition was great, the catalog wonderful, but the trust in the friendship was gone.

It was 1969 by that time, and I separated from Alfie. I felt so guilty about leaving such a "good" man that I left everything behind. He'd often told me that the most interesting thing about me was my art. I was discouraged from having children, from returning to university for a Masters Degree, from taking a year off to just live life etc. He had my best interests at heart after all? He wanted me to excel as a sculptor and show, show, show. I was encouraged to apply for a Canada Council Grant for a big show, but when I won it in 68, Alfie was mean and vindictive. After that solo show at Sir George Williams University (now Concordia)in the midst of a student occupation and race riot, I lost it and left the studio, the marriage and his grand design. There were several sub plots of course, but for the purpose of this entry, I'll stick to the main story.

Alfie met Nicole a year later. She was Joan Robert's colleague and she rented my cottage for the summer when I went to New York. Joan introduced them and a hot affair ensued in my cottage and at the farm I had so recently vacated. She was installed as a permanent fixture a few months later much to Joan's chagrin. Suddenly, Nicole was in charge of domestic life at the farm and Alfie.

Goodridge died in 1972 and Joan was spending less time at the farm as she took Tim and Glyn to her home territory at Georgian Bay. To make a long story short Alfie and Nicole developed a torturous relationship involving too much booze and weed. Joan was not welcomed when she went to the farm. Tim grew up to take care of things for his mother and Alfie and Tim clashed on numerous occasions. When Alfie began to threaten Tim with a shot gun it became clear that separate houses notwithstanding, the Roberts and Pinsky households could no longer coexist. Throughout, Nicole was egging Alfie on with her paranoia and Joan became fearful for her family's safety. When they were barred from walking past the Pinsky house to visit Gooderidge's final resting place under the much painted "Black Cherry Tree", Joan sold her half of the farm to Alfie, and Nicole got it all.

Nicole and Alfie spent the last ten years alone together on a farm, once built on love and friendship, that they jointly turned into an isolated angry place. He died first uncelebrated and silently to be followed recently by his widow Nicole. It was an end of their own making. Only Gooderidge is a positive memory there, through his many wonderful paintings, and his ashes under the "Black Cherry Tree".

As for me, I do wonder about Alfie's art collection. Two paintings belonged to me because they were given to me - a small water colour by Gooderidge, and a black and white by drawing by Phillip Surrey. I don't suppose I'll ever see them again. My sculptures are probably totally deteriorated by now. In the end, Alfie didn't actually care for that part of me he claimed to have valued the most.

And Joan, she is still a vibrant and interesting octogenarian, who published her memoirs recently about her life with Gooderidge Roberts. She still travels to Georgian Bay every summer and visits me at my cottage too. Our friendship and mutual respect has lasted throughout this long saga, and we remain close to this day. I believe this is called good Karma.

Dinah Update

2011-07-13T00:19:00.004-04:00

Dinah has been with us four days and some hours. The settling is going very smoothly. I took her for he first Vet check up. She had been checked and given her shots by the ARK vet, but I wanted something more thorough. Well she is free of serious symptoms, her heart is sound and her respiratory system is good. She has a few kitten problems like Conjunctivitis in both eyes and worms.Both have been addressed and treatment continues at home for two weeks. She is underweight for her age but we are on the way to fixing that. Next visit she'll have her Rabies and leukemia shots. She had a lot to say in the carrier to and from the clinic, none of it good.

Willy has made a decision to accept her, and tries to engage her in play. She is a little nervous about this change in events but is intrigued enough now to be seduced. Then chasing ensues and Willy flops on the floor to reassure her. It's amazing how quickly he accepted her. He was very distressed when she went in the carrier, and very happy when she came home. He sniffed her all over after the vet visit and tried to wash her. She was not willing to be washed.

Tonight Willy thought he had hidden himself in a cardboard carton. Dinah wasn't fooled for long. It is going to be a very busy time here and very much fun. Dinah is such a cute baby and Willy is a baby at heart.

I've been researching condominiums of late to study my options because I may need to sell my beautiful house sooner than later. It depends on my finances. My pension is not keeping pace with the cost of living, and my US pension is now worth less because the US dollar is so low. The cost of upkeep is increasing as I can do less work myself.

The condo route may not resolve these issues because condo fees can be high. The maintenance is taken care of by the condo corp but I was shocked at how high the taxes are. That surprised me because my taxes on this huge property and house are really reasonable. It's still early days, and more research needs to be done.

I did see one condo last Sunday, that I really liked and could see myself living there. Lots of light, large rooms, nice layout and a gorgeous patio-garden area.
I could envision a studio and my cats looking out all windows and patio doors. I saw another that I didn't like which was bigger with a basement but lacked charm. The deck was exposed to the passing traffic on the Rotary Trail. The taxes on that property were extreme. I did get a sense of what is out there and the leaving here won't be as traumatic as I fear.

I came home and walked around my garden, looking at all that I had created and felt so sad. I really adore living here. But at times I feel so adrift in all this beauty and space with nobody to share it with. I'm no longer entertaining much and few guests come for prolonged visits. The people I love are rarely here and in Julie's case will never be here again. So perhaps the time is approaching for a fresh start.
At the very least, the time has come to be mindful of my options.

Whatever I choose to do, there are two little buddies who will be included in my decision. Pets must always be allowed.

Introducing Dinah.

2011-07-11T01:12:00.005-04:00

Dinah has joined the family. She arrived last Friday to my great surprise. I went into Pet Value to buy some Koi food. As I came in, the sales woman was cleaning the adoption cage and holding this little fluffy bundle on her shoulder. The bundle looked at me and I looked at it and it was love at first sight. She was called Mary Pickford on the adoption papers, a very unsuitable name. Mary Pickford was petite and this kitten though small, will not be petite. She's a Maine Coon cross and will grow into a big cat.

She and her siblings were rescued by ARKK. were vet checked and had there shots before putting them up for adoption. I brought her home and introduced her to Willy who was not thrilled to see her. He is quite grumpy with me but he's a good-natured boy and he will be won over in time. I never expected to adopt a kitten. They are a hand full, and require a lot more care than a cat. I always felt that the older animals needed to be adopted more, and I believed that at my age, a kitten could outlive me. Willy and I have a tight relationship and didn't need a stranger butting in. All this good sense evaporated when I saw Dinah. Yes that's her new name Dinah.

She is home, purring on my chest as I write this. She likes to lie under my chin on my bust while I work on my laptop. Willy still has me all to himself in bed all night and he gets away from Dinah during the day when he goes out. Yesterday he would have nothing to do with Dinah, but today he was a bit intrigued and let her sniff him and watched her play with the toys he lost interest in long ago. It will work out once he figures how to maintain dominance and realizes he's still number one with me.

It will be a new adventure as she grows up and it will be fun.

Enjoying my own company.

2011-07-03T23:56:00.005-04:00

It's been some time since my last post because it's summer and the garden beckons. As the weather improved, I moved my centre outside. Aside from the normal garden stuff, I've also been painting, adding yet another art work to my growing stockpile of useless stuff to leave for Maya to sort out later. If some paintings would sell, I'd feel better because at least I would be increasing my income. Instead this ever growing inventory is costing me money, because paint, brushes and boards cost money. Framing to show is a costly process and renting a gallery costs too. Why do we do it?
Sculpture is worse and the rewards even less. Fewer people buy sculpture than paintings. There must be attics, basements, closets and sheds, all over our fair land, that are filled with people's unsold art. It's a subject worthy of a documentary.

This has been Canada Day long weekend and I had absolutely no plans made with anyone. At first I felt sad at the prospect of a long holiday weekend with nowhere to go and no one to see. Some friends went camping, others went to Ottawa for the July 1 party, or had a BBQ with friends. I, on the other hand, stayed home and worked in my garden. Poor me - nobody likes me - everyone forgot me etc. Hey just a minute, I never called anyone, or had them over for a BBQ, or went to the fireworks at Little Lake. In fact I realized I enjoyed the quiet and chose to stay right where I was.

Three glorious days of puttering around, pruning, weeding, pond watching outside with my jolly little Willy by my side. Yesterday I painted another landscape of the garden. Today I read and snoozed in my Zero Gravity chair. I enjoyed a cool one, watched the Koi's antics and fell asleep with the sound of the water soothing me. Willy slept on, beside, and under my recliner until we were interrupted when Michael came to haul away a couple of huge sections from a recently felled maple tree.

He is a wood worker and has visions of beautiful creations from my maple. He'll take them home cut and shape them into manageable pieces, and seal them for drying. It's wonderful to see none of my storm damaged tree being wasted. The rest is drying for fireplace use. I use every bit of my wood. I've lived here for 16 years and have never bought winter wood yet and I burn my fireplace every evening all winter long. It's a gift.

Another development in my chipmunk story. For several weeks Munkey lived in my den. He ate the food I left out for him and settled in quite comfortably. Willy left him alone because he went outside during the day and was shut out of the room at night. My rapidly domesticating chipmunk was enjoying the best that I had to offer, drinking water, sunflower and other seeds, peanuts and raw almonds. I quickly discovered that he had a special fondness for the almonds. If I was sitting here reading or watching TV, Munkey would emerge and sit right in front of me, eating, grooming and chittering. I left the door to the outside open all day and he could exit whenever he chose. For nearly six weeks he didn't choose to leave.

It was a bit worrisome because I will be gone to the cottage for nearly a month in August and leaving a chipmunk in my house just is not an option. I was considering the need to call pest control for a humane removal. Maya came last weekend. We had a garage sale and went to a baby shower. Munkey showed himself to Maya but was uneasy with another person talking, laughing loudly etc. She left for London on Sunday evening and Munkey left too. He took the door because all the commotion was just too much even for a sociable chipmunk. It's very quiet without him. No more spontaneous chirping and darting about. But he will sure have some interesting tales to tell to his folks in the nest.

Finally, a new cat has been added to my outdoor cat diner. A poor little long-haired Russian Blue with intense and feral eyes is feeding here. Willy used to holler with rage at this cat, until he found himself outside staring her in the eye. Both cats decided to call a truce and go their separate ways. So Smoke dines undisturbed when I feed Willy inside. All is peaceful and Smoke is filling out a bit. Her fur is terribly matted, but she is way too timid for me to even consider grooming her.
Freddy has moved on and Buddy aka Timbit stays indoors most of the time now. So Smoke doesn't have to fight over food these days. Feral cats get a bad rap. They are generally harmless and totally shy. Most are almost never seen. I worry about them because they lead such a harsh existence, so anything I can do to make their lives a little less difficult, I consider a mitzva.

I'm glad that I enjoy my own company, because it's clear now that I'll be on my own till the end. Trent declined Maya's application for the PhD program and she won't be coming home in any foreseeable future. It sadly, frees me to make decisions about my life without her in the equation. She and Glenn will go wherever suits them and since there are no grandchildren in my foreseeable future, I must consider downsizing. It breaks my heart to leave this house, but if I wait too long it will be much more difficult. Things will be as they must be. Aging is inevitable and I've never been one not to face reality.

Thoughts on a "gender neutral" discussion.

2011-06-24T01:36:00.003-04:00

It's back in the news and provoking all kinds of speculation, debate and dialogue. The experiment: the parents who have decided to keep the gender of their new child a secret for as long as possible may be doing that child a serious disservice. To allow shim* to develop an identity without gender bias being imposed on shim. (*"Shim" I have made a contraction from she and him in order not to refer to a child as it). Gender neutrality can also create new grammatical issues as a byproduct.

Babies begin life gender neutral and I always believed gender became less neutral as children grow. There isn't a mammalian species anywhere that is without gender traits. Since the purpose of a species is to reproduce, it is essential that they have the recognition and stimulation traits necessary to accomplish that. A tom cat is very different from a queen yet they are both cats sharing similar feline behaviour. Even when they are neutered they still retain some gender differences. A stallion is a different horse from a mare but they both share the traits of a horse. These differences are neither good nor bad. They just are.

Only when social class, economics and rewards enter the picture as with us humans, does gender become more desirable or less desirable. We wouldn't even be having this conversation if gender were truly neutral. But, if in a society, a woman is worth less than a man it becomes necessary to fight for a gender advantage. The search for gender neutrality is a search for social and economic parity. It can't work, because the biological imperative to reproduce is too strong. Instead of searching for neutrality, which I believe is a sad diminution of the sexuality of our species, we should be stamping out the stigmas that devalue girls and women.

A New Day

2011-06-19T12:37:00.007-04:00

It's a new day and two days away from the Summer Equinox. The days remain light until after nine P.M. and I just love it. Willy and I have our late afternoon rest down by the pond around 7:00 and we listen to the evening birdsong. My Koi are in mating mode, with frenzied chasing around the pond. I get exhausted just watching. I don't know where the female will get the energy to lay her eggs after all this. Fortunately it will settle down in a couple of days. If more young survive, I'll have to give them away because we have reached capacity for the size of the pond. I do love watching those fish in their own world, living their underwater lives. The pond is my restful destination when I'm outside.

It seems so sad to me that I can't share this place with my family. They live too far away to drop in and Glenn's work schedule prevents weekend visits. I have created an oasis of beauty and calm for me and my cat. The same applies to the cottage. The kids don't use it either due to a lack of vacation time, but more because I don't believe Glenn really likes it there. All these years I've been keeping it up and paying to maintain a place to share with Maya, and she can't use it.

It seems to me, that nothing I've made and loved will be passed on to family. I might just as well cash it out, travel and move into a condo. Families live separate lives in distant locations now. The concept if heritage and roots cannot be sustained by the older generation alone so society suffers. Dislocated families create communities with little permanence. Recent studies have shown that the highest level of contentment is reached by people who have a deep sense of belonging. It seems we thrive within the bonds of neighbours, friends and families. We need a sense of commitment to others within a community where we have a family history and can make a contribution.

I'm not surprised but I'm glad studies have been done to confirm what we know instinctively. That is why First Nations have survived no matter how poor their reserve lands are. Their members go away, knowing they can always come home. No matter what happens outside the community, first peoples know the community will welcome them home. That's more than most non-natives can say. Globalization has been terribly damaging to the mental health of workers world wide. Communities of people get torn apart and sent elsewhere while the elderly are left behind to preserve obsolete traditions and history of homelands with no future.

So if I cash out my assets and move into a seniors' warehouse, the gardens, structures and memories I made here, pass into the hands of strangers who don't care about what went before. It is a very disheartening prospect for me.

Everything is conspiring to increase my discomfort. Major repairs to cottage, maintenance and repairs to the house, storm damage to the trees, car needs some work and new tires are recommended and no decent student applications for the room rental are stressing me greatly. Then Maya hears that she was not accepted into the PhD program at Trent with a terse and very arrogant email. They forgot to notify her and she had to request the information with only two weeks left to apply elsewhere. No apology and no courtesy was offered. This, from the wife of a good colleague
of mine. Disgraceful!

So it must be me right? That's how I make myself crazy - it's not me. I didn't bring this about. I'm not responsible for life's difficulties. I am responsible if I don't recognize the realities, accept them and take some remedial action. I do know this, however, like with all things this too shall pass.

Toxic energy.

2011-05-29T22:01:00.003-04:00

Sat.May 28, 2011 - 2:30 am

I'm in bed at J's, feeling sick to my stomach from the stress residue of a showdown with G. Don't ask how we got into it again, we just did. Things were going along fine, too fine. G was being super nice to me and I to him. It was weird. Usually, he is more indifferent and not the least concerned about my welfare.

After dinner we watched a really great movie called "The Last Station" about Tolstoy's last year of life. We began to discuss why a film that good didn't make it into wider distribution and before we knew it, we were fighting. He was being an expert in a field he knows nothing about, and blowing off my views with his usual condescending and over-bearing arguments. The film industry is my field, my area of expertise and I wasn't accorded an iota of respect. This is an age old pattern between us. He was giving me his best "now see here Missy" attitude when I exploded. I should have shut up and walked away, as I have on countless occasions before. But, I'm an idiot and didn't. He started that sneering approach that is so maddening, I blew up and left the room.

On further reflection, I decided to come back downstairs, apologize and try to shed some light on why we push each others buttons. I felt that reaching an emotional detente was necessary for J and I to resume some comfort in our relationship. I certainly could not leave things as they were.

Big mistake- I laid my cards on the table and tried to convey the emotional damage this behavior has done over the years. I've been damaged, J has, and so has G if he could admit it to himself. G saw my apology as a sign of weakness, swooped in and stuck his talons in all my sore spots. J tried to inject some balance and fairness into the process, to no avail. He gets a crazed look, then fights realy dirty and goes for the jugular. J was begging him to stop and it was as though she wasn't even in the room. He was wound up and getting off on his anger.

Here are some toxic tidbits he tossed out:

a. I'm a drama queen with an inflated sense of my own importance.

b. I inserted myself into the family and really was not as important to Julie's recovery, as I like to think. Meanwhile, Julie kept saying that it was very important to her, that I was there.

c. That I try to take credit for things, and give advice when it was none of my business.

(I wanted to remind him of the number of times he asked me to come because I had such a positive effect on J, or asked me what he should do because she seemed indifferent to living, etc.) but I didn't. I could have reminded him that it was he who didn't take his turns on the hospital watch. But I did not. I tried to remind him of the good he had done over the years that I really admired, but he was too into his own toxic soup to take note.

d. He also reiterated how much he disliked me and that he only accepted my presence because of J. This was deeply personal and bitingly painful for me and J, yet all the while he accused me of turning an intellectual discussion into an emotional issue.

e. I was reduced to a shadow of myself and lost all semblance of rational dignity. J's feelings and protestations were completely ignored and I knew that he was digging a deep hole we could never climb out of.

Sun. May 29, 2010, 11:30

NEXT MORNING. I'm dreading going downstairs. I've been reviewing my role in the event o last night and realize that this has not been my finest hour. I should have walked away. G does not like to be challenged and I did so at the deepest level - feelings.

My opening remarks were entirely based on my feelings. They were an appeal to move past argument into understanding. When I came back into the room to apologize, I said, "all I ever wanted from you was respect and friendship. All I ever got was rejection and misunderstanding and I just need to know why? What can we do to change this"?The response was the vitriol I have described. When I told him of my deep respect for his commitment to J's care. His response was that I never told him that before. I suggested, that perhaps I was afraid because I didn't know how he would react. He turned it around on me by saying that I really couldn't acknowledge his role because that would diminish my self importance. These are irreparable, lunatic statements. Where can one go from there? His remarks were coming from a deep well of resentment and loathing that go way back. My contribution to all this has not been my finest hour either. How could I be so deluded? Going back into the same discussion, with the same person, using the same tactics and expecting a different outcome has to be a clear example of my own insanity.

I was shaking so badly I had to leave the room. J., bless her, was repeating that G wasn't being fair and that he was distorting my words completely. My deepest regret, is that this turned out to be anything but a lovely visit with J. I won't be coming back any time soon. We all know this and I now need to exit as calmly as possible. If anything resonated most strongly,it was that I am not family and have no business inserting myself into family matters; that memory is selective and my responses to his appeals for help, are now viewed as my self aggrandizement. He did not ever need me nor did I ever help the situation, in spite of J's protests to the contrary. This was a no win situation for me, and very confusing and hurtful for J. I was even accused of talking about my stroke not to share my experience, but to make him feel guilty for not being being there.

It was jaw-droppingly crazy and very vicious. There's nothing left for me, but to leave quietly and quickly.

I slipped out while they were still in bed and had my coffee and breakfast at the MacDonald's where I took Maya when she was little. I stopped for some groceries at the Metro store in York Mills Plaza and drove home carefully and calmly. I didn't want to risk an accident on the road. I didn't say good bye to J. and that made me sad. It had to be this way, a quick, non-confrontational exit to save everyone's face.

Home again in my garden, with my cat happy to see me and peace embracing me. A quiet supper in front of the TV and a nap.

PS
I got a call from J around 7:00 PM. She was calling to express her deep regret about what had happened. She was not as out of it as I thought, and remembered all too vividly the cruel scene that played out in front of her. I told her how sorry I was but I couldn't expose myself to that again. She said she understood and that no one should be exposed to that kind of attack. She kept saying it was so unfair and that I had her full support. I think she was referring to the peripheral damage as well as the things her husband had said to me. His behavior effects not only me but
our friendship as well. I promised we would keep in touch by phone and said I loved her and we hung up. I'm very glad she made that call, but very sad for her situation. It's not just her wheel chair that's confining her. She's confined by her caregiver who controls her. It seems he still can't confine her mind.

* NOTE: added July 4, 2011

It's sad to report but the events I have described had such a negative effect on me that some of the Fibromyalgia symptoms have returned. Within a week I began experiencing the fatigue and joint pain. At first I believed I had overdone it in the garden but as time has passed, it's clear what this is. It's now evident that the events I've described had a traumatic effect on me. Now I must refocus on the future and try to erase the pain from my mind in order to recover. I can no longer endure any form of abuse without paying with my health.

Hold the Botox and send in the ducks.

2011-05-15T16:30:00.003-04:00

I'm catching my breath today after a a few amazingly beautiful days when I was busy outdoors. Yes, after a protracted, cold and dreary spring, the sunny weather arrived last weekend and continued to be nice all week. Just as all the spring blooms popped out of the ground at once, in celebration, I popped out of my house. It felt like being released from jail. I was free to roam and plant things, monitor my Koi activity in the pond, and lunch al fresco on my deck. I was so pleased to see those small pale green leaves misting the trees, that I decided to do some landscape painting before the foliage burst into deep summer greens. It happens so quickly that I only had a window of a few days. With nothing to distract me, I packed up my easel, paint bag and board to capture what I could.

Last Monday I headed out to Donwood because the United Church there is perched on a hill that affords a beautiful view over the rolling pastures to the drumlins beyond. I set up my easel and began to paint. I was pretty rusty after nearly a year of being idle. I struggled with the medium, acrylic paints, which dry very fast. I'm used to oils, which are slow drying, so I was handling the acrylics like oil paints and it was so frustrating. I felt like I was at war with my board. Eventually I simmered down and achieved something. I was not happy with the painting, but the location and solitude were bliss. Several hours later I headed home, tired and happy.

The following day I tackled the same painting to correct some errors that would drive me crazy if left unresolved. The end result was much better and I came to understand what I needed to do with that troublesome medium. I would have to approach the task in a whole different way.

The next time I went out with my gear, I chose a spot near here on the east bank of the Otonabee River. I often walk to this small bay and wetland because it is so wild. Looking through the trees to the far shore was a delight for the eyes. The sky and the pale green trees on the far shore, reflected in the water, gleamed like pale stained glass through the dark tree trunks and undergrowth around me. I painted fast with broad swaths of under-colour which I then layered over in more detailed sections. This approach worked with the quick drying time instead of against it. Problem solved. This left me free to pay more attention to the actual scene before me and the composition of the painting. The resulting painting is much more successful.

As I worked, a woman walked by and said "are you painting a picture?" "Yes " I replied. She drew nearer and enthused, "Oh that's so beautiful". Thank you, says I. "You're an artist then". She continued on her way so very happy to have met an artist. I was on the verge of saying "I'm just a retired old woman who likes to paint". I'm glad I was able to restrain my self-deprecation and let her walk away happy.

As a reward, my HP sent me a family of Mallards - three drakes and a mama duck, who in a cacophony of quacking, was moving her brood of ten tiny ducklings off the nest and into the water for the first time. As the noisy little troop proceeded, the three drakes formed a protective circle around them. The last little duckling stumbled into the water and joined the line of precision swimmers as they moved away from shore with the drakes taking up their guard positions as out swimmers. Wonderful, wonderful!

All good things come to those who wait. Why is patience so difficult to learn when it is so rewarding? It is one of the greatest gifts of old age. I can experience so much more with so much less energy and drama expended. Patience and the value of solitude make aging really worthwhile.

Hold the Botox and send in the ducks.

Ill winds and new winds.

2011-05-04T14:59:00.003-04:00

So much time has passed since I last posted that I feel a sea change has taken place. How do I catch up? I can't I guess so we'll look back from today's vantage point.

On the 15th of March I celebrated yet another birthday with a few of my nearest and dearest friends. Maya and Glenn were unable to come so only about 18 friends came to my Pot Luck party. I cooked for about three days and provided the bulk of the main meal, augmented by salad, side dishes and desserts from friends. A really good time was had by all and I went to bed at three AM exhausted but happy. Why do I celebrate turning 71? Because I'm so happy to be alive.

Market Hall Performance Centre officially opened with a posh affair and we who have been working on this for several years were moved to tears by the beauty of our new "old" theatre. The architects have so thoroughly respected the historic features of the old market building while creating a thoroughly modern theatre space. Beautiful, beautiful! The fund-raising work is not done yet, but now people can see what they are donating for.

Maya was unable to come home for the Passover Seder, so I postponed it till Easter Sunday and we had an Eastover Seder instead. She was able to come for the Easter long weekend and we were joined by friends to celebrate that most traditional and historic meal together. Christians forget (or never were taught) that the Passover Seder is the Last Supper. All the symbolic foods the Seder plate today are exactly as they would have been for Jesus at the Last Supper. As a semi-Christian, I'm always deeply moved by that. It adds so much depth to my spiritual observance to be able to partake in both faiths and I feel truly fortunate. I'm sorry Glenn was unable to get the long weekend off because he missed being part of this most important tradition. I hope Maya carries it on when I am gone. The Seder symbolically defines our family Judeo/Christian values.

My student boarder Kathleen has moved out and on in her new life, taking up an internship at the Manitoba Art Gallery. She was a wonderful housemate and I'm missing her daily. We had a very warm and amicable relationship. Willy misses her too. She was so sweet with him and he adored her. Now he's stuck with boring old me. Fortunately, the weather has become more spring than winter and he can go out. He can enjoy many cat activities in the garden that distract and wear him out. We wish Kathleen well and hope for her success in the museum world.

And for all you jaded anti-monarchists and historic cynics out there - yes, I was up at three a.m. to watch William and Kate get married. It's a great spectacle, with pageantry, glitz, history, continuity and HORSES. Lots of great horses. Didn't you know? I love horses. It runs in the Hogenkamp blood. My father was a military horseman, so I can imagine him in uniform, as out rider to a royal landau. Only my father was in the Dutch army - small detail. While everyone else was oohing and aahing over the wedding dress, Maya and I were on the phone together extolling the tributes of the great horses. The dress was not too shabby either. Yes, it cost a fortune - enough to feed an African village for a year - it was worth it, to give the people a sense of pride, hope and the reassurance that only tradition is capable of providing. England and the remaining Commonwealth can still well afford to feed that African village if only the political will was there.

Which brings me to our recent general election. The political will to feed African villages or Innuit and First Nation villages, for that matter, may not be there for quite some time now. Canadians, in their infinite wisdom, have reelected the Harper Conservatives to another five years with a majority this time. I am no fan of Conservative government-particularly this one. I have serious concerns about our democratic institutions like free speech, freedom of assembly,
human rights and womens' abortion rights. They have already demonstrated their disdain for these rights as a minority government. I'm also worried about the erosion of civility and accountability, and Arts, Culture and the CBC will be entering the dark ages. Social democrats, liberals and trade unionists are in for a bumpy ride. Heaven, give us strength and give the new official opposition the NDP the wit and will to push back when it's needed.

So all my like-minded friends, lets relax, and deep breathe. Canada is resilient and so are we.

The sun will come out tomorrow.

My mother and Maya meet at Museum London

2011-03-24T01:16:00.003-04:00

Exhibit dazzles with its fresh smell, bright sheen | James Reaney | Columnists | Entertainment | London Free Press

It’s true — attitudes toward cleanliness have changed over the decades and so have the household appliances used in its pursuit

Maybe it’s the headless woman in the Hoover vacuum cleaner advertisement.

Maybe it’s the kitchenware on loan from London luminary Weezi and her mom.

Maybe it’s the clock that kept time for the Curnoe family over the decades.

Maybe it’s the displays of products like Laraxo — a hand cleaner — and Sinko. You don’t need help in IDing Sinko, do you?

Likely, it’s all of the above and everything else about the Museum London exhibition Spic and Span: A Recent History of Being Clean that makes it clean up so sweetly. The exhibition continues until June 12.

“By the turn of the 20th century, an extraordinary idea had taken hold across North America,” says the musem’s regional-history curator, Maya Hirschman, “that frequent bathing, even a daily bath, was good for your health. Spic and Span looks at how product design and savvy marketing caught up to this cultural change and transformed our society from one of backyard privies to multiple-bathroom homes filled with products promising ‘the brightest white.’ ”

Hirschman’s exhibition considers factors that marked a dramatic increase in the idea that cleaning is “women’s work.” It takes us from a big bathtub c. 1860 to a kitchen scene from the 1950s.

It doesn’t hurt that Hirschman has made the exhibition a joyful labour of love. She insisted on the use of the “celery-leaf” green tone that’s the perfect shade for the exhibition.

She has even enlisted an iconic image of her grandmother, Florence Hogenkamp, as Florence in the Kitchen. “She would do it — she was a nurse,” Hirschman says of the woman seen at the controls of a gleaming suburban Canadian kitchen in 1952.

To go with such splendid Canadiana, she’s also turned up some unintentionally hilarious relics from the gender-role wars. Among those would be that Hoover advertisement with the headless housewife. “Her head’s cut off,” Hirschman tells a visitor, who has been admiring it all on a stroll through Spic and Span. The image of the woman in the advertisement shows only what limbs she needs to manoeuvre that godlike Hoover. “The head is unimportant,” Hirschman says.

Like any fine exhibition, Spic and Span has room for new wonders. These arrived after Weezi, a.k.a Lisa Gaverluk, and her mom visited the exhibition and marvelled at the kitchen display.

“That’s so cool,” said one or the other — or both. Voila. More retro, classy items: enamel ware, small appliances and mixing bowls on loan for the kitchen.

By happy chance, the clock in that kitchen scene has an intimate connection with London and Canadian cultural history. It was a 1935 wedding gift. The clock was in the Curnoe family home in Old South London until it finally stopped in 1993. Glen Curnoe donated it to the museum.

More? Yes there is much more to Spic and Span.

What’s the most amazing attraction of the 60 on exhibit?

Maybe it’s two domestic-themed paintings by ace London artist Bernie Vincent.

Maybe it’s the . . . ah, you better get over there yourself and then tell me.

IF YOU GO

What: Spic and Span: A Recent History of Being Clean, a Museum London exhibition. On Sunday, 1 p.m., Dr. Shelley McKellar talks on Cholera and the Gospel of Sanitation: Disease and Public Health in Nineteenth-Century London, Ontario as part of museum’s free Sundays at One series.

When: Continues until June 12. Closed Mondays. Noon to 5 p.m., other days, except Thursdays, noon to 9 p.m.

Where: Museum London, 421 Ridout St. N.

Details: Admission by donation. Visit museumlondon.ca or call 519-661-0333.

Spring is in the Air - Time to take stock.

2011-03-21T00:27:00.004-04:00

Today marked the first official day of spring and the birds seem to agree. The weather was very acceptable, so I went to check my fish. They were active and aware to my delight. I can never get used to the idea that they live throughout the five cold months without a bit of food, completely oblivious to the freezing temperatures. They are lethargic but very much alive. What a joy to see them well. The most dangerous time for them is between now and when it warms up. I can't start to feed them until the temp is consistently over 55* F. This is when we find out how much winter has exhausted them.

The birds are coming back. Their song is animating the air. Robins, starlings, red-winged blackbirds, grackles, crows and waterfowl are returning. The mourning doves are cooing and courting, the cardinal pair are active while he sings so beautifully and the geese are flying overhead. Excitement is everywhere.

I celebrated my actual birthday on the 15th. It was a nice day, relaxing and reflective. My friend David H. had invited me to speak for his first AA anniversary. I brought him to his first meeting a year ago. I prayed for his success one day at a time, and was like a proud parent when he made it to this important date. It was an honour to speak for him at this important time.

I had not spoken at a meeting in a long while so it was important for me as well. Thirty-six years ago on February 19, I attended my first meeting and had my last drink. Telling my story again was an opportunity to take my own inventory. In revisiting my drunkalogue, I realized that I have now lived longer as a sober person than as a drunk. I drank for 21 years and ended up in a muddled mess. I've had 36 years to repair the damage and straighten out the mess. It's been a rough road at times with disappointments, deaths, despair and confusion. Life can be a bitch sometimes and learning to deal with it head on and sober, is not easy. But life is also so beautiful - full of joy, friendships, love, birth and accomplishment. The beauty of having lived it all sober for 36 years is that you remember and you grow from it all. In AA we tell newcomers that if they don't pick up a drink, one day at a time, it gets better. That is not precisely true. Life is life, good, bad and indifferent. It is what it is and doesn't get better. In sobriety we get better. We are able to cope better, make wise decisions, accept responsibility and change the things we can. Sobriety is a great gift for an alcoholic, and we are helped each step of the way by the collective strength of the group, the wise principles of the AA program and by faith in our Higher Power. I have so much to be grateful for and I must always remember that if I'm grateful, I can't be resentful. Those two emotions simply cannot coexist in a person.

So I thank David for the gift of friendship and his invitation to speak on his special day. I thank the fellowship of AA for being there for me and David and I thank my HP for allowing me to see another spring, for my precious sobriety, and for the lives of my fish and the returning birds.
It's a great life and it's my life and I love it - one day at a time.

This old broad can still party.

2011-03-14T02:08:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I celebrated my forthcoming Birthday (March 15) with a pot luck dinner party for 20 of my nearest and dearest friends. I t has become a tradition that I have a party. Last year it was the opening of my art exhibition at The Blue Tomato Gallery. I can't pull that off annually, so I returned to a more traditional format of eating good food, drinking good wine and enjoying good talk. It is usually fairly casual. This year was no exception. I spent the two days leading up to Saturday cooking up a storm, with glazed ham, Swedish meatballs, Dutch sauerkraut, potato salad, and several cheeses. My friends added scalloped potatoes, Indian chicken curry with papadums, seafood and several other salads, vegetarian lasagna, breads,Greek yogurt, condiments and four types of cake and a pie.

This was accompanied by wine, beer and Perrier water and closed with coffee and tea. I have been feeding large groups for quite some time, so I have the buffet organization down to a science and with a few friends helping, it ran very smoothly. Judging by the group's animation, the laughter, and the complete silence while everyone was seriously eating, I know they all had a good time. A smaller hard- core of friends remained until after 1:00 AM and all left with doggie bags. Still, leftovers fill my fridge and we won't go hungry for several days.

My friends include artists, musicians, writers, a photographer or two, a web designer, some retired civil servants and an impresario. Add my student lodger, two pre-teens, a ten month old baby and, of course, me and we have a cross generational mix of happy people. Lubricate it all with enough wine, beer and juices to keep the conversation and the laughter flowing.

Once they all left, most of the clean up had happened, and the dish washer was loaded. I washed my wine glasses by hand today and put everything away slowly. Kathleen and I decided to ignore the arrival of Daylight Saving time today, and change the clocks slowly, one at a time throughout the day. I look around the house now and feel blessed with my friends and my life. The lovely flowers they all brought, are filling my rooms with scent and the colours of spring.

Thank you HP for another good year.

Chii Miigwetch, Chief Ralph.

2011-03-09T02:35:00.006-05:00

In deepest sympathy
Posted by claire hogenkamp (friend and colleague) On Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I am so profoundly sad about our loss off this treasured man. Chief Ralph was a sensitive and respectful man. Always the educator, he taught me to be still and listen. I did as he suggested and learned a lot about the people, history and guiding principles of Nawash First Nation. It was a valuable lesson.

I remember, with particular fondness, his unannounced visits to my Toronto office. He dropped in when he came from visiting his mother in a Toronto hospital. Chief Ralph would just arrive with his briefcase (a plastic shopping bag) to sit and rest, or show me some document, and we talked about life, my daughter and his concerns about his his mother. Ever so gently, he would probe for new developments in government thinking that could affect the negotiations. He was always respectful and sensitive to my concerns about confidentiality. He was a true gentleman.

I was fortunate to have had the opportunity to serve with three MNR negotiation teams (Nawash Commercial Fishing Rights) over ten years. That time, being patiently guided by Chief Ralph has been among the high points in my life's journey.

Our world is a better place for Chief Ralph Akiwenzi's time among us.

Claire Hogenkamp

CHIEF Ralph Ernest Akiwenzie

AKIWENZIE, CHIEF Ralph Ernest - Of Cape Croker passed away peacefully with family by his side at 8:20 a.m. on Friday, March 4, 2011, 6 days before his 65th birthday. Cherished brother of Jean of Oshawa, Rhonda of Toronto, Helen of Owen Sound, Donna Lynne of Toronto and step-brother of Orland of Toronto. Beloved nephew of Michael (Marge) Akiwenzie of Sault Ste. Marie, Harold Lamorandiere of Barrie and Ernestine (Lenny) Baldwin of Barrie. He will be sadly missed by nieces and nephews Michael of Curve Lake, Tarah of Toronto, Wilfred of Toronto, twins Lyndon of Prince Edward Island and Leah of Owen Sound, Danielle of Owen Sound, Priscilla Lynne of Toronto, Billie Jo Solomon of Winnipeg, Murrie-Jo Ducharme of Winnipeg, Murray Jr. of Wininipeg and Mickey of Winnipeg, great nieces and nephews Donna Jacobs of Curve Lake, Jenelle of Owen Sound and Michael of Toronto as well as many great nieces and nephews of Winnipeg. He was predeceased by his parents Donna (Lamorandiere) and Ernest Akiwenzie and brothers Carman and Murray. After graduating grade 13 at Wiarton & District High School, Chief Akiwenzie was the first native in Ontario to graduate from the Stratford Teachers College. After teaching in Stratford for 2 years, he returned to Cape Croker and continued to advocate for and teach his culture and language for 17 years, and obtained his Native Language Diploma through Lakehead University. Chief Akiwenzie was a strong community leader serving on Band Council for many years and then as Chief for 22 years. Visitation will be held at Chippewas of Nawash Community Centre, Cape Croker on Sunday March 6, 2011 from 2:00 to 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. and on Monday, March 7, 2011 from 2:00 to 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 to 9:00 p.m. The mass to celebrate his life will be held at St. Mary's Catholic Church on Tuesday, March 8, 2011 at 11:00 a.m. Interment St. Mary's Catholic Cemetery. Arrangements entrusted to the GEORGE FUNERAL HOME, Wiarton. Donations made to the Maadookii Senior Centre or Nawash Scholarship Fund would be appreciated by the family as expressions of sympathy. Condolences may be sent to the family through www.georgefuneralhome.com 9913294

BILL HENRY

Sun Times staff

The Chippewas of Nawash bid farewell Tuesday to Chief Ralph Akiwenzie, Cape Croker's longest serving elected chief.

St. Mary's Catholic Church and hall were filled with mourners and hundreds more crammed the Cape Croker community hall to watch a live broadcast of the funeral mass which began with a brief sweetgrass ceremony.

Chief Ralph Ernest Akiwenzie died Friday morning of cancer a few days short of his 65th birthday. He was remembered Tuesday for his quiet, determined, exemplary leadership and his 22 years of tireless and selfless work on behalf of the First Nation community.

"We've lost a teacher, a leader, a protector and a friend," Scott Lee, the interim chief and head band councillor said at the church. "It was his commitment to the community that drove him, not praise or power."

Lee highlighted some of Chief Akiwenzie's legacy, especially his role in helping reassert aboriginal fishing and hunting rights. He contributed $5,000 of his own money to the legal defence fund in the Jones-Nadjiwon court decision of 1993 in which Judge David Fairgrieves recognized the Saugeen Ojibway right to fish commercially in their traditional waters surrounding the Bruce Peninsula.

Chief Akiwenzie was also a key negotiator for three subsequent, court-ordered fishing agreements with the province of Ontario which implement those rights.

"He was tireless and instrumental in negotiating three fishing agreements which have begun to bring protection and peace to our waters and the fish," Lee said.

After the funeral mass, hundreds of people lined both sides of the road outside the community hall. They watched as the funeral procession of close to 40 vehicles slowly drove through the community and eventually made its way to the cemetery.

A feast was planned after at the hall, where several Ontario chiefs and others were to speak about Chief Akiwenzie.

Stand on guard for Canadian values.

2011-03-07T00:47:00.004-05:00

The radical right in the US is making their democracy dysfunctional and threatening the very rights entrenched in their constitution. Reason and respect are being pummeled daily in media passing themselves off as legitimate. The USA is on the verge of another civil war but this one is psychlogical. The end result will be the same, destruction of institutions and traditions, corruption of unifying, fundamental values. Their precious democracy will be consumed from within and a religious oligarchy will assume control. The enemy to the US lifestyle will not crash the gates because it is already inside. I had hoped Obama would be able to harness the remaining democratic energy to overcome the cynicism, fear and religious fanaticism afoot in the country. But the forces of negativity are well organized and ruthless. They have captured middle America's innate racism and are using it to divide and conquer. There is little we in Canada can do but watch. It's not our country nor our battle.

When it comes to our own country, however, we can work now to prevent these divisive ideas and organizers from making inroads into our system of democracy. We have traditionally been political moderates with our own traditions, system of governance and institutions. We have been influenced by popular US culture, but in the crunch we do things our way.

The biggest danger to our way of life and our sense of fair play exists with the media today. Too few people own too much of the media. They promote their own narrow perspectives by promulgating schism where none exists. One such communications empire is Quebecor-Sun Media. Their basic philosophy is to make the most money with the least journalistic integrity possible. They walk in lock step with big business and the conservative establishment. Just as in the US, this wealthy minority seeks to command by closing down debate and balanced opinion. They too rail against the educated elite (Starbuckers) and the liberal left (silk underwear socialists).

Hence Sun Media purchased community newspapers and instituted an editorial policy that publishes all personal opinion pieces from the centre. Local papers no longer speak with
their communities' voices. They all speak with the same corporate voice espousing values that have little to do with the views in the local population. The letter that follows is my response to a particularly blatant barrage of neo-conservative hectoring. The Peterborough Examiner today bears no resemblance to the paper that was once edited by Robertson Davies and I am writing to remind them of that. It won't help, but at least I felt better. If a few people rouse themselves to respond we can remind Sun Media that some people still respect independent thought.

Peterborough Examiner
Re: The Comment Page
(formerly the editorial page when the local editor was allowed to have an opinion).

Dear Editors:

I must express my profound distaste with the tone of the Comment page and my regret at losing our Peterborough voice. The Peterborough Examiner has had a proud history in Canadian small daily newspaper publication. Over the years, even when I have not agreed with an editorial position, I could rely on a balanced perspective. We are not a homogeneous collection of like-minds in Peterborough. We have broad ranging beliefs and values, but one we commonly share is a belief in fairness and respect. This has been eroding since Sun Media has commandeered local editorial policy.

I almost didn't renew my subscription until you gave us some fine, in depth reporting on our Peterborough Transit System, and our health care delivery. This encouraged me to renew my subscription. Peterborough is my community and I love it. I really respect our citizens' common sense and open hearts and I look to our only daily newspaper to reflect those values. The tone of this recent editorial page doesn't represent me or my neighbours at all.

First Jim Merriam's extremely biased column against unions. A spectacularly one-sided perspective that is insulting to every honest hard-working union member in our community. The recession has seen huge concessions from unions to help save manufacturing industries on the brink. Local union members are active participants and donors in the United Way, Heart and Stroke, Cancer and myriad other fundraising campaigns. They are "us".

Then Michael Den Tandt's insulting and condescending piece about the people who are not conservative Rob Ford fans - he calls them "Starbuck Nation" and "silk underwear socialists". Wouldn't life be easy if people could so easily be categorized into Starbuckers or No Frillers. This is an insidious form of snobbery intended to create division where none exists. Most of the people I know, shop at several stores from The Superstore to No Frills because they go where it's convenient and where there are sales. I also meet my neighbours and friends in places like Starbucks, Tim Horten's and in local businesses such as Natas or Dreams of Beans. We switch around according to inclination and location. In Peterborough we are not so polarized that we won't have a cup of coffee together.

He goes on to lump CBC's Ken Finkleman, Jian Ghomeshi and David Suzuki together (in silk underwear at Starbucks), as emblems of the satanic liberal left. The first two are popular with a younger demographic who are not politically entrenched but David Suzuki is indeed popular with, among others, the liberal left. Sun Media never misses an opportunity to demonize the CBC even when it's not relevant. CBC fans are also "us"

Finally we get Christina Blizzard' oblique piece about union and Liberal support for a very boring and ineffective commercial that bought time on Oscar night. Special Interests work both ways so I won't even glorify this column with further discussion.

They are entitled to their points of view and space in any publication. But not all three, side by side, in my community newspaper at the same time. It's bad editorial policy. Where is the balance and how does this come close to our community values? This is extreme political bias passing itself off as serious discussion. It's brain washing and an insult to the Examiner's readers and to Peterborough's tradition of fair play.

Sincerely,

CH

Wake up animal lovers.

2011-03-02T00:49:00.007-05:00

It's March 1. How is this possible when it was February yesterday? Help, where is my life rushing too so fast. I was complaining about the long dark winter in December and now the days are lengthening. In fact, daylight is a full two hours longer now than in December. Can spring be far behind?

Willy is overjoyed to go outside these days. He gets so excited even though he doesn't stay out more than an hour. Each evening, we are visited by a variety of neighbourhood cats as they are gearing up for mating season. There will be yet another crop of kittens to add to the feral cat population. I'm astonished at the number of "in tact" pet cats there are in my area. It baffles me how people just ignore all the information about the dangers to song birds and wildlife from the increasing cat population.

Wake up folks. Your roaming tabby is also a danger to himself and other cats. Feline Immune- deficiency Virus (FIV/Aids) is becoming a serious cat disease that is very infectious, and for which there is no cure. It is a lingering, wasting disorder that is spread through bites and sexual intercourse. Un-neutered Toms fight a lot in mating season and the female in heat gets a double whammy because the Tom bites her to pin her for mating. She then passes the disease to her kittens. If your neutered Fluffy is allowed out even briefly, and gets caught up in a territorial skirmish, there is a strong chance she/he will come home with FIV.

FIV is not dangerous to humans or other animal species, so you and Fido will not get sick. Alas, Fluffy will be symptom free until the immune system begins to break down. Then, like a human Aids sufferer, the poor cat will succumb to all kinds of illnesses. When that happens, and the family feline starts to need veterinary care, the same irresponsible people will likely abandon Fluffy somewhere across town, to die alone, from hunger, thirst and stress.

A cat is not a disposable toy - cute as a kitten, but a challenge as it grows up. Cats suffer from neglect, indifference, superstition, ignorance and worst of all, abuse. Their very independence and self- sufficiency makes cats ready targets for mistreatment. It's assumed that they can cope without human intervention but their coping skills (hunting) cause the damage to birds and wildlife. Cats are damned for their hunting ability while also abandoned to rely on hunting to survive. This so called *cat problem* is really a human problem. We bring them into our lives, but accept no responsibility for them. Of course there are also good cat people, who do the right things for their pets. This is not addressed to them. This is for all the folks who still think its better to let Fluffy lead a "natural" life, and about the people who are cruel in their ignorance.

Spring is coming and Willy is so excited. So are all his neighborhood buddies. It's such a joy to watch him play and sit in the sun. I wish for every cat to have a patch of sun to sit in, and carefree games to play under the watchful eyes of loving humans.

We need a lube job.

2011-02-23T14:39:00.004-05:00

One of the after effects of a house full of people is the intense quiet once everyone leaves. I really enjoy that quiet. It's like the days when Maya was little and went to bed at night. I would sit in the quiet and relish my aloneness. There was never such a sweet feeling. That doesn't mean that I didn't enjoy my children or that I don't love house guests. Not at all. I really enjoyed the weekend a lot. It was filled with activity, a birthday party for Tori; a day with my other daughter Tracy and her two little people; Glenn 's quiet conversation, dinner with Kathleen and Ray in attendance, and throughout, Maya 's energy and humour. It was wonderful fun and I loved cooking special meals and the lively conversation, but last night when everyone had gone, I enjoyed that special calm of solitude.

People need solitude to be friends with themselves. We need silence to connect with our inner selves. In this world of mobile communication devices, silence and solitude has become rare and all the more precious.

I find it troubling to see that my daughter, her man, and so many others can no longer disconnect from their Blackberries. Wherever we go, they are checking their messages and texting others. It's done in restaurants, at birthday parties, in mid conversation et al. What could possibly be so important that it justifies such discourtesy? At the very least, leave the room if you must check your messages.

Nobody likes to feel irrelevant, but that is exactly how I feel when a text or a ring tone interrupts our face to face connection. It's like talking with someone, at a party, who is constantly scanning the room for someone more important to talk to. Cell phones are really useful devices for safety, keeping people informed of your whereabouts, checking meeting times and warning about road conditions. None of these need to be reported or checked in mid-conversation at social functions. Doing so, sends out the message that being in the now with fellow human beings is of lesser value. It is dear people, at the very least - rude, and at its worst - unkind.

There are enough situations in daily life that devalue us, we don't need it reinforced by our friends, nearest and dearest. The time seems to be at hand where human interaction is no longer prized and we are settling for imitations of life. Does LOL really mean laughter, and OMG really register genuine surprise? Will we ever be satisfied with :) when a real smile is needed? I'm from the generation that invented labour saving technology and strove to make life easier for people. We were on the threshold of a culture shift. Marshall McLuhan sounded the warning about the medium becoming the message and he was right. It's time to reflect on how far we, as a species, are prepared to go in surrendering ourselves. As individuals, we need to decide how much of our humanity we are willing consign to this technology addiction.

In our daily discourse, we could take the first step by turning off our cell phones to talk to each other. Let's stop referencing our senses in text, and instead, using our touch, sight, smell, laughter, emotion and intellect to again embrace one another in real time. I believe that we would see less road rage, less frustration and reduce the new phenomenon of pedestrian rage. A civil society requires civil citizens to function and the purpose of courtesy has been to lubricate society. Judging from what passes for social interaction in this technological world, we are all desperately in need of a lube job.

This is not a rant against my nearest and dearest. They are no worse or better than everyone else in their generation, being swept along by the tide of dehumanization. They are busy people doing the best they can and, no doubt, see these technological advances as a huge benefit. I honestly believe that they would be less stressed and busy if they unplugged more often. They need more time to listen to their inner selves and to each other. We all need some silence to make friends with ourselves.

Remembering where I belong.

2011-02-13T16:03:00.002-05:00

Today is a warmer (only - 4) day but quite grey and damp looking. It's looking like it might snow. I like it colder with bright sunlight and no wind. A -4 * day with a strong wind chill is far more difficult to tolerate than -20 with sun and no wind. We have had a few of those bright crisp cold days lately, that make my winter experience thrilling. Walking on crunching snow is one of my favourite sounds. I guess I must be Canadian.

I was invited to visit friends in Florida, and kept looking to find a time to get away. It dawned on me now that it's February, that I'm procrastinating in part, because I don't want to leave and also because I'm not too fond of Florida. I like my friends very much, so it is no reflection on their hospitality. I'm just weird about winter. I keep thinking I'd like to go to Cuba sometime, or back to Columbia (which I loved), or to revisit Jamaica but I don't do it. I only think about it. I do have concerns about the heat. Lately, I have had such bizarre physical reactions to the heat that it makes me nervous going into it deliberately. I've even had to install air conditioning in the cottage to prevent getting sick in a heat wave. Knowing I have it, really relieves my anxiety. So
those are my reasons for staying put.

I have been invited to speak at a dear friend's first anniversary in AA. It is a true honour to do this because I know how difficult his journey has been. Sobriety, as a way of life, is the farthest thing from any alcoholic's mind. The first year is a struggle that I would never want to relive. My HP and the fear of losing my precious sobriety, has kept me sober *one day at a time* for 36 years. It has been a gift beyond any in my life, except the birth of Maya. Her birth would never have happened had I not walked into AA. The miracle of her arrival, following three miscarriages, was a direct result of my sobriety. So, I have much to be grateful for and it will be a joy to share that with D's AA Group.

As it happens, his First Anniversary is on March 15, my 71st Birthday. Without a shadow of a doubt, I can say that I would never have reached my 71st birthday without my 36 years of sobriety. It wasn't always a smooth trip and there were many painful moments in my life since February 19, 1975, because that's life - full of peaks and valleys. By living each 24 hours without my crutch of oblivion, I can say, each step of the journey was felt, experienced, and increased my consciousness. I am part of the world and I can have a hand in changing the world. I am responsible! I believe it's called maturity and I like it.

In sharing D's anniversary, I hope I can help some newcomers hang in there. There is hope and a good life awaiting them if they believe in the group's love, follow the collective experience in those AA rooms, and with the help of their HP come to believe in themselves.

Nowhere else in this life can I promise that things will get better.

Thank you D.

Pets and their people.

2011-02-12T01:50:00.003-05:00

We are having a bout of illness here. First me, with that horrendous ear infection. Both ears completely blocked and aching. I had close to a month of being out of it from drugs, pain and deafness. Now Kathleen, my lodger, is ill with a vicious sinus infection. She missed several days at school and is sleeping round the clock. I've been making healthy soups and stir fries to keep up her strength. For the time being, Willy has escaped it. He had a really difficult time when I was deaf because I couldn't hear him and didn't respond appropriately. He chatters all the time and I respond but when I wasn't answering him he started to become withdrawn and mopey. When I returned to normal, Willy was wary, then jubilant. Another example of how sensitive our pets can be to our health and mood changes. Now he is disturbed by Kathleen being shut in her room. He sits and picks at her door but she doesn't respond. This troubles him. Sometimes he'll stand on his hind legs and rattle her door-nob. I call him away so he won't awaken her.

Much as I love cats, I draw the line at cat fisticuffs and caterwauling on my back deck. They are not even my cats. One huge white male belongs to a neighbour. He is a bully and Willy instinctively dislikes him. The other is a dark grey feral tabby. I have been leaving a bowl of kibble and water in a sheltered spot for the feral cat who is too shy to come out if I'm there. The white cat is well fed and should stay home but clearly has owners who put him out at night (even if it's freezing). The feral cat has nobody, and my food eases his rough life slightly. Tonight the bully showed up as the feral cat was feeding. There ensued such a territorial dispute, it was alarming. The white cat decided to launch an attack on the feral cat, who wanted to escape but was cornered. I seized a broom and intervened. They both ran off in different directions. The bully will go home and the feral lad will sneak back to eat his supper. Willy, inside, became over stimulated by all this and had to do his cushion to unwind.

Snow days are pure magic.

2011-02-03T02:16:00.003-05:00

I'm retired, so I have no pressing or urgent need to be anywhere. I can work or not work at my own pace. Still, snow days are surprise presents from the sky and out of our control. They just happen and it's the randomness that makes a snow day such a welcome gift. We have all been given a get out of jail free card and we can relax without a schedule or guilt.

I love snow days! Kathleen, my lodger was called early in the morning - college closed - brilliant! Back to bed she went. I woke up to that wonderful silence that accompanies heavy snow falls. I looked out at the pristine unploughed world that is my garden and smiled with the recollected joy of my childhood. Yay it's a *snow day*.

I canceled my podiatrist appointment and spent the day in my jammies. I read, wrote birthday cards, played on my computer and briefly went outside in big tall boots, over my pants, to smell the air.

Willy, my adventurous cat tried gingerly high stepping it over the snow. No, not so good, so he walked all around my deck banister and over my window sill to get back inside. I took some winter photos and came in as well.

We ended the day with a good supper and a relaxing fire in the fireplace. Kathleen, Willy and I had a perfect winter day. We were blessed with a lot of snow. Sigh.

We are not amused #**+&##X!

2011-01-26T16:40:00.007-05:00

As some of you may know, I've been having ear trouble for a while. Most recently I developed swimmers ear in the right ear. So I've had vertigo in my left ear and an infection in the right one. Life is never that simple and over the past two weeks things have grown steadily worse. The infection spread to both ears and I was going mad with pain and blockages. I sought medical advice and from there things got really serious.

Yesterday I went to see the Nurse Practitioner and she referred me to an Ear, Nose and Throat Doctor who saw me this morning 9:30. Apparently, I have a fungal infection exacerbated by a severe allergic reaction to the Polysporen ear drops I used for Swimmers' Ear. This had caused my ear canals to swell up and close completely. I now know what it feels like to be totally deaf. Thoughts of a spring arriving without birdsong really upset me. I like sound and a truly silent world terrifies me.

As well, the ears began to ooze lymph in an attempt to heal themselves. The ensuing itching and pain has been impressive. The nurse practitioner put me on antibiotics and Prednisone (steroids) yesterday to reverse the hearing damage and these are making me ill. Yikes!!! But the steroids went to work immediately. The improvement was measurable. No wonder athletes like steroids: they speed up the healing process.

Warning: some of the following information may be too graphic for young children and squeamish adults. If this is you, stop reading.

The ear doctor picked up a motorized suction tube and vacuumed out both ears to remove the gunk from the oozing that clogged the ear canals. It was not enjoyable. In fact one could describe it as painful. But it did clear the the canals enough to hear again. He was the nicest Grenadian man who kept speaking so gently while engaging in these Nazi interrogation techniques. Had I known any secrets at all, I would surely have spilled the beans completely. Instead, I was reduced to a whimpering ninny with gratitude when the Hoovering stopped.

He then gave me yet another prescription for drops, booked another appointment and sent me home in better shape than when I arrived. I can hear for the first time in four days.

My pharmacist, who has been living my adventure with me, (I've seen him so often this past week) said he was at a seminar about allergies recently where Polysporin was identified as a new allergy danger. The rate of allergic reactions in Canada is now around 9% and climbing. So think twice before self prescribing. The drops may help with a bacterial infection, but can cause serious damage for a fungal infection and there is no way to know what kind of infection you have without a doctor taking a peek. I started the drops a week ago last Monday at my doctor's suggestion. I never had a reaction before, so he can't be blamed. My ears got progressively worse and I stopped the drops, but too late. The damage was done.

You may now resume reading and the children can come back into the room.

To add to my frustration, I had taken my computer to Micro Age last Thursday for a minor repair, and then was too sick to pick it up again. So I spent four days computer-less and unable to listen to the radio, or watch TV. I just read a lot instead. I'm not out of the woods yet. The healing process will take time.

Oh and to add to my delights, the furnace conked out last night and the emergency repairman came out to fix it at 4:00 A.M. Bless him. He was good natured about it too. He laboured hard to saw a chunk off the air intake pipe because it was plugged solid with ice. That accomplished, he got the furnace running again and left two hours later. The house is toasty and warm again and I'm very grateful. To keep the house from freezing I had two heaters going upstairs, the oven in the kitchen, the electric fireplace in the living room and the wood fire roaring in the den. Kathleen slept through it all and mentioned today that she heard strange noises in the night. She knew I was ill so it couldn't have been me. It must have been someone outside who was building something. Funny as this may be, in summing up my situation, I say...

We are not amused.

P.S. On the upside, I have my computer back and am catching up on life.

Being Ms. Right

2011-01-18T00:25:00.005-05:00

I am saddened by some of my women friends who still believe that they need to find a partner in order to be complete. Perfectly bright and interesting women who appear to be living independent lives full of challenges and successes have a secret void deep inside them. They are still searching for the perfect mate to fill that void.

I understand their dilemma because I am periodically gripped by the same illness. It is an illness because while I am in its grip I see myself as less than I truly am. I never like myself very much when I'm accommodating a man. I change and become a throwback to a person who plays at being weaker than I am. I become more self-effacing and girly, and I spend more time looking at myself, worrying about wrinkles, fat, hair styles and appearances generally. It's a bore and I don't like it. I don't like that me.

It rarely happens anymore because I came to understand that I have health issues I wouldn't wish on any new partner. Most men like to be taken care of and I need to conserve my energy to take care of me. My life depends on it and it's a full time job. I have also really come to enjoy my space, my quiet times, the habitat I created and my lifestyle. I'm really fortunate to be where I am with the friends I have and I don't want to rock the boat. The most recent case of man crazyness was with Ray and that ended five years ago. I gave so much of myself away to him, there was little left for me. He needed a lot of material care and I needed a lot of emotional care - a perfect match. Many older women get into this kind of a situation and the men bleed them dry. Ray, was emotionally remote and couldn't love me the way I needed. It became a terrible obsession. Ray is a very honourable and principled man who became as unhappy as I, with the situation. He broke the obsession by leaving town for a year. It was the kindest and noblest thing he could do for us both.

I recovered my sanity and my self respect and by the time we saw each other again we were healed. Now we are good friends who respect each other, amuse each other and really like one another. I like Ray much more now than I ever loved him before. We are ourselves in each other's company and it has taught me much. I like me and thus he likes me. I like him because he likes himself. We are no longer playing roles and causing each other pain.

Not every man holds Ray's values. Many are only too happy to exploit the yearnings of old women. It never ends well for the women. We have been raised on "romantic love" ideology, taught to nurture others from an early age, and groomed to be attractive and seductive. We learn from an early age to seduce, attract and appeal. Little training time is devoted to self-realization. Maturity is seen as synonymous with loss of sexuality in this culture. So, is it any wonder that we have no idea who we are, or what our role is once we grow old? If women are very lucky, they will have a life of the mind, of creative achievement, or of professional success. They will have positive roles in their families or in their social groups. Some are lucky enough to just slip into aging without the usual insecurities. The new sexy for an old woman is self realization and independence. Her audience should be her friends, peers and community and her best lover must be herself.

Some may say I've given up the search for Mr. Right but I say I've just moved on. I'm content to be Ms Right for myself these days and the best I can be for my friends.

Short Sharp Science: Bat camp: orphaned critters nursed back to health

2011-01-16T14:10:00.001-05:00

Short Sharp Science: Bat camp: orphaned critters nursed back to health

This is a very sad story but possibly the cutest picture ever.

As January speeds by, the days grow longer!

2011-01-14T00:39:00.009-05:00

It's already the middle of January. What have I done so far in the New Year? It seems like yesterday that I returned with Willy from London after a splendid Christmas and New Year holiday. Much food was consumed, friends were visited and a new futon was purchased for the Living Room. Since it was my bed at night, I decided by mid visit that I would not survive the very flat and lumpy old mattress. It had served Maya well for many years, but its time was up. The new one was delivered on the same day it was bought and I slept well at last. It's also a very good quality mattress, upholstered in a beautiful fabric that was made for Maya and Glenn's room.

I spent my Christmas Day with Glenn's family and it was very pleasant. Last year we didn't know each other, and were all a bit more formal. This year we were so relaxed, we all fell asleep together in their living room after dinner. Maya came into the room to find Christine, Geoff (Glenn's ) parents, his grandmother, sister Gillian and me all nodding away on couches and chairs. Even the dog was asleep. Glenn fell asleep in the sun room, leaving Maya the only one awake. Now that's relaxed! To some perhaps, too relaxed but what do they know. We all awakened refreshed and resumed our conversations. It was a scene from the Dylan Thomas classic, "A Child's Christmas in Wales".

Meanwhile, Willy was having a jolly holiday with his cousins, Maya and Glenn's three cats. They spent ten days following each other, wrestling, running up and down stairs, looking out of windows, eating together and occasionally sleeping. Christmas wrapping paper, empty boxes, ribbons and cat toys were a source of great entertainment for all. Once we came home Willy slept for three days straight as did his cousins back in London.

It is a jolly little family. Maya and Glenn are well matched in that they bring out so much good in each other. They also reflect each others negative moods which could be a problem. Both have a depressive aspect to their personalities which must be acknowledged and dealt with. The danger is that one or the other may not detach enough to take the high road. I'm a worrier and need to detach myself. They have to sort out their own lives and take the positive steps needed to grow together in a healthy and productive manner. They are both intelligent, creative and sensitive people who love each other. With respect and courage and good will, they will do well.

I came back to resume my physio-therapy and vertigo therapy. I registered for another term of ceramics and a workshop in digital photography. I started sorting out my stuff for income tax preparation, paid some bills and am getting my house in order for 2011. We have 2 more months of winter ahead of us but I take comfort from the days lengthening. Yes the sun is setting later and it won't be long until the spring is apparent. My positive outlook is coming back.
"Life is a cabaret, old chum..." at least sometimes.

Family

2010-12-30T03:38:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-12-28T03:16:00.005-05:00

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

2010-12-27T13:31:00.000-05:00

Oprah's ugly secret

Happy Solstice!

2010-12-21T23:49:00.003-05:00

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.

2010-12-20T04:02:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-12-13T00:36:00.007-05:00

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.

2010-12-08T00:16:00.005-05:00

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.

2010-12-06T00:43:00.005-05:00

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.

2010-11-30T00:22:00.006-05:00

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!

2010-11-11T00:32:00.004-05:00

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.

2010-10-14T14:52:00.004-04:00

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.

2010-10-14T01:50:00.004-04:00

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

2010-10-12T00:06:00.004-04:00

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...

2010-10-08T03:27:00.001-04:00

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.

2010-09-30T01:01:00.008-04:00


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?

2010-09-25T22:53:00.003-04:00

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...

2010-09-18T17:12:00.003-04:00

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.

2010-09-18T00:35:00.006-04:00

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

2010-09-16T17:22:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-09-12T14:16:00.016-04:00

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

2010-09-07T02:12:00.004-04:00

Another Adventure

2010-09-01T14:59:00.002-04:00

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

2010-08-31T16:06:00.003-04:00

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.

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

2010-08-26T11:53:00.002-04:00

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

2010-07-31T03:23:00.003-04:00

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

2010-07-18T14:35:00.006-04:00

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.

2010-07-15T02:19:00.004-04:00

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.

2010-07-14T01:01:00.007-04:00

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

2010-06-13T15:03:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-06-05T13:27:00.001-04:00

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

2010-06-03T14:48:00.002-04:00

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!

2010-05-10T00:44:00.006-04:00

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,

2010-05-04T15:50:00.006-04:00

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.

Our DNA is who we are.

2010-05-04T15:42:00.000-04:00

Three generations of Maya's maternal family women. My mother in her early twenties with the first in a long line of Winkies; Maya showing off one of her many talents -spoon hanging; my favourite cat Chester demonstrating his dedication to personal hygene; and me at nine, fifteen, sixty and now.

Can you see the family resemblance? It's interesting how photos can reveal what the eye sometimes misses. I never realized that Maya looks like my Mom. Because Maya never knew my Mom, we always assumed she looks like Rose, her paternal grandmother, and she does. However, look at the shape of her face compared to my mother's. Pretty clear isn't it?

What an interesting melange of genes is found in each of us. No matter how we may wish to escape our heredity, we never can. So suck it up disgruntled ones, our family DNA is who we are. It's what we do with it that counts.

2010-04-24T18:49:00.000-04:00

Natasha Belle Manley and Oma, April 24, 2010. Two weeks old and perfect in every way.

Quintisential Willy

2010-04-17T16:29:00.002-04:00

This is my Willy. He is a clown, a cuddle, clutzy, and very bright. He gets into trouble every day and must be constantly watched in the house. He is allowed outside on short adventures when I'm out too and he is remarkably cautious out there. Willy likes playing with people, cats, toys, mice and flies. He sleeps soundly when he sleeps but can wake up in a nano second ready for action. He brings joy and laughter into my house. He was a foundling, another delivered to my door by my HP and I'm happy for that.

My tipping point.

2010-04-16T02:39:00.004-04:00

Another really nice day and I spent part of it out taking care of business: banking, shopping, and other irrelevancies needed to sustain life. Throughout the day I reflected on my preceding post and wondered if I hadn't been too hard on my Toronto friends. Was this really so much worse than previous visits? Perhaps the behaviour was no worse but Julie was worse and seeing that, I reacted more intensely.

Julie's memory is going as is her connection to the reality of today. It is getting harder to have a conversation with her and she gets confused a lot. It pains me to see it. Before too long her kids will begin notice that she is no longer fully present. Then the opportunity to really communicate will be gone. It is slipping away for me too. Though we have the past to connect us, we have very little shared present time. I'm frustrated by our conversations now because Julie is faking it more and more.

I want to shout at the family and cut through their complacency, "don't waste her time with your self centered nonsense. There isn't much of it left". But I think they see it and are afraid.

I had the hope of showing her the Equinox photos, discussing the art and sharing my impressions. It became clear that she really couldn't see the photos properly and didn't recognize the "Grief" sculpture series. She talked about the earlier sculptures but couldn't see the connection to the new series. After years of bemoaning the loss of the original series, she didn't register any recognition of the new sculptures. I was so sad. We two, who had shared a studio for years, exhibited together, and exchanged our values and ideas, have lost that ability now. Julie had a gift for analysis and practical criticism like no other and I miss it. I miss Julie.

So maybe my reaction was more intense because I have reached my tipping point. I have to rethink my expectations and accept the realities of the here and now.
That doesn't mean I have to accept Jerzy's abuse. Nor do I need to be present at the family circus. In future visits I must protect myself from disappointment and avoid stress. I can't come home sick and suffering from hives again.

2010-04-15T03:12:00.005-04:00

Well, I'm back in the Petes after a really up and down weekend in Toronto. The weather was amazing. My arrival and first night started nicely but ended with me being yelled at for reasons I can't quite understand. That resulted in Jule apologising for her husband's behaviour and me going to bed early with a bad headache. Sunday morning I fled early to meet my cyber girls for brunch at Zoots.

I was so early, I drove around several blocks. walked up and down streets and took in the diversity that is the Dundas and Dufferin area. We brunched and had a wonderful time with the added bonus of being joined by Maya. I was invited back to Norah's place and saw her jewelry. I ended up buying a stunning silver pendant. So now we're even. My print adorns her wall and her pendant adorns my neck. How great is that?

Then back to Julie's for the Birthday celebrations. Her whole family came, the grown, married children with their little, lively grandchildren, and good friends. The meal was great but after eating, they have this ritual of letting the kids go berserk, encouraged by their parents, whereby balloons are punched and popped, the couch is jumped on, chasing and screaming ensues and we older folk can't hear each other for the noise. We are supposed to sit back and watch this with indulgent amusement, because after all we have nothing of interest to contribute anyway. We are all over seventy, have hearing issues, two survived strokes, one is just recovering from cancer surgery and collectively we retreated into ourselves to try to minimize the clamor and stave off exhaustion. I watched cushions tearing open, the couch sagging, books and toys being strewn all over the place and asked myself how Julie could stand this. She, who values calm and order so highly and who always encouraged creative play in her own children, was helpless to influence the scene being played out. It was like a violation How could her home, values and personal space have become so unimportant to her family? Is that what being handicapped does? Does being dependent mean you are no longer respected? Does her husband allow this din to recur as a form of retribution or has he just lost control? He did try to steer the kids into the basement to play but their doting parents brought the action beck into the living room for us all to "enjoy".

Looking at the whole dynamic, I realized that although nobody means to be thoughtless, they are so self-absorbed, and complacent that they can't even see what they are doing. That is a dysfunctional family, full of love but unable to really engage each other. There is a smugness in that family that borders on rudeness. Five seniors were present and not an iota of sensitivity was shown. Apparently, we were there as a cheering section for the kids, not to honour Julie's seventy-eight years. This passes for fun and everyone goes home satisfied that a good time was had by all. Julie was so exhausted that she slept away the last day of my visit and I departed from my best friend's home with such immense relief that the visit was over.

Maya got it right when she said that focusing on the their children allows the adult children to not see too deeply into the declining existence of their parents. No-one was allowed to hold a conversation with Julie, because of the noise and apparently that's ok. All those people symbolically celebrating Julie's Birthday, with very little interest in the needs of the celebrant. Noise creates confusion and a sense of isolation in the stroke survivor. No wonder Julie retreats into sleep.

I never got to say good-bye to Julie the next day because she was sleeping. I slipped away to visit Jane for lunch with spirits soaring. We had a grand lunch at her place and I was on the DVP heading home before three. I arrived back with a bad cold, a continuous headache and a killer soar throat, but thank God almighty, I'm home.

Footnote: I was so unwell, I had to cancel my physiotherapy and pottery class for the week. All I'm able to do is sleep and chill. Today the cold is much improved and the headache is almost gone. A day in the garden with my cat Willy and under the sunshine has done wonders. I really must give careful thought to protecting myself from future visits. I don't want to abandon my friend, but I can't really handle the stress those visits provoke. They are bad for my health.

Congratulations and hugs Tracy and Paul. Welcome to the world Natasha Belle!

2010-04-09T04:25:00.003-04:00

Because I am the Oma!

2010-03-23T00:50:00.005-04:00

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"

2010-03-18T18:31:00.004-04:00

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!!!

2010-03-15T01:04:00.005-04:00

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

2010-03-08T00:57:00.003-05:00

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!!!

2010-03-02T02:53:00.001-05:00

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".

Phew - on to Equinox 2010

2010-02-27T17:06:00.001-05:00

Everything is done except for packing my sculptures. That just takes energy and very little thought. Later, when it stops snowing I'll get my boxes from the garage and begin.

I have to be finished for the closing ceremonies tomorrow. I have loved the Winter Olympics! So exciting and sooo inspiring. I have come to realize that, politics aside, I love my country. I love that it remains gracious in defeat, is pleased to win bronze and silver, and is pinching itself (metaphorically speaking) with glee over all the gold we've garnered. So much nicer (yes "nice"er) to see than the petulance and pouting we saw from the US women's hockey team when they were presented with silver medals. Only the Canadian Bobsledder Guner whatever showed a really nasty streak when they didn't win. I felt sorry for his team mates because he clearly can't control his temper. That negative energy might be a contributing factor to their loss.

I'm thriving in my privacy because my lodger went home for reading week. Life is good and I just finished the pancakes from supper for lunch.

Yeah!

Loving detachment?

2010-02-24T00:59:00.002-05:00

I spent some time on the phone earlier talking to Ray. He has been so supportive about my show. He suggested I go into the gallery to test the sculpture stands for stability. He is concerned that somebody will lean on one and tip it over. I wonder if the gallery might have Museum Wax to stick things down. As usual Ray takes a dim view of most arty types, considering them to be just as ignorant and thoughtless as the general population. He will be at the opening and guarding the work from the ravening hoards of philistines.

At times, I wish we had worked out, because I do so enjoy his wit. I miss having him around. Yet when I think back on that last year together, his presence had such a negative influence on me. I was becoming so dependent on him for all the wrong reasons and he was pushing me away in really destructive ways. We are much better off now just being friends. I did love him though and he sure cared for me but we were so ill-matched - a rolling stone and a nester, not good. The stone kept returning to the nest to rest and feed but then move on. Each time he left the nest a cold blast of air blew in to damp down my warmth. I would close the nest to regenerate some warmth, and then invite him back in to repeat the process. Insanity is sometimes defined as "a state of repeating the same thing and expecting different outcomes".

I should have listened more carefully the night he said "this just doesn't feel right". Instead of taking it as a challenge to fix things so it would feel right, I should have realized he was speaking from a deeper philosophical level. Claire the fixer, would make it right. Ray the Buddhist, was seeing the impossibility of our attachment. He left for Deep River in part, to break the attachment.

His going was so important to us both. It gave me a chance to refocus on myself, and it gave him back the detachment that keeps him centered. Now we are friends in an uncomplicated way. I was going to say a simple way, but there will never be anything simple about Ray or me.

So on Monday I pick him up around 10:30, we come here to load the car and take my stuff to the gallery. He will bring his good eyes to the planning and hanging of my show. We have a very similar aesthetic and I trust his experience. We'll probably eat supper together and each go home. It's much nicer this way.

Party Girl

2010-02-15T02:08:00.003-05:00

OK, now I know I'm getting older. Why? I had to attend two events to celebrate Valentine's night: the "Lights Out" party at Market Hall, and the New Stages play reading. The party started at six. The play at 7:30. My plan was simple, I'd start the evening at Market Hall, have a drink eat some canapes and listen to the speeches. Then at 7:15 I'd head down the block to Showplace, attend the play as Randy's guest, stay for the discussion afterward and head back to conclude the evening at Market Hall. Simple.
Randy was supposed to come back to Market Hall as well.

Plans started to unravel when the play took longer than expected. Then nobody was able to drive the actors back to Toronto so Randy had to do it. I left Showplace with every intention of walking up the block to party on, but it was snowing, I was partnerless and suddenly I was very tired. I figured nobody would notice if I didn't show up, soooo...
driving home I was overcome with happiness knowing that my slippers awaited me. I had a good time, but it was enough. Once upon a time, I would never have gone home at 10:30. I would never have missed the opportunity to meet new people or passed on the action. Oh yes, I'm getting old but that's ok.

One good outcome - I was able to distribute invitations to my show at two venues tonight and three people, like farts in the breeze, said they would come.

Proud, happy and D&A

2010-02-02T16:24:00.005-05:00

Yesterday Maya received word from the University of Leicester that her thesis was approved and that she has achieved her Master of Arts Degree with Distinction. I cannot describe my feelings at this time. Not only did she achieve this, but as a distance learner while still working full time. She enrolled while working as Asst. Curator of Art, at the Yukon Art Centre. She was then hired by Museum London as full Curator, made that huge trip overland to London ON, two years ago in January, adjusted to a new city and work environment with increased responsibilities and kept working away on her Master's studies. To now see this completed "with distinction" is an awesome achievement. It makes me prouder of her degree than I ever was of my own so many years ago.

Mine didn't come easy either. I was married to Alfie Pinsky when I first wanted to take a Master's Degree in Fine Arts. He had been establishing and building the first MFA program in Canada at Sir George Williams University (now Concordia)and was routinely lauding the achievements of his newly minted MFA graduates while I worked away in my studio preparing for yet another exhibition. In 1967 after "Expo 67" (where I exhibited at Place des Arts), I wanted to take a break and enter the Masters program. Alfie thought that was a bad idea. He felt I should continue sculpting while I had the momentum. I was so tired and isolated but I did what I was told. I stayed in my studio. I had a second great passion - ornithology, and nurtured a dream to take a biology degree, encouraged by Bill Black who was a biology professor and close friend of Alfie's at the time. This too was shot down with advice to stick to what I did best.

One could ask why I listened to him and didn't insist on my own path. It was the sixties and women did still defer to their husbands, but more, I didn't have the confidence to do it without his support. He was the Chair of Fine Arts and I needed his approval to gain admittance to the MFA program, let alone enter a new field entirely. Also, both my parents had died before I was 22 and Alfie was my only family,- mother, father and shrink. I never received any survivor counseling, so I believed my lifeline was my husband. It is sad to reflect that he encouraged such dependence when he should have seen it was also a noose around his neck. I had to leave him completely to get my MFA degree.

We separated in 1969 and I entered Columbia University in New York a year later while he moved a succession of Masters candidates into his bed. Looking back now, I realize it was the only way I could have achieved my independence or had any respect for my own academic achievements. It was a very difficult choice I made but I never regretted it for an instant. As for Alfie, he kept extracting his pound of flesh from me for years thereafter. I paid with my work, the part of me that he found most interesting anyway.

So my darling daughter has completed her MA degree with huge effort and tenacity and I can enjoy her success freely. Mine came with too much baggage to enjoy.

"Sail on my Silver Girl".

A candle for happiness.

2010-01-19T16:16:00.004-05:00

This is a short homage to my late husband, Elliot who died 14 years ago today. I lit a memorial candle at sundown yesterday and it will continue to burn until sundown today. It is interesting about those candles, because they begin to flicker in the last few hours. Just as our memories flicker with the passage of time and life flickers near its end.

Elliot was possibly the most loving man I've ever known since my father. He had a soft and gentle inner core that was at complete odds with the masculine ideal of the last century. He grew up in Brooklyn in a middle class Jewish family who came over in the diaspora from Eastern Europe between the two world wars. His father was also a very dear man, an optician with a serious gambling habit. His mother was a great beauty of limited intellect. She was smart but not wise.

Elliot was identified as gifted with an IQ of over 140. When the school recommended that he be transferred to a school for the gifted his mother said no. Why? because he had persuaded her he would miss his friends. The one thing he really needed was to be moved away from his friends. This was his chance but Rose didn't recognize it. At twelve he was already starting to gravitate to the wrong people.

By 15 Elliot was trying to be cool, talk tough and do drugs. It was the sixties and doing drugs was pretty commonplace. The turmoil over his father's gambling losses was so severe that nobody was noticing the trouble Elliot was getting into.
The more angry Rose was with Paul the more she clung to the myth of her beautiful sons. She would indulge them, encourage rivalry between them, and try to make allies of them against their father. She smothered those "beautiful" boys with her need to be needed and both were escaping reality at every opportunity.

Paul lost their home and his optometry business to gambling and their lives went from posh to poor in a matter of months. The humiliation was huge and the sons ran away into the world of sex, drugs and rock and roll. Rose became the classic enabler, covering for Paul and rescuing Allan and Elliot from school truancy, from jail, and from themselves. Alan managed to finish his apprenticeship and became an Optometrist, but Elliot being younger, slipped through the cracks and never finished college due to the drugs.

By the early seventies, Paul had opened a new small optometry business with the help of a Shylock, and in return he become the Shylock's bagman. Alan functioned briefly as an optometrist while Elliot worked in clubs, partied and narrowly escaped being drafted to Vietnam due to drug addiction.

As I arrived in New York to begin Grad school, Elliot began bouncing in and out of drug programs and apprenticing in the Film Industry as a negative matcher. I had some serious problems of my own. Our paths didn't cross until 1974 when I was Assistant Editor to Laurence Solomon and he was a Negative Matcher with Jim Lenkowski whose cutting rooms were in the suite next to ours. We worked in the Brill Building which had become a film industry headquarters, after a glorious past as Tin Pan Alley in an earlier era.

I met Elliot when I brought our edited footage to him for negative cutting. He was a gorgeous, Semitic looking, dark haired, quick witted Al Pacino type of guy with very mischievous eyes. He was brash and very Brooklyn. He apparently thought I was a fox, but was told to "forget it" by his boss. Over time we became work friends, having lunches together and sharing our stories. We were each seeing other people but it became very clear that we liked being with each other more. We also confessed that we were both in recovery programs: he for drug and me for alcohol addiction. No wonder we had so much in common. We shared the struggles of trying to climb back into normalcy from lives of dependency and escapism. With that confession, our fate was sealed, we belonged together. It was a love of such passion and tenderness there was no turning back. We went to our recovery meetings together, shared our deepest feelings, our fears and our dreams and we laughed. We laughed a lot.

We shared the love of a lifetime with all of the intensity of recovering addicts. Addicts become addicts most frequently due to a heightened sensitivity and intensity of emotion. We are at odds with the social norms and we use substances to damp down our feelings. The world is almost unendurable unless we encounter others who share those feelings. We found life beautiful when we were together. So we married in 1976. It was the beginning of my happiest period. It was the beginning of a new innocence based in trust and sobriety. It was the start of a commitment that included having a baby, buying a house, and settling down to a good life together. We gave each other the courage to believe in ourselves. I will never regret loving and marrying Elliot. It was a gift. Most people never have such an experience.

I was never so happy in my life.

To this memory I pen my remembrance. To this love I dedicate my candle.

There follow other memories. But later for that.

I don't want to whine - honest

2010-01-17T23:16:00.006-05:00

The excitement of my last post has become less exciting and a lot more work. I have been working steadily at completing the sculpture bases, finishing the pieces and culling my paintings. I have since learned that my exhibition will be in March instead of April which suits me fine. It just means I have to be ready sooner. All my publicity material has to be done by early Feb. and out to the media by mid February.

I spent the last few days studying my paintings. It is quite easy to eliminate the poor work, and also not too difficult to identify the best work. Most of an artist's work falls in the mid range, not bad but also not brilliant. Like most, I have a hard time sorting out the mid category work because I can form attachments for the wrong reasons. I may like one because it was a particularly nice day when I painted it, or because I saw a beaver swim by, or because someone said they liked it. None of these reasons has anything to do with painterly values or my work standards. So I have to leave them up and look at them in different light for a couple of days.

It's a challenge and now I must think about framing and what I can afford. The Blue Tomato is an unpretentious gallery. The artist currently exhibiting there has hung unframed canvases and it looks great. I work on paper and must frame them, but do I go cheap (poster frames) or better (under glass). Peterborough generally does not buy original art, so I'm not counting on selling. Tomorrow I'll visit framers to get ideas and estimates.

I have drafted an artist statement, invitation and cv. Maya doesn't like the CV but has not offered me an example of what she would like. Obviously, I'm more involved than she is but I miss sharing thoughts and ideas with her. This is an important and exciting step in my life and I'm feeling somewhat abandoned by her.

Maya's life is on another track moving farther and farther away from me. I have to learn how to detach myself from her and not be hurt as she goes her own way. This is the chapter of my life nobody prepared me for. I have gone through all the others as she grew up. I taught her to be independent and encouraged her to take risks. I supported her decisions and helped in whatever way she needed. I let go bit by bit as her life needed. It was hard at times and emotionally I sometimes still hid behind trees like when she walked to school on her own the first time. I was prepared to let go. What I was not prepared for was her letting me go. I always believed there would be room in her life for two loves: that the loves would be different but in balance.

This is not what I'm experiencing alas. Just at the point in her life when her partner has become her confident and best friend, I'm realizing a loss. I am no longer needed. I never thought I would become one of those pathetic mothers whining "so why don't you ever call me?" Now after all the years of caring for and about my child, how do I learn to care for and about me? This is an intellectual question about an emotional condition and I'm not convinced there is a suitable emotional answer.

So back to my thoughts about the show. The preparations are keeping me busy and my friends are excited on my behalf. But all the while my heart wishes for my daughter.
It's sometimes really sad growing old, even as you should be happy.

Scared and excited.

2010-01-06T00:15:00.003-05:00

I got the word today - I'll be showing a sampling of my work at the Blue Tomato Upstairs Gallery in April. This means I have to select and organize my work, get the paintings framed, mount the sculptures properly, write a bio and artist statement, design my invitations and write the publicity. The gallery will do some but I'll develop the concept.

Oh my sweet God, what have I gotten myself into?

Maybe my daughter the curator can give me some guidance.

Tale of four cats - Twee and Choco, Willy, and Matty

2010-01-04T01:56:00.007-05:00

WOW, where did 2009 go?
I left Peterborough for London, ON, December 23, spent eight days in a whirlwind of holiday and moving activity and arrived home yesterday afternoon, Jan.3 2010 more tired than I realized. Between Europe and London,ON, I've been away from home over a month and I'm completely disoriented.

Willy and I had a wonderful time. Willy partied with the cousin cats and Glenn's cat Matty added to the mix. Miraculously all the cats really got along well in the new digs, chasing each other up and down stairs, under furniture, around boxes and packing cases, and flopping down in their tracks from exhaustion.

The three adults also were very busy and flopped in their tracks from exhaustion too. It is very difficult to consolidate two households into one, empty two apartments and leave them clean as well as trying to organize the new space. We managed to celebrate Christmas Eve complete with small tree and a star lighting a festive corner in the living room. We spent Christmas day happily eating and playing Trivial Pursuit at Glenn's family home, and he treated us to a wonderful dinner on New Year's Eve. We concluded the feasting with a roast beef dinner on New Years Day.

Meanwhile as he hooked up sound and tv systems, Maya organized book shelves, and I hung drapes and curtains. A new dishwasher and refrigerator were delivered and connected. New coat hooks, door latches and shelving were installed while still allowing time for me to hear Glenn perform (a rewarding experience) and meet a lot of their friends at the pub. Glenn Stanway is a superior musician and his friends are a great group of young men.

We all worked very hard and, it seemed, at cross purposes occasionally. Maya and I did argue at times, but never in front of Glenn. We have very different working styles and can drive each other crazy but we get over it fast. We relaxed each night with laughter, watching old Muppet Shows.

There was a new balance in the relationship between M and I this visit and it requires some adaptation and acceptance on my part. I am no longer her primary confidant, Glenn is. This is as it should be as my parental role takes second place to his partnering role. They are now a team together and I'm the outsider (all be it a beloved outsider). This role shift demonstrates the maturity of their relationship and is very healthy. As I must now learn to graciously occupy my new place, I also feel relieved. I feel she is in a very safe place with Glenn.

It is now for me to find my safe place on my own. I still am not sure where I'm heading when I grow up.

Yes, it was a wonderful visit in so many ways. So much change for this old girl to take in and so short a time. I wonder what the New Year will bring.

Almost Christmas

2009-12-21T23:19:00.004-05:00

In November I received an email from Nolan informing me that Pat, my friend in London, was in very grave condition in a London hospital. This was followed by a beautiful email from her that called out for me to go and see her. We have been friends for fifty-four years and it was important for me to spend time with her when she needed me, and it was worth the effort. There is no friend so important as an old friend. In Pat I revisit myself and my family because she was there with me all those years ago. I was still in the process of assimilating the very sad state of affairs when Maya offered to pay my airfare so I could go. Maya had sensed how serious the situation was and provided the push that propelled me into action. Within days I had organized the trip.

I have just returned from Europe after three weeks of sad and happy times with friends and family. It was the trip I never believed possible because of my health but I did it. I pushed myself further than I believed my body could handle, fibromyalgia notwithstanding.

The three weeks abroad were divided so that I would spend week one in London with Pat. That is what I did. I devoted every day but one to visiting with Pat in the hospital. I explained to Pat and Nolan that this week in London was to be with Pat, not visiting the Tate, the Courtaulds Gallery, or any other attraction.
I did take one break to visit Gillian at the Iron Bridge Museum in Telford where she is now Assistant Curator. It was lovely seeing her again thriving in her work environment. She is such a positive and intelligent person. I spent the night in her delightful little cottage in Shrewsbury before heading back to London and Pat's bedside the next morning.

Pat was very ill, but better than I had expected. I had come to say good-bye, and discovered that life is not so clear as all that. She has been diagnosed with Myaloma which is a terminal cancer but just how long she has will depend on the type of Myaloma and the treatment involved. I left London exhausted and stressed from the physical demands that London made and the emotional demands of the situation.

I discovered that London is not for the elderly or infirm. It is too big and busy for me now. I like a slower pace in my sunset years.
For that reason and so many others, I was overjoyed to arrive in Rotterdam for the second week, where I stayed with good friends Quita and Frank to recover my strength. It was the perfect transition from the stress in London to a more relaxed life in Rotterdam. Quita and I spent a day in Amsterdam, and a day in my home town, Den Haag.

Looking backward can inflate memories of places such as The Passage in Den Haag. I always see it as a glittering jewel of urbane sophistication in my memory. But in today's world it seems much smaller, and the glitter a little tarnished. Mauritshouse, is however, as beautiful as I remembered it. Den Haag still is an elegant and stately city.
I discovered Rotterdam and really like its more down to earth and folksy qualities. Frank and Quita live in a beautiful home on the shore of a small lake in Rotterdam, quiet, elegant and so close to everything. Life is truly easy with everything within walking or biking distance. I relaxed completely under Quita's care.
The week in Rotterdam was heavenly. Frank and Quita took very good care of me and I arrived well rested for my last week in Hernen with the family de Sonnaville. We go very far back, our families being close and sharing some exceptional history together. Martien is like my kid sister, Jan and her children are like true niece and nephews.
That final week at Jan and Martien's wonderful heritage farm house was the icing on the cake. This wonderful restored old farm was my Godfather's home. I remember visiting Nel and Oom Steen there for rest and restoration before Martien was born. It was the place I went to when I needed healing - my spiritual home. Now with my godfather gone, I'm the elder, the Tante from Canada and Martien turns to me for counsel and solace. Although we are family by choice not blood, still this transference of roles is a normal progression in life.

It was Sinterklaas week so I took part in family festivities and loved it. Leo being eight, still believes in Sinterklaas so we went to elaborate lengths to keep the mystery going. I was overcome with tenderness when Leo put my shoe out with his. He put a letter to Sinterklaas in his shoe which read:
"Dear Sinterklaas, I am writing to remind you that Claire is here from Canada. You don't go to Canada, so you may not know Claire. She has been very good, so please leave something for her too.
Thank you,
Leo"
How lucky I am to have had this opportunity to be with family and friends again.

Travel abroad is not for the faint of heart in today’s world. The airport routine alone is unbearable. The three hour advance arrival, security check, and immigration and customs at the destination can make the combined waits on the ground longer than the time in the air. The KLM flight attendants try very hard to make the airtime as pleasant as possible under very difficult circumstances. Still it’s a long way from what I experienced as the daughter of the founding representative of KLM in Canada. My dad would be appalled by conditions today. Economy class is today’s version of steerage. Instead of being crammed below deck, we are now crammed into child sized seats with no leg room, and no comforts.

In a word, air travel sucks. I was able to get assistance to and from the gates on a golf cart and was seated in advance of the others. My cane got me those little comforts. My suitcase was overweight (filled with Christmas gifts from abroad) but the check-in attendant waived the fee. Bless her kind heart. So often throughout this trip, I thought of the Tennessee Williams play “A Streetcar Named Desire” when Blanche Dubois says “I’ve always been dependent on the kindness of strangers”. There was the man in a London tube station that carried my bags up an endless flight of stairs; the station worker who so kindly put me on the right train for Telford after I transferred at the wrong stop; the streetcar conductor in Rotterdam that helped me on and off. As I enter my dotage, I am aware of these kindnesses and appreciate them so very much.

The day after tomorrow Glenn will be collecting me. I'll be away again. This time in London Ontario to spend Christmas with Maya and Glenn in their new apartment. I'll be gone for a week and I look forward to some quality time helping the kids organize their home. Willy will be with me, so I won't be worrying about him in my absence.

2009 started out so badly with the loss of two friends just a week apart. It has continued through ups and downs. In November, it looked like Julie was headed for a bad time with her third stroke. She is recovering rapidly and will be coming home for the holidays. Pat has more time than we thought possible in November, and I had the health to be able to go and see her. I was able to enjoy time with good friends in my homeland, and will be celebrating Christmas with my daughter in her home.

It doesn't get much better than that. Merry Christmas everyone.

2009-11-11T01:17:00.006-05:00

I'm weighing the pros and cons of flying to England to visit Pat. Nolan forwarded an email from her dictated in the hospital, that is both optimistic (that's true Pat) and realistic. It's so truly considerate of her to want to leave people feeling good, if she dies. Maya suggested that I make the trip to be with Patin these difficult days. So if I go, I might as well go to Holland to see Martien, Jan and the kids as well as Quita and Frank. I don't want to leave it till it's too late. We never know when our time is up.

Time is running out for my loved ones and they are slipping away. It's leaving me feeling so isolated, because as they go, they take a piece of me with them. My peers, my comrades, my friends, we lived a common history and shared similar values. The world for us was a familiar but different place than the world of our children now. Who will know me when my contemporaries are gone? I don't want to be the last man standing.

With Julie again silent in her medicated stroke state, I wonder how long she can hang on this way? How many traumas can one brain survive and what will be the ultimate cost? As she is lost to herself, she is lost to me as well. I'm so glad we had such a great weekend a while back. We looked at old photos, exhibition announcements and reviews and most enjoyable of all - the homemade birthday and Christmas cards that Maya and I made for her. We sat up in her studio, looked at our memorabilia together, laughed and reminisced. We had a great time. Jerzy was in France and she was very happy with Jackie looking after her.

Regarding the studio nastiness, It's occurred to me in irony that Gail didn't need to sack me at all. Given the change of circumstances, I will have to pull out of the studio anyway. The demands on my time due to these grave developments, makes sculpting thrice weekly, a luxury I can't afford. If she had been a little more tolerant and patient, I would have left in a week anyway, without the hurt and anger I'm feeling. Being told to leave the studio after one misunderstanding has been hard to digest. I do suspect Gail's motives. Her real agenda was to clear me out when her classes filled up because she didn't need me any more. I was the financial fallback if the classes didn't fill up.

To chuck me out because she doesn't need my money after all, is so unprofessional and possibly unethical. But by getting rid of me because she can't work with me frees her of guilt. It makes it my fault. So here I am, the offending party when I should be offended. It's a text book "blame the victim" strategy and it really hurts. Women can be very cruel to each other. Some of my deepest wounds over the years were served up by women.

A kinder, gentler perspective.

2009-11-09T15:44:00.007-05:00

In my last post, I seem to come down hard on Jerzy. I wish to temper that with some thoughts about his devotion to Julie throughout this terribly taxing time since Julie's first stroke in 2001. That stroke nearly took her from us and after a very long hospitalization she was transferred to rehab and finally home. She was partially paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair. The stroke didn't affect her cognitive ability, speech, and she was still Julie but with a mobility problem. Jerzy did everything he could to make her life as pleasant as possible. The house was retrofitted with safety controls, the garden was landscaped to allow her access in the wheelchair and an elevator was installed to take Julie up to the studio. Daycare workers were hired as well as a regular physiotherapist but over the years Jerzy is the principal caregiver.

He is now over 80 and becoming infirm himself. The 24 hour on-call role is wearing him out and it is reflected in his mood swings. His devotion to her has been astonishing given how selfish he had been throughout their marriage. He loved Julie in his fashion but always needed to be in control. He could be profoundly unpleasant when his control was threatened. This quality has made it almost impossible for him to receive advice, or assistance from anyone. He is a philosophical materialist who can't draw upon any wells of inner faith for respite. His arrogance over the years has left very few friends or confidants. He adores his children and they are his only support. This places them in a very difficult position, because as his children, they are not his peers. He can shut them down in a nano-second. So they are asked for advice on the one hand and ignored on the other. As a materialist, Jerzy puts inordinate faith in doctors and other medical professionals who often don't know Julie or see her as we do. Common sense sometimes suffers because of that as does her quality of life.

Now all these strengths and failings are merging into a tired old man who is wearing out, can't control events and most troubling for him, I'm sure, he is losing his self-control. He feels helpless and guilty about this. Guilt makes a cruel companion when you can't ask for help. His position is so very difficult and I feel a deep sadness for him but I can't provide him help because he dislikes me too much to allow it. I can be available if I'm needed and I'll do whatever is necessary for Julie's well being. She is the one that matters the most and I'll accept Jerzy's contradictions and rudeness as long as she needs me.

A not so happy weekend.

2009-11-09T00:40:00.004-05:00

Nov. 8th, 2009

A not so happy weekend filled with anguish.
A lot has happened to turn my world upside down since last Thursday. Just when I thought I was entering a happy phase, doing sculpture again, enjoying good health and freedom from worry, all hell broke loose.

Thursday, an email arrived to inform me that my dear friend of 55 years, Pat, has spinal cancer and we don't know the prognosis yet. Devastating news. She has always been one of life's joyful people.

Then the phone call Friday morning telling me to move out of the studio I had just moved into less than a month ago. What the?
Moving on to Friday afternoon and looking forward to a weekend of fun in Toronto with my other friend of 50 years, Julie. I arrived at Julie's house to find she had suffered a third stroke and instead of going to a music launch, I watched her being taken away to hospital.

Saturday, with a heavy heart, I went to a book launch as planned because the author, another old friend, was expecting me. There I met Maya, Glenn and Mildred who also got bad news about a friend who happened to be in the same hospital as Julie. What was meant to be a happy reunion of friends, was distinctly lacking in the happy department. We went on to the hospital to visit Julie and were appalled to see her decline. Words can't describe our feelings. After two hours we left and decided we needed to eat before hitting the road.

That was the best part of the entire weekend - delicious Vietnamese food.
Throughout this tragic weekend, Glenn was a brick for Maya and a very stable presence for me as well.
Everyone can behave well during life's bright moments, but it's the dark moments that are the test, and he certainly passed.

I decided to return to Peterborough, early on Sunday because I was serving no useful purpose in Toronto. I couldn't bear to go back to the hospital and I couldn't stay with Jerzy in the house. He would rather suffer than have me help him so I serve no useful purpose.

Our mutual antipathy had us spend most of the time in separate rooms and the conversations we did have were "correct". It is impossible to speak honestly because Jerzy only wants to hear his own words. I now really understand why his adult children are so careful with him.

When I arrived on Friday, I found Jerzy, Julie and Claudia (Julie's caregiver) at the dining room table. Julie was slumped forward in her wheelchair half asleep and Claudia was trying to keep her awake. Immediately Jerzy asked me to assess the situation because she couldn't stay awake. She smiled pleasantly and answered yes to everything. She knew me and was happy when I arrived, but didn't know my name. She said yes to all questions.
Claudia: "Do you know who's here?
Julie: "Yes"
C: What is her name?
J: (smiling) Yes"

This went on repeatedly with little progress. Jerzy asked again if I thought she had a stroke. I looked at drowsy, inability to speak, head falling forward and answered, yes it looks like a stroke to me. But, I added, although she can't speak she does understand, she nods and places more emphasis on some yeses than others. Claudia thought she could be exhausted and didn't get enough sleep. What to do? Jerzy wanted the answers a doctor can give. I'm no doctor. I suggested we weigh the pros and cons of keeping her home and observing her carefully, or sending her to hospital for the CTScan and MRI that can answer the medical questions. Julie hates hospitals. The experience will set her back, on the other hand, she could get worse at home. Both choices involve risk.

In the meantime, lets ask Julie what she wants. She can't talk says Jerzy. Yes she can says I. "Julie can you squeeze my hand, once for yes, two for no?" "Yes" says Julie and proceeds to demonstrate. Do you want to go to the hospital? "No". OK that was clear. Then Jerzy breaks down, weeps and says he can't take this any more. I don't blame him. He's the principal caregiver and the burden is growing more stressful as he ages. This adds a new level of stress to the discussion when David arrives. We go around the issues again and David favours the hospital. We ask Julie again and this time she says yes. All the while, she is sipping tea and eating bites of croissant that Claudia feeds her.

Now, what hospital? Jerzy favours Sunnybrook because she survived the first stroke there. I know she hates and fears Sunnybrook but liked the Toronto General where she went after her second stroke. So we ask her where she prefers to go. She clearly indicates the TG. Then Jerzy says we need to wait to hear from Tania, who is at a concert, before taking action. At which point I almost lost it because the point of the hospital at all is speedy intervention. David swung whichever way the argument went, but did finally make a decision to get her to hospital now and not wait for Tania. Meanwhile I had given Julie her magnifying glass to bang on the table when she needed to go to the bathroom. She banged it and was taken to the toilet.

Claudia had to go to her next patient and was running late, so I drove her. In the car she confided that on Thursday, Jerzy was verbally abusive to Julie and that Julie was very shaken by it. Julie told her that when he got angry before she could walk away, but now in the wheelchair she has to sit and take it. She added "I want to just disappear". Claudia hinted that he's much worse since he came back from his vacation in France. Julie was much happier and doing better while he was away.

Anyway, to bring this to an end, Julie was transported to hospital in the car and was rushed into the ER. She was CTed and indeed she was having a bleed in the left frontal lobe which affected the right brain speech center. Before she left she was already recovering some speech, so I believe it will come back. She was transferred the the Toronto Western Hospital stroke unit ICU and when I saw her there she was a catheterized, sedated zombie. She went into the hospital able to eat, drink, and urinate on her own. Now she's barely conscious, on tubes and completely helpless.

Today Jerzy, has adopted the position that he didn't want her to go to the hospital, but was outvoted. No wonder the kids prefer not to be asked for a decision, it can always be served up to them later, on a platter of guilt.

You can see why I had to leave. I was afraid of what I might say. I also didn't dare tell Jerzy that in the hospital, Julie said my name finally, and reacted to my saying good-bye. When a control freak can't take responsibility for his decisions get out of the way before he blames you.

Because I was not allowed to watch television when Jerzy was not home, I almost finished Joan's book.

Three women and me

2009-11-05T23:34:00.003-05:00

Today I'm feeling slightly off kilter because of a variety of events ranging from serious to grave to irritating, that have left me feeling sad and angry. For confidentiality reasons, I can only refer to the events without identifying the persons involved.

First, a relative has been confiding in me over a period of years about the abuse she was experiencing from her former spouse. When their union ended she was supposed to sit quietly waiting for his return as she had done so often in the past. But she changed the game plan by deciding to move on with her life. He was most displeased with this turn of events and began stalking and harassing her. Over a period of four years he wrote degrading and slanderous letters to her, her parents, sisters, friends, colleagues and employer; he made countless threatening phone calls to her and the same people He would suddenly appear at her workplace. Protection orders, legal letters and police involvement would not stop this reign of terror. Every day for more than four years she was waiting for the next ambush. The sheer tenacity of the man is daunting.

Finally he was arrested and the case went to a preliminary hearing to decide if there was enough evidence to go to trial. This took place yesterday. The plaintiff decided to represent himself so that he could have the twisted satisfaction of questioning his victim himself. So for an entire day she was subjected to his loaded questions dripping with sexual innuendo as he attempted to discredit and humiliate her. She withstood the barrage with the aid of the Crown running interference and conducted herself with dignity. But it was a shattering experience.

In her attempt to protect herself through the legal system, that same system forced her to be re-victimized by her tormentor. She was in essence, raped by the judicial process because the accused had the right to represent himself. In cases of sexual abuse, harassment and stalking the accused should not have that right. He should be represented by counsel to remove the element of direct intimidation. She stood firm, held her ground and I'm so very proud of her. If she wins and the judge finds there is enough evidence, she will have to face her tormentor yet again at trial. Is it any wonder that sexual abuse victims are reluctant to press charges?

The second concern that I'm struggling with is the ill health of my dearest and oldest friend. She and I have been friends since middle school (junior high)and we never lost touch over the years when she moved to London and I to New York. We stood up for each other at each of our weddings and as we moved on in life we stayed close. Now she's fighting spinal cancer, and is undergoing chemo-therapy in a London hospital as I write. I'm told that although the pain has been terrible, she is not in pain now. It is so frustrating to feel this helpless and it is making me angry.

So here I sit writing this because there is nothing else I can do for two women who are both fighting for life in very different ways. There is something I can do however, to be more mindful of others in the moment.

Case in point: I came back from sculpture today, annoyed by a misunderstanding that took place in the studio. It was about not having enough space. Gail is under a lot of pressure to get enough work ready for a major craft show in a week. She needs space for her stuff and her classes are getting busy. It is her studio. I made the mistake of bringing in more supplies yesterday, and storing them there. I could have left them at home until I needed them, but in my enthusiasm I wanted to share my idea with her. It involved glass bricks for sculpture bases that I believed Gail would also find useful.

She told me I had to remove them today and I responded defensively. I was thinking, "my good intentions are not appreciated" and she was thinking "why can't this woman see there is no room". It was an awkward moment compounded by the presence of a third party. I felt like I had been a naughty girl. She also cut my days down to two from three because there are more students than anticipated. It really is damned hard to work with so many people in the limited space. It would have been received better however, if we had discussed this privately, but it's done. In reality, with studio time three days a week and physio twice a week I was concerned that I might be overdoing it. Taking Tuesday as a personal day may be better for me in the long run.

Driving home I remembered my dear friend dealing with Chemo, and I realized how trivial this misunderstanding was. I'm lucky to have a corner in the world to be creative for two days a week and a friend who is willing to share it with me.

Hold the door ajar.

2009-11-05T00:25:00.004-05:00

This was first posted on LJ in response to a question raised about having children. The question was posed by Maya and the respondents were mostly young women in her circle of friends. I have met these women and know some quite well through the use of LJ. I love them in all their diversity and intelligence. They are precisely the women I would hang with if I were of their generation. They have spunk, character, creativity and generosity and to a woman they don't want children nor do they believe they would make good mothers.

They love and take care of animals, love their friends, help each other in a nano second as the need arises. They all care deeply about the planet and take steps to make their environment as good and healthy for others as for themselves. It is precisely because they have these gifts that their comments have left me feeling so very sad.

I admire all these young women and I believe the future will be in good hands with them in charge. I respect their choices and I pass no judgment, but I do regret that we are losing the opportunity to have children brought into the world by the best and the brightest of women. If the bright, strong women reject motherhood we will be facing a future of offspring descended from the unthinking, the unmindful, the uncreative and unimaginative. Not an optimistic outlook for the human gene pool. Not a happy prospect to contemplate.

In motherhood they fear what they would have to give up, the loss of solitude, ambition, independence, spontaneity and they express no confidence in their ability to nurture even as they are doing it now with their pets, partners, and friends. These are all valid fears. No parent ever sprang forth fully formed with nurturing skills. Every responsible parent thinks they are not adequate to the responsibility.

I don't think anyone can accuse me of not living a full life. I have done a lot in the world and for the world. My life has been hard, and sad and wonderful. I can assert without a shadow of a doubt, that having and raising Maya has been my greatest and most rewarding experience. I seem to have had a talent for motherhood. It was and remains my constant joy.

Oh, I was afraid. I had no idea what to do. I feared babies and was not very "maternal". I didn't have any yearnings when friends had babies, and I was very ambitious and independent. Then suddenly, I was ready (the right man helps), I got pregnant and nine months later I was a Mom. Elliot and I bumbled forth with hope, love and a new baby that we feared we would break. But it all came together one day at a time. It turned out to be the most creative, innovative, frustrating and challenging journey: a real trip, Elliot would say. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Motherhood's greatest gift has been to get me out of myself. It made me realize that I'm not the centre of the universe and that there is a more important reason to be living than just me.

At the risk of sounding nauseating, parenting showed me a love greater than any I'd ever known. That I'm capable of such a love is awesome in its truest meaning.

All I can suggest to those self-doubting young women, "is live your lives to the fullest, realize your dreams, but don't close the door so firmly on motherhood just yet".

Sparky the studio cat.

2009-10-31T14:25:00.007-04:00

Of course we always hear it repeated that for an artist it's the process that matters, not the end result. I'm reminded again of how true that is. I finally had my five pieces from the Mourning series fired. One piece exploded in the kiln. Gail thought I would be devastated but I was completely sanguine about it. It was the piece I liked the least and so it was no great loss. But mostly, it was done already and I had moved on.

I've moved into the English Potter studio in Lakefield and started work already. I rent three days a week (which includes a pottery class) and have my own space for storage. I share the workspace with Gail. We work well together sometimes bantering, sometimes commenting or questioning and often we're silent. The pottery class is to learn pottery techniques that I can carry over into sculpture. Gail is trying to teach me to throw a pot, which I find really difficult. I will keep on trying. It requires a sense of balanced pressure that keeps eluding me. I'm weaker on the right side and still don't know how to compensate for that at the wheel.

Gail is warm and funny and we share most values. Her aesthetic is light, whimsical and beautiful. Mine is heavier, expressionist and sculptural. I don't believe in waste and like to recycle failed pots into comic sculptures. I'm saving my failures to see how I can reinvent them later. Now Gail is experimenting with her failures too. Lost and found art we call it. We can learn a lot from each other.

I've been tidying up the fired pieces readying them for finishing and I started on a new piece yesterday. It has always been my way to work on more than one piece at a time. That way I don't have to face the fear of starting something new.

How do I feel? Like sleeping beauty, only the prince doesn't wake me - the muse does.
I head up to Lakefield with a happy heart, full of anticipation, settle in at my bench and get lost in the work. Not since I shared a studio with Julie in the 1960s, have I felt this way. It's an incredible gift to find my hands and my spirit again at age sixty-nine. Gail has no idea what a catalyst she has been in this process.

Sparky,the cat mentioned in the heading, is Gail's very obese Tortoise-shell cat. I mean OBESE. She is very sweet and loves company, but exerts no energy whatsoever. She likes to look out the window and sit on the door sill. She talks to the birds but they know she is powerless to catch them. Gail has her on a diet which seems to be pointless. Sparky is loving and very present like warmth in a room. So I include her in my cat diary because she marks a new stage in my life.

When does an Artist stop being?

2009-10-14T02:49:00.004-04:00

By Claire Hogenkamp - October 13, 2009

When an artist stops exhibiting, is she no longer an artist? If nobody is looking does art cease to exist? That is like the Zen question “if a tree falls in the woods and nobody is there, does it make a noise?"

My immediate response is what does it matter? In the case of the artist I might add who cares? Such is the state of Art in Canada that most artists go unrecognized and unnoticed. They just keep on working but don’t give up their day jobs.
The Art elites keep discovering new trends and making new declarations about the status of Art calculated to be radical, outrageous and “new”. Hence members of the public who are interested, are constantly rendered old fashioned and out of step. The public is generally excluded and if art becomes popular it is suspect. I believe this is a defense mechanism that has become a reflex against years of state and popular neglect of the Arts. It’s like saying “they’ll hate me anyway so I’ll show them I can really be hateful”.

This leaves the way clear for the cognoscenti (academics and critics) to toss out declarations like all painting is dead, the landscape is irrelevant, the Group of Seven is passé and thus turn away from Canadian greats like the late Goodridge Roberts (painter); Anne Kahane (sculptor); the late Robert Langstadt (printmaker) and they are not even included in the lexicon of Canadian Art anymore. Their work exists and is important, but if exhibited at all, critics don’t even bother to look at it.

If the art has been created on paper, board or canvass, with paint or pastels, carved or cast in traditional materials it’s not important enough for serious consideration. But if the art is created with meat, by feet, with hurled spit, or exploded shit, it is “compelling, edgy” and very “now”. I don’t object to Art being edgy or now providing we remember who we are and where we come from. We have a tradition in Canada and we neglect it at our peril. Students should know the Group of Seven opened our eyes to our own landscape; Emily Carr is our spiritual art mother; Goodridge Roberts painted with uncompromising honesty, Anne Kahane brings humanism to wood and aluminum with exquisite finesse and Robert Langstadt brought Expressionism to Canadian printmaking. They are important benchmarks for their métiers, and every art student can become better from seeing them.

As for the opening questions, I can say that I have been working away quietly these past forty some years creating landscapes, taking photographs, and recently returning to sculpture, without exhibiting and acknowledged only by close friends and family. Have I ceased being an artist? Possibly, but I continue to make art. It’s not the title that’s important, it’s the process.

I dropped off the Art Map in Canada very abruptly in 1970 when I was awarded the second of three Canada Council Grants. I moved to New York to study Film and TV production at Columbia University. I had been a sculptor and printmaker of national stature but was growing more interested in film making. It provided a means of earning a living that sculpture couldn’t. I needed to earn a living. Poverty does not make better art.

Living in a Manhattan apartment in the 70s didn’t provide a work space for sculpture so I had to let it go and concentrate on my documentary film career. I was hired in 1973, after graduation, by Lawrence Solomon Productions as his assistant editor where I learned the editing craft and the film business. I assisted on many films, was promoted to sound editor, editor and later production manager on projects ranging from WNET’s Children’s Television Workshop, to the Pele Pepsico project and a regular series of documentary films for CBS “Eye on New York”. I won film awards at several documentary film festivals for my own independent films as well as craft awards for company productions. I was, as the saying goes, “making it in New York”.
I married in 1976, had a baby in 1977, bought a house and launched my own post production company so I could work from home. I taught film production and animation at Adelphi University on Long Island from 1977 – 1981. From 1978 to 1982 I was filmmaker in residence with the New Jersey Arts Council, teaching a semester each year in New Jersey inner city high schools.

Every summer I came back to the family cottage in Quebec’s Laurentians to introduce my daughter to cottage life and country values. Each summer I painted landscapes for pleasure and so it continued for over forty years.

I moved to Toronto in 1983 and then to Peterborough in 1996 and worked in the communications area of the Ontario government. I designed media campaigns, promoted policy initiatives, and worked directly with First Nations on consultation and communication strategies. I won more awards for effective government communications but throughout, I kept on painting my private vision. My husband died some years ago and my daughter is embarked on a life of her own in London Ontario.

I’m retired now and still painting and taking pictures. I have been a champion of the Arts and an advocate for more Arts funding and recognition. There are all kinds of excellent, talented people here in Peterborough that are eking out tenuous livelihoods as artists or working in unrelated day jobs to support their art. If my volunteer work has helped in some small way to keep the creative fires burning, I’m happy. But now it’s my time. There are some sculptures I need to finish and more paintings to do. I will soon be seventy and time is not on my side. I feel the need to open up my quiet world to let people see my creative process. Perhaps an exhibition will shed some light on my Zen question. “If an old woman paints and sculpts in solitude all her life is she an artist?

Chester - my Peterborough cat.

2009-10-10T02:54:00.006-04:00

The cat you see as you enter my blog, is Chester. This is my all-time favorite cat. There was never a cat like him before or since. He adopted me when I moved to Peterborough in 1996. He actually moved in in 97 and lived with me until 2008 when died from intestinal cancer.

When I say he adopted me, it's true. I had two cats Placi (from Brooklyn) and Melody (from Toronto) who had moved to Peterborough with me. We were contented and happy that first winter when a grey striped tiger with a white face and bib started to hang around and watch us. It was really eerie because this cat was outside peering in my windows. When I moved from room to room in my house, I would look at each window and there he would be on a tree branch, on a window sill or on a chair back, just looking in. He moved around outside the house following me inside.

He looked to be in good shape so I assumed he belonged to a neighbour. It was a couple of months later that I realized he was roughing it. Nobody was caring for him because he was much thinner and had started eating the bread under the bird feeders. So I began putting food out for my silent watcher. He would only eat if I went back inside and if I came back out he ran away. For a cat that was studying me so carefully, he was very cautious and wouldn't approach me. So we continued through the winter and into the spring of 1997. By April he would allow me to stay while he ate. Then he would rub my legs when I emerged with his food, but I couldn't touch him. I was fascinated by this careful but devoted cat.

I had begun the spring yard work so I was outside a great deal. Wherever I was working, he was about ten feet away watching. It was clear now that he was a stray and very wary of human beings. He completely disappeared when another person came into the yard. By June the weather had warmed up and I was enjoying the early summer sun on a recliner behind the house. I was dozing off when I spotted Chester (I had named him by then) making a beeline across the lawn toward me. To my utter astonishment, he jumped up on my knee and started a tentative purr. I didn't move a muscle while he turned a couple of times, lay down and went to sleep. I don't know how long we stayed like that - it could have been an hour. I had become stiff from not daring to move. If your not a cat person, you'll think I was mad. If you are a cat person you'll understand because you have done it also - been so still in order to not disturb a special cat. The cat that has honoured you with it's trust.

It didn't take too long after that before he came into the porch to eat. But before he could come into the house to meet the other cats, he needed to be Vet checked, have his shots and then eight days later, he was neutered. I felt like I was betraying him but I knew the perils of a Tom cat's life would bring him to an early and brutish end. I discovered he was about eighteen months old, in good health and I wanted him to remain healthy. Besides, it is impossible to live with a full Tom. The odor of testosterone in a Tom's urine is unbearable.

The most surprising discovery was that Chester was not just a stray, he was a feral cat. He had never been socialized to be with humans. Strays usually were some one's pet once. A feral cat is born in the wild from a feral mother who teaches the kittens how to survive without humans. So Chester had no understanding of the normal human/pet interactions. When I scratched his ears or rubbed his back he grew confused. He had no idea how to respond. The feeling was pleasurable but at conflict with his danger signals. So we took it slow and easy. He was allowed to go out at will, because that was where he felt safe. He was terrified of thunder storms and if he was in the house when a storm started he was desperate to get outside to hide.

Chester got along very well with my two resident house cats and he understood his place in the hierarchy. He was deferential to Placi who was much older, and he was respectful of Melody's moods and space. There was not one hostile incident with the other cats throughout their lives together. One thing was very clear, I was his person. I have never enjoyed such absolute love from a cat as I did with Chester. When Maya came home he liked her too but not as single mindedly as his love for me. Maya said Chester loved one and 1/2 people. We had become bonded. As I was winning him over, he was also winning me. He knew me better than any other cat, could read my moods and anticipated my actions - but then he studied me for six months before permitting himself to be adopted.

I was given a book one Christmas called "A Cat is Watching" in which the author (forgot the name) describes the necessity of keen observation to a cat's survival. The more observant and cautious the longer the cat lives. He claims that cats are watching us quietly and invisibly all the time. They make their choices and time their moves based on the information they have processed, and God help them if they make a wrong decision. I always saw Chester as a prime illustration of that thesis.

It's been said that a feral cat makes a poor pet. There are challenges to overcome like litter box training, irregular hours, absences from home, and territorial marking, but patience and a mutual desire to be accepted does work wonders to alter behavior. I don't recommend a feral cat for a family with children, nor can it become an indoor cat only. If you have a strong need to win, be dominant and control, a feral cat is not for you. In fact, get a dog and avoid cats altogether. I never had a cat more devoted, loving and interesting than Chester. That feral cat was the best cat I ever shared my life with.

The last word after all.

2009-10-08T14:59:00.006-04:00

I mentioned in the last entry that my mother finally spoke up to contradict her father when she set the record straight about my achievements in high school. But she did find her voice once before and fiercely stood up to him. My grandmother was still alive, so it must have been when I was about thirteen. I was not the catalyst that time. What follows is my father's account.

My dad had a good friend and colleague, Harold Cohen. They enjoyed each other's company and one summer Harold was invited to stay at the cottage for a few days. Harold had never visited the Gatineau so he drove us up for our annual vacation and stayed for a brief visit.

My grandparents were very welcoming and Harold had a good time. Once he left, Grandpa took Mom aside. He was icy cold when he warned her "never, ever bring the likes of him here again". Mom was stunned and asked what he meant by "the likes of him"? "Those people, Jews" was his answer.

Now you have to realize that there was no hint of disapproval evident while Harold was there, so my mother was shocked. Her reaction was quick and spontaneous. She lit into her father for his antisemitism and reminded him that a lot of "our people" gave their lives to save "those people" from the Nazis and that his own family had barely survived a war started by people who held his views. It must have been a pretty impressive response, because my grandfather was much more cautious around my parents after that. There was never another negative word about Jews spoken in her presence.

A year thereafter my beloved grandma died. The glue that brought the family home lost its bond. My grandfather hired a housekeeper and changed his life very little, but for his children and grandchildren life changed a lot. There was no longer that strong pull to the cottage. Meech Lake became a destination rather than a home. Uncle Watson bought his family another cottage on the Rideau River, and Uncle Ken was married to Rosemary by then and their first child Jayne was born. So we all stayed with my grandfather at different times. To make matters worse, my grandfather decided to sell the family cottage to The National Capital Commission.

That decision more than any other changed the family dynamic. What he saw as a chance to capitalize on the push to make Meech Lake a Park, we saw as a betrayal. He signed an agreement that permitted his use of the cottage for life. Upon his death, the property went to the NCC and his children were out of luck. He exercised his ultimate control.

This was done to spite Watson for buying his own place. Grandpa forgot all about his other two children and his grandchildren. The place that had been the hub for his family, no longer promised any future. The family began to pack their emotional bags in preparation for the end. Though we still spent our vacations there till he died five years later, we viewed the place as tenants would a rental. Once he died, we were allowed in briefly to remove personal effects only, the locks were changed and eventually it was torn down to make a public beach and picnic area.

The ultimate irony was the name: not Balharrie but Blanchet Beach (after a neighbour from New England). A French name looked better on a Quebec map than a Scottish one, even if the Blanchets didn't speak a word of French. The vindictive pride of an old man and the politics of the time erased our family history from Meech Lake.

My Three Perky's

2009-10-06T17:58:00.005-04:00

Memory, I'm told, is selective. I am having a terribly difficult time writing about my Meech Lake days and my mother. Don't get me wrong, I did love my mother a lot. I also adored being at the Balharrie cottage every summer. So what's the problem?

It was the period in my life when I grew aware of the dark side of life. I was getting older and beginning to see the complexities in people. My mother was a huge influence on my development. She was bright and sunny but over time I noticed her mood swings. She and I shared a bunkie and that was fun. When we were alone my mother was interesting and fun and even loving. However, when we were within her family circle I experienced a much harsher and more critical mother. I never could do anything right.

I would try very hard to not be a disappointment but somehow I always failed. It took me years to understand that my mother was viewing me through her father's eyes and trying to bend me to his standards. It was a fools game that always cast me as the loser. Since my grandpa didn't like me very much, he rarely approved of me. Hence, I was a constant source of tension for my mom. She could be harsh and exacting. She sometimes got carried away with discipline and was no stranger to using corporal punishment. Looking back I often wonder why? I wasn't a bad kid. But I was headstrong, anathema to my grandfather. I guess it was all about control. My grandmother would intervene and take my side or remove me from view. She would ask me to help her or set up a new game in the cottage that we would play. My grandma was my champion.

Somewhere in the course of events I came to believe that Mom didn't love me. So, I fixed my trust and affection on my father who I didn't disappoint at all. In fact, to him I was a source of pride. The years between seven and thirteen were my growth years, physically and emotionally just as with every child. I learned to be more wary and defensive. My innocence was wearing down. The problem of course, was that my father worked and was not always around to protect me.

I had lots of amazing and really good experiences too. My early childhood in Holland was so filled with love, it had given me a strong enough emotional base to withstand the Ottawa chill. Years later my mother would muse about how different our lives might have been, had we stayed in Holland. She often said that she loved life in Holland in spite of the hard war years.

These were the Perky years. From age eight to thirteen, we had three cats in succession, called Perky1, Perky 2, and Perky 3. They died or disappeared while we lived in the Snowdon area of Montreal. Perky 3 was not allowed to go outdoors and he lived a very long life, moving with us to Lakeside Heights in Pointe Claire. Perky 3 joined the family when I was eleven and lived well beyond my parents till he was eighteen.

Around thirteen I realized that my mother had mood swings. For many weeks she was fine and then she would become super energetic, stay up all night, start ambitious projects that would continue for several weeks until she crashed. On the way down she started to get super critical, fly into rages, be petty and vindictive, and eventually close down. I feared her most during the super energy periods because I could never be sure when the anger would begin. As an adult, I was asked by a counsellor I was seeing what emotion I remembered most from childhood. "Fear" I replied without hesitation. Fear was my dominant memory.

Today I know that my poor mother had a form of Bipolar disorder and suffered from crippling migraine headaches as well. At the time her condition was not named. She was described as having spells. The worst spell happened when I was sixteen. The depression stage lasted for nearly a year. My mom was tranquilized and spent the year as zombie. My dad and I looked after her and the household. He food shopped and did the exterior work while I cleaned, did the washing and ironing and we took turns cooking. At the same time, he went to work and I to school.

I wanted to have a normal teens life, dating and going to dances but not successfully. In the end I failed the school year. The Principal of John Rennie High Mr. R. Dixon was perplexed because he knew I was bright. In those days the teachers and principal actually knew their students. He mentioned his concern to his secretary Marian Griffiths, who was my best friend Pat's mother. This dear woman broke confidentiality (it was a matter of pride not to speak of the problems at home) and told him what had been going on in my life over the past year. He immediately passed me conditionally. I and several others in difficulty, were placed in the same class with a really caring teacher. The purpose was to focus on a stress less academic environment where we could catch up. It worked so well that I graduated high school at the top of my class with a full Fine Arts scholarship to Sir George Williams University (now renamed Concordia).

My mother recovered and never was so sick again. My parents were proud of me and my grandfather was sorry that "I never achieved much". For the first time my mother set the record straight and told him that he was mistaken: I had achieved a great deal.

There, I've written about this painful period after all, but I won't dwell here. It's time to move on.

Another loss.

2009-09-19T13:30:00.002-04:00

kingmisha at 2009-09-18 06:13 (UTC) (Link)

I've been away for some time at my cottage throughout August, and around town in Peterborough since I got back. I didn't miss blogging because I was painting a lot at the cottage (eight landscapes) and did a new sculpture once I got back. I keep adding to the mourning series instead of moving to another theme.

It seems so imperative to me to get this series out of my system particularly in view of recent events. Mary Travers of 'Peter Paul and Mary' was a woman I respected a lot. She applied her considerable talent to causes that mattered to me too. I did sometimes feel the group was a little light but that was the reason they transcended the folk music world into the popular market. They brought the messages of peace, hope, and racial tolerance to a much wider audience.

I particularly respected their unwavering opposition to the Vietnam War. Mary was also a strong feminist and performed without a hint of sex kitten about her. She was tall, angular and direct in appearance and performance. She was not severe though, often seeming quite gentle and funny.

I was a documentary film maker in the seventies, and involved with a variety of political, left-leaning groups concerned with freeing Civil Rights leaders like Angela Davis and Huey Newton, to ending the Vietnam tragedy, to affirmative action for women. It was a very intense and stimulating time when we believed we could change the world. In retrospect I believe we were the catalyst for change. Social upheaval contributed to the end to the Vietnam War and certainly hastened anti-segregation legislation. Artists like Pete Seeger, Joan Baez, Harry Belafonte, Miriam Makebe, Odette, Aretha Franklin, James Brown, Woody and Arlo Guthrie, Bob Dylan, and Peter, Paul and Mary helped wake people up and inspired us to keep the faith.

I was often invited to parties where I met like minded activists and sympathisers. I would host dinners at my place as well where everyone who came contributed funds to some cause like supporting Mc Govern for President or freeing Angela Davis. Meeting Mary Travers at some of these fundraisers would not raise a second thought. It was normal. We were the movers and shakers in the art world of that period.

Another Loss from Livejournal (Kingmisha)

I met Mary Travers in NY when we both were working on the same feminist committee for International Woman's Year. We were at a fund-raising house party on 5th Avenue hosted by some really wealthy women. We were both hiding in the coat room from too many intense women in one place. We talked for quite a while. She was quite shy, soft spoken, very striking and tall.
Another one of those encounters where we promise to keep in touch but then we never do. She used her talent to help others.

Thank you Mary.

Cottage in the rain.

2009-08-02T17:24:00.003-04:00

I've been off line for a while at the cottage. It rained for the full week with Maya having one swim and me wimping out in the shower. If this had been 15 years ago, the only bathing option was the lake and we were much hardier for it. I miss those roughing it days because I was fit enough to enjoy the experience. That all changed with the stroke.

The stroke robbed me of my coordination, balance, strength and self confidence. Now I trip over uneven ground, I need a ladder to get out of the water, I can't get in and out of the canoe easily, but I can paint, take photos and walk. I still swim well and the added body fat has improved my already formidable floating ability. It's true, I float like an air mattress without needing an air mattress. It's quite remarkable really.

Maya and I took our three cats (the cousins) to the cottage together. It was their first cottage experience and to say they enjoyed it, is putting it mildly. They had a party after their initial nervousness passed. Inside and out the kitty train was always in motion. Mousing involved Willy catching the mouse and carrying it in his mouth round and round the house, followed by Twee and Choco bringing up the rear with a perplexed expression on his face - huh "what's going on. I better run to catch up". Then there were the many nights of passionate sex for Willy. The object of his affection was big fluffy Twee who was not impressed. All the cats are neutered but they do still have erotic moments usually with fluffy sweaters, towels, cushions and to Willy Twee is the best cushion ever. As mentioned above, Twee was not impressed. Outside, Choco came into his own. Normally he's a follower and timid, but outside he assumed an adventurous and brave personality. Willy was much less crazy than I had expected and actually stayed close to home.

Maya worked on her dissertation, I read and puttered as always. Many good games of scrabble were enjoyed on the rainy evenings - many rainy evenings. I was attacked by chiggers who stealthily bit me without my noticing until the bites started to itch. I got to enjoy yet another novel experience up there. Each year something happens that leaves me asking "what the...?"

Nevertheless we had fun together and it was worth it. We have so little time to be together these days. Next week I'm going back alone with Willy for the rest of August. Let's hope I'll see some sun. So I'll be off line again. See you in September.

Snippet Song Book

2009-07-10T01:07:00.007-04:00

In an earlier post I talked about my grandmother's really "old" oldies that became snippets of songs in my memory. So that the snippets continue to be sung I bequeath to Maya and Tracy the following lyrics. I can't write the tunes, alas.

1. Always In the Way

Please mister take me in your car
I want to see Mama.
They say she is in heaven,
is that very, very far?

My new Mama is very cross and
she does frown and say - you're always in the way.
My old Mama would never say, your always in the was.

Please mister take me in your car
I want to see Mama.
They say she is in heaven,
is it very, very far?

2. Dinner for One

Dinner for one please James.
Madam will not be dining.
Yes, you may bring the wine in.
Dinner for one please James.

3. Rubber Dolly

My mother told me
that she would buy me
a rubber dolly, if I were good.

But when I told her
I'd love a soldier,
She wouldn't buy me that rubber dolly.

4. My Bonnie

My Bonnie lies over the ocean.
My Bonnie lies over the sea.
My Bonnie lies over the ocean,
Oh bring back my Bonnie to me.

Bring back, bring back,
oh bring back my Bonnie to me, to me.
Bring back my Bonnie to me.

5. A Bicycle Built for Two

Daisy, Daisy give me your answer do.
I'm half crazy over the love of you.

It won't be a stylish marriage.
I can't afford a carriage.

But you'll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two.

6. Katie

K-k-k Katie, you know I love you.
You're the only g-g-g- girl that I adore.

When the m-m-m moon shines over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

7. A Bird in a Gilded Cage (I had forgotten these snippets, but thanks to Nora Kerr here it is).

(Arthur J. Lamb and Harry Von Tilzer)

The ballroom was filled with fashion's throng,
It shone with a thousand lights;
And there was a woman who passed along,
The fairest of all the sights.
A girl to her lover then softly sighed,
"There's riches at her command."
"But she married for wealth, not for love," he cried!
"Though she lives in a mansion grand."

cho: "She's only a bird in a gilded cage,
    A beautiful sight to see.
    You may think she's happy and free from care,
    She's not, though she seems to be.
    'Tis sad when you think of her wasted life
    For youth cannot mate with age;
    And her beauty was sold for an old man's gold,
    She's a bird in a gilded cage."

I stood in a churchyard just at eve,
When sunset adorned the west;
And looked at the people who'd come to grieve
For loved ones now laid at rcst.
A tall marble monument marked the grave
Of one who'd been fashion's queen;
And I thought, "She is happier here at rest,
Than to have people say when seen: "

RC

Add to Grandma's repertoire, the songs of Vera Lynn and some hymns like The Old Rugged Cross, and you get a good picture of my beloved grandma singing away as she did her chores followed around the house by her adoring grandchild.

How could anyone have been so lucky to have had not one, but two really interesting and loving grandmothers.

Dark side/bright side -

2009-07-03T00:05:00.005-04:00

There was a dark side to all this familial bliss. My grandfather had a cruel streak that he would unleash on the unsuspecting and the innocent, like using a six year old to mock her own father's language or rounding up the grand kids to witness him brutally beating a porcupine to death. We were appalled and fascinated by the execution. What had the poor porcupine done? It wandered into the woodshed. It is a wood eating mammal a little larger than a raccoon. It's a non-aggressive, slow moving vegetarian that defends itself with raised, sharp quills that puncture skin, but not an axe.

Grandpa seemed to enjoy killing things, because I also remember that he tormented and finally killed a large milk snake - a truly beautiful creature. The way Grandpa carried on, the snake was putting everyone in serious danger. Milk snakes are harmless and are a danger to frogs and mice only. Even when I was little, I would think what had the victimized creature done to deserve so much wrath? I never dared ask out loud though. We kids, organized a nice funeral service for the deceased snake, with Hildie (Hildebrand) Guerrin, the only Catholic among us, conducting a solemn mass.

I was seven and learning how to swim. It was slow going because I preferred playing in the water to practicing swim strokes. A deal was struck, if I learned to swim by August, Mom would take me to see the movie "The Yearling". I really got serious about my swimming then because I badly wanted to see that movie. It was about a boy who raised a faun from the wild. Oh bliss - I wanted to hand raise a deer and dreamed about it all the time. I was making progress at the Dog-paddle when Grandpa decided to accelerate the learning. He threw me off the dock and then held me underwater to show me I could survive. I bobbed up to the surface in terror, when he did it again. My grandmother was furious. I remember her calling "leave the child alone" and "you're scaring her". I don't remember what my mother was doing but he did stop "toughening me up". Swimming practice ended abruptly and I didn't learn to swim till the following summer.
I didn't see "The Yearling" in August either. I did learn that life isn't fair.

My mother's kid brother Ken was my hero. He was in his early twenties, drove a coupe with a rumble seat and paddled a canoe. He worked days in Ottawa as an architectural draftsman in his brother Watson's firm. He drove home to the lake in the evenings and would take the canoe out for a paddle after supper. I admired everything he did and wanted to be just like him. Ken knew a whole lot about wildlife and birds. He would paddle into the back bays to observe and photograph the swamp life behind Davie's Island.

I desperately wanted to go with him so I helped him load the canoe, hold the bow and never never begged him. I was smart enough to know that a nuisance is not taken anywhere. Sometimes on weekends, he would look at my eager face and say "you can come if you sit still and be quiet". Oh bliss I was going on his adventure. Ken never knew until years later, what a positive influence he had on my life. Every iota of information he passed on I absorbed like a sponge and I became a naturalist like him. We talk now and compare our observations. We support the same organizations and read the same conservation literature. Had he not been kind enough to share his observations and explain what he saw, my interests today might have been very different. His respect for and enjoyment of nature has been handed down through me to Maya.

Ma this is my lake...

2009-07-02T13:25:00.004-04:00

Can you imagine a grown woman pretending she didn't smoke because her father didn't approve of women smoking? Why would a mother become more severe with her child in the presence of her father? For that matter, why would my mother persist in bringing her family into the bosom of her family to be trivialized by her father?

I spent each summer with my mother at the family cottage on Meech Lake. Don't get me wrong, I adored the place and had an amazing time but my mom must have been under constant stress, trying to keep me out of Grandpa's way. I was happy to be invisible, it meant I could play for hours in the vast expanses of outdoor adventure. My grandmother really was the centre of life in every way. Weekends my cousins Janice and Julie would arrive and each summer Janice came to stay for a week or two to play with me. It was a charmed life for a kid in the days when we were sent out to play with little supervision. That's how we learned what we could do and what the world was about. We were given ground rules and heaven help us if we broke them. Janice, who was partially blind with an over protective mother, remembers her weeks at the cottage with me, as the happiest times in her childhood. She was free to learn her own limits as she discovered untold strengths.

Grandma was an amazing cook who baked and cooked on a wood stove with a warming oven and towel drying rack over the stove. The meals that came out of that kitchen were unforgettably wonderful. There was no fridge at that time, just an ice box. Once a week we went in the old sedan to buy blocks of ice. I loved to go because the ice house had a sawdust floor and was so cool on a hot day. Grocery shopping in the Old Chelsea General Store was always concluded with a double dip ice cream cone - the best ice cream ever. On the return trip to the cottage, when we rounded the bend a got our first glimpse of the lake, Grandma would slap Mom's knee and say "Ma this is my lake". I still get shivers when I remember it. We loved Meech Lake that much.

Many mornings Mom and I would go berry picking to supply the fruit for delicious pies. I always had a small turnover of my own which Grandma made from the leftover pastry and fruit. There is nothing so comforting as walking into a house filled with the aromas of freshly baked pies, six at a time, cooling on the shelf above the stove. Lunches would just appear on the big family table in the screened veranda. Dinners were always warm and tasty, but breakfast was my most memorable meal. It never occurred to me then that my dear Grandma worked like a lumber camp cook and considered it normal. We all thought it was normal.

My dad would arrive for his two week vacation and help do the major construction projects my grandfather saved for his arrival. My father was a "good worker" so he played a big role in constructing a new dock, repairing the boathouse, stacking wood etc. Apparently the Balharrie sons were too fragile to help their father. Ken lived at home but had a lung problem. Watson was up with his family every weekend but suffered from asthma so couldn't do heavy labour. Hence, by default, my father was the heavy lifter on all major projects. He paid for my summer vacations with sweat, but I believe he enjoyed having a role to play.

His secondary role was to play straight man to my grandpa's comedian. Each breakfast, went like this, Grandpa would ask me "how do you say orange juice (or whatever) in Dutch?" I would translate and Dad would unwittingly collude by repeating it. Then Grandpa would laugh heartily at our funny language. It didn't take this six year old long to understand that Dutch was a dumb language and English was better. Harmless fun? Not really, not for my father, but nobody realized it except my grandmother who would attempt to change the subject. Bless her, it never worked.

Recollecting these memories now, I see why my mother kept taking us back despite her father's controlling antics. The pull of life at the cottage was too important after years of war and deprivation. She took the brunt of his negativity, but she was home and wanted us to share it with her. It was a trade off she was prepared to make. In the end, I'm truly grateful she did.

Allie and Black Beauty

2009-07-02T02:45:00.006-04:00

Grandpa Jimmy was a patriarch in the true sense. He ruled the family with a resolute and unwavering authority. His sons were important to him but his daughter, not so much. Women were useful to his comfort and well being but didn't count. It was his misfortune to have only granddaughters - six in total. Not one of us could carry on the Balharrie name, so we were of little value. He was a Mason and truth be known, also a closet Orangeman. I learned many lessons from him such as the perfideousness of Catholicism, and Jews were not to be trusted. People of colour were never discussed because they didn't exist in his world. Where my grandmother was compassionate, he was hard. Where she was flexible, Grandpa was unbending and where Grandma had an open mind, his was closed. But his values ruled.

I was afraid of him. So was everyone else in the family. Still, I have fond recollections of him telling me stories. Every morning after breakfast we would retire to the sun room where he smoked and told me a long continuous saga about Black beauty and cousin Allie. Alie was a mentally unbalanced relative who wore a Coca Cola carton as a hat in real life but led the life of Don Quixote with his trusty horse Black Beauty in the story. Each day there was another chapter. Needless to say, mornings with Grandpa were exciting. This lasted the six months I lived in that house. Once we moved out it was over and I never recaptured that intimacy with him again.

I was for that brief time, the child of his daughter whom he thought had died in the war. We returned and his relief translated into tenderness for a little while. After that, I was tolerated but never accepted. I was a foriegner, the child of a foreigner who his daughter had regrettably married. Watson was his favourite and he showed it. My mother felt it so acutely that she was always striving for his approval. She was a grown woman ever anxious and always disappointed. He went to his grave withholding his approval. Once he was gone, my mother relaxed.

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