Haunting Photos

When I was in fourth grade, my friend had a book of haunted stories. The picture on the front of the book was the outline of a faint ghost floating through a forest. I was fascinated by this book and how terribly fearful it made me feel. I was especially haunted by this photo on the cover. I asked to bring it home one night but it haunted my sleep and I got rid of it the very next day. But this is not a story about those kinds of haunting photos.

This is a story about far more terrifying pictures and ones that haunt me far more deeply. I am talking about the thousands of photos I have stored on my computer.  Almost the entirety of my life since the digital age began.  I am overwhelmed by photos and I fear I will never catch up. I will never be able to go through and print and catalogue all of the amazing photos of us, our kids, our family and our friends.

I kept up for a while. I would go to the photo store for marathon sessions of selecting, cropping and taking out red eye. It cost me hundreds of dollars per time but I would have tackled almost a whole year of photos. Currently, I think I am three years behind. THREE YEARS! Do you know how many photos that is?  You probably do because I am sure you take ten photos of the same shot just like me. And then how do you choose? They’re all so great.

It’s not like the old days (really, I’m saying that?).  It was a one shot deal and you didn’t get to see it until you got the roll of film developed.  And each one was so special.  And still is. And it didn’t matter if someone had their eyes closed and someone else wasn’t looking.  It just captured the moment as it was.

Everyone loves to sit down with a photo album; to turn its pages and remember a time gone by.  Albums need to be created. Photos are not meant to sit on a computer never to be looked at again. But our digital cameras and phones, while inspiring us to take more photos than ever, have actually left us with a void of actual pictures to look at.

Well, there is no time like the present. I need to go through my photos and spend the hours upon hours it is going to require to bring them to life in actual print. They’re worth it. The memory each photo gives to us is worth it. I want my kids to have mini time capsules of their lives just like I do of mine. Even if it only happens once in a while it really is pure joy to sit on a couch curled up with your past and hug it one more time before you place it back on the shelf.

Air Supply and a Good Mixed Tape

Hello all my my new, old and faithful readers. I want to thank you for taking time to be here and for reading my random thoughts.  I want you to know how much I appreciate that you bother and I especially appreciate when you take the time to leave a comment. If you don't already I would LOVE if you would take a moment to either join this site or follow me by email. Sometimes I just need to know you're out there :)

****************************************************************

Recently on a long drive home I got caught up in a good (make that great) Air Supply song (I have a vague recollection of belting out said song  in a downtown Keg drunk off two Keg -size strawberry daiquiris – have I mentioned how much more fun I am when I’m drunk?) It got me to thinking about the numerous mixed tapes I once spent hours in my bedroom making.  Mixed tapes that were mostly full of sappy (but amazing) love songs that I made in memory of a dead, or dying, relationship.  There were also tapes made that captured the great classics of the day. Bust a Move (or Buster Move as I believed it to be called for a shamefully long period of time) got a lot of air play on many of my mixed beauties in eighth grade.

And then there were the hours I spent compiling the perfect mixed tape for the many loves of my life – I am happily married to the actual love of my life but the folly of my youth was to believe that every boy who gave me enough attention (and even those who didn’t) was worthy of this title. Those mixed tapes were special. Time was devoted to the careful printing of each song on the cover of the tape – and even the singer/band if the spacing was well-planned enough.

The art of the mixed tape and sending it off as a love letter, that in essence captured that moment in time in so many ways, has been lost.  It has been replaced by the playlist and with it the romance has died.  Today’s youth will never know the joy of giving or receiving a tape that expresses to the loves of their lives what only a great love song can. They will never know the joy of rediscovering an aged tape – deep inside a box at the back of your closet – one that when you see it you are instantly transported back in time.  It’s sad I think - an archive of the past never to be.

The same can be said of the love note whose ink was thoughtfully put to paper by your one and only; a record of a fourteen year old or twenty year old’s devotion to you.  The love letter left us with the advent of email and the nail in the coffin is our new obsession with texting. An entire generation will not have a box of letters to rummage through – one that chronicles their romantic triumphs and follies.

Even the phone call doesn’t exist anymore. Who doesn’t remember sitting beside their awesome purple phone from Zellers and hoping that if they stared at it long enough they could actually will it to ring?  Who doesn’t remember talking to their boyfriend or girlfriend for so long it felt like your ear was going to fall off?  What was really great about those days was the fact that we, like everyone else, had only one phone line and my idiotic sisters (whom I love dearly now) would absolutely ruin my life by picking up the phone a thousand times during one phone call yelling at me to get off the phone.

We need to remember the importance of creating records of our lives that won’t be lost in cyber space forever. Listening to Air Supply reminded me of the importance of all of these pieces of the past. A good song always stirs feelings in us and those feelings need to be captured in some way. And while I won’t be making anymore mixed tapes I will be sure to try and continue writing notes to my husband and children so we all have something to hold onto and remember once the moment has passed. 

 

A few gems I found -without having to look too hard.
I particularly like the Mega Mix from Hell title - classic

The Mega Mix from Hell playlist - I know you were curious

A book I made for Eric that holds all of our correspondence
from just the first year we met

 

Coffee Shop Therapy

I came to the coffee shop today to write. It had been far too long since I had opened my computer to do anything other than see what my friends were saying on Facebook and checking the hockey schedule.  I came to be inspired, to be alone and to feel cool – you know, alone in a coffee shop with an open computer kind of cool.

I bumped into a woman I do not know very well and whom I had not seen in years. She lost her husband a while ago and as we waited for our hot beverages she caught me up on where life has taken her.  She too has three children all in their early to mid-twenties now. She met a new man, married him and now lives between Ireland and Toronto keeping in touch with her children via Skype and as many visits as they can manage.

In line, waiting to order my tea, talking with a woman whom I only casually know, I became very emotional. And I do not hide these things well - my eyes instantly red and glistening. It was just so striking how life can change in an instant and its trajectory forever altered. She could have never known, with her young family and her busy life, just what the future had in store for her.  I was struck in that moment how the life I have now, the one I count on, curse and love, may not - will not - be my life forever. It seems like only yesterday her kids were so young – just like mine – and now they have carved out lives of their own. Of course this is what we want for our kids; it just seems sad in a way that these days are destined to slip away. (Oh great, now I am really obviously emotional and alone in a coffee shop. Cool factor - 0, weird factor - 10.)

It seems like only yesterday I was playing doubles against her husband and he has been gone for eight years. The life they had, the one they thought was forever, only a memory. I know first-hand that there are no guarantees. That my own Dad, the one who was going to be the best Grandpa ever, would never hold or know any of his grandchildren.  It seems like only yesterday that I was living with my parents and sisters in a life that I thought was going to go on forever. Where did all those days go? Our memories are tricky because they make every moment feel ‘like it was only yesterday’.

This chance encounter, this reminder that life is precariously in the balance of something far beyond our control offered me a needed moment of reflection. We can’t, we shouldn’t and we won’t ever live our lives appreciating and wallowing in every moment in an attempt to hold onto them.  I experience happiness, frustration, joy and complete annoyance in good balance because I am human not because I do not appreciate my life or take it for granted. 

I cannot imagine my life without Eric. I cannot imagine my life without our three kids all living and fighting and laughing under one roof.  Change is difficult and sometimes it is so gradual we don’t even notice it. Other times, it hits so hard that we are not sure how we will face another day. I was given a glimpse today; a glimpse into a future that may be unrecognizable to me now. Sometimes ignorance really is best and I will keep living like this is the only life I will ever know.  When change comes, whether it creeps up or slaps me in the face, I will deal with it then. For now, I will go home to my family and appreciate the gift that they are and then probably yell at someone.

Apparently, I'm a Failure

I have been spending a lot of time on Pinterest lately.  I haven’t actually done anything with any of my Pins yet but I have a great collection of inspiring ideas should I ever get the time to pursue one of them. The other day I came across this poster which highlights (in someone’s opinion anyway) the traits of successful and unsuccessful people. ‘Cool’ I thought. I immediately aligned myself with the ‘Successful’ lady on the left.  I was just about to hit Repin when I glanced at some of the traits of the sad looking ‘Unsuccessful’ fellow:

Watches TV everyday – is there something wrong with that?

Fears Change – a little

Flies by the seat of their pants – most of the time – oh God, this isn’t looking good

Talks about others – only to make myself feel better!

Exudes anger – well, I rarely smile and SO much annoys me

I was horrified to find that I am actually a very unsuccessful person. How could I repin this? I would be a laughing stalk. Clearly, since I could recognize these negative traits in me (part of my journey to self-awareness) then others have certainly already noticed my deficiencies. I certainly have a couple of the qualities from the ‘Successful People’ side but they fall under the category of ‘Sometimes’ for me. I think the poster needs to reflect people like me a little more – the Once in a While Successful People.

And then I remembered this was a Pinterest poster. How can it know with its colourful design and stick figures if I am successful or not. It doesn’t know that my moments of crazy are balanced by moments of my own small triumphs. That just because I sometimes hide my kid’s candy so I can eat it doesn’t mean I don’t love them. It’s just like when I am on Facebook and I notice that some people have close to 500 friends. I’m practically a loser by Facebook standards yet I am surrounded by great friends. And my house looks nothing like the homes on Houzz but I am (mostly) happy in our home.

The poster still scares me a little and I suppose I will try and emulate more of the qualities on the green side than the yellow. Thankfully my life happens outside of the world of the internet and all its social sites  that think they know how to live my life better than I do. I may not look that pretty on paper but it all feels great from here – most of the time.

Six Pack

I think I once wrote that I didn’t mind the few extra pounds I put on around Christmas time. I must have written that bit of crap after walking by a skinny mirror. Because right now - with those few (six) extra pounds I have put on since summer that are pressing not so gently against the button of my pants - I mind a lot.

I have committed several times over to gaining some control back in terms of my eating. But it is like some sort of sick self-sabotage.  As soon as I decide I want to be less gluttonous my body revolts by binging on anything and everything it can. The other day was going to be ‘the’ day. You know, the first day of it all. The first day, as anyone who has ever attempted to lose weight knows, is the most important day of the weight loss process. Anyway, I was doing so well right up until four o’clock. It was then that all the sacrifice I had made in the last nine, long hours came undone. It started with a plate of spaghetti followed immediately by two bowls of Frosted Flakes. Feeling satisfied (as if I had been stranded without food for days) I thought the relapse was over. But, upon returning from a brief excursion I proceeded to make myself a large plate pancakes smothered in butter and syrup. I had consumed an entire day’s worth of food in just a few short hours; another day one, another shameful failure.

I am certainly not interested in losing weigh with the latest trend in weight loss.  I’d rather be glutton free than gluten free. And I’d rather eat less, real food than drink a shake made from a powder. I don’t need a fad diet to help me lose weight. I need will power! I need to eat less than the (well over) 2000 calories a day I am currently consuming. I know lots of people who prefer these methods (my sister included) but they require a whole other level of commitment that I am just not prepared to give.

What I also need is a boot camp and I need it badly. Not that I really want go through all that work again. And at this point I would need a pre-boot camp just to get me in shape enough for a proper boot camp. Oh these first world problems of mine.

One day my ‘first day’ effort will hold and then, if I am lucky, I will have a succession of days when the chip bag stays closed, the row of cookies untouched and the cereal (late at night) stays in the cupboard. 

Don’t get me wrong. I love food (obviously) and I have a healthy relationship with it. It’s just at this moment - when parts of my body are touching other parts of my body that should really be nowhere near each other - the time for action has come. And action will come. Soon. I hope.

December 14, 2012

I have been meaning to repost my blog from last year on gifts of writing for Christmas for a couple of weeks now. And I am going to do that today but not without first saying a few words on the horrific events of Friday, December 14. 

I have been watching the news and trying to keep up with the details. I want to know about the children and their families. I want to talk to people about it even though it makes me cry every time. 

Putting my six year old daughter to bed the other night I was simply overcome.  As she drifted off to sleep, her head was rested in my lap and I purposely had my hand on her chest over her heart so I could feel it beating and be calmed by the rush of air flowing in and out of her little body. I stroked her face and her golden curls and wept.

I wept for the mothers and fathers who will never hold their beautiful children again. I wept for their broken families and for the small, happy lives forever interrupted. Since that fateful Friday, I have still been the same mom I was before.  I have been upset with my kids and annoyed with their usual antics.  I have rolled my eyes at the mess they walk away from and yelled at them to stop fighting. But, in the quiet moments, especially with my six year old, I have found myself lingering longer and holding tighter.

And so, because we are lucky enough that we still can, why not take up my challenge of giving a gift of writing for Christmas to let someone close to you know how you feel.  Take a moment to turn your feelings into words and your words into a poem. This year I have included more specific tips (thanks to Nancie Atwell) to guide you along. Last year I only know of two people who actually did this – and they were a couple! I have once again included the poem I wrote for my daughter. I wanted to capture her love of Christmas and how we share that love together.  I still have to write another one for this year and, like you, I have less than a week to do it.

Merry Christmas Everyone!
#26














Tips for Writing Your Poems

 1.       Brainstorm some things about the person you want to write about. What makes them special? What traditions do you share? What kinds of things define your relationship? Remember, these poems do not have to be about Christmas!

2.       How to break (end) the lines of poems – end on strong words (nouns, verbs, adjectives) and not on words like and, the, as, then, etc.

3.       Leads – begin inside the idea of your poem. Poems don’t need background information or explanation. Begin inside the experience.

4.       Conclusions – the ending should leave the reader with a feeling, idea or image. Don’t drag your poem on too long – end it when you’ve said what you wanted to say. Consider the echo structure – repeat an idea or line from the beginning.

5.       Cut it down – “I know a poem is finished when I can’t find another word to cut.” Bobbi Katz. Get rid of unimportant words and ineffective repetitions.

Good luck!



A sampling of gifts written by my students

Torturous Tradtions



                             2010 - full cooperation

Several years ago it became tradition to dress the kids up in their new Christmas pajamas, sit them in front of the tree and snap a photo to include in our Christmas cards. I can’t exactly remember how this started but I assume on some distant Christmas past when the kids were acting all jolly around the tree a spontaneous picture was taken and thus began the yearly photo.  Well, as of Christmas present, I am officially retiring the tradition.

Instead of jolly children huddled round the tree with anticipation and family love gleaming in their eyes, I have one who is too cool, one that will not sit down for more than one quick snap (and let’s face it – I usually take about fifty trying to find the perfect ‘spontaneous’ shot) and only one - my current favourite - who was trying her hardest to make the whole thing happen.

A picture of a picture :) of this year's photo.
I particularly love the green balloon in the background.

This year’s photo was a complete fiasco.  It began with bribing large amounts of candy right before bedtime so my two year old would let me do her hair. Then there was convincing my nine year old to put on his Christmas pajamas. As it was happening I felt like I was watching the scene from A Christmas Story when Ralphie has to wear the pink bunny outfit from Aunt Clara. I will not put him through this again. Then there was me, not at my best, yelling at everyone – even the dogs. (Note: I just went upstairs to get my daughter toilet paper and got sidetracked having a mother-son chat about the whole thing leaving said daughter stranded on the toilet for an unacceptable amount of time.)



                                                      1990

I could see the pain in my son’s eyes as I was yelling at him to sit closer to his sister and look happy for crying out loud. I remember those moments from my own past. We used to have to go for a ‘family’ walk to a bridge where we camp to get a photo of my sisters and me in the same spot every year. It was the worst part of going camping and you can see by my forced smile in every photo, spanning many years, that I was miserable. Why would I intentionally do that to my own kids? Or looking back, why didn’t I just cooperate to make my mom happy?

 

Interestingly, although I was only able to take one photo, it actually isn’t that bad and will probably make it into this year’s card.  And unless all three of my children spontaneously sit around the tree in their Christmas pajamas again, it will probably be the last of its kind. It feels a little sad to grow out of a tradition. I can feel us being pulled away from some of the things we have always done as the kids get older.  But I will not be a crazy person (on this matter anyway) and relentlessly force my family into something that inevitably makes all of us miserable.

Next year, I will look for a picture that captures my three kids as they are – imperfectly perfect – just the way I like them (after I’ve had a chance to reflect anyway).

 

 

1984 - I love these old shots. I have had many
discussions with my mother about this hair
cut she gave me. Even my daughter hates to
look at it.