Every Woman, Every Man?
03/01/2004 10:41 p.m.
Someone once said: "every man wants to be his woman's first love, and every woman wants to be her man's last love." I wonder if that's true. I don't recall who was supposed to have said it. I certainly believe it can often be true, but not always. On the woman's part it sounds selfish, for if she really cares about him but for some reason or another they don't last together, or she predeceases him, wouldn't she be able to put aside her own self to want him to have a full and happy romantic life? Love means caring more for the other person, doesn't it, even while sure to look after yourself and your own needs as an individual. On the other hand, it sounds rather egotistical and like some kind of macho, conquestor behavior, for every man to want to be the pioneer lover and possessor of his woman. But then, everything's kind of crazy, in love. So who knows?
I am currently Cool
I am listening to the tv in the background downstairs

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Feeling a bit weak
02/15/2004 04:27 a.m.
Today was fine, with a visit from the son and his fiancee and a quiet, relaxed day, until I started fighting another fever. This happened Thursday evening too, and I managed to bring it down with aspirin and sleep, and was fine on Friday though felt a little like it was coming back that night. Well, today in the afternoon the chills returned, and by evening I was up to thirty-nine.nine at one point. I don't have other symptoms, besides a little cough at times, and weakness when this comes on. But since I'm probably starting work this week or next, I'm rather annoyed. I was doing pretty well for the past two weeks.

Anyway, this morning where we often go on Saturdays, for breakfast, a friend's restaurant, the server who's a friend too, said she hates Valentine's as she hasn't got anyone in her life right now. It can certainly be another New Year's Eve type of depressing day to lots of people, if alone, and also a lot of commercial hype for everyone, and spending for the kinds of messages that should be shared every day. But it is a help to those who don't find it easy to express their love all the time, in the overt ways. And a moment to indulge in the less practical areas of life. IE Chocolate! which I don't eat hardly at all anymore.

By the time some regulars came in, including an older couple who are so devoted to one another, and they gave her a little heart to stick on her face, she was enjoying it somewhat.

I ended up wearing one too. But at first I thought Annie had jam on her face, in the dark light, til I saw it was a valentine heart.

I enjoyed the old movie The Ghost and Mrs. Muir while in bed fighting the sweats and yet I slept through much of it. Last night Casablanca was on again. And many fine movies, which was probably one of the best parts of the occasion.

Anyway, I am just briefly up to check my temp and think I've broken the worst of it again by now but certainly hope it doesn't return this week! I'm sure it's not serious, but a pain and I had some nursing attention from the others tonight, which was very supportive. I'm hoping to hear how Maria Massarella is doing, the waiting is very tough, and praying all the time for her, but I'm sure we'll hear when the family and/or she herself are able to communicate and update us.
I am currently Bemused

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Our Kids
01/27/2004 01:26 p.m.
We teach them to walk and talk. To bundle up in the cold. Not talk to strangers. Check the road before they cross.
Hold an adult's hand in the malls. Do their best in school.Say no to drugs.
When it's time, we hope we're not the last or too late to teach them about the facts of life.

But in those facts, do we teach them to be happy? Would we know how to teach that? Does anyone? When they're teens and young adults, where can they find Happiness 101 on their curriculum?

Do we practice what we'd preach? By knowing how to create our own sense of happiness for ourselves?
I am currently Bummed

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Intermittent Net Use
01/26/2004 03:24 p.m.
Due to some problem (we don't quite get) about the router for our daughter's computer, lately we keep losing use of the net sometimes. So if I'm not able to be reached electronically for gaps, it's probably just that. Hopefully we will solve this soon, but she can get us back on by going into the broadband or something. But with her trips and courses, it's a pain, so it takes patience til it's solved. Thanks.
I am currently Lazy
I am listening to country songs

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Back to the Image finally
01/13/2004 03:49 p.m.
I've spent a little more time away from homework and other matters, to play with my new computer's image features, scanning, and picture files features, familiarizing myself and this time managed to get my photo up on my library here. Now I don't have to be the mystery woman without a face to the words. It wasn't a big deal to me, but sometimes it's interesting to share faces.

I don't know if this means I'll be able to add photos to my poems sometimes, as I'm not a patron yet again, was in the past, but I'll try sometimes. I love working with image so I'm glad I'm getting back to that aspect, as it inspires me to do photography. I was getting into that art more than ever a while back, and if memory capacity will permit me, as it certainly should, on my new system, at home, I'll have lots of fun combining the crafts. I find it a great compliment to the writing art, and of course invaluable in sharing with friends and family our favorite shots.

We're working again on image poems in class, now, and Sylvia gave us very old photos of people and places, the kind the people look afraid of the camera in, and kind of scary to us, sometimes, in the old-fashioned clothes etc. to write poems on for our next meeting. I have one with men working on a horse-drawn hay wagon, and one of two little boys in a living room or parlour, poised formally in sailor suit and the younger one in a gown, and they're very intriguing. I love these assignments.


I am currently Happy
I am listening to my fridge popping

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Uncle Vic, Departed
01/12/2004 04:17 p.m.
I brought in my mom's mail for her, this morning. When I found a letter from my Aunt Miriam from England, we knew it must be bad news. It turns out Uncle Vic had already passed away, as of Dec. l8, 03. A newspaper obituary sent with the letter listed D.F.C. after his name, for his Distinguished Flying Cross award in WWII. He was 85 years old.

Because the mail takes so long from England, and my aunt does not use the internet, we were slow to learn of his demise. He died painlessly, she writes, and with his son-in-law close by, holding his hand, and my aunt there too. Of course all the family had been there constantly to help and tend to him in the hospital.

If only costs and distance hadn't intervened so much, I'd have certainly loved to keep visits up with them across the ocean.

But her faith is strong and keeps her going, she says, knowing he is at peace now after a twelve-year struggle he gave his very best to make. It must have been a terribly sad Christmas over there, though, with my relatives in mourning.

He was a real gentle sweetie, and I'll always have a huge place in my heart for him. And her, and will write her often. And if I do get overseas to Europe I will definitely try to make it to Devon to see my dear Aunt, and her family, as they are my dad's only living relatives besides us here. Every year I hang on the Christmas tree the unique folding ornament they gave us one year, with little scenes in blue and red, on it, that hangs from a red string. I always insist people treat it very carefully as it came all the way from England, and our aunt and uncle there. It will be even more carefully guarded now.
I am currently Sympathetic

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My British Uncle Vic
01/06/2004 07:33 p.m.
Every Christmas for decades, my Aunt Miriam, near Dorset, England (and Uncle Vic, her husband)send us a letter, on the folded long envelope air mail paper we used to be able to buy here too. I’d use “Santagrams” like these to write them every year too. Now I just use ordinary paper or air mail letter paper. But it’s not as fun. Different versions from Miriam would be sent to other members of my family here. We used to also exchange updates of photos, of our families back and forth. Miriam writes their letters, but they are always resplendent with news of she and Vic and my two female cousins, and their children.

Often they take marvelous continental trips especially around this time of year, and have been to Venice, Egypt, Ireland, as well as Canada twice, and while here, went coast-to-coast as well as covering much of the U.S.A.

Miriam is my late father’s sister and only relative we have of his, besides his family here.
She and Uncle Vic visited Canada twice, many years ago now, and I visited their place twice but only once when they actually were home, and that was their London home before retirement. I always wanted to visit their home in what I call “writer’s country,” Devon, Dorset, Land’s End, etc. they are near. Especially while they were both well and active etc. They were always inviting any of us that could, to go over to England whenever possible.

I only was blessed to get to know them personally (otherwise by home movies, of dad’s) in my later teen years and we were all delighted with one another. Mom was instrumental, I think, in re-connecting my dad and his sister to a better degree, later in life. Dad came to Canada very young, and had left home before that so Miriam, his half-sister (though I hate those divisive terms) and he didn’t have much sharing through those years since until Mom kind of pushed the issue and traveling across the ocean had become more frequent. So she re-united them by her inspiration, and visits began back and forth. Before this, the last time my dad had seen his sister was on the death of their father. My initial meeting with anyone of my “British connection” was quite amusing, as I look back. I was on a school trip at l6, to Europe and Britain (as they weren’t called the same then, now that’s an issue there as they’re considered part of Europe).

I was to travel away on my own from my school group, with permission from mom, and dad, to find my Aunt’s home near Rayner’s Lane, off the tube. I’d never traveled the tube much, let alone, on my own, but with the directions off I went. After a few mis-stops, and having to re-route,
I found the place near Harrow to get off. But then it dawned on me, no-one had told me what my cousin, Roxanne, who was to meet me at the station, looked like, nor told her what I looked like. The only images I knew of her were from films, when she was much smaller. We were the same age, roughly.

It turned out when I stepped off the tube, we recognized each other immediately. We looked quite alike, same height, coloring, our faces quite similar! Lucky for us. We had a lovely day together, and she showed me Harrow-on-the Hill, where the famous school was, served me "trifle" and treats at their beautiful home,(her mom and dad were traveling somewhere so I only met Roxanne that trip).Aunt Miriam was a home economics teacher (not called that there, but domestic sciences I believe) so the place and food were exquisite. Roxanne was a fine hostess. The blood of relations soon proved thick enough. We shared giggles and she showed me the family albums, with my grandfather in them.

When I met Uncle Vic, on their visit here to Canada for the first time, (and the first time I met Miriam too) I found him incredibly fun and friendly. He liked to say “slimming”’ for dieting, and loved chocolates etc. so when we all shopped during their visit, or traveled with them to Quebec City, and other outings, he brought up the topic often. I guess he was slimming, and so was I. He took to me and I to him splendidly, and because he worked in communications at the time, he used to call me often from England after going back, and even at my government office, on what he called his “satellite,” which I’m sure it was. He was so technological even then.
When my son was born, my first delivery, he called to say, on behalf of both of them, “clever girl” which is what the British like to say often, I gathered, when proud of someone. Whenever I heard it from them, I felt terrific.

Miriam and I struck up a close connection right away too, and kept close in spirit though it was Vic in his working years who kept everyone in news faster. Still, we maintained contact as much as possible, and one Christmas, (their first on retiring and moving into their house in Devon) my husband, on assignment overseas, was there to stay for a short while and help put up their first Christmas tree in that home. How I wished I could be there, that year. They came for Thanksgiving one year, and my husband and I'd delayed our son's christening until that weekend. Miriam brought a handmade white crochet gown for him, and shawl, which he wore.

Our letters haven’t always been as frequent as we’d like. They were great travelers and usually away if anyone from Canada was over in Europe, but we have kept a very special connection. She, in turned out, had no other nephews or nieces but her ones in Canada, and was delighted to be called “Aunt” for the first time by me. Like me, she loves theatre, church, English literature and languages like Latin. In many ways they are my closest links to my dear dad.

Uncle Vic was a navigator flyer of bombers in WWII for Great Britain, which was difficult for me to picture as he was a gentle, jovial type, but certainly performed his service with dedication and participated in the Air Force reunions of the comrades when they held them. My uncle in Canada also did, and went to England for one of these, being a flyer in WWII also. They met and became friends in Canada as well.

In any event, this year’s Aerogram brought the tragic news that my sweet Uncle with the wonderful sense of humour and kindness, who loved his miniature Lionel-style train and all the trimmings set-up in his backyard, etc. is in the hospital due to a vicious return of the prostrate cancer he’s been fighting tooth and nail for twelve years. He took all the hormone therapies, endured the humiliation of some of that, and fought valiantly over the years, but now Miriam writes that after 59 1 /2 years of marriage, she is facing losing him any day. He is at the very end it seems. It returned about six months ago, but more recently she got the terrible news and he is very weak now.

I had written them in the Spring about my poem being published in The Wolf Magazine, and launched in London, but I’d mentioned I hadn’t seen a copy at the time. Apparently Uncle Vic went looking for one, didn’t find any, but when I read this the other day, I was so moved by this. I won’t be able to thank him for the effort now or show him the work, but will send a photocopy to my Aunt and her family.

I often feared that I wouldn’t get over again (it’s so expensive and time-consuming but I’d love to) while they were both fit, as they are getting on of course now. I am glad she has her grown children and their children, and her love of faith and the church involvements, but she will certainly be living like her right arm is gone now. They have known an amazing love. It touched me so how she put the ½ after 59 years of marriage in her letter.

Although I knew he was hospitalized and not coming out again, Mom didn’t show me her actual letter (we all get different versions from Aunt Miriam and mom had the full news) until after New Year’s. But my instincts had told me something terrible was up, when my cousin (their daughter) sent a card, before Aunt Miriam’s letter, on their behalf, and I’d feared someone was ill. I think Gabrielle did this last year too though, so then I decided perhaps it meant nothing but her sending her seasonal wishes separately.

I finally wrote Aunt Miriam last night. Of course the words, even to a writer, at such a time fail us in any degree of adequacy, but I did my best.

And to Uncle Vic, and the Lord watching over, I say, if only I were a clever enough girl to eradicate cancer and endings, on earth. And I hope the Satellite will work from the better place that’s waiting for you, to relay and receive our messages from Canada.

I am currently Depressed

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Watch out on the Roads
12/23/2003 05:02 p.m.
Speaking of cars, in my previous journal entry, it’s frightening how people use them! Perhaps it’s a season of too much on their minds, I don’t know, but we in our family have just had two very close calls and feel blessed, after the anger and concern, to be fine.

Sunday night was my husband’s fifty-fourth birthday and our son and his fiancé hosted it at their new apartment. We had a lovely evening, informal and cozy, over pizza, cokes and coffee. The drive out through their Glebe area to go home, around 9 pm, was exquisite, the balconies lit up on the large old houses, and we passed some lovely old churches and a boarded skating rink (not so many in town as there used to be, and my son will be delighted, it’s not far from his place). We drove to the west end, after dropping off our daughter for her fun in the Glebe, and dropped my mother-in-law at her home in Nepean (now called Ottawa). Everything was going smoothly on a not-bad-driving night, a little snow from the morning’s addition on the ground, no problem, and had just done the hill down Churchill Avenue near Richmond Road, a familiar stretch for us, barely any traffic. Then a car at a little side street we pass all the time, suddenly was charging toward us, (having done its stop at the stop sign, my husband says, though I didn't think it had) but then proceeding straight into us at a fair speed). I don’t know after that, I shut my eyes, when I saw him coming, to broadside my side of the car, but my husband being the driver, swerved over to the wrong side of the road to escape the collision. There wasn't time to rely on the horn to alert the other driver. I saw when I opened my eyes, surprised we were still here, even, that we had completely crossed the centre line. Fortunately there’d been no on-coming traffic for a head-on.

We looked behind to see the offending car but it was gone, its driver not even stopping to see how we were. We pulled over, to compose ourselves and re-welcome life, for a few minutes. I know when my husband does this, it was a very close call. We hadn’t had a single drink of alcohol, and the roads were a bit slippery, but we think he must have been into something for sure! Or had too much on his mind. As with all near-experiences like this, I felt so content to be fine, and not to have given our kids and family a tragedy on a birthday especially, or at Christmas, but at any time. There’s been one in this family years ago and it never really leaves you.

When I was telling our daughter the next day, she was very moved and relieved, and then told her recent near-accident the day after ours. As a pedestrian, crossing at a light at a downtown street, she'd checked for traffic, when a car right-turning the corner almost ran over her foot. She jumped away just in time. She said he didn’t stop afterward either. She couldn't imagine how he couldn't see her. It left her very upset and angry that he didn’t look for pedestrians. She knows, having lived in Montreal, that pedestrians have to be careful and not take for granted drivers will give you the right of way, so she is. I was so relieved to hear how well it turned out after that call, because at the bank last week our investment advisor we’ve known for years, told us her son, a fine student in the same university as our daughter, had his foot run over by a hit-and -run driver recently. He ended up with physio, on crutches, and with an operation, and had to have his exams deferred and is at the point of trying to get into a tough program for medical courses. That driver was eventually charged.

We all know the fragility of life and health and that out of the blue, forgive the cliche, our routine and regular lives can be disrupted, or destroyed in a moment. While this is always a wake-up call, it makes us put things like rushing and demands on ourselves in perspective again. But there is no need for the slap-happy craziness at the wheel, and the lack of responsibility when you known you’ve done or almost done, a terrible offence. The least one can do is check on the people you put at risk. Or injured, as the law stipulates.
I am currently Dumbfounded
I am listening to CBC radio

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Patience as Patients
12/19/2003 09:38 p.m.
When I arrived for my GP doctor appointment today (I need one for every one of my frequent colds, as I don’t have a spleen anymore, since my cancer) an older woman with her daughter-in-law and using a walker, arrived at the same time. She was tiny and quiet, and neat, and they waited (her daughter-in-law seeming more tired than her) for an hour like I did, past our scheduled time.


She had to ignore the magazines, as she couldn’t read any more. She kept answering, no she wasn’t cold or anything, and just patiently sat there in the small office, not too comfy chairs. When they learned of another appointment on their own upcoming agenda (and after seeing the doctor, still another for today) her daughter-in-law said there’s nothing could be done about her eyesight now, but the doctor wanted her to see a specialist anyway. I could see how weary the escort was, but she was quiet and kind too to her mom-in-law. Not feeling my greatest, but better than yesterday and thinking of all the things I had to do, this afternoon (plus having had to walk most of the way because the bus ended up only going half the route), I’d resigned myself to the wait to use it as a breather. I love my doctor, but she's really over-booked (Canada's ina current crisis for GP visits and even acquiring a GP now), and sometimes I think needs to share her practice. But she’s terrific and truly cares, and is very thorough. I credit her, along with God, for having saved my life when I got lymphoma five years ago, so I listen to her and do the waiting.


I happened to make a little conversation with the daughter-in-law, who’d kept asking the little lady, Annie, if she was alright. Annie'd only brought up once that it'd be l pm before they'd be seen, it looked like. Her daughter-in-law said softly there was nothing we can do about it. I mentioned how hard it is on them, waiting, and going to a lot of appointments, when they get older, telling her my mom is 85 now and doesn’t like to go out to these, and always feels she’d be wasting the doctor’s time for real patients! A lot of seniors feel this way.


It was then I learned that Annie is 99 years old. I was stunned. Imagine living all those years, and still patiently getting in your check-ups etc. and even now, after she saw the doctor, an ultra-sound to follow the same day. I wondered how she stood it all. But she’d just fiddled with her buttons on her sweater, doing them up at the bottom, looking around the room, and I think behind her eyes I could see her feeling disconcerted a bit for keeping her family so tied up etc. but mostly, she seemed pretty together! It was inspiring to me. We’d been booked for the same exact time, and I think when she heard that her daughter-in-law worried. Would I want to compete for that conflict? I just said, when I saw the last patient before our turns finished up, oh, I hope it’s for Annie now. But I was almost asleep by then myself, like the daughter-in-law. I also secretly hoped they didn’t catch my germs during the time frame we’d shared.

It was their turn, first. The receptionist thanked me for my patience, and I said, hey, it's a rest for me from all my chores at the last-minute. When they emerged, not too long later, I heard Annie exuberantly wishing the doctor a fine Christmas, and carrying a little wrapped gift in her hands. It made me smile to see this, knowing it was from our doctor, she’s so great with the seniors especially but all of us! The patience and delicacy, yet wise strength, of this Annie, kind of made my day, despite wondering if I’d feel like spending the time on my errands planned en route home after that. I had a birthday cake to buy, a few more gifts, my prescription to be filled, a bus to hopefully take me all the way home....and yet, I could only think about this woman, and her family, and what paths they'd followed on the journey through her 99 plus years! And so well it seemed to me, at least on the surface. But those appointments....and I felt ashamed for any brief interlude of self-pity yesterday at having to miss an annual celebrative poetry dinner I'd looked forward to. Not to mention a visit at my house today from a friend, and all the things I should be doing, for yet another cold, and going into the doctor’s for an inevitable long wait. I don’t know if I will ever reach 99, but if I do, I hope I will have such grace, and dedicated support. I think one of the secrets is to have some kind of tolerance and reticence for what we have to accept and not waste energy fighting things beyond our control.
I am currently Blessed
I am listening to cars driving home

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From A Distance
12/18/2003 06:42 p.m.
About a month ago, I discovered the poems and journal entries of Dana Brossard on here. It was like an epiphany but not a surprise for me. I had imagined and dreaded what it is like for young people (or any people)serving in action. But I was struck with the fact that I was reading the words from the living, breathing, struggling soldier-poet, from the actual on-going battlefield, literally. And I thought, here is a young man sharing with us a hugely significant and immediate situation, full of danger and grief, and his reactions, the changes he's endured, the costs, premature disruption away from his bride, all of it moving me to tears. His obvious sensitivity to innocent war victims and the haunting memories he has of instantly vanished children, coupled with his own dread, and hopes, the stark solitude of the camp, in his contributions here have often plagued my sleep after reading. But don't we need to be plagued with the information?

Now he faces Christmas in Iraq, remote from all he holds dear. But he continues to reach out to us on here. Such a brave contributor as a poet of witness, (even more, of first-hand experience) and to his country and its cause, (I won’t go into the pros and cons or politics here, or our individual philosphies to any degree, because it's not the relevance)that I admire him utterly and hold my breath when I read his work about the war.

This, folks, is not fake, this is not reality tv, this is not propaganda, this is the kind of literature soldier poets have written to send us from all the wars, through time, and people like Pasternak (not a soldier, in this case, but witness and documentor via stories and poems) their feelings, their losses, fears, transitions, hopes, and faith.

For many years I've received This England Magazine, from my aunt in the U.K. It always includes a section called Salute to the Soldier Poet, with poems from the Word War II British soldier poets mostly and their photos and stories.

Last night, after reading Dana’s latest, and praying the dilemma ends soon in a safe manner for him and for all the men and women, and children, over there, I caught some of the tv special about the movie "Cold Mountain". It was dealing with the inspiration for the film, the role of separation from the home life, and the calling to fight, that the civil war summoned in its young men, in the U.S. I want to see the movie, so I didn’t take in the whole documentary as it was telling to much of the plot, but the cinematography, the acting, and writing, are all a tribute to the stories from real-life diaries of women who’d loved and often lost, young men to that war. And the story of the soldiers’ experiences, on the battlefront. Those whose accounts were left to tell the story, if they weren’t.

I find right now the most moving material for me on this entire site lately is from Dana. It's the frank reality we can only feign to imagine, and he provides us actual history, the tragedies and the sense of purpose, the discipline to fulfill no matter how horrific, and despite what our predispositions may be, we can see, most of all, the sacrifice and courage that are incredible. The enduring of the point of no return.I think his messages so vital.

Why? Because while the famous and/or notorious names in the world issues get more hype and attention, it is the individuals like Dana, carrying out the most dangerous, and unsavory roles, coming to terms with the true story, day-to-day, who are the voice of history.

Just a thought. With prayers, every day, for Dana, and the others he represents in microcosm. Those on the front-lines and in the villages, anywhere in the heat of battle or where it could suddenly break out. When I look at his photo, and he is smiling and well, I as a mom and a citizen of the world, pray for his well-being. And that he returns soon, with his soul as intact as possible, to his waiting wife and family.

I am currently Awestruck
I am listening to in my mind, Bette Midler's From a Distance

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