Irish by Marriage is just not Irish, even on St. Patrick's Day

As mentioned previously, I have been married to my husband Derek for the past 26 years. Prior to my relationship with him, I had very little exposure to people from that side of the pond.  Derek was born and raised until the ripe old age of 6 yrs as a little Irish kid.  When the O'Rourke family emigrated, he, unfortunately lost his wee Irish accent (sorry is that Scottish?).  To be honest, I would probably find him more appealing if he still had the accent, but there is no rewriting history.

So courting an Irish guy was a bit different than all my other vast number of dating experiences.  My first hint might have been when I met Derek's parents, ( AKA  by some as The Sheleighly's) when Derek asked me if I (and I quote) "would fancy a cup of tea".  I soon learned a lot about this "tea" thing.  I had Scottish and British girlfriends, so I had already learned that tea is not made with hot tap water.   I knew enough to boil a kettle, but the intricacies were lost on me at that time.  Tea sometimes means a cup of tea.  Sometimes it means a meal.   I was instructed that when asked if one would like a cup of tea, that you always said "yes", whether you wanted one or not. It was not really intended as a question. If you didn't want it "just hold the cup". As newlyweds I found the most annoying thing was the constant belaboring of the question "did you put the kettle on?"

With marriage came the true introduction to life having an Irish spouse.  We went  to Ireland early in our life together when I was expecting Kate.  Ok, I guess "we" were expecting Kate.  However I have trouble with the whole new "we were pregnant with Kate".  I don't remember him getting up to pee or his swollen ankles on the plane.  Oh sorry, I digress, just a pet peeve of mine.  Even though Derek has been raised in a melting pot, he retains some very Irish idiosyncrasies   He tells time in fractions like "half six"  He does not know there is a "t" in Sa'urday.  He calls his father "Da" and refers to the bathroom as "the lu".  The gift of the gab takes on a whole new meaning when recounting stories.  My labour stories, the one thing all women cherish and try to tell at every chance they have, are now just a lead in to Derek's story of the day he witnessed birth.  Seriously, how is that a bigger story?

.  And then there is the A'POSTROPHE!!!  What I considered to be a major selling factor when I first met Derek, this charming last name has been the bane of my existence for the past 26 years.  It is difficult to spell this name out loud.  It is entered differently in every possible way in all computer systems.  I get a lot of "I am sorry Mrs. AuRoukey, you are not in the system".

"Try with an apostrophe.  Try without , Try a capital R. Try without".  Usually they can track me down. .I have pleaded with my father-in-law to drop the "O", but he is not having any of that.  I just crave the simplicity of WELLS.

So as St Patrick's day approaches, I reminisce about the lessons I have learned.  I learned not to ask "what day is St. Patrick's day this year?".  I learned that the grunge in the teapot is not to be scrubbed out, as it is some kind of source of Irish fibre.  I learned that although my father-in-law was impressed when I ordered a Guinness  he was disappointed in me when I had no idea what I had just ordered.  However, he gladly drank this effluent for me.  From what I understand, Guinness goes from being horrific to being delicious between one's second and third.  I never got this far.

Sister-in-law  Patricia's  St Patrick's Day Pup.

My children rally for St. Patrick's Day. So do all of their friends as of course "Everyone is Irish..."  But I guess my kids really are, to a certain degree.  My children learned to drink tea with sugar and milk at their grandparent's kitchen table at an early age.  They learned about their grandmother's home made soda bread and brack.  Their names are somewhat Irish, wee Katie, Kevin and Brigid O'Rourke. They will learn to make a Christmas pudding with Guinness.  They don't even hear their grandparents' accents.  They have worn green clothes and shamrocks on St Patrick's Day.  They have attended Irish Club Christmas parties. They have Claddagh rings. The have an A'Postrophe  that they must endure.  Kevin calls Derek "Da" and the girls took Irish dancing lessons at the Orangeville Arena (a coincidence, I think not) for about 45 minutes - but that counts.  Kevin spent some time in Ireland after high school with family and camping out as he set up  for an Irish festival.  I bet they thought his accent was as cute as the Canadian Flag folding chair I sent.  Poor Kid.

 I expect the O'Rourke children will celebrate in style this week.  Kate is going to Boston to see the Dropkick Murphys.  How Irish can you get.   Bridget will drink her first green beer and Kevin will probably stick with Guinness as long as it has a shamrock on it.  He is not an embarrassment to his grandfather by any means.  At one point of my life I would busy myself with preparing

a Green White and Orange meal (honestly I used to do this, just like the flag).  Now I will watch Jack Donaghey on 30 Rock.  I will drink Irish Coffee and wait for the real O'Rourke's to check in.  

Just remember:

Pajama Days - I want to go to there.

I was chatting with My Kate and we agreed that this blog needs a focus.  I am not sure what that will be.  I will look to her for direction, but given the name of this blog, I think I know where to focus first. It is where I started in Barbados, when I needed to regroup away from the cold and routine of my Canadian life.



I just spent a lovely Sunday having a pajama day. Actually I had a t shirt and boxer day to ward off hot flashes.  I do love pajama days. Don't get me wrong though, I did not intend this to be a pajama day.  I intended to brush my hair and put in my contacts.  I even brushed my teeth.  I had plans.  I did a "to do" list and I did some of those things.  I finished my book.  I put away a mound of clothes at the end of my bed.  I found the socks I accused Bridget of stealing.  I paired them and I fantasized about playing a vigorous game of  Socks and Shots.  This is a game developed by 2 parents highly in tune with the organization needed to maintain a household.  It works to motivate parents to match that gym bag full of odd socks, some of which there is no recollection of ever wearing. Even in my empty nest I still have a pile of socks.  Socks and Shots is by far, the finest way to spend a Sunday afternoon Pajama Day.  I thought this would qualify as exercise, but I fear not.




Socks and Shots - ready, set, toss

Despite all my good intentions, I did not move.  I mean in our "condominium townhouse complex" bachelor apartment I rent to myself, there is not a whole lot of room to move, but that is not excuse.  I have to put on my big girl sweats and get moving.  I fear it is time to Quit Eating, Quit Sitting and Quit Over-thinking.

Some people just seem to be wired to treat their bodies with respect.   They eat healthy food, exercise and lead a balanced life.  I see them as very "together" people. I don't think they have pajama days as often as I do. I don't think they have a pile of clothes at the end of their bed or a basket of random socks they don't recognize. I strive to be one of these people.  I know them.  I like them.  I just have trouble being them.   Alas though, I must make an effort.

So, I know the solution.  I know the game plan.  I know this, as I review it daily while I sit.  I  studied the science of health and fitness for years.  I have written papers, I have made presentations.  I even wrote a thesis.  Yes, back before the sticky kids.  So with all this knowledge and expertise, why do I Sit here and Think about exercise while I Eat.  This has got to stop.

The unfortunate truth I find is that at the times my life becomes bumpy, at the times when I most need to maintain my overall physical and mental health, I abandon the good fight and I curl up and Eat Sit Sleep. Once life starts to get back on track, I need to regroup.

So I will start from within my comfort zone.  No shocking resolutions.  I will finish the bag of chocolate chips Bridget left here and I will not replace it.  I will buy my green leafy vegetables and buy good fish oil.  I will drink water, lots of water and I will walk.  I don't run, unless someone is chasing me, but I do walk.

So follow me on this journey to renewed health.  It is not all about aesthetics, but that is certainly on my mind.  My tankini can only cover so much surface area. However, it is more about balance.  I will read about wine and chocolate and convince myself of their benefits, in something about which I have forgotten.  It is called moderation and as Liz Lemon says " I Want to Go to There".

Braking it in Canada - Style TBD

Part the of my return to work after my 6 week hiatus is the acceptance of commuting   For me this involves a long trek south to Mississauga in my little Ford Focus, named Lateesha.  It is an early morning drive spent listening to traffic reports of the 410 south, giving me the inside scoop seen by helicopters in the sky. I find it a nice way to start my day, as I only do this commute on a casual basis.  I slide on to  the 410, with my sun glasses on and  my iPod playing.  The only thing missing is my flip flops, but as you know, I had a snowy flip flop evening when I landed in Toronto.  I have learned, once again, to wear my boots.

Well, on Friday I noticed that the traffic was very light and the helicopter guy reminded all of us that it is the beginning of the world famous March Break.  I say world famous because it is the week when we Canadians take our Hoser accents and arrive in various countries around the world.  I found myself a bit reminiscent and quite sad thinking about March Breaks that are no longer a landmark on my calendar, as it was for so many years when the 3 sticky kids were home with me.  We built snowmen, created beautiful crafts and we all baked together, with sticky hands in our matching aprons.  Norman Rockwell had nothing on me and my love of March Break.  There were no set bed times.   There was no morning rush.  It was a week of joy and bliss.


You must understand that at my age, many women feel that we are losing our memory and the mental edge we once had.  I am thinking now that the memory I seem to have lost has been replaced with some crazy, made-up stuff including this memory, which in no way reflects a March Break in the O'Rourke house.  Basically the up-side to March Break was the fact that I didn't have to make lunches.  I also realize that the melancholy drive to work was not so much that I was pining away for the days gone by, but really just that the speed of the moving traffic prevented me from adjusting my iPod  which was stuck on Adele.

 I now realize that I have reached a point when March Break is a week to enjoy the traffic and avoid the airport.  On Breakfast Television, 107,000 people were launching their March Break plans.  Of these 107,000 people, Breakfast Television interviewed my sister Julie and my niece Natalie.  This is not surprising.  Julie and Natalie just have a way.  They are Media Magnets.  I spent yesterday trying to figure out how to put a short segment of a 1 hour newscast on YouTube.  I ended up sitting in front of my laptop recording it on my IPhone.  Seriously, what I lack in tech-savviness I make up for in ingenuity.

So within my web of friends and family, March Break is being celebrated in many different ways. Many of us have just realized this is "that week".  I still have friends who are blasting off with their school-aged children.  They are friends with "that miracle baby".  Terry and Karen,who Julie and I still refer to as "the kids", are still young enough to have school-aged children. I think they are home baking and doing crafts. Julie escorted Natalie to the airport and put her on a plane to enjoy her "Grad Trip".  Julie and Al then blasted off for a
"responsibility free" vacation (quoting the Breakfast Television interview) down south.  My children have progressed into the "coming of age" when March Break is replaced by a February "Reading Week" .  All I can say as a former student and as a parent of post-secondary school-aged children, that this is just a completely ridiculous name.  I have friends who are teachers.  I spend the entire school year being so thankful to be anything but a teacher, but as March Break rolls around, I question this decision.

Kevin and Bridget at Mt Orford

I guess Derek and I are just honestly reminiscent of wonderful family ski trips to Quebec. We taught the kids to ski at young ages with these vacations as our intent.  We loaded up the minivan (of course we had a minivan, who didn't) with tapes and crayons and a bungied VCR when we got more sophisticated.  One of my most wonderful and non-fictitious memories was the day my 3 little ducklings followed me down the 4 km beginner hill, in their snow pants and helmets.  They each looked a bit like  The Great Kazoo  in the Flintstones.  Derek slowly and cautiously (he too was a beginner) brought up the rear trying desperately not to slide into 5 year old Bridget.  Over the years we skied with a number of families.  It became really difficult to figure out which kids went with which parents.  These are some of the finest March Break memories.

I guess for this, March break, I will just sit back and  just enjoy the commute. I look forward to the days to come when I do crafts and bake with sticky grandchildren.  I hope my years of wisdom at this time will have  made me realize that this is exactly what March Break should be about.  Sadly, this realization is often lost on the parents while they are in the trenches.  I fear it was lost on me.

This Child (Neil) does not belong to any of these adults (Don,Brenda and Derek)

Still waiting - Tooth Fairy

Just a quick update.  Bridget is calmly and patiently waiting for an appointment to complete her prosthodontic treatment.  Well, maybe not calmly and patiently.  The Eff word has been flying.  We are hoping to have an appointment soon.  Pictures to follow...

Introducing the Players...

Well part of being a new blog enthusiast is the learning process.  It kind of unfolds.  I started by figuring out how to post stories for people to read.  Now I am able to track who is reading.  Ok, well not by name, unless there is a comment, but I do know how many people read a post and where the people are when they are reading it.

 I gain a lot of information from my "stats".  Yes I said it. The s-word. The word we all hate.  The word that 5/4 people don't understand.  Anyway, from my stats I have come to realize that there are people reading this who do not know me.  Who I have not guilted or manipulated into reading this. People with no vested interest.  Not like my family who just browse to check to see that I haven't said anything absurd.  I find this amazing.  There are some of you from far away countries to where I have never ventured.  I am also coming to realize that some of you reading this come from all segments of my life.  Some of you have known me well in the past and have missed me terribly!!!  Some of you know me well at this time. Some of you are just getting to know me.  Some of you are bound to know me for years to come.  These are you young ones who will care for me in my aging years.

Now that I have reached the first anniversary of my 50th birthday, I can look out and see the characters who  are part of my story.  It is like a spider web of family and friends.  My dear friend Bernadette writes "Life Stories" and captures this web in a way that only she can do.  I would try, but I fear I would do some of these people a disservice. 

I have introduced you to my friend Brenda.  She is an avid reader of my blog as she knows I will be quizzing her. She says that she finds this interesting as she knows the players and the back stories to these people.  That made me think whether there are people reading this who would like to be brought up to speed on my family and friends.  I won't go on and on,  I promise you and I promise them.

funny guy

So basically, there is my first husband Derek (tall, dark and Irish) of 26 blissful years and 3 fine "adult" children.  Our first born is Kate (24), cute little thing, blonde, blue eyed.  We have stopped watching Switched At Birth, because it freaks us out.  Bridget is the youngest.  She is 18 and a force to be reckoned with, full of piss and vinegar. Also not sure where she came from, but at least she looks like us.    Kevin (22), the first boy child in the Wells family, has been called "the cream in the middle of the oreo cookie".  At the age of 3 he  told me "I am so lucky to have 2 sisters".  He was a pathological optimist, like his mother.  All 3 kids are now in Toronto,                            


There are the 3 other Wells girls, Julie, Terry  and Karen, spread out over southern Ontario, along with the matriarch, Pierrette.  Along with these women come a bunch of brothers in law and a brood of kids.

There is Derek's family.  You have met George.  There is sister Patricia and "the m and p", Pat and Ethel.  Along with theseO'Rourke's also comes an entourage of in laws, partners and  offspring.


And then, to quote Mean Girls " there are your first cousins and then your second cousins and then your real cousins".  We have lots of those, not to mention Great Aunts and Great Uncles, who do their very best to live up to their names.

And then there are Friends.  Well you know who you are.  Old, young, fascinating, smart, funny, kind, dashing individuals.  Pick any and all the adjectives you like.  I think there may also be friends of friends - just like
Facebook!!!

So I apologize for the tardiness of these introductions.  Frankly, I just didn't realize anyone was actually reading this except me.  I do fear that the number of "views" may be a good representation of how often I read my own blog.  I mean what kind of person reads her own blog.  Maybe the same kind that takes her own picture. 

My Kids Think They Are So Smart!!!

From what I understand, it seems that comments on this blog are difficult to make. Some have come through, some have not.   Apparently some disappear before being published.  My IT support, daughter Kate, is working on this. She has a better chance of figuring this out than I do.  She was brought up with today's technology and this world unfolded for her following a natural learning curve.  However, there are many of us who had to make a dive into information technology and come up swimming.  For me, computers made a huge leap at the same time that I was knee deep in sticky kids.  I was quite "behind the times", yet I made great strides to cover this up.  I asked my kids to show me, countless times, how to attach a resume to  an email. This same resume of course reported that I was "computer literate".

I had the good fortune to work among the young up and comings at a clinical research facility, early in this millennium  These "kids" viewed me as they viewed their mothers, who were also questionably "computer literate".  This pretty much meant we were capable of sending an email to more than 1 recipient.  Now these "20 somethings" took me under their developing wings. They didn't make their own lunches, but they were pretty sharp when it came to computers.  Now I know "there are no stupid questions" but you have to admit, some that are "way more stupider" than others. The beauty was that these young ones had no reference point from which to judge.  So I bared my soul and asked questions without shame.  After all, I was part of their "mothers" generation, so what could I be expected to know beyond knowing how to make amazing tuna sandwiches.  I did this well.  I did not do file management well.

Laptop Thingie

The most memorable day I had was the day I signed out a a laptop, but there was no mouse available.  I was completely paralyzed.  I looked everywhere for a mouse.  I didn't even know that there was an alternative.  I didn't even know enough to ask.  This young bright thing  read my mind and without any audible snickering, introduced me to the "Laptop Thingie" I am now using.   I learned so much more when I stopped pretending to know anything.  I learned a lot more than I ever expected.  I learned enough to get by.  I had some confidence after this job and with any luck, the ones who taught me have long forgotten "that older lady who made the tuna sandwiches".

 I have so much I could still learn, but I might not. I know the basics.   I have made mistakes. I have learned like the rest of you, that reply and reply all should not be so close together. I mean, really, who didn't see that one coming.  I grasp the difference between "cc" and "bcc".  This is not something which our children appreciate.  When I explained the origin of the acronym "cc" and "bcc" my children were amazed.  Ok they were not amazed.  But they did listen with some degree of interest as I explained where the term carbon copy originated. I didn't even get into over head projectors, transparencies and the permanent vs non permanent marker debacle.  A mother has to have some dignity.

Speaking of dignity, my daughter Bridget felt  I should take a course advertised on a billboard "Computers for Absolute Beginners". She is so smug and naive.  She could not even appreciate the fact that this course had to be advertised on a billboard rather than on line. There was no

No Seriously, I know my home row.

 www.absolutebeginnercomputercourse.com. Her suggestion just showed that she had no appreciation for what "absolute beginner" meant.  I knew google.  I knew hotmail.  I took grade 10 typing. I knew that had it been online registration for  the "absolute beginner" course, I could have figured out how to sign up.  This on line form of registration weeds out those posing as beginners.

Well, I am a bit off track. The point of this post is to determine in some way, in lieu of comments, whether there is anyone beyond my mother who reads this blog.  In fact I am not really sure she even reads it.  I am finding that those nearest and dearest to my heart probably have had enough of my input over the years and can finally choose to tune me out.  I understand this.  Even I get tired of myself sometimes.

If you are reading this, please be impressed by the strides I have made in computer literacy.  This blog alone is a triumph paralleled only with giving birth. Use me as a bar against which to measure your own tech savvy-ness.  Kate and I will figure out how to record comments, even if it is just to know you are out there.  You can always "like" me on Facebook.  I just figured this out.   It's so cute.

 If you know how to rectify this comment glitch, please send me a comment.

Hey! Old "What's Her Name " is washing her hands again.

Well I think I am finding out that there are just some days that are so routine that to keep a blog entry every day, I would just have to start making up stuff.  I am not beyond trying this, but instead, I will first try to make the mundane seem in some way interesting.  This may be a challenge.

I have returned to work. I wasn't sure what not working would feel like.  I actually didn't mind it a bit. Getting back was not a chore though, just a reality, like snow.

 I work at 2 different hospitals.  I work in the field of pulmonary medicine.  That means lungs to most of us.  I test and I teach.  In Orangeville, it is very "home town" as most people are either local or friends with people who are local.  I usually find something in common with many of my patients.  This can be good.  This can be not so good. Regardless, I have had some of the best conversations.  I meet interesting people everyday.  I get advice routinely on finances, real estate, parenting, travel destinations and I get a ton of wisdom from my patients of significant years.  I find this the most valuable part of my job.

In Mississauga, I provide formal Asthma Education.  Again, very interesting, but mostly to me.  My goal has always been that my patients leave with an awareness of at least 1 thing they did not already know.  I, in turn, usually end up with at least 1 thing I did not already know.  I think it is a fair trade.

The transition back to work after such a long "sabbatical" (my word to pretend I was doing something scholarly), has been pretty smooth.  Many people had no idea that I was away.  This I find somewhat  worrisome.  Some others, who realized I was away, assumed that a woman of my age on an extended leave meant that there was a health concern to which I needed to attend.  That was a bit of a sad realization, but it is also a comment on the unfortunate circumstances that have affected many of those I love and the families of those I love.  I have been fortunate. Some have not.

I have tried to blend back in at work. I am filling out my scrubs better than ever following my jerk chicken and Haagan Daz holiday. You have to love wearing scrubs. It is like going to work in your pajamas   I thought I was doing well being inconspicuously pale and winter-beaten, until I looked in the mirror today.  My white top enhanced my soft tan and I had worn my sunglasses on my head, all day.  It was not even sunny.

One of the most effective policies at all hospitals is the "Hand Hygiene" focus.  I wash my hands so many times a day, my fingernails have fallen off.  One section of this policy mandates that no rings or watches may be worn.  As some of you know, I am very time-challenged, so this can be tough.  I don't want to be late.  I wish I knew how to be on time.  I was called "Snail on the Gallop" as a toddler.  I never got to school for "Oh Canada", I was dragged to high school by a dear friend who insisted I leave the house even if my hair was only curled on one side. Even as an adult I was referred to as "Pokey".  A team of people work round the clock to ensure my patients don't wait too long.  This "no watch" thing is not helping my punctuality.

However the "no hand jewelry" policy I find liberating. I strut around waving my bare finger, like a young, single chick.  As I said though, no one really new I was missing.  Those who did, were heard to be whispering, "wow that spinster is looking a bit jaundiced".

Today I arrived at the hospital to a knew campaign for hand hygiene.

I wondered if he wanted me to wash my hands before or after I gave him the "high five".

Bridget is awaiting the Tooth Fairy

Bridget's Closed lip smile

I started this entry last Thursday when Bridget and I were at Holland Bloorview Children's Rehabilitation Centre.  I have a preface and this blog entry will be continued this week. It will soon be clear why.  I promise part 2 will be shorter.  

Thursday was the day for which we have been waiting for 12 years.  
Since the day the dentist approached me with that "I have bad news to deliver" face that every parent dreads.  When Bridget reached the ripe old age of 7 and was yet to get her "6 year old " molars, she asked the dentist "why?". He took a panoramic xray and informed Bridget and me that she had only about half of the permanent teeth that she would need. At this point all I knew that from a dental perspective, her childhood would not be easy. I wanted to cry but I smiled with all of my relatively perfect permanent teeth at this little 7 year old toothless wonder.I promptly bought her a puppy. Not a real puppy just a cute cuddly one. She was happy with this. Derek would have bought her a pony. 

At the age 10 the process began at Holland Bloorview Children's Rehabilitation Centre, just south of Sunnybrook Hospital. The dental program is associated with Sick Kids' Hospital.  I think Bloorview used to be referred to as the Crippled Childrens' Centre and there is really no other place that makes a parent value the health of their children.  Enough said.  

  The project manager was the Prosthodontist, with a project team made up of our family dentist, an orthodontist and an oral surgeon.  So, after 7 years of braces and tears, retainers, teeth extractions (ironically), more tears, C-T scans, a bone graft from her hip to her jaw, Percocet highs and tears and finally the implants in November, Thursday was to be the final hurrah.  The permanent teeth for which she has waited so long, were finally ready.  The Prosthodontist, Dr. Robert Carmichael, was running late and the staff were apologizing. We were not at all concerned. We have been waiting 12 years so far. It snowed again Wednesday night. How do people live in this climate?  Bridget has chosen today to extend her Barbados holiday and wear slip on, mini running shoes in the slush. She said "it's fine mom".  Soon she is wearing my mitts on her feet.  

Today's team

When the teeth are inserted, Dr Carmichael had a worried look that Bridget was not picking up on. Fortunately this was her day to be self absorbed. He keeps talking in dental gibberish. We were then asked to give our thoughts, terribly critically, about the teeth.  "Today is the day to be critical and self absorbed". Bridget was good with this. She noticed every fraction of asymmetry, every nook and cranny.   He said she should be a dental aesthetician. I said " she is just an 18 year old girl". She is also critiquing her new freckles from the sun. I don't think that degree of detail was necessary.

Bridget and Dr. Carmichael in consultation

We were then sent to the lab across Toronto at Dufferin and Davenport.We were carrying Bridget's new teeth in a box, similar to an organ donation cooler and we carried it as such. Bridget's GPS on her phone is hard to follow for an old woman and a girl who has difficulty with north and south. We got lost twice on the Don Valley. If you know Toronto at all, you will be asking what we were doing on the Don Valley. I should have just looked at a map.  

Glamorous lab below. More furrowed brows and dental gibberish and some pain and a few tears. I think sometimes doctors forget that she is attached to her teeth as they poke and scrape. However, she did enjoy her photo shoot.

Glamorous waiting area

Well the reason this is a 2-part entry:  either her teeth shifted or the model was off, but the new teeth just didn't fit to the level of perfection for which they were aspiring. Back to Bloorview and new impressions were taken and a new model is being made.  New teeth for Thursday.  Same time, same place. 

At the Lab - note mitts on feet

Bridget's Photo Shoot - always loves the camera

Yes it was frustrating and disappointing.  Yes there were tears and curses.  Yes Bridget was a trouper once again.  We walked out of Bloorview feeling deflated.  but perspective was again provided.  The fact was, we were walking.  Thursday will come and those teeth will be ready and all will be as it should be, for us. 

So... Apparently Blogs don't End

When quizzing my kids to see whether they were caught up with my blog, now that it is done, they promptly told me that "blogs don't end".  I was ecstatic, and I marveled that their ability to divert deadlines has been fine-tuned since they went away to school.

 I never considered to continue to add to this blog as I am "back to the old routine" in Canada.  But since recording so much on my vacation, I continue to see a side of things that I would like to share.  I have decided to add to this Blog from time to time.  I do this for my own pleasure and if anyone continues to read, I am flattered.  When I begin blogging about what I had for dinner, just turn me off.

Bridget and I arrived in Canada Tuesday night,  just as the latest winter storm hit.   It was messy to say the least.  The cab driver at the airport said as he picked us up "I sure hope you are going to Brampton".   He was very very dismayed that we were going downtown to 2 different stops in the storm. He was so distraught that I almost offered to be dropped at the McDonald's in Brampton for the night just to save him the trip.  I got dropped off at Julie's to sleep and secure some boots and a coat for the next 2 days in Toronto.

Wednesday night was spent celebrating Kevin's 22nd birthday with the 3 sticky kids. I had Kevin to myself for a bit before the girls got there. This is a good thing. Kevin loves his sisters but tends to take a backseat in conversations. He understands women better than most guys.

I also visited my mother, who had the infamous stack of hard copy photos to share. Ok, there wasn't a stack.  There were really only about 10 that turned out. I then showed her how to access my blog as she had no idea that she was a star.  She thought that my blog had ended when she arrived in Barbados.  I guess she didn't know that Blogs don't end. 

 The Glass is Half Empty:

•  Having to borrow coat and boots to replace my hoodie and flip flops

• getting up

• Trying desperately to figure out which way to look before crossing the road

• Dribbling when drinking out of the rolled up lid at Tim's. 

• Bridget deciding to wear shoes   in the slush. She is now wearing my mitts on her feet

• Going north on the Don Valley while thinking I am going south. This has nothing at all to do with Barbados.

• Trying not to whine to anyone about the weather.

• hiding my tan at work

• Staying in touch with Derek still in Barbados without saying "must be nice".

• My jeans are tight

The Glass is Half full

•  My jeans still fit

• celebrating Kevin's birthday - every child's birthday is really all about his mother

• Julie's "extra" coat and boots far surpass anything in my closet when it comes to style

• Finding out Yuka reached Tokyo without incident.

• checking in with the Wells Girls

• Rolling up the rim

• Downloading with George about 6 Weeks with the Bitch (this deserves its own complete blog entry)

• Seeing my dear friend Brenda vertical and moving about at lightening speed.

• Getting caught up with my local Ya Ya's for tea

• Going to Sarnia in the winter (glass half full??  really?)

• cream in my coffee

• planning my return to Barbados with my Kate

I think that I am just going to be glad that I have a glass and there is something in it.

Leaving with a Sense of Clarity

Well, I am sitting in the airport in Bridgetown (which Bridget calls Bridgettown).  I have been thinking a lot about my visit and about my departure back to reality. I am not even going to comment on the snow.  That is a given.  As far as leaving, I have to say that I am neither happy nor sad.  I am just accepting this as reality.  I have a life in Canada to which I need to return.  I have missed many of you so much. Some of you I haven't heard from in a very long time and I find this so amazing!!

I have to admit though, I am very retrospective.  I am pondering.  Not the meaning of life or anything so profound, but just what did I gain from my time away. 

My initial concerns are now moot.  Derek and I teamed up to e-parent our "adult" children.  They actually did ok.  To be honest, they seemed to survived quite well with minimal intervention beyond phone calls, texting, skype ...  They are making their own way in Toronto.  They are happy.  They are healthy.  They looked out for each other, in a way that Kate said "is family".  

Are these the same smelly sticky kids I once knew?

Over the past 6 weeks, I have had what we all crave; the luxury of time.  I had solitude.  I had the chance live within another culture in a strange land.  I had time to truly reflect on family, on marriage, on balance and health, on ambition and spirituality, on friendship and social responsibility.  I also had fun. 

I think the greatest thing I take away from this experience is the search for a sense of clarity.   I have the feeling that clarity does exist, but it is transient.  It is something that escapes us, when the dishwasher needs to be unloaded. When it is snack day. When there is an unbelievable dead line. When you are going through the bumps and bruises of a relationship.  When there is sickness. When there is death. I guess to sum it up in a cliche way;  Life.   

To understand clarity, I think one must except that it is one of those things that gets lost.  What I have found, though, is that anything I have lost, has had a way of turning up at the point that I am actually looking for something else. So I guess this is my understanding of a sense of clarity and  I think this view has come from embracing an opportunity to spend 6 weeks in Barbados, "because I can".