It's 1979 Calling, will you accept the Charges?

It is the first anniversary of my ongoing relationship with the love of my life.  As we continue to grow, I discover new and exciting things each day.  What was once just an affair of convenience has become an extension of my very being.

The Original Phone from Derek's home

Back in the day, my phone was connected to the wall of my home.  At 314 Mill, when the telephone rang, no one knew who was calling.  There was often a mad dash to answer with the ever famous "I'll get it!!!".   If it was for me, someone screamed my name.  If someone was mad at me, they would tell the person that I was in the bathroom.  If it was a personal call, I would whisper and talk in code.  If it was a fight, I would sit silently on my end of the phone.  If someone else needed the phone there could be blood.  When someone called and the "desired" Wells was not at home, a message would be taken.  In a perfect world this was in the form of a note. It could however be relayed verbally, but more often than not, it was just forgotten.  It was a great source of tension, with 4 teenage girls.  Does anyone know if G#$%y called?  Anyone could call and if no one was home, no one would ever know that the call had been made.  People could say they called, even if they didn't and no one would be the wiser.  Conversely, if I called someone, to see if they were home, and then hung up, they would not know that it was me.  It was a wildly mysterious time, back in the day.

I was asked by my Kate, when she was at school, to proof-read an essay for her which discussed the changes in modes of communication (the transmission of ideas or events) over the course of time and the impact of these innovations.  Time stretched from cave drawings and smoke signals, to telegrams and letter writing.  Phones evolved from switchboard operators connecting party lines bringing everyone so much closer and making the world a smaller place.  Eventually most people had a telephone in their home.  This is where my story began.  In my lifetime I saw a relatively progressive change from a home with 1 rotary dial land line in the kitchen, to a second line, to a push button phone.  When away from home it was necessary to find a phone. It was important to always have a dime in case one needed to make a call. It was cheap"mad money".  Phone booths were not just for Superman.  They were however, disgusting.

The limitations of the landline became evident to me in my early married life.  At 1365 Rock Court, in the late 1980s. it was becoming apparent that a more portable form of communication might have its place.  As we were expecting our first baby, being able to reach in the Baby Daddy became vitally important.  Derek worked on construction sites at that time and , like every other responsible, new-to-be father, he strapped on a "beeper" and waited for the beep.  It was even a high tech pager, which VIBRATED when it rang, in case the construction equipment drowned out the closely anticipated beep.  We hoped so much to use it.  The plan was that when I called Derek's office, they would then page him on site.  He would then go somewhere to find a pay phone to call into his office to get a message with a location where he might then call me.  It was so smooth and efficient.  Katelyn was 2, by the time he found us.

Guess Who is Here?

In the 90"s, things were not all that different at 26 Elm Ave except that we had a few more phones floating around, some of which were becoming very high tech and did not require a cord.  Oh the freedom to fold laundry and chat at the same time.  By the mid 90's we had 3 kids who fought to answer the phone and  to talk regardless of their speaking ability.  Calls were the way of communicating births and deaths and any other life event.  There were calls to ask whereabouts and ETAs for dinner.  There were calls to arrange playtimes and babysitters. Calls were made for rain out games.   Long distance calls were made at certain "off-times".  Day time calls were very expensive.  Long-distance calls could also be made "collect", where there was a request to distance "accept the charges".  This confused a child or 2. There were long distance calls to grandparents.  There were calls to report that we had arrived to destinations safely with the "let it ring 2x and then hang up" frugal way of getting a message across without long distance charges. There were the ever-popular calls "A student in your household named ..... was absent on ..... for periods 1,2,3,4"  There was still an element of surprise to telephone calls in the 1990's.  Unless there was state of the art equipment, we still didn't know who was calling when the telephone rang and we still had the ever popular question:  Any messages?

Early in the new millenium,we started to get a glimpse of portable communication and what it might mean for our young family. The kids had grown up with tin cans and strings.  Ok, they had grown up with Fischer Price Walkie Talkies.  They were heard to utter "are you there Dad?  Can I read you?".  Then Walkie Talkie's became more sophisticated.  High Tech Walkie Talkies showed us a glimpse of the ability to have constant contact. We had a pair of Walkie Talkies on a ski hill in Quebec.  Actually, every parent had a set and most were on the same frequency.  It became evident when a child jokingly reported "Mom, Dad, I broke my leg" and every parent started looking around at all the other terrified faces and that was the end of that. Something better was yet to come.

So, now, somewhere along the line, everything went nuts...

 It seemed to start with "car phones", which were cost-prohibitive to many people and just having an antenna on a car could imply a level of status that might not be completely accurate.  One Christmas I received a "portable phone" for my car, as they became more affordable.  It was deemed a solution to a safety concern when driving to work at night.  To be honest, I never knew how this new fangled gadget worked.  I think it involved standing on the roof of the car with the plug in the cigarette lighter.

Then phones became smaller and more portable.  They also became a symbol of a "coming of age".  Kate was given her first phone when she was about 16.  This was the beginning of the end!!   Within a very short period of time, young people were chatting as they walked down the street.  Honestly, who did they need to speak to that they couldn't wait until they got home or use the mad money quarter and find a phone booth.  Then there was this thing the kids called "texting".   I considered texting to be teenage witchcraft. How is this possible?  I had just figured out how to send an email.  I banked "on-line". I

 I was a cool mom.  I knew MSN.  I knew about  Facebook and what "creeping" meant.  I thought I was all there, but this texting thing?!

Never one to be left behind I slowly I began to learn once again. I graduated from a car phone to a "purse phone" that I never charged or brought with me.  Then it became necessary to be reachable as my kids started calling me for advice and to share my wisdom.  Ok they were calling me for rides, but I gave them advice regardless.  Gradually my generation, like immigrants learning a new language, began to blossom.  We accepted texting as a legitimate mode of communication.  We learned the abbreviations and the nuances. We learned what T9 was for as well as the dangers of autocorrect.  I learned early that " lol" was not " lots of love". I learned 2 abbreviate like the best of u, with total disregard for all speling and gramar.  My children laughed at me. They wondered who I could possibly be texting when they were home because "who else do you know?".  I learned that without an absolute question, there was little chance I would get a response to an unsolicited text and I am still learning that no reply to a question is the new "no".   There was the progression from a 9 digit phone with complicated texting rituals, to a blackberry.  I had no idea how my big fingers would manage on this tiny keyboard, but as evolution would have it, my fingers shrunk.  My phone was becoming an important part of my day to day life, as it was for many of my friends.

My children thent started to share their advice and wisdom.  They advised me to get an IPhone.  I was resistent.  Why would I need a camera?  I have a camera.  Why would I need music? I have a radio.  Why would I use an electronic calendar?  I have a datebook.  I just didn't get it.  Now I do.  I love my IPhone for communicating but also for writing. I have mastered the keyboard and my thoughts and ideas are recorded.  My life is in my phone.  When I die, my best friend's job is to destroy this phone.

Now, back to Kate's essay. We have gone from Smoke Signals to Skype.  We have gone from telegrams to texts.  Letter writing, I imagine, may become a thing of yesteryear as Bridget recently had to mail a letter and asked me "where do I get one of those stickers".  The art of writing a letter may be replaced with (hopefully) a nicely structured email.  I guess the question that begs to be answered might be " When is enough communication, actually too much?"  I was in Mexico last month and could sit on the beach and watch Downton Abbey on my phone. I didn't though.  That just seemed wrong.

I wonder how cell phone technology would have changed things for me as a young mom with little ones. If I had been texting when they were babies, would they have rolled off the couch more often than they did?  Would I have felt more relaxed and reachable when they had babysitters?  Did I really want to know their every whereabouts as teenagers? Is it a concern when kids can automatically call or text when they are in a pickle.  Would this have affected their troubleshooting skills?

Now that this technology has enveloped the world and the younger generation more and more, do we need to address cell phone

etiquette?  When is texting, although, not a safety risk, totally inappropriate?  "Okay, elbows back on the table and put away your phone". Bridget was in a confessional when her phone started to ring.  Texting at school, texting at work... If the only place that is actually a text-free zone is advertised to be a hot tub, we need to take a look at just what is too much.  Is a land line really only useful to find one's cell phone in a pinch?  Is the telephone still a more socially appropriate means of relaying information?  I would like to google an E-tiquette website. Can thank you notes be sent as a text?  Can births be announced on Facebook?  Can wedding invitations come by email?  Is there still a place for a good old fashioned condolence card in the mail.  Is Miss Manners on line somewhere, because I need to email her?

Smoke signals were probably an innovative idea in their time. Telegrams were exciting at a wedding.  There is nothing like receiving a handwritten letter in the mail. Long phone call chats with old friends are golden. Have we lost more than we have gained or is this technology keeping us connected in a newer faster-moving world?  I think when I put it all together, the important thing to me is that we communicate.  I want to hear from my children in whatever medium they choose.  I want to stay in touch with friends in the most convenient way to ensure that in our busy lives, we are able to stay in touch. I like that I can text my mother. Yes, she is that cool! My father-in-law is on Skype. Amazing.  So I will try to embrace the new normal as well. I will try to look forward to whatever comes next.  I am balking at Twitter, Instagram and Sexting, but my advice in this day and age is NVR SAY NVR.

Life has come full circle.  15 years ago I got a large car phone for Christmas.  This year we took a step back.

It Actually works!

.

" Have a Good One, Cat Lady"

As we approach the finale of Christmas revelry, there is time now to reflect a bit on this holiday season. Our home was full. We had all 3 of our sticky children home. They actually overlapped for 2 nights and my father-in-law was a very welcome addition to our Christmas tradition.  What I did not fully anticipate were the feline guests.  I fear I may be reaching a point in my empty-nesting life when people start to wonder if "maybe Mom needs another cat to keep her company".  I am hesitant to speak of the solitude of my home.  I do not want to be "the woman with all those cats".

We already have a very uppity, self-centred cat and a pathetically needy dog.  We thought we understood them.  The cat hates everyone.  The dog loves everyone.  I was talked into a friend's cat by Bridget, who pointed out that it would make a good blog post.  She knows me too well. When visiting cat #1 arrived to party down at 26 Elm Avenue, we fully expected that our cat would meet him with disgust.  We were shocked with the territorial nature of our happy-go-lucky dog. 2days later Katelyn arrived with her mild nannered cat, Myles Davis  He is a member of our extended family.  For the next few days it was a madhouse with arched backs, hissing and pouncing.  Our children behaved much more civilly as far as we could tell.

 These are our 3 children who are no longer used to living under the same roof.  There was lots of eye-rolling.  People napped everywhere.  All 3 kids are now of legal drinking age, so the back up Christmas wine supply dwindled quickly. There were shoes of every size blocking the front door.  Bathrooms were shared.  Beds were shared. Meals were "every man for himself".  3 cats and 1 high maintenance dog bolted around the house like it was a free-for-all. We were fortunate to have had power, as many in Ontario were hit harder by the ice storm than we were.  I can't imagine how we would have faired otherwise. My father-in-law sat back and observed our family at its finest.

"Hand-made" Shirts for Daddy

Pre-Christmas preparations went relatively smoothly compared to those of yesteryear.  No longer do we try to fit in children's Christmas parties, school concerts, chopping down trees, parades, Christmas cards, Santa visits with cute matching outfits, countless updates on letters to the North Pole,  participatory Christmas baking, seasonal crafts, teachers' gifts all while trying to instill a sense of the meaning of Christmas.  I endeavored to show our children that Christmas was a time of wonder and joy, but I fear I did this from behind a fog of cranky exhaustion.   I now question what I might have "let go".  How could I have simplified the season.  I hope my children have fond memories, but I know at times Christmas seemed like a project to be managed.  Why I didn't embrace on-line shopping in 1995 is beyond me. Why I didn't drink more is a mystery.  Did I find humour the small things as I do now, or was I just too busy?

Gotta find this funny

For those of you reading this and adding to the list from your non-fading memories, do you find this both melancholy and liberating?  For those of you still in the trenches, we understand.  We remember.  We also admittedly miss these days.   The smartie-stained finger-prints just got higher and higher and then they were gone. I can reiterate the age-old advice "to cherish these days as they pass so quickly". I am sure someone said this to me when I was searching for the perfect a candle for a teacher or a Red Ryder BB gun, so I am afraid I missed it.

Things are certainly easier now.  I am trying to keep it simple.  However, I am still a disorganized person trying to live in an

Keeping it simple

organized world. When my life becomes overly chaotic, like around Christmas, it is reflected in my purse.  I have a "thing" about purses.  It is everything I can do not to replace each with a new " perfect one". At Christmas time I pull out my the purse that has the greatest volume.  As December progresses, this bag just fills and fills.  I pile everything in and never pull anything out. When the kids were little, my purse was filled with sticky Santa sippy cups, fluff-covered candy canes and films to be developed.  Just recently I looked at the post-Christmas state of my purse this year.  Among the countless receipts and unsent Christmas cards, I honestly found a pair of underwear and 2 toothbrushes.  I am not sure what this implies about my character, but it seems obvious that I had some pretty high expectations of the Christmas season.  

Christmas morning was lovely.  If we do one thing well here, it is Christmas morning.  Our traditions have

blossomed over the years.  We spoil each other like there is no tomorrow.  Each year I proclaim that "this year will be different".  "This year we are toning it down".  The kids then remind me that I say this each year.  Of course I then reply "yes, but this year I mean it.".  To this they just smile and nod.  Nothing much has changed since they were tiny.  We wear a stocking cap and distribute the essentials.  This year gifts included toothpaste and soap, cutlery and placemats in an attempt to keep the kids clean and civilized in their Toronto lives.  Granddad joined right in, admiring his new travelling shoe horn.

Christmas dinner included 12 of the O'Rourke clan.  I keep it simple and do what I can ahead of time. In the true spirit of helpfulness, my brother-in-law showed up with potatoes and ham. With the sheer volume, I could have just opened a couple of cans of corn and that would be that.  I cannot express how much I appreciated this. I have been married to an Irishman for over a quarter century but I have not yet embraced a love of peeling potatoes. I will leave that to George from now on and will be eternally grateful. Christmas pudding was made by Granddad and Derek.  It was a great first effort, with better ones to come.

Pooped Pup

Kevin had to work on Boxing Day as Future Shop waits for no man.  This saw me actually dressed on my favourite  pajama day of the year.  Toronto was bedlam with some power still out and absolutely crazy shoppers.  After a short visit with my mother, Pierrette, I headed back home to put on my new PJs and watch Love Actually.  It was perfect.   Granddad enjoyed his first "chick flick" in a very long time and had no problem keeping up with the permutations and combinations of storylines.  Derek was a bit lost.  His Dad said "Cmon Derek, get with it".

Grand'maman with her group

The rest of the season continued to unfold.  We have visited with an entire group of Wells grandchildren.  Grand'maman was surrounded by those whom she has loved and literally cared for over the past 25 years. There are stories of the antics of each of the grandchildren, both in Toronto and on Florida visits.  These visits allowed my parents to get to know their grandchildren for better and for worse. Grandmaman continues to try to keep up with their evolving lives.  This, however, cannot be done through Facebook.

The "children" somewhat willingly posed for a group photo that has not been taken since the girls' eyebrows were unshapen and the boys' faces were unshaven.  No one made a face or bopped anyone over the head.  We drank wine and played Bingo.  Nothing like a drunken bunch of gamblers.  My father would have been proud.

Over the Christmas season it has been debated in the press and between people, just what is the appropriate salutation for our diverse communities.  Some maintain "Merry Christmas".  Some have branched out to "Happy Holidays".  I think "Happy New Year" is pretty safe.  One universally "appropriate" salutation seemed to be adopted by some.  On more than a few occasions, I was told to "Have a Good One".  I am not sure if this is an example of an attempt to maintain peace in a multicultural society or just a reflection of the age of the cashiers at Zehrs.  

                                                                                                                            So now as we return to our homes and to our jobs and to the routine of our January lives, we can lookback on another holiday season gone by.  No matter what holiday that may be or what traditions are practiced, when we wonder just what this season was all about, hopefully we can honestly feel it was Love, Actually.

At the Risk of Resentment - Barbados' Hidden Gems

Our Guide

As I left to vacation in Barbados this month, people have learned to tell me "have a great time, you deserve it".  I think this is so funny as I, in no way, feel I deserve this perk in my life. With Derek working a good part of each month in Barbados, I have the opportunity to leave our empty nest and spend some time there.  I feel blessed, however I do not feel guilty.  Guilt is a useless emotion.There is no good reason why I would  not embrace the opportunity to visit this island whenever possible.  I laughed with my friend, who has spent much time in Barbados in his life and is familiar with all the hidden gems which I have found over the past year.  I don't often share my plans for trips, as I feel the irrational need  to apologize, however, with Michael, I just decided to be honest.   "I am going to Barbados tomorrow".   I guess honesty breeds honesty.  He was blunt.  "I hate you".  I understood.

One of the hurdles of getting to Barbados is making my way through an airport without drawing undue attention to myself.  I have missed a flight in the past, so I relinquish all responsibility when I travel.  When I fly with Derek, with his Air Canada status as being in some way "special", I just follow along and try to keep up. He complains that there is nothing worse than travelling with an amateur.  I fake it.  I always have my passport turned to the picture page.  I stay out of the Nexus line.  I let him carry my boarding pass.  It is smooth.


A couple of weeks ago when my sister Terry and I set out on our journey back to Barbados, I tried to stay organized and keep up with the more "seasoned" travellers, like myself.

After many years travelling en masse, with the sticky little kids, I have come up with a fool proof system.  The beauty lies in the fact that it is not only efficient, it is also terribly fashionable. All seasoned air travellers, I feel, must wear a Fanny Pack.  Sorry, kids, but you know it is true.  I am not sure how anyone manages without this best kept secret.  All things in one spot with easy access and less chance of leaving something behind.  Passport is always but a zip away, not buried in my overflowing purse.  I thought I was the only person who had grasped the functionality of the Fanny Pack, but Terry is a convert.  We are now mistaken for twins or identical life partners with our matching Fanny Packs, functional AND fashionable!!

Almost Here

Terry and I didn't check in on line  the night before, as seasoned travelers might, so we could request 2 seats together.  Togetherness is very important in our family.  On checking in, we smiled sweetly and as Canadianly (now an adverb) as we always do.   We were offered 2 seats together, no problem, OR 2 separate "premium" seats.  We both promptly dropped each other like hot potatoes. I mean I love Terry, but was there really any decision to be made. Terry offered me the bulkhead due to my rather large ankles and I sat all comfy and cozy sipping complementary wine at 9am. Who is special now, Derek??

When the 3 sticky kidlets were little, we traveled to visit my parents in Florida, on my parents' dime, several

Kevin's BackPack

times. The flights were taxing with babies and toddlers.  We invested in a backpack for Kevin when he was 18 months old.  I explained to Terry how much easier this made our travels.  She was so confused.  "But really Jan, just how much can he really carry".  There were car seats and booster seats, bottles and sippy cups, travel games of Guess Who, lambie, Dimetapp, granola bars,decks of cards, rolling Franklin Turtle suitcases, Gravol and as they got older, the God-given gift of Game Boy. It took me an entire day just to pack.   The airline supplied crayons and the kids were totally WOWED and they jumped for joy.  Who knew? We flew with the kids early enough that they experienced trips to meet the pilots and to see the cockpit.  So much has changed.  Now they charge $5 for crayons (true).  I am not sure all the new inflight entertainment systems and state of the art baby paraphernalia is really that effective. Kids still cry and fuss.  The best improvement in air travel is actually noise-cancelling headphones.  When that kid starts to scream, there is no other way.  We sit pretty now, smile and nod as parents do the good old-fashioned walking and bouncing in the aisle, just like in 1992.

My sister and I decided for this trip, that it would be done on a shoe-string.  What does Barbados have to offer that is

Terry and Derek - Stop and Stare at River Bay

free, or pretty darn close?  We were greeted by Derek with home-made rum punch, with rum that is cheaper than water.  It was not a pretty first night.  After recovering from the Mullins Beach flu, we decided to experience the National Trust Walk that takes place each Sunday at a different spot on the island.  It is a 3 hour walk starting at 6 am.  Our hesitance quickly showed as we all refered to it as "A 3 Hour Tour" with Gilligan singing in the background. Well off we went at 5:30am (4:30 Canada time).  With a few wrong turns we unfortunately missed our group called "Stop and Stare" and ended up out of our comfort zone in the "Grin and Bear it" group who set off marching up the hills.  We hung in for a good bit, but then decided to Stop and Stare on our own.  Off we trotted to River Bay, to show Terry one of the true hidden gems.  We then headed back to our place for bacon and eggs and an early morning nap.

Beach Chair Extraordinaire plus Fanny Pack

After Sunday we had very lovely beach days both near our home and across the island.  Terry and I established our routine quickly.  We have 2 very new-fangled beach chairs that go everywhere. These chairs can be worn as back packs, with a built in cooler, towel rack, pillow and it reclines with a drink holder and a spot for my Iphone.  It even has its own storage compartment, slightly bigger and even more useful than my fanny pack.  Of course I still wear my fanny pack.  Terry has many friends at our local beach who remember her from her last trip.  Ronny would still like her to move into his 2 bedroom house across the island so he can cook and clean for her.  Gussie wants to paint her a picture and Shakra is very interested in giving her a massage.  It is like sunning with a celebrity.  We discovered that in addition to the beauty of the sunsets on the west coast. swimming in the moonlight at dusk is very cool.

Sunset Swim

Derek and I continued to explore after Terry had sadly made her way back to Canada.  Derek has seemingly lost his appreciation for this island, as his role here is primarily work-related.  What would seem like a dream location to most, Barbados often means to Derek, that he is missing his gang at home. I understand this, as his seat has been empty at many a birthday and anniversary.  Our nest is really really empty now. His travel has always been a part of our lives so  I work to break him of the complacency he has developed.  We grabbed a map and set out to find the best kept secrets.  We started at the Hilton for breakfast.  It is rated #1 in Barbados.  It didn't really fit into our theme as I didn't feel it was a best kept secret.  I imagine the same lovely breakfast is served at every Hilton around the world.  So when we finished, off we went beach-hunting.  When you see a movie with a deserted, untouched beach and you wonder if it actually exists, well it does.

 We parked our car at Foul Bay, walked the beach and set up our  nifty chairs.  We were alone on

Snoozing with the Monkeys

the beach, so much so that I could make a clothing adjustment without fear of showing off my tan lines.  We were surrounded by roosters and monkeys.  I frolicked up to my knees while Derek napped.  As we were both lifeguards, we take teh "never swim alone" rule very seriously.  However, I thought that frolicking up to my knees was safe.  I sat as the waves lapped up. I left the beach with bathing suit bottoms full of sand.  I am still finding sand. When the rooster crowed we were on our way after a quick shower.

The rest of our road trip that day included a deserted lighthouse and a Fish and Chip stop where Swordfish was the fish of choice.  We headed to Bathsheba on the east side of the Island where there was an International Surfing competition.  There were so many young, fit, tanned bodies there that neither Derek nor I could even fathom getting out of the car.  We watched the surfers from afar  We reminisced about our surfing days.  Ok, there were no such days.

This is neither Derek nor me surfing.  I did. however, take the photo and it is awesome.




On the Sunday we made our way to a Farmers' Market on Holder's Hill. I love Farmers' markets so I was very excited about  going for our first time.

  There was music, fresh produce and various vendors selling original wares, including pottery, linen and jewellery.  Derek found an outdoor pub of sorts and made himself at home. I picked up trinkets and souvenirs.  I could have spent the day.  I was particularly impressed with a young entrepreneur, the same age as my own children, designing clothing and cards in a very unique style and with an altruistic message.  I expect Jessica Reynolds will be going somewhere fast.

ARTEMISDOODLEGOD@GMAIL.COM

A brave monkey near our house.  Kind of like Squirrels in Canada

I headed home toute seule a few days later.  It was time to go, as 1 beach buddy had left and the other had to get back to the work that he does which affords me the luxury of such visits. I suited up, with my fanny pack full and the passport picture page earmarked for easy access.  It was a full plane. So many young families.  So cute.  So sweet, but all I could think was "Forget Snakes!  It's Babies on a Plane".

SO WHERE IS MY FREAKING LOOT BAG???

Facebook has me feeling very popular.  I had many wonderful birthday wishes from a wide range of "friends" yesterday. I do realize that wishing someone "Happy Birthday" has been made very straight forward by Facebook and much more efficient through our new technologies.  I know its not a brown paper package all tied up with string, but it feels nice.  I feel like yesterday was one big cyber hug.

I have not, until now, caught on to the Facebook birthday system.  I fancy myself a "card person".  I have a dear Aunt with a unique ability to touch someone with a card beyond compare. I strive to emulate her. I spend  hours in card stores finding funny and touching cards specific to each person. I jump on them and store them away for that special person on their special day.  About 1 or 2 days too late, I start to search for that perfect card in my "card storage system", which looks like a fancy file cabinet. Sometimes I find the card and sometimes I even sign it.  Rarely does it actually get mailed and to tell you the truth, I am sure no one even knows that I fancy myself a card person, as they have never actually received a card from me.  My nieces and nephews know that "belated" to Auntie Jan(et) has no actual time frame.  The road to hell is paved with thoughtful, poignant, unsigned birthday cards.

My Facebook messages saw me reflecting on the number of different types of relationships we each have.

  We all wear so many name tags.  Yesterday, however, when looking at texts, emails and Facebook messages, it seems that over the course of 50 some years the number of hats has grown.  Though I tend to define myself as a wife and mother, I am reminded that I am a wife and mother but also a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a sister, a sister-in-law, an aunt, a great aunt, a Godmother, a niece, a cousin, an old friend, a new friend, a family friend, my kids' friends (Mama O), a colleague, a fellow blogger and even a Canadian mother to my 2 Japanese "daughters".  From now on, all my peeps will get a very touching, sentimental message from me on Facebook, but probably 1 day too late.

Birthday Girl, November 22, 1963

Yesterday was the 50th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy.  It was also the 50th anniversary of my 2nd birthday.  While the "shot heard around the world" had my pregnant mother in tears, she was also trying to teach me how not to blow out candles.  The end of innocence experienced by so many was just the start of mine.

I have never been one to announce my birthday prior to its arrival.  I like to think I have low expectations. Of course, I like to have my cake and eat it too.  I also never balk at some chocolate or a warm pair of socks. I don't really like to be the centre of attention, but any rendition of Happy Birthday to You, even if I resemble a monkey, is always appreciated.  My mother used to call it "our 15 minutes".  I think Andy Warhol heard that and then went to town and took all the credit.

I am yet to find someone who feels as strongly as I do that a person's birthday is really all about the mother. I don't remember the day I was born, thank God.  However, my mother does.  She remembers my temporarily crippled, somewhat elderly grandfather taking her to the hospital and being mistaken for her husband.  I remember the days of each of my 3 children's births.  When their birthdays come, I am back

there again, in living colour.  I am again waiting for my turn in the operating room to have Kate plucked out. I am listening to the resolution of the Gulf War as we drive to the hospital to have Kevin.  I am hearing over the phone that  "you are probably not in labour so you might just settle in with a cup of tea".  Bridget was born 2 hours later.  All mothers have their stories and given a chance, we will tell them over and over again.  I remember how sweet they looked on the day they were born, no matter what their newborn photo looks like.  I truly believe that Katelyn was the most beautiful baby in the nursery.  I know everyone feels like this, but she really was.  Really.  She was.  

Now it does not really follow any sense of logic, that the one person who worked so hard to bring these children into this world (yes Derek, the one person)  should be the one in charge of the birthday celebration each year.  Isn't that day supposed to be about me???  I maintain that I would rather give birth than give a birthday party.  Why am I hanging up the f-$%#@-ing pinata?  Where is MY Loot Bag?

Our kids' birthdays seemed to stretch for more than the constitutionally

guaranteed 15 minutes.  The birthday party itself lasts 2 hours (and not one second more). It starts off lovely, with crafts and games.  They are colouring their loot bags and there is boppie music on the tape player and we are walking around chairs.  Kids are dressed up and look so sweet.  Balloons and streamers are hanging.  There is some sort of a meal that includes hot dogs sliced in half and licorice used as straws in chocolate milk.  Cake comes, everyone sings and things begin  to slide.  Someone is allergic to "blue food".  Someone "only wants icing".  Party dresses are no longer

recognizable.  Some kid slaps Derek on the butt (true story).  When present time comes, it all goes to Hell in a Handbasket. Birthday child and the whole lot turn into loud-mouth, self-absorbed little pukes.   "But Mommy I hate Barbie.  I like Skipper".  "Why would someone give me a Pink Power Ranger when I am a boy?"."Which present do you really like the best?"  By 90 minutes we start to pace.  The fake voice was slipping.  Mommy Dearest is emerging. I no longer care how much spit was on the cake, I am scarfing it down and chasing it with wine. who cares if it is not yet noon.   At 2 hours, good parents arrive on the

dot.  Some lollygag and show up late.  Their kids are in the driveway holding their loot bags and their boots.

We had neighbours who had 6 children.  I think a few of the babies were conceived while we waited for mom and dad to pick up their kids.

Kevin's 15 Minutes

So in keeping with my "birthdays should be about the mother" I invited my mother to take me out for dinner

Pierrette and me

last night.  It was a lovely evening at a small restaurant just a short freezing 10 minute walk up Yonge Street.  We shared salad and ate like the carnivores we are.  I told my mother I was going to take our picture. I told her I can take a "selfie" (as Bridget calls it) on my iphone. I told her that it didn't matter that her face was still puffy from her dental work.  I told her I had a new philosophy about picture taking.  I read a blog post that transformed the way I feel about having my photo taken.  The link is here, but just to sum it up, we need to allow ourselves to be photographed no matter what.

I had breakfast with the 3 sticky kids today downtown on Saturday morning.  They were all bright eyed and bushy tailed.  They took turns sharing the stories of their weeks.  Ok, they did not take turns.  They filled me in just as they have for the past 20 years.  With lots of  loud chatter and laughing and eye-rolling.  That's what families do. So now, in order to have a record of this event for history (and to send it to Derek in Barbados}, I have decided to turn the camera around. Apparently no one cares if we have gained weight.  They don't want us to "wait until next year, when I look better".  We have to stop jumping at the chance to be the photographer.  We need to just feel blessed that we are still in the family photo.

Kevin, Kate, Bridget and "Birth Giver"

How do you feel about being photographed??  Let me know.

I absolutely love this and I suggest you take a moment and read it!

http://myfriendteresablog.com/so-youre-feeling-too-fat-to-be-photographed/

TORONTO - Where Good Dogs Don't Smoke Crack

What can I say about a city with a Crackhead mayor who fancies himself a philosopher, saying  "It is what it is".  Oh please.  I think that it is pretty fair to just say, as we did back in the day, "Liar Liar Pants on Fire".. I have not lived in Toronto for many years.  I miss the city, but not this week.   You have to laugh or you will cry. Any late night TV show will make you do both.  It is so embarrassing, yet in some way comical.  Toronto is having its 15 minutes.

Ya I am!

In addition to the Big Fat Liar shenanigans, Toronto has changed dramatically in so many ways, since I was living the life in the 1980's.  I had big hair and shoulder pads.  Mom jeans were in style and I rocked them. I listened to the Talking Heads.  My recent trip to Toronto made me realize just how old and "small town" I have become. I like to think of myself as a young hipster with my finger on the beat of the here and now.  I like to know what is happening.  I am a cool mom.  I want the 411.   I am a big city girl, living in small town Canada.

Ok, I am 50ish and I accept that..  I left Toronto and raised 3 kids in Orangeville.  We  have a dog and a cat as well that we acquired "for the kids".  I have been seen driving around in a minivan for the better part of 20 years.  Now the 3 small town bumpkins high- tailed it to the big city as soon as they could.  They have entrusted us with their pets.  How touching We visit the 3 of them  often,  moving from east to west. Bridget lives with 2 other students in an exorbitantly priced apartment. It has a dishwasher.  Her rent is less as she lives in a closet. Kevin lives right at Dundas Square and his place is more simple. He doesn't need a dishwasher as he only has 1 fork (true, sadly). His rent is fair as the building caters to students.  Kate has

Dinner out on our Credit Card.

moved up in the world now being on the west side of Yonge. She just moved to a "studio" apartment where her bed is her main piece of living room furniture.  She is just like Mary Tyler Moore.  Kate's cat is confused and keeps searching for her bedroom.  These kids could throw a baseball to each other, but they' don't .  They do however , get together on occasion for a meal and they know that if they send me a photo, I will pay for their dinner.  Does this sound sad?

Back in the Day

I recently visited Toronto with my sister Karen to go to a play with our mother Pierrette.  We went to see I Love Lucy. As frugal Theatre-goers, we jumped on the subway to make our way downtown.  I would need to do a "whole lot of splaining" to my kids to let them know just how much the TTC has changed.  They are sleek and there is no longer any faux leather. There is established etiquette.  There are indicators informing about the time until the next train.  The subway map lights up and I can't even start describe the new arms.  You can see easily which subway station is next.  I was looking for a Purell dispenser to make the trip perfect.  No longer do you wait on the platform with only the knowledge of the direction you wish to travel and this included only north, south, east and west. If you didn't know where Finch was, you were lost.   The arrival time of the next train was a complete mystery.  Without the whistles how does everyone know that the doors are closing?

McLevin the Ice Breaker

Now the big change I saw twice that night is the new flirting technique.  Pets on the subway.  On our way downtown, a fellow walked on with a cat with, what looked like, a service uniform.  A seeing-eye cat.  On closer inspection, it appeared to be, instead, a hoodie.  The brilliant owner was chatting up a young girl using the ultimate ice breaking cat.  On our way home, on strolls a lovely but huge dog.  Again, I checked for a service harness of some sort, but nope.  Just a dog on its way somewhere really important.  Again the ice breaking is happening among the passengers.  I think it is really brilliant and much easier and more acceptable than borrowing someone's  baby.

Non-Service Dogs ride free too

Now as mentioned, we have a cat and a dog.  Our cat has made her way to Toronto with Bridget last year when Bridget was concerned that she might be lonely while Derek and I were away.  Mai was whisked to Toronto by planes, trains and automobiles in a knock off Louis Vuitton cat carry case.  It was very stressful, for both of them and upon arrival in Bridget's dorm, Mai  lost it.  Her visit lasted a little over a week, with Kevin stepping up to care for the cat as things were not too pretty in residence.  Bridget is still beholden to her brother and I expect always will be.

Mai, just prior to her launch on to Myles head.

Kate's cat is named Myles Davis.  He is a large grey cat with a pleasant demeanor.  He lives a simple life in a studio apartment with my daughter, the spinster cat lady.  Myles paid us a visit this weekend.  He arrived in what looked like a Coach Cat Carrier for a Pajama Party.  He was bullied and terrorized by our cat, Mai, for the entire weekend.  I now know the true meaning behind the expression, Cat Fight.  This was nothing compared to 4 sisters at 314 Mill St, but it was some serious nastiness on the host cat's part.  I think Myles was happy to get back to his Deluxe Penthouse in the Sky.

This business of travelling pets is new to me.  We didn't have pets growing up, so I was unaware that pets had anywhere they really had to go.  Our dear friend needed to transport a rabbit by train from Brockville.  I expect there are some sort of "no rodent" restrictions on Via Rail and if not, having the Easter Bunny hopping a pooping all over the railcar may make the trip stressful for Mary.  With amazing ingenuity, this rabbit was bundled up in a travel box and then wrapped up as a large birthday gift.  You have to love that idea.

Kate, Cat Carrier and Casey on their way to the Big City

Now our dog Casey has her snout out of joint.  She has never been on the subway.  She has never been on a train.  She hasn't even been on a bus.  This week that all might change.  She has gone to Toronto for her downtown adventure with Bridget.  We dropped her off and she has taken the change well so far.  Bridget plans to take her on a streetcar, just so Casey can tell the smug cat that she has experienced true Toronto life.  I hope that Bridget uses this pup to break the ice and snag herself a man.  God forbid she ends up like Spinster Kate.

I have enjoyed several trips to Toronto this year.  I love the updates to the TTC.  I embrace the animals roaming the street.  I treasure the visits with our children.  I used to worry about them in the big city, but now that Mayor Ford has agreed that Drunken Stupors will not longer take place on the Danforth, I can sleep easy.