This is going to be a two-parter, because Summer finally came to town in September and hung on through almost all of October.
I did try to make the most of the great weather while it lasted, and when I wasn’t working.
Tomorrow I will do a photo recap of the glory that was October.
Rock on,
The WB
Well hello dear Bloggie,
Coming at you from a hotel room in Kelowna, British Columbia on this fine 3rd day of September – which would have been my 7th wedding anniversary. (Or would it? Hmmm…I’d like to think I would not have divorced my mentally ill, betrayer of a husband had he not died from cancer…but who knows what alternate reality I would be living by now had things turned out differently…) Anyhow, I don’t have a whole lot of emotion surrounding this day anymore…and I think that is a good and healthy sign.
August has been a stressful month for me. My sister has been quite ill and in hospital here in Kelowna – hence my presence. Most of the month I was on pins and needles, not knowing when her surgery would finally happen or if she would be healthy enough to even qualify. This, plus lots of goings on at work made the month both drag on and fly by simultaneously, if that makes any sense (and it does to me).
I did manage to get up to see my other sister (Me Too) and her wife at their lovely lakeside home, on the Civic Holiday Long weekend…and stopped in at a National Park (another one crossed off the list) along the drive up there.
And I did get to Riverfest Elora 2017. A fantastic festival with such a great vibe – I think this will be an annual event for me. Hopefully next year I can convince someone to join me. I didn’t mind going alone, but naturally it would have been even more enjoyable to have company.
As I fretted and stressed the month away, I decided to pour my feelings into the paint I was applying on some canvases.
I did find some time to get on the river.
And then I got word that my sister’s surgery had finally been scheduled and was happening within 48 hours, so it was a mad dash to get plane tickets and book a hotel. I arrived in smoke- and ash-covered Kelowna on Tuesday. This has been the worst season for forest fires in 60 years, I’ve been told.
My sister’s surgery was a success and she is steadily improving. And the skies have cleared up too!
I have booked my flight home for this coming Tuesday. Now there is nothing left to do on this Labour Day long weekend but enjoy visiting my sister and eat my fill of Okanagan peaches.
Rock on,
The WB
Dear Blog,
You know I’m mad at you, right?
First of all, for making it hard (if not impossible) for people to comment.
Secondly – and this is new – now you are making it damn hard to post pictures. Correction: it is still easy to post pictures. It is hard to post pictures that haven’t been cropped by you dear Bloggie, such that people’s heads and more are missing.
I’m going to have to change my blogs’ theme again, or maybe learn some damn code so I can try to address all these problems I have been having with YOU lately.
In the meantime, I am doing other, easier shit with my free time than get my blood pressure up trying to figure out what the hell went wrong with you, Blog.
Today Mizz J and I went to the Big Smoke to see the Georgia O’Keeffe exhibition at the Art Gallery of Ontario. Picture taking was verboten but here (fingers crossed) is a picture of the art book I purchased afterwards, at ye olde gift shoppe:
Once again, dear Bloggie, you have taken it upon yourself to crop my picture even further than I had done so before I uploaded it. ARGH.
Anyways, I am not going to spend any more time on this.
What I really want to say about this exhibit is that I LOVED getting up close and personal with the paintings. I generally always do but today especially so. And here’s why.
I saw the artist’s pencil sketching on the canvas that didn’t get completely covered up the layers of paint applied (Red Poppies). I saw the tiny triangle of bare canvas in the painting where the artist didn’t quite fill in the design (Jimson Flower) where 2 colours met. I saw where the artist tried to refine the edge of the stem by painting a lighter colour over dark green and the green of the oopsie was still apparent underneath (Cala Lily).
It was wonderful to see all the little errors because it gives me freedom and permission to not be perfect either. If it’s good enough for Georgia O’Keeffe and the entire art world, well….
Rock on,
The WB
*Japanese term: forest-bathing
Rock on,
The WB
I was up with the sun every morning, walking the beach and boardwalk.
We did an island tour one day – to see the wild, eastern coast of Barbados.
Sunsets were also a good time to be strolling on the beach. Usually on the way to dinner at one of the many great restaurants near us.
Rock on,
The WB
My beautiful country turns 150 years old this year. I have been wondering what I could do in this special year to celebrate/commemorate the milestone. I was around when Canada turned 100, though at age 7 there wasn’t a whole lot I remember about it, other than that catchy Bobby Gimby song.
And Expo 67, in Montreal. Not that I visited but boy, we sure heard about it in school. I recall there was a mobile unit that toured the country’s schools, giving us a mini-version of it along with other Centennial stuff.
I’m not likely to be around for Canada turning 200. Or if I am, I’ll be too damn old to do much more than watch others celebrate.
SO THIS IS IT, WB. NOW WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT IT?
I once had a baby on Canada Day – the lovely Mizz J – but I can’t keep dragging that up as my commitment to/celebration of this country all these years later. Or can I? Hmmmm…
I have been stewing away on this for about a month now. Then this morning I heard a DJ on my local (rock, what else?) station mention that Parks Canada was handing out free passes to all National Parks to celebrate the sesquicentennial. EUREKA! Maybe I could visit all the National Parks in my province of Ontario as at least one way of me celebrating Canada 150?
I hopped on Ye Olde Interwebs and quickly ordered my pass from the Parks Canada site. Then I checked out which National Parks were located in Ontario.
Only 6 – 5 within an easy day’s drive (or less) of my usual stomping grounds – totally doable, amiright?
OK, OK – so not exactly the stretchiest goal I’ve ever committed to, but that’s not what I am trying to do here. Part of me thinks it would be so cool to hit every National Park in Canada this year, but that objective is not realistic for this (still) working woman.
I think I’ve only ever been to one – maybe two – of these Ontario parks so far in my life. For shame, for shame! Shit, I realize I have probably been to more National Parks outside of Ontario than in it.
I’ve been very close to some of them, driven by others…but actually making a point of visiting the ones in my own province? Nope.
So 2017 is the year this is gonna change.
Rock on,
The WB
Merry Christmas ya filthy animal dear olde savings and loan blogge!
Oh my, it has been a fun coupla days around Chez Badass – thanks to birthing new traditions, my kids, sparkling cider and help from my badass cousins overseas!
Before I begin this tale, let me fill you in on the origin of the Seashell Jesus, whose picture shall grace this blog in mere moments.
Remember when I told you about cleaning up the hoard and shared a picture of the outdoor storage area? Well, one of the only items that survived the purge of that space was a very colourful, homemade-looking old-schooly picture of Jesus, adorned with seashells. I have no idea of the provenance of this picture – it could have even belonged to one of the many tenants that abandoned their junk belongings on the property – but I just couldn’t find it in me to fling it into the dumpster (#4 or 5, can’t remember which). So Seashell Jesus, as he came to be known, ended up hanging in my old kitchen for about a year.
When it came time to renovate the kitchen, Seashell Jesus survived yet another purge and ended up in a box of other wall “art”, in the boiler room of my building. Until Christmas Eve 2016, that is.
I had planned for weeks already to try a new tradition for my family. The Dutch meal of “gourmetten.” In researching how to pull this off, I came across the following article – Gourmetten” A “gezellige” evening of classic Dutch dining Very funny and tongue-in-cheek. The author claims that Jesus and his disciples actually “gourmetted” the last supper and there is a picture in the article to prove it. When I told my daughter Mizz J about this, she said Seashell Jesus needed to be part of our Christmas Eve meal. So up from the basement he rose…
When I shared these photos on Facebook to my Dutch cousins, they were not to be outdone.
Suffice it to say, much Facebook merry was made over Jesus being sent on to our various homes to partake of gourmetten.
Meanwhile, in real life, our meal was fantastic.
Before the food coma took a full hold, we cleaned up supper and then got artsy-crafty with it.
After a relaxing day spent on the couch (mostly), Christmas dinner was a clean-out-the-fridge stir fry – liberally doused with left-over satay sauce and served over rice. “Sooooo gooooood”, to borrow a phrase from my Amsterdam cousin.
And thus, new traditions are born!
Rock your merry little selves on,
The WB
The world lost my badass momma one year ago today.
She had been diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma about 15 years before. Most of the 15 ensuing years were high quality. Mom experienced several remissions and used that time to enjoy life to the fullest with her second husband, who she met at a grief class about a year after Dad died. They travelled and camped, and generally enjoyed retired life together.
But eventually the cancer came back with a vengeance and Mom got sicker and sicker.
In the summer of 2015 the doctor advised that we move up the date of my sister’s wedding and host it closer to home, to ensure Mom could attend.
So I volunteered to host the wedding at my building and what a joyous occasion it was!
Shortly after this Mom made the decision to not proceed with any more chemotherapy. She had had enough, and it was only making her sicker at this point anyway.
Soon she was too ill for her husband to manage so I offered for her to come to stay with me. My newlywed sister made arrangements to take compassionate leave, to be with Mom while I worked and did homework (yes, I was still plugging away at my MBA that fall). And my far flung sister was ready to board a plane and come as soon as she was called, which was a short while later.
All parties agreed to the new plan for Mom and thus we made it happen. A stair lift was installed so Mom could get into and out of my second-floor abode, and we transferred her medical care to my city. Bedding arrangements (and bedrooms) were created to accommodate everyone.
Mom worried about getting into hospice care in a new city. This was something she was considering when living with my stepdad. When I asked if she really wanted to go to hospice when the time came the truthful answer was no. I told her she didn’t ever have to go there – she could die at her new home, my place. She said she would like that, so that is how we proceeded.
What a wonderful, awful fall that was – the fall of 2015. The fall of our mom’s dying. Mom had a typical Dutch practical attitude about her impending death. It didn’t bother her and she didn’t want to be a bother to anybody else. She hoped her death happened at a “convenient” time for everyone, so as not to interfere with any Christmas or vacation plans. We joked a lot with her about these wishes. It was freeing for Mom to be able to speak and joke about her dying with us. It was not something her husband could bear to hear, understandably so.
Mom’s sister, My Tante T asked to come over from the Netherlands for a last visit with her sister. This visit was welcomed by all, especially Mom of course.
We took the ladies out shopping. Mom had an ultralight collapsible wheelchair at this point which made it possible for her to get out more easily. They had a lot of fun looking for cute clothes at the local mall. This was tiring but also joyful for Mom. She loved getting out while still able, and picked up a couple of pretty tops to wear for hospital appointments and when receiving visitors.
I had bought tickets to take Mom to see a live performance of the Jersey Boys many months back, and we were able to get an extra ticket for her sister at the last moment. Seating had to be changed to accommodate the wheelchair. Tante T also had to change her flight so she could attend the show. A lot of changes but we were so glad it all came together. Mom had wanted to see this show for many, many years.
Tante T went backstage at intermission and somehow convinced the Jersey Boys cast to come out to say hi to Mom after the performance. What a woman!
During all this time, Stepdad faithfully visited his wife every day.
We treated Mom to pedicures and massages and accompanied her to her cancer clinic appointments. We tried to tempt her with all her favourite foods but her once hearty appetite was quite diminished. Palliative care nurses and personal workers visited many times and provided Mom with a hospital bed and special equipment to assist with bathing. Spiritual care was provided as well, at Mom’s request. We were trained to give Mom her medication intravenously, as the end drew near and her discomfort increased.
Mom loved having visitors and all were welcome to come whenever they wanted to see her.
Death and dying are not easy for anybody. By the 17th of December we were all exhausted as Mom was very restless, day and night. A night nurse was brought in to allow us some shuteye. Mom passed away in the wee hours of the 18th, partway through his shift. We were all at her bedside when it happened.
I was grateful for all of the resources and comforts provided to Mom, and for so many visits from friends and family. It was a blessing to be able to keep her at home as she wanted.
My favourite memory of this time is of being called into Mom’s bedroom one night by my sister. Mom was crying and wanted to talk to me. I asked her why she was crying and she said, “I am so happy and I can’t stop crying. It is wonderful to be here surrounded by my family. I feel so completely loved, like I have never felt in my whole life. I’m not crying because I am sad or afraid to be dying. I’m crying from happiness.”
I think of that night almost daily. If there is a way to “do” death and dying correctly, I think that as we came together as a family during that horrible, wonderful fall of 2015, we just might have nailed it.
Rock on,
The WB
Dear Blog,
Today’s NaBloPoMo prompt is “What was your most precious possession when you were a kid?”
That reminded me of something that – while not exactly qualifying as a precious possession to me then (although it is one now) – certainly captivated me as a kid and started a little obsession that is still going strong today: dragonflies.
Last week I had a little person (and parents) visit me at my place. Dad pointed out the dragonfly symbol to be found all over the house, and encourage the young man to seek them out in all the rooms. Then came the inevitable question: “Why do you like dragonflies so much?”
Well, here is how it all began:
When I was 2 years old, my mother took me to the Netherlands to show me (off) to all the relatives, being the first grandchild in the family and all. To keep me amused, my grandmother (Oma) let me play with her teaspoons and apparently I became especially enamoured of the one with the dragonfly on the handle. So much so, that it was given to me. And I still have it to this day.
I don’t know for sure the origin of this spoon. I do know that there was (and still is) a women’s magazine in the Netherlands called Libelle. Which is the Dutch word for dragonfly.
I think this may have been a promotional item for the magazine but have no way of knowing for sure as both Oma and Mom are gone now.
Since that time I’ve had a fascination with dragonflies. Across the street from my childhood farmhouse home was a pond and some abandoned fields. As kids, my sisters and I spent hours playing there – exploring the ruined foundations of old buildings and chasing tadpoles, frogs and bugs, including dragonflies and damselflies.
When I got older, dragonflies came to represent various things to me – creativity, adaptability and transformation/rebirth. Dragonfly nymphs start out living under water and only leave the water to become the flying adult form. Quite the change of venue and form! I’ve had to start my life over a couple of times already so transformation resonates with me.
In some native cultures, dragonflies represent the souls of the departed.
People that care for me love to gift me with items that include a dragonfly motif. I happily accept these and as a result, I have many, many dragonflies everywhere in my home and my life.
I’m not sure if this means the dragonfly is my spirit animal…but hey, a girl could do worse.
Rock on,
The WB
Dear Bloggie,
I picked up the tickets tonight for the winter get-away Mizz CJ and I have planned, in Barbados. Wheee!
This is a special trip to commemorate our being friends for 50 years. We met in Grade 2, you see.
My daughter Mizz J and I had such a lovely time there in January of this year that I resolved to try my best to make an annual getaway to somewhere warm – if not Barbados, then somewhere that didn’t need a coat, boots and mittens – every winter from now on.
When Mizz CJ heard about our trip she thought it would be perfect to celebrate our milestone there, in 2017. Of course I agreed!
We have a week booked at a small family-run hotel on the beach in Hastings.
Looking forward to those early morning ocean dips and laying under a palm tree devouring a good novel while ocean breezes play with my hair.
I have the Bridgetown weather (along with Amsterdam’s and that of my area) displayed every time I go to the Weather Network webpage. It is 30°C there. Every. Damn. Day.
Last week, on one day it read 28°C. I almost fell off of my chair when I saw it. I wonder if the Bajans grab for their sweaters when the temperature dips down like that.
I probably would, once I got acclimatized.
Rock on,
The WB
