Grown-Up

In spite of my advancing years, I feel I have yet to achieve the status of “grown-up.”  I’m still struggling to attain certain traits I associate with the word – traits such as maturity, wisdom, dignity, stern expressions, serene acceptance, composure…  On the other hand, I still rather enjoy the childish aspects of my personality.  I’m reluctant to give them up.

However, when I finally make the momentous decision to do so, Kid Confidential: An Insider’s Guide to Grown-Ups will be my guide.  This wonderful book is written by Monte Montgomery and illustrated by Patricia Storms.

I’ve mentioned Patricia on my blog before.  If it weren’t for this talented (she not only illustrates children’s books and magazines, she writes them), funny and a little bit crazy (delightfully so – that’s why we’re friends) woman, I would never have started blogging.  So, you have Patricia to either curse or bless regarding my presence in the blogosphere.

On her blog, Patricia is currently hosting a Kid ConfidentialBook Giveaway Contest.

To quote the lady:  “Here’s how it works. I will give away three paperback copies of this awesome book, plus 1 hardcover. That means four fabulous lucky folks will win! But you can’t win if you don’t comment on this blog post. And I request that your comment be either A) When you realized that you had finally became a grown-up or B) When you realized that you would never become a grown-up. Contest starts today, and ends Sunday May 6th, midnight, Canuck Toronto time (whatever that is). I will put all the names of the folks who have commented into my magic tin, and pull the winning names out, and announce them on this blog, Monday May 7th.”

To inspire you, here’s the comment I left:

“I’ve known for years I will never become a full-fledged grown-up.  I don’t simply possess an inner-child, I am a child – in many ways.  Burping, potty-talk, giggling, stomping my foot in puddles, mini-temper tantrums, indulging in “treats,” reading children’s books, defying orders, kicking piles of autumn leaves…all these things still delight me.  Being a grown-up is highly overrated.  I’m quite content retaining my sense of wonder and my belief in miracles and magic.  (But I do know there is no Santa Claus.)”

Do pay a visit to Patricia’s blog to learn more about the book and to leave a comment.  You’ll not only make both of us very happy if you do, but yourself as well - whether you win a copy or not.  Patricia is a treat.  A sweet, funny one.

Perspective

 

I had a wonderful time away.  Among other things, I discovered you’re never too old to build a snowman.  Although, if memory serves (and granted, it doesn’t always serve well) my snowmen used to be much bigger.

Is the “mini” in my Mini-Me snowman due to my having grown taller or lazier?

And while building snowmen is fun, snowball fights are not.  Too many childhood memories of ice chunks hidden in snowballs.  (Nasty Canadian boys.)  However, a mitten or glove of snow in the face or down the back of the neck is acceptable.  Not particularly pleasant, but acceptable.  And revenge is sweet.

I Dare You...

As a child, if you dared me to do something, I‘d do it.  There didn’t even have to be a monetary reward involved.  The thrill and reward was taking on the dare – earning the respect of my peers.  Funny kind of respect, but, hey, we were kids…

I once:

 Chewed a blob of gum found on the sidewalk...

 if memory serves, it looked remarkably like this one

Ate a dead ant (not even chocolate covered) 

And a dead worm

 the one I ate was smaller – and I refused the dare to eat a live one

I also ate a bowl of porridge full of tiny insects.  This last culinary delight was not on a dare but was by mistake - my father’s mistake.  He’d prepared it from a bag of OLD oats and I would have eaten anything made by my father.

 couldn’t find an image with insects – these are raisins

Times have changed.  This week I threw out an entire apple and some grapes – all appeared to have been nibbled by mice.  No amount of washing could convince me to eat their leftovers.  Although, yes, I would if I were starving.

Where did my spirit of adventure go?  My willingness to take risks?

Or maybe I just need someone to dare me…???

photo credits: google images

Dear Santa - Part Two

Apparently, I am still playing Santa to young children this Christmas – and delighted to do so.

I purchased this antique dollhouse for an eight year old girl named Beth.  Considering the fact Beth is now a mature woman of a certain delectable age, she is inordinately thrilled with her early Christmas gift.  And if you are at all curious as to the history of a dollhouse vis-à-vis young Beth, check out this link.

While in an antique store, I stood mesmerised in front of this dollhouse.  It was calling my name.  “Beth (or, rather, Bethie…), you want me.  We’ve been destined to be together lo these many years…”  Okay, okay, I realize it wasn’t actually talking – that the voice I was hearing was my own, but still – enchantment reigned.  And the storeowner knew he was looking at an easy mark.

Moral of the story?  It may sound crass, but not only can money can buy happiness, it can also purchase a dream.  And it is never too late to fulfill a dream – if you remain a child at heart.

And, no, I do not “play” with it.  Yet.  It needs repairs.  Hence, its very affordable price.  I have a handyman coming to do repairs around the house in two weeks.  I wonder if he’d consider working on a dollhouse?

(if a certain someone is reading this and his memory happens to be in “function mode” – yeah, I know…it was a very, very early xmas gift)

An April Fool

"A child of five would understand this. Send someone to fetch a child of five."
~ Groucho Marx

Big smile when I came across this quotation – so on point and timely.

It’s either my age (hormonal imbalance and all that jazz) or the myriad of thoughts swirling about my brain (do this, do that…no, do this first and then do that…) but I’m having trouble making sense of the world these days. In fact, I’m having trouble making any kind of sense - period.

My youngest helps – he very kindly points out my flawed thinking processes and occasionally manages to fill in the blanks for me.

I think a five year old would be even better. A little less judgmental, low on the sarcasm and would provide some much-needed clarity. Children have a knack for seeing the world as it is, for getting priorities straight.

Truly, there are days I think I’m nucking futs.

Maybe it’s just a case of spring fever? The warm weather has finally arrived! Had my hair all chopped off in celebration. I feel like a new woman - still “futs” but with a different look. Wonder what I’ll do next? The possibilities are endless... Skip town? Change my name? A singing career with Oreneta?

I need that five year old.

But just a rental – not to own. I’m not that crazy.



Photo credit: http://www.bestuff.com/stuff/splashing-in-puddles

Heartfelt & Shameless...

(& thrilled to do it)…promotion for my talented, witty and beautiful friend - author and illustrator Patricia Storms!






Do check out Patricia’s blog re: the following events:


A book giveaway for her new book “The Pirate and the Penguin.” If you have a child or know of a child (you must know at least one) they would love this delightful story. Although I’m not a child (okay, sometimes maybe I am…) I love it and I own two copies. One will be given away as a Christmas gift and the other is mine to keep. Yes, I am the proud owner of an autographed copy.

Photo credit: Debbie Ohi

And for those of you living in Toronto or nearby, Patricia and her husband will be performing a skit based on the book Sunday, October 18 in Don Mills. Click on this link for details as to time, location, etc. I guarantee the skit will be great – and I oughta know. I’ve spent time with this woman. She possesses a talent for being funny & silly as well as for writing and illustrating.

Possible added bonus – you might just see me there! ;)


And just so you know, I wouldn’t promote anyone’s work if I didn’t love it.

Define Junk

When in a quiet, contemplative mood, don’t ever attempt to go through that drawer or box full of old diaries, journals and scraps of paper with scribbled thoughts and poetry from your childhood and youth with the thought of tossing them.

You will simply end up reading over all those things and it will break your heart – just a little bit – to visit that young girl you once were.

And so you’ll put it all back for another time – a time when you’re feeling tougher, a little more ruthless, more inclined to let go.

I wonder when that time will ever be?


I am in the process of purging throughout the house. My definition of what constitutes junk is impeding this process.


photo credit: http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1196831

Mr. Hippo and I

Never underestimate the worth (and pleasure) of a childish Hippo flashlight during a power failure.

And if it emits a goofy laugh when turned on – and every 15 seconds thereafter – even better.

You have light and laughter in the darkness.


And if caught brushing your teeth when the power failure strikes? Just spit in the sink, search for a flashlight in the pitch dark, curse the kid who took the “normal” one (on a camping trip?) and be grateful Mr. Hippo is still around.

Eternal Youth

Yup. I was right. I’m now wearing braces – but of a very simple kind. A bonded wire was affixed to my six bottom front teeth today. Saints be praised, the wire is on the back of the teeth although this set-up is irritating my tongue something fierce.

I was very, very good during the procedure. In fact, I was told afterward, “Working on you was like working on a mannequin.” In other words, a dead body. I totally zoned out. Best way to endure that kind if thing – if you can.

I know this wire is a very minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, but still, what next?

Well, after the ortho visit, I had an appointment to get my hair trimmed. (And, yeah, dyed – again. I really hate this dyeing the hair routine.) Anyway, I decided to get my hair cut really short, pull my bangs back with a barrette, go around with my mouth pursed (to hide the wire which is certainly visible to me because, of course, I keep opening my mouth WIDE to look) and make the transformation back to childhood complete.

My riveting appearance and allure just continue to improve with age. Amazing, isn’t it? One might think I’ve made a Faustian pact with the devil.

No current photo with the wire in place – you’ll just have to trust me that with my hair cut short, etc., I look exactly like I do in the photo above – with just a few (!) laugh lines added to that chubby face.

The Graduate

Off to my son’s graduation ceremony today - which is actually tomorrow but we figured a relaxing stay at a hotel beats an early rise and battling Tuesday morning traffic.

This is one of those milestones in your child’s life where, while they did all the work, you get to share in the sense of accomplishment.

For a mother, such an occasion also tends to bring back memories of their child’s first day of school – and, perhaps, a few tears. Just a few. Tears of joy and pride.

While many believe mothers are incapable of being objective regarding their children, mothers know otherwise. We may love them without reservation, but we know who they are and what they’re capable of better than anyone.

And so, when I say that this quiet, committed and compassionate child of mine will make his mark in the world, believe me, he will.

He already has.

When I Was a Child...I Understood as a Child...

While reading last night, I was reminded of some of the misconceptions and beliefs I held as a child. The one that prompted the memories was in reference to a:

Window Sash

When I read that someone had opened a window sash, I imagined them lifting up an armful of material (shaped somewhat like a big bow) and wondered why they didn’t have glass windows like we did. The sash would probably look nicer but didn’t the wind, the rain and the snow come in? Didn’t they get cold?

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.

I wondered why these three women would want to follow me (or anybody) and if they would ever speak to me. Since this line was in the 23rd Psalm, I thought it must be true but I never saw them (were they ghosts? angels?) nor did they ever speak to me.
I also thought Goodness was a strange name for a girl.

Movies

I used to wonder why people in movies didn’t seem to notice when music started playing. (And it began to play in some pretty unlikely situations.) The people never even stopped what they were doing or saying.
This one has carried over into adulthood. I still find it a bit disconcerting when music begins during a scene unless I happen to be watching a musical.

Frowns

My grandmother used to tell me that if I frowned, my face would stay that way. Ever the curious, doubting child, I finally decided to test this. Frowning, I looked at myself in the mirror for about a minute. It seemed like a very long time - long enough for a test, anyway.
And then I smiled. She was wrong!
(But I still remember her words when frowning.)


I do believe I carry around some adult misconceptions (which have been pointed out to me on numerous occasions) but I’m not sharing any of these. Such things are cute when you’re a child – not so much now.


Photo credit: http://oklo.org/?page_id=9

Easter Bunny Redux

posing at the entrance to his cave (yes, his cave)

The above image is of my eldest - aka the Easter Bunny.

I must say, it’s a unique and special feeling having given birth to the Easter Bunny. Thank God I figured out how to keep my bunny procreation to a minimum otherwise I’d have been overwhelmed with beloved offspring. Did you know rabbits can have a litter every 31 DAYS? And produce 1-14 babies per litter? Dodged a bullet there…

The Easter Bunny and his Mother
(note the strong family resemblance)

He did a wonderful job this year. Only two kids were terrified of him and he only (almost) lost his head (literally) while doing a few cartwheels for the kiddie crowd.

So proud of you, my boy! All those years of schooling finally paid off.

the good-looking dude in the foreground is the TEB’s godson

this little sweetheart* was terrified of TEB
(but loved posing for me)

Permission was obtained for posting the pictures of the two children. Permission was not even asked of my son as to the posting of his pictures. But, hey, he’s one tough wascally wabbit and a good sport. It’s all good.


(*The sweetheart has been known to perform solo dance routines (ballet oriented) on the cottage deck accompanied only by her own fetching singing voice. Audience not required but if you happen to be there, she will present you with a curtsy following each number. Love the unselfconscious behaviour of children!)

Being Cool

With the temperature to reach 32 Celsius (89.6 Fahrenheit), it’s a day for running through the sprinkler, a picnic lunch under the shade of the maple tree (PBJ sandwiches), a spitting watermelon seeds contest, eating as many popsicles as you can and hoping the Ice Cream Truck plays its jingle nearby.

And while I’m perfectly capable of doing all those things, odds are I won’t.

(Well, maybe the popsicles…)

Growing up is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Hot summer days were much more enjoyable as a child.

As long as you could be outside and find ways to cool off, life was good.


“I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream…”

(childhood chant)

First Day of Spring (& Stuff)

And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

My Lost Youth (excerpt)
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow



Yes, it’s the first day of spring after a particularly long snow-laden winter - and my thoughts are already turning to summer. Strange that. Very premature.

I think I’d best pause and appreciate all the spring season has to offer before dreaming of the warmth and freedom of those summer months.

And I’ll start with the fact that despite the still existing mounds of snow, I can finally see pavement, brown patches of grass and the basement hasn’t flooded with all that melting snow and recent rainfall.

Hallelujah!

Which is also an appropriate exclamatory remark with Easter fast approaching. (And what’s up with this early Easter date???)

The above “summer” photo (yeah, I’ve meandered back to musing about summer) is of my eldest. Years ago. He is a devoted fisherman of the “catch and release” variety. With him is Bailey – a sweetheart of a dog who is no longer with us. And that is mist rising off the lake – not a photo flaw.

I think of Longfellow’s poem whenever I look at this picture.

I love that phrase, "A boy's will is the wind's will…”

Time to end this post. I’ve gone off on far too many tangents. (Count ‘em – spring, summer, Easter, fishing, dogs, poetry…) Refreshing to do – perhaps not so easy to follow along.

(Does a post have to have a specific point? Are there rules?)

Childhood Memories

Last fall, Patricia hosted a Good Granny Bad Granny contest. She is the talented illustrator of a fabulous book of the same title.

I was reluctant to enter. With my “granny” history, I wasn’t able to write anything that fit in either category. However, with Patricia’s encouragement and despite my reservations, I wrote a piece. I’m glad I did.

Here is an edited version. I think (tentatively) it is worth sharing.

Good Granny/Bad Granny

My grandmother (“Gama”) fit the definition of WASP to a “T” and was a snob of epic proportions. She could be cruel in her dismissal of others.

She was a terrible racist and intolerant of all religions but her own.

She was blatant in her favourtism regarding her children and her grandchildren. I was not one of her favourites.

She was wealthy, reveled in it and had no sense of how others lived. When I married, she offered this advice. “Live off the interest – do not touch your capital.” (Who possessed capital when newly married??)

There are more bad memories, but nothing to be gained by recounting them.

And yet….

My Gama showed me where the fairies lived in the forest by the cabin she and my grandfather owned. I believed her for I was able to see all the clues they’d left behind. What an enchanting place for a child of six.

She sat with me on the slippery, smooth rocks in the freezing cold stream by this forest – and taught me to delight in the sensations of cold, of water rushing by. And to imagine what wondrous places the water was rushing to…

When “doing lunch” with her at Simpson’s Arcadian Court at the age of seven (dressed in my black patent shoes and smocked dress) I somehow managed to twist my legs behind and through the opening at the back of the chair. I was stuck. Gama calmly raised a hand to summon a waiter to rectify the situation. Not a word was said as to my unseemly behaviour. I was grateful.

She clapped in delight when her granddaughters performed lip sync and dance routines. A gracious nod of encouragement was given if one of us happened to trip and fall. (Which I was known to do.)

She taught me to love the works of William Shakespeare.

And she was a breast cancer survivor. Which I never knew until I was an adult.


How does a child reconcile the bad with the good? They really don’t. Confusion and misunderstanding result from the mixed signals. You are taught to love your grandmother and you do, but you just don’t understand this person. And you are a little bit afraid of her.

Thank God my parents taught me what is good – taught me kindness, consideration, compassion, tolerance and how to love in a healthy manner.

Ultimately, the lesson learned is this - the world is a place of contradiction. Good and evil co-exist. And while it is imperative to recognize the difference between the two, you can love the goodness in a person despite the bad.

So Gama, in many ways you were a “Good Granny.”

And for all those wonderful memories, I thank you.

Spiders and Toads and Ears! Oh, My!

This post was inspired by two spiders who had the gall to be hanging around my home. They met their death via wads of paper towels and Beth’s heavy hand.

Premeditated murder? Yes. Remorse? No. But the massacre got me thinking about childhood superstitions.

Kill a Daddy-Long-Legs spider and it will rain the next day.

It didn’t rain the day after I killed these dudes. It didn’t even snow. However, the possibility crossed my mind. I allow these creatures to live unless they are invading MY SPACE.

Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.

As a kid I made a point of avoiding cracks in the sidewalk - even when I was mad at my mom for some idiotic reason. Too risky. My mother’s back is fine – unlike mine. Perhaps I should have pestered my kids more often as to stepping on those cracks and the possible consequences to my well-being.

Touch a toad (or frog?) and you’ll grow a wart on your hand.

I can debunk this myth with authority. While I’m not fond of toads and frogs, my eldest was (and is). He used to collect them as pets although he always let them go. He has no warts on his hands. Nor do I from the rare occasions he convinced me to pat one.

(As for kissing a frog and having it turn into a Prince – I’ve never tested this one.)

If you experience a body shudder/shiver, someone is walking over your grave.

I don’t believe this for a second BUT after that involuntary shiver, I do pause and wonder where my earthly remains will end up.

If your ears are red and feel hot, someone is talking about you.

What an ego to believe this one! Anyway, let them talk.

If you have an itchy nose, you’re going to kiss a fool.

I’ve kissed some fools in my time but never noted a connection between those experiences and my nose being itchy. But now that I think about it, I never actually looked for a connection. It could exist and would explain WHY I kissed those fools.


Totally inane post, right? But it is amazing what our brains retain - all sorts of superstitions, warnings, admonitions, etc.

Like this last one. Another gem from my mother. I’m sure you’ve heard it, too.

Always wear clean underwear. You never know when you’ll be in an accident and end up in the hospital.

Who wears dirty underwear!?? And what a depressing thought to have whenever you leave the house.

Not that I actually think of it….

*********

An Extra Tidbit

Sherry of Sage and Thyme passed along this little gem to me with the words, “…to those who could use a little lovin’ right now for one reason or another – or in some cases, just because.”

I think I fall under both categories. Thank you, my friend.

While I suspect everyone in the world could do with some extra love, I’m limiting my “pass along” to Trish of The Coffee Shop. (I am so bad at these award things….)

So there you go, Trish – with some love and a “just because.”

Of Past Homes...

Do you ever come across a passage or sentence in a book that makes you pause and think? (Silly question. Of course you do.)

This one did it for me last night:

“Perhaps it was a truth of life that the house you mourned was the one where you found yourself.”

Songs Without Words – Ann Packer

That line hit home – so to speak. I believe the sentiment expressed to be true.

Growing up, I lived in seven different homes. Of those seven, one house haunts me still. Literally. I have dreams about it.

That is the home where I truly became conscious of my “self” – of the world beyond my childish dreams and concerns. And while I have many precious memories of my life there, it is the place where I lost the innocence of childhood.

I discovered that the world was not Beth’s playground.

It was not just sticks and stones and words that could hurt me. The world had other weapons.

So, yes, I did “find myself” there. And I do mourn it.

The house still exists. I think it best I visit only through memories. My mind (with its amazing powers of healing and protection) has made that the safest way to journey to that particular place in my past.

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

Behold my amateur photography efforts to show you some of the art displayed on the walls in my home.

(Be thankful I am not displaying my own artistic work again.)

Picture # 1 is a favourite. I’m unable to explain why. I just happen to like the visual effects. For all I know, it could be a rendition of the apocalypse or interesting blood splatter from a gruesome death. No matter. I don’t feel obliged to explain my reasons for liking abstract art – or any art. It either speaks to you at some level or it doesn’t.

Picture # 2 is my VERY favourite. It too appears to be a work of abstract art. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to describe this as an example of impressionism since it actually is a five year old’s impression of an outdoor scene. (From the collection: Sam Stewart – The Early Years.)

This particular artist did not trust the general public to understand the meaning behind his art. He provided an explanation.

“I am on this side of East.
It is night time.”

However, it is left up to the observer to wonder why the sun is shining during the night and to contemplate what it means to be “on this side of east.” Ah, the mystery of it all…

I love this painting!

If you feel the urge to fill your home with meaningful, beautiful works of art, I suggest framing some of your children’s best efforts. To my keen and observant eye, there’s not a whole lot of difference between these two paintings.

And money aside, which painting do you think is of greater value to me?

Dear Santa

This is what I want for Christmas:






Okay, I would settle for this:






Because as a little girl when I asked (prayed) for a dollhouse from Santa, I got this:






Are you trying to figure out what that is? It’s my (pitiful) sketch of a circular BUNGALOW dollhouse. I have no artistic talent at all - which is painfully obvious. I can’t (or won’t) tell you the number of sketches I drew before settling on this pathetic one. Trust me. It’s the best I can do.

Anyway, I would have spared you my art work but I COULD NOT find an image of a BUNGALOW dollhouse anywhere.

And the reason for that? My guess is – they don’t exist. They weren’t a hit back then and never became one. Production must have stopped after such abysmal sales that year.

Imagine my devastation Christmas morning. Obviously, Santa (a.k.a. my parents) had no comprehension as to how one played with a dollhouse. A BUNGALOW dollhouse just doesn’t cut it. And do you know why? Because as the director of the dollhouse family drama you must be able to see into each and every room. Having to turn the damn thing around in a circle to check the rooms, the furniture and the people is just plain wrong. You must maintain vigilant control at all times – you must know what every figure is doing in every room, every second. The story of your dollhouse family will not flow without this constant attention to every detail.

Does this make any kind of sense?

Can you tell I am still a little upset over this?

Really, it was just one of those minor childhood traumas.

I’ll get over it. Eventually.

(But just in case anyone was wondering what to get me for Christmas….)

Old Friends

It’s time to get back to serious matters on this blog.

What better way to do so than with a book?

And not just any book.

The above is a photograph of my childhood copy of Winnie the Pooh. (Probably stolen from my older sister but possession is nine-tenths of the law.)

This is the book that was read to me, that I eventually read on my own and, that, yes, I defaced - although that’s rather a harsh word for the scribblings of a little girl.





At the time, it was imperative that I trace the path from Pooh’s house to Christopher Robin’s house to Piglet’s house to Rabbit’s house…

It just seemed the right thing to do.

I uncovered this gem while going through a box of books from university. Which begs the question – had I taken this book with me to university? How attached was I to Winnie the Pooh and friends?

As a child, I thought the dedication in this book was written especially for me.


To Her

Hand in hand we come
Christopher Robin and I
To lay this book in your lap.
Say you’re surprised?
Say you like it?
Say it’s just what you wanted?
Because it’s yours –
Because we love you.


(I still think it was written just for me….)