Tag Archives: angels

A Room Packed With Boomers

Well another week has gone by and my Dad’s memorial service is now behind me.  So was seeing some creepy family members I could have done without but I got to see some very beloved ones as well.  Especially cousins I hardly know but love.  The plan is to get to know them better.  It was rather a unique time…a room packed with Boomers is not something you see everyday.  I just ignored the creepy ones as best as I could.

dads finalIt was a glorious day filled with stories, the wind off the lake and my Dad’s ashes scattered at his final resting place.  It was banana cream pie, conversation and hugs.  It was sadness, relief, connections and my grandbabies.  It was seeing my Dad everywhere and hardly having to look.  My Mom too.

It was having to hold in all these emotions until leaving for home and reaching a short way from the cottage and then sobbing, uncontrollably, on my daughter’s supporting shoulder.  We held each other in our borrowed vehicle and cried for the loss of a great man.  Our ride the rest of the way was filled with silence but we could hear the songs and his voice in our heads.

That man was my Dad and I’ll miss him and my Mom so much.

Today was the 70th anniversary of D-Day and I found out more about my Dad today than I ever knew before.  My eldest sister sent out an email:

He said that he was suddenly put onto the minesweeper HMCS Minus & it was very much a secret as to where they were heading.
That Canadian ship was part of the huge armada of Allied ships that assaulted the Normandy beaches in order to invade Europe.
Dad was 2nd in command of the landing craft that took troops from the Minus to Juno Beach. He said that it was heartbreaking. The seas were
very rough & a lot of the other landing craft were letting the troops off too soon. He saw lots of men drowning & struggling in the water. He said
that they made sure that they went right to the beach to let off their troops.
On one of their trips into shore the captain of their landing craft (who was standing right beside him) was shot in the head by a German sniper. His head & brains exploded all over Dad.
Dad was now in command of the landing craft that was also now damaged by German gunfire. He could not turn the landing craft around to head back to his
ship so he had to take it in backwards. When he reached the ship the captain on the deck yelled at him for coming in backwards whereupon our father told the captain to “ fuck off”.
Dad said that one of his enduring memories of June 6, 1944 was simply the huge booming noise from the guns on all of the Allied ships that were there that day.

I know he experienced much more pain than even on that day.  I’m proud of him and can’t even comprehend the horrors he faced, even during the years following the war.  The nightmares never left him and he tried so hard to not let them into his daytimes.  He did a fantastic job.

I also said goodbye to a guy I was dating for 7 months who decided he wasn’t “that into me” and broke up with me, by text, the night before my Dad’s memorial.  I sure can pick ’em!  I don’t feel a great sense of loss though.  He was obviously emotionally challenged and I’m pretty sure I was the “interim woman”.  My life certainly moves on.

Well, another week is ahead of me with plans to be with my family and some friends who have been so great helping me get though the last few weeks.

I’m looking forward to looking ahead.


Wow, It’s been a while again. I guess I’ve been all discombobulated. Life has sure had its ups and downs in the last few months. Let’s see…

  • I’ve moved and survived.
  • I’ve discovered music on my TV and that is giving me a lot of joy. I never did figure out how to get music on my iPhone.
  • I lost 30 pounds without even trying!! That would be because of no more Lithium.
  • My cat is now home with us in the new place and that puts me over the moon…even though she had has some adjustment issues. I look out where I’m stepping now. cat-pukingNothing like warm (or cold) cat puke on the bottom of my foot when I’m trying not to wake up too much when I have to go pee in the middle of the night.  Or the yowling.  She especially likes to yowl in the bathroom.  At 3 am.  The echo I guess?

I had such a bad time before the move. I honestly didn’t know if I could make it. My daughter was at her wit’s end.  Neither of my kids Bipolar-disorder-treatmentreally understand what’s going one with my illness.  So they get impatient. They figure I’m lazy and probably even stupid.  I’ve done what I can to get them to get it.  I will keep trying I guess.

In past posts I’ve written about my mom and how her presence seems to be everywhere. Well, the months and weeks leading up to this move I know she was trying to help. I would babble to her while I was awake and in my dreams.  I was a basket case as only I can be. I was driving everyone nuts with my fears and tears and rants and being generally incapable of coping. Coping skills? What the fuck are those? I had no money (again), no food (again), bills piling up (uh huh again), welfare not paying me what they were supposed to. I couldn’t afford bus tickets or fare so I was even more isolated than ever before.

So anyway, my daughter and I were going through yet another box of stuff that she was urging me to purge and to which I would resist. “It was Gramma’s,” I would cry. She was relentless on lots of stuff but that always got to her so I used it a lot. When we came to some pictures of she and her Gramma we would both cry. Then, in an old purse she was MAKING me get rid of, there they were.  The crystals.

stonesOf course there is a reason why I bring this up.  After my mom died, like pretty much right after and when I went back to work, a volunteer came to my office telling me she was moving in the next few days to London, England to marry her long time lover.  Same-sex marriage wasn’t legal in Canada yet.  I was glad for her of course.  We had gotten rather close the last few months before my mom died.  She always knew things.  She was very spiritual as well as a Wiccan.  She taught me a lot and gave me peace of mind.

That day she came in, she saw the sadness in my eyes that no professionalism could hide.  (Who was I kidding anyway?  Professional? Me?)  She told me about leaving and I told her I knew it was coming and I was so happy for her.  We hugged for a long time in my office.  We didn’t cry though.  She said she wanted to pull some of the sadness from me and give me some of her joy. As she moved away she reached into her bag and pulled out a little baggie with stones in it.  Gorgeous stones: amethyst for my mom, rose quartz for her and the blue quartz for me.  Spiritually aligned.  A beautiful gift.

Then I cried.

I hadn’t been able to find these particular crystals for a long time until I found ???????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????them in the old purse. My heart flipped in my chest when my eyes found them and my fingers touched the little bag.  I whispered “Mom” and Carly looked at me like I was, once again nuts.  She just rolled her eyes until I explained it to her.

I think her head must hurt from doing that all the time.

It was like everything changed when I got up the next morning.  The hopelessness had lessened so much I could call my worker at welfare and demand the bus tickets I needed to get to doctor’s appointments.  I could purge the things that weighed me down in that apartment.  Our new apartment is rather cozy so of course I had to give up things.  I didn’t mind so much anymore.  My daughter even said “Mom, look at you” as I zinged crap into garbage bags and hauled them to the garbage bin.  I purged even more when we were unpacking.  I arranged movers and COMMUNICATED with professionals.

Suddenly things were just working out.  We looked at a great apartment for a great price and the manager liked us so much he wanted to move us to the top of the list.  It turned out he couldn’t do that and had to take the first tenants that applied.  He did have another place, though, that we could have first crack at.  He went to bat for us to make sure we got it.  He made sure everything was ready for when we moved in.  He was wonderful.   Welfare was paying for movers so that was great.  Like I said there wasn’t much to complain about at all.

Oh and I will be a Gramma again! (No NOT Carly)

Of course I am not miraculously better.  I am better though.  I’m still more isolated than before we moved but, for some reason, welfare sent me $150.  So I bought a bus pass for the next week.  I can get to the dentist to have my broken tooth looked at, see my psychiatrist (missed the last appointment because I hadn’t called for bus tickets, doh!).  And get some food!  After that I don’t mind not going out in the bloody cold.

Part time work may be in my near future as my wonderful sister figured out a great job that might just work for me and it sounds like one I would love to do.

Things are more peaceful in my head. There’s more purpose to my days whether I’m selling my jewelry on Facebook (Carly needed tampons) or actually doing the dishes instead of letting them pile up.

My crystals are in my purse again.

I am getting things done.

Saturday Morning

I woke up Saturday morning to the cooing of a delightful grandbaby and a message on my Facebook…


I was amazed to get this wonderful affirmation. Lisa and I have seen each other maybe twice in the last 20 years. We live far apart and our lives are so different.

My reply:


Lisa followed with more words that soothed my soul and set something free inside..




Thank you for those words and letting me know your feelings. I don’t know how things get to be the way they are or where they started but they always seem to show me that everything happens for a reason. I’m tired, Lee. I’m getting too old to keep starting over and over, again and again. I know I will keep it up because that’s what I do I guess. Same as my mom and my gramma. They walk with me every day and give me the strength to get on with some simple things. My only regret in this life is how I feel my children were ripped off having a mom.  I take heart in knowing that every day I can start again, try a different path and nothing has to be too late for me or for them.

Woman wearing boxing gloves

I love that, “the next ten years will be the best in my life”.  My mantra has been changing. I’ve been telling myself I believe the opposite of the negative feelings and so far I’ve been doing better.  My son had told me that little trick long ago and its been recently I’ve been putting it into practice.  Sometimes, though, I get kabonged over the head again of my numerous shortcomings.  Good friends and new meds seem to be doing what they’re supposed to do so there is hope for me to work again.  I have no idea what work I can or will do; I just know its out there.

PS:  Please excuse my snipping.  It was my first time and the girl just chortled when I asked her what to do and then did stuff so fast there was no time for my brain to fathom what the heck was going on.  So the  FB inserts are in pieces and are sort of intentional by accident.           ~M~

Writers Block or Biters Wok

Oh hey, yeah, it’s me.  Been awhile I know.  I haven’t written anything in months!  My brain has become mush so trying to get something down on paper has been daunting.

Mush you ask?  Or did you ask?  I’m going with, yes.  Yes you did ask. And I feel like talking.

Life has been up and down, much like the moods associated with my bi-polar.  The really big news is I have an adorable granddaughter:

My heart is so filled with her sweetness and, I swear, she has a LIGHT.  Just look at her.  My son is pretty overwhelmed with the intensity of his feelings.  I asked him if he ever, ever felt this way about anyone else in his life.  He immediately said no.  I told him he may have other children but there is always something amazing about the child who made you a parent.  We love our kids the same; just differently.  Of course he deduced that I must love him more that his sister since he is my first-born.

I’ve been working part-time or unemployed this whole time.  That meant social assistance again.  I think I will, one day, dedicate a whole post just for the Welfare system.

I do have a new job.  I start this Monday.  I’m so petrified I won’t do well.  Mostly because my brain is, well, mush.

I had met a great guy and we dated for like 9 months.  We got along great and we had so much in common.  Unfortunately I was finding myself falling into the same old habits I was only partially aware I had.   I found I needed him to make me feel good about me.  I couldn’t feel even adequate unless he said I was.  I needed constant reassurance and that is just wrong.  I am supposed to love myself and it was more obvious I did not.  This was not his fault and it was hard for me to work on myself if I was waiting by the freaking phone all the time.  I also ignored some pretty strong objectionable (to me) character traits. This all came to a head a couple of weeks ago and we parted ways.  I’m certainly not going to bash him here as the man is still so dear to me and he deserves to be happy.  I miss him every day.

Please don’t expect any dating stories for quite some time.  I’m really working on myself, looking for my worth and diminishing my dependency for, what I call, needful love.  I’m tempted to write about THAT as I think I qualify as an expert.

Yeah and I had another fucking birthday.  Yippee.  Please note there is no exclamation point after that word.  My birthdays and relationships don’t go together.  My birthdays and my BODY don’t go together either.  I have had more pain these last 6 months than I ever did in my life.  I developed arthritis in my left knee.  Did you know it ATTACKS you the first time?  Oh man.  I needed a real hero to save me.

I’ll save you! You just let me handle it, little lady. *sigh*

Then, right after that, just in time for summer, my plantar fasciitis decided to come back.  Along with unbelievable low back pain, all summer I hobbled, I lurched, I was most ungraceful and very slow.  I was an old lady.

Well, that’s it.  I don’t want to push it.  I hope this didn’t come out reading too wooden.  Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think and what you would like to see.

Hey Kim Larocque!  Thank you.

Is anybody there?

Mulva in Her Dress

I just remembered a remarkable story I must tell you all.  Some of my readers may already remember and know this memory. I wanted to get it written down before I’m fif…fi.fffff…um, not 49 anymore and could maybe start to forget things more than I already do.

So going waaay back to when I was still working at my former job, a little money came our way so the staff could partake in some fun and hopefully help to prevent burnout.  Burnout was common at my workplace as we worked with persons with HIV.  This story happened before the magic cocktails came out which changed the face of HIV/AIDS.  In our half of the world anyway.

So the mighty ED (executive director, not erectile dysfunction) (ahem) selected a team, a committee, a bunch of suckers if you will, to plan a magical FUN DAY with the emphasis being on the FUN.  There was a scavenger hunt and all kinds of things I now forget.  I do remember how hard my co-workers on the committee slaved to make sure everyone had fun.  Except the committee didn’t have any fun.  They were too busy.  I want to acknowledge them now.  I bow to you all and kiss your lovely feet.

Now here my memory is leaky; I know I volunteered to do stuff but I think I only ended up doing one thing.  And that’s where Mulva came in.

I think this was a time where I was at the height of my bipolar disorder and definitely on an upwards slope and not close to crashing.  I was/am totally addicted to the internet and all its lovely sites and sounds.  One day I came across a sight that was sort of Magic 8 Ball and sort of Tarot Card that would “read” you by sensing your fingers on the keys.

With that, I had an amazing, impossible idea.

I decided to transform myself and become the glorious, mysterious Mulva, Seer extraordinaire.  I wore the only dress I had at the time, a long black number with an outer layer of lace.  I know it sounds glamorous but on me it just made me look frumpier.  It was long-sleeved and made from some heavy material.  I added RED lipstick, generous amounts of  mascara and dark blue eyeshadow and liner.  This would have been in July.

Mulva showed up at work with many scarves, rings and attitude.  She took off her shoes almost as soon as she got there.  She was shown to the office where she was to weave magic from the laptop assigned to her for just that purpose.

Okay, I cannot write in the third person.  So to continue…

It didn’t take me very long to realize how damned hot it was in there.

My first habitué was one of the women who worked in the building.  Well, they all worked in the building. We got down to business.  I was so cute and made noises and chanted.  I had her in stitches.  Then I asked her to lay her hands upon the laptop.  The seer on the site spit out some drivel which I tried to interpret it for her.

Then came the next part of my schtick.  The night before, I had my then 5-year-old daughter help me paint small, shiny, smooth rocks with nail polish with random designs.  She did insist on making a wish for the recipient before and after painting the rocks.  She did this by closing her eyes, holding the rock close to her heart and smiling as she wished in her head.  So cute at that age.  Then they turn 14. I was intrigued what this could mean for the chosen.  I was also wondering how I was going to get all that nail polish off my little girl. The rocks were then put into a velvet bag for me to take to work the next day.  Carly kissed the velvet bag with its magic stones before she went to bed.

So this lovely nurse reached into the bag to find the rock that was magically especially for her.  I was to interpret the rock and the enchanted design then give my impressions to her.  I babbled about something, we laughed some more and out she went with me right behind her with my scarves fanning her aura out of the room to make room for the next person.

Drama queen is Mulva indeed.

So this went on for hours.  I was really hot in my stupid dress (I wore pantyhose too!  What was I thinking!?) and I was getting tired.  Someone thought to bring me water.  Then a Diet Pepsi.  Better.

Then the most remarkable thing happened with the 5th or so person who was looking for some psychic satisfaction in their lives.

I didn’t know her at all.  She just started working there and didn’t work in the same section as I so our paths rarely crossed.  She wasn’t at all gleeful as the others had been.  She was very serious and rather intense. I reminded her this was all in fun and she said great.  She wanted some fun.

Something hit me then.  A picture of a young blond man, laughing in a photograph.  Then, not being able to help myself, I closed my eyes and saw water and blond hair and tasted salt in my mouth.  My eyes were still closed as I spoke. I could hear the woman’s silent tears.  She asked me to please tell her what the man looked like.  I described the man in the photo: his appearance and how he was so happy.  He was looking down at someone not shown and holding out his hand to them.

The room was so hot.  I could feel the sweat running down my back and even in my closed eyes.  She blew her nose and handed me a tissue for my own tears.  So much for all my make up.  I opened my eyes and looked into hers.  They were the same as the man in the photo.  I waited, confused and even shocked a little by what just happened and by her reaction.

“My brother drowned last year while he was sailing off the coast of BC.  I’ve been hoping and praying that he’s happy and safe and will be my new baby’s guardian angel.  You described him perfectly.”

I told her, besides the water vision and everything, I thought the photograph I saw showed where he is now; happy and content to watch over his family.

She left after I read her stone.  I had to take a break for a while and headed for the door.  When I stepped out into the hall, at least 30 people scrambled to their feet, all waiting to see the Mysterious Mulva.

I saw everyone that day and there were more odd things.  One more that stands out in my memory is of one of my co-workers.  I knew already she was retiring so that wasn’t news.  I didn’t bother with the laptop any more since it just became silly; there were some serious things happening here without it.

So she selected her stone, held it in her hand, and closed her eyes and made a wish.  This is what I had everyone do.  She handed the stone to me.  It was so hot, I dropped it.  We both laughed nervously but I let her pick it up.  Once again I reached for it.  Before I could complete the gesture I said “Africa”.

Taking the stone in my hand I looked at her.  Her face was non-committal. Then I studied the stone. I said to her, “I don’t know why I’m thinking this but there’s a new baby coming to your house.  I think the baby is from Africa and has the most beautiful dark skin.  But the house I see isn’t the house you have now, it’s a different one.  You’re moving soon.”

I looked at the stone again.  “That’s all I have.”  I looked at her expectantly.

She didn’t say much, just thanked me and left really fast.  She looked angry.

Things were winding down.  I was exhausted and amazed at how strong my intuition became the more I used it.  There were countless examples throughout that day.  I was so hot and couldn’t wait to get out of that dress, burn it then sue the pantyhose company.

My co-worker came to my office a week later to tell me that they were indeed moving; buying a house big enough for her, her husband, her married daughter and her husband.  Her daughter just received the news that the baby they hoped to adopt was going to be arriving from South Africa at the end of the month.

I had no words.  She said she had wanted to make sure I wasn’t messing with her, that I didn’t already have the information before we met.  She really thought I had been and it made her pretty angry.  The clincher for her was when the news came of the arrival of her new grandchild after our session.  No one knew of this arrangement with the house and the baby  except for the 4 people involved.

So what does it all mean?  I don’t know.  I don’t care.  There are lots of things that have happened for which I have no explanation for.  But that’s just it.  I don’t need one.  It’s just one of the things that have been with me for most of my life.  It was just never so strong as when I saw 40 or 50 people in one day and really focused.  I made my intuition work overtime.

I’m glad it worked and it worked for them.

One day we’ll talk about when I see dead people.

PS  I’m taking my meds and they are working fine.  Lighten up a little.

A Stint, A Strip and Veronica

I’m a people watcher (nosy).  It’s just the way I am.  I had the perfect opportunity in the last 24 hours.  Best seat in the house even though I did change seats a few times.

I watched a group of people who came and went, sat and stared, stood and suffered.  The elderly woman with her arm in a homemade sling and bruises on her chin with her son by her side.  There were three then four toddlers at different phases of crankiness, one with a weeping cut on her head that made my own head ache.  There was the young woman who was so sunburnt I thought I could see melanoma appear before my eyes.  Then there was a young woman who came out of the emergency room to the waiting room where I sat.  She was crying with so much anguish, so openly and with everything she had, all the while searching for someone.  A staff person quickly found her and led her to the family room connected to this waiting room.  She was soon joined by at least 10 others, all young like herself, women and men  crying so hard, the staff member had to lead them by the hand into the room.  In groups of threes they were led back through the emergency department doors where they, mysteriously, did not come out again.

I watched this tragic drama unfold from my seat directly under the plasma TV blaring a Max and Ruby cartoon. I was so overwhelmed by this family’s anguish.  Eventually the cartoon turned into a simple melody with words that were so suited to these moments I was choked up.  I sat there and wept for all the hurt in this place and tried to convince myself I was just wasting everyone’s time.

“Not a chance Momma” says my first-born.  He came with me to make sure I went this time.  And that I stayed too.  My kids are great.

He eventually had to go and I was trusted to stay there and get checked out.  Soon it was my turn to go through the big bad door, get blood work done, have my painfully swollen legs poked and my feet prodded, my heart hooked to monitors that not only reported every beat it took but every move I made as well.

I never knew anyone as brazen as the nurses who attached my heart monitor.  Nor have I ever had my clothes ripped off me quite like this.  As ordered, I undid the top string of my gown and lay back on the bed waiting for the expected discreet maneuverings under my gown.  They each grabbed a side of the gown and literally whipped it off me and, before I could protest or attempt to cover myself, they began sticking their own kind of sticker things all over my upper body.  One lifted a boob while the other shoved the other one out of the way.  Then the electrodes were attached, both nurses working at lightning speed.  I was laughing so hard at how it must look.  It got even better when they started ripping the sticker-things off me.  ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!  I think I said it 14 times and laughing the whole time.  Oh it was funny but I guess you had to be there.  I’m glad you weren’t though.  When the one nurse came back later I asked her if she was going to rip my clothes off again.  She smiled and did just that.

She gave me more stickers which stayed on for a while. Have I mentioned before I’m a fidgety person?  The monitor would scream every time I moved and even when I tried not to move which convinced me I was going to die. It was drama if I had to go to the bathroom; I would tell one nurse, she would yell out to “Lance” that #6 had to pee. 

Nurses, doctors and residents and even some guy with a broom just passing by cubicle #6, oohed and ahhed over the size, shape and the glorious shade of red that were my legs and feet.  The visit would usually end with a quick poke and some with downright ferocity.  I don’t think the guy with the broom poked, he did look though.  I wished I had shaved my legs before getting there.

After months of swelling legs and now heart palpitations I had finally relented about getting it checked.  After 5 hours with my feet up and actually resting, my symptoms were easing a lot.  I kept telling people how much better it was now but no one said anything about sending me home. 

No, I had to stay the night.  Without my cPAP.  Crap. Can’t sleep without it and I will for sure snore in an “unholy” manner (quote from my friend Corrie who has lived though a few nights of my snoring).  My best son had gone home and had a couple too many beers so couldn’t bring it to me.  I organized my daughter’s immediate life for her by secretly texting then called my fella to tell him the latest.

He’d had a couple of beers too and had no idea what I was talking about; insisting I told him I was just going to the doctor.  I know I had told him earlier in the day I couldn’t get into the doctor and was going to the hospital. So he was shocked to learn I was in the hospital. Great, here I was thinking he was worried about me.  That would be a FAIL I guess.  Good thing he’s so cute.  I keep telling him that.

I was put in the observation room and told I would have a real bed, my own light to turn on or off and peace and quiet for the night.

The bed was nice with a thicker mattress than the gurney and heated blankets to further relax my still thumping heart.  I was put on a portable monitor so I could get up whenever I liked and sleep better.  I prepared myself for the embarrassment that will come when my snoring wakes everyone, including me.

I did fall asleep for a while, waking up with a snort or two echoing in my ears.  At one point I woke to someone saying, from the very next cubicle, “Veronica” over and over and very fast.  This went on for about 10 minutes.  I could hear the other person breathing but not waking up.

Then I heard “Code Blue Observation 6.  Code Blue Obv 6”.  Now wait a minute.  I think I am cubicle 6.  Oh boy, this is too much to think about at 3:30 in the morning.  Soon the formerly peaceful area that was the Observation room was in chaos.  Well to me it looked like chaos.  My curtains/walls that looked so solid in the gloom of my room now billowed everywhere.  Lights came on with a glare, carts of all kinds were being transported at the speed of light.  All the while I heard the patient breathing and the nurse repeating “Veronica” over and over.

I was in cubicle 5.

I had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t help glancing that way.  There was Veronica, eyes wide open and still breathing that snore-like breath.  When I came back I eavesdropped of course and found out the medical term for what Veronica was going through was “unresponsive”.  She eventually woke up with absolutely no memory but had the best sleep in a long time, she told me later.

There was another Code Blue an hour later.  This time I heard the all to familiar “CLEAR”.  After awhile everyone clapped and the patient talked.  Seeing both of these patients later, I was kind of creeped out how one can be dead then not be dead or, like Veronica, go somewhere else completely.  These people should have badges.  Not just the staff but the patients.  They worked hard to get back too.

My tests eventually cleared the way for me to go home by lunchtime.  All major things were ruled out and I left with a prescription for a diuretic.  In less than 8 hours of taking that, my feet are looking good.

Not the way I planned the day.  You know? I’ve started a few of posts with that line.  I guess I should stop planning my day.

Mimi on Meme

I’ve been tagged by the incredible Deb Bryan of http://deborah-bryan.com/ to wrack my weary brain and give some mind-boggling answers to interesting questions:

If you could go back in time and relive one moment, what would it be?

This could be so many times from the silly (showing my friend Corrie the biffy I redecorated for her) to the profound (either of my children being born) to the macabre (being with my mom as she died).   I can think of many times I would NOT like to relive (all of 1978, my last six months at Nine Circles). 

One time does stand out in my mind.  I was with a (very) former so-called boyfriend and I wanted to search for the land my mother left me in her will.  All I knew was it was in a small town in south-western Manitoba.  All I had were the co-ordinates and a copy of the land title.  We went all over that town all that hot, dusty day tracking one lead after the next.  Dead ends all around until someone from the land titles realized I should be looking in a different area; it was actually 20 miles outside of town.  Hot, thirsty and hungry we took one more shot at it and got lost.  Crap.  Three more hours lost and no land so I decided to stay the night and start fresh in the morning after a good sleep and a hot shower.  I was so close, I could feel it!

The next morning I checked at another town office where the woman there totally knew where it was and drew a map for me!  She also included the name and phone number of the town councilman.  This was it.  I knew it.

Found it.  All that driving (2 hours from the city and most of the day before, 3 more hours that morning) and there it was.  I knew it almost before I drove up to it.  I got out of the car and deliberately placed my foot on the land my mother and my grandmother before her owned.  I was overcome with emotions that are indescribable here.  I was literally on my knees, weeping from the power that was permeating my soul.

You see, this was land meant for a chosen woman in our family to use as a “safe” place, in case “something should happen” because of a man in her life.  Sell it, live on it, rent it.  Knowing my mom and gramma meant for me to feel and live this moment was overwhelming.  They believed I was a strong capable person, just like they were.  I felt them both.   They were protecting me. They were in the tall prairie grass waving in the breeze, in the aroma of canola growing in the fields alongside my little plot. I could hear my mom’s laughter and smell the mints my gramma loved so much.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that.  That was one good thing about the jerk I was with; he knew enough that I was having a moment and it was best to let me have it.  Alone.  No men allowed.

If you could go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?

I would not change much if anything.  Everything has led up to where I am now.  I would not have my amazing kids or have known such amazing people in my life if something changed.  No.  Painful as life has been, it’s also been wonderful because of it.  Keep it the same.

What movie/TV character do you most resemble in personality?

 I have absolutely no idea.  I like to think Sarah Conners in the first Terminator movie.  LOL.

If you could push one person off a cliff and get away with it, who would it be?

A scumbag named David Dawson, a pedophile and all around despicable piece of garbage.  Get the idea I might not like the guy?  A cliff would be too merciful.

Name one habit you want to change in yourself

I want to stop slumping and stop simpering.  Gets me nowhere and is ruining my reputation.

Describe yourself in one word.


Describe the person who named you in this meme in one word.


Why do you blog? Answer in one sentence.

I have many things to say and don’t know it until I start to write; thoughts become clearer and life in general has more clarity.

Name at least 3 people to send this meme to, and then inform them

  • @daydreaminfool
  • @littleanimation
  • @mommyamc
  • @myrandomology
  • @ValerieWildman (just for fun)

Up Side Down

Four days a week, I go to work in the morning.  Every one of those days I pass the cemetery where my Mom’s ashes are buried.  My Gramma’s are there too. Each morning as I drive by I always say a “Hey Mum” or a “Love ya Mom”  and I get choked up.  Every time.  I haven’t been by to see her grave since last spring and a lot has happened in my world since then.

I think back to the day she died in March 2007.  I was with her when she said her last words.  I will never forget them.  She had been very frightened, knowing that this was “it” and I was trying to give some level of comfort while waiting for my siblings to arrive at the hospital.  I had no idea what to do or what to say.  She wouldn’t let go of my hand.  She was so scared.  I was so scared.  This was my MOM, my rock, the wisest person I knew.  But it wasn’t the time to think about me.  She needed me this time instead of the other way around.

“Let’s go dancing, Mum, okay?  Let’s be light on our feet and feel the spotlight on our skin.”  Through her oxygen mask I could see her smile through her tears.  She managed to get the words out: “You be Fred and I’ll be Ginger.”  We both swayed to imaginary music in perfect rhythm with our eyes closed.  I could feel her hand in mine relax a bit.  When I looked at her again, she had the most serene expression on her face.  She was smiling.  There were no more tears.  She never opened her eyes again as she slipped into a coma.  My hand was still holding her limp one.

The rest of my siblings arrived along with my Dad.  We were moved to a bigger room as 4 of her 8 children along with various spouses and my own son made for quite a spectacle.  She died so peacefully a few hours later with us all in the room.  Her presence was felt by all and she continues to be a force in my life.

Funny thing about the cemetery; there is an angel stationed at its entrance and it is supposed to be pointing up to heaven.  My interpretation is a little different.  Remember, my gramma and my mom were very strong women and pioneered many aspects of the women’s movement and equal rights in their own way. 

So you tell me; what does it look like the angel is doing?