Leave a comment Posted on February 6, 2016February 6, 2016 Uncategorized

Almost a Year to Fifty: My Memories of Trinidad Carnival – Carnival Baby/Savannah Chile.

Dear Dad,

In Trinidad right now, things are heating up as Carnival approaches. I have been looking at all the goings on through the lens of Maria Nunes ( yes, Maria Nunes self, Joe daughter, the talented golfer) who is a photographer now and Dad, she’s good; a talented artist. She is excellent at capturing the essence of mas …the essence of our culture. I look at it all and I am so grateful to her for sharing what she sees everywhere she roams, from stick fighting competitions to the carnival King and Queen costume competition (where I find the costumes sweet too bad, this year) to Panorama where her photographs have made it so easy for me to actually hear the sweet notes of the pan.

Hear nuh, Bas, I think this was the year to go home for Carnival, but Adam is competing in the National Winter Games and the only plane ride we’re taking this winter is to Corner Brook, Newfoundland to see him speed skate and cheer him on. And oui papa, after 10 years, Minshall is back, and so is the theatre of mas. He took a piece of Russian Ballet culture, flipped it around and has a dude in drag, as a moko jumbie with pointe shoes painted at the feet, doing a continuous bourree across the stage to classical music before chippin’ off the stage to soca. Its called The Dying Swan, Ras Nijinsky In Drag As Pavlova, portrayed ever so wonderfully by Jha-Whan Thomas. Dad, it’s beautiful, its ugly, it’s graceful, it’s clumsy, it’s fragile yet strong and it is something to behold. It is a show stopper, it makes the audience quiet for a moment and they applaud because they find it intriguing. It is, as always, Minshall and as always it is as praised and appreciated as much as it is criticized.

I see it as ole time mas, meets foreign culture, interpreted to suit today’s world with a uniquely Trinidadian flavour. It pushes you to look into history to the days in many countries when men portrayed female characters; it pushes you to remember and respect the history and performance of mas when you see it is a moko jumbie and in case yuh ain’t know who Anna Pavlova was, you damn well know now. I am glad I lived to see Minshall do it all again albeit via vidoes and photographs on Facebook. And Peter, Dad, is Peter just as you left him – brilliant, passionate, unintentionally envelope pushing and his mind? Well, even now in his older years, meh boy mind still wide open and he is as articulate and expressive as always.

Even from all the way here in this no-place where I have found myself, I can feel the spirit of Carnival. Just from what Janine and Sui Yen and other friends and family at home post, I can transport myself there. You’d be happy to know I still remember the sound of your voice and I can hear you clear as day talking about Burrokeet, Bookman, Pierrot Grenade, Bat,

Red Devil, Blue Devil, Minstrels, Dame Lorraine, Fancy Indian and Fancy Sailor. I remember Reina was afraid of Jab Jabs and for some reason I was always terrified by a story you and Mummy told us about a man who lived in Belmont who used to play Devil who died Dimanche Gras night (from lead poisoning no doubt when he painted his skin) maybe because he played Devil mas one too many times??? When Mummy played Mas and you had to take us to the Savannah while you did the commentary for the parade of bands on Carnival Monday and Tuesday, we had the best seat in the house – right under camera 1, to the left of the Grand Stand, up high in the wooden scaffolding with all we needed to eat and drink…pelau, sorrel, souse, macaroni pie and currents rolls, sugar cake and tamarind balls galore!

We were two little girls with a whole television crew of baby sitters, watching mas, waving to the masqueraders we knew, taking in our culture. But you know, Dad, as much as I loved the modern mas, I have to tell you I loved when the ole time mas took the stage for their moment to remind the North Stand and the Grand Stand where it all began. The little Pan Round De Neck bands,

The Drunken Sailors and Fancy Firemen with their theatrical saga boy dance; the mesmerizing writhing of the Bat Dance and my absolute favourite, the Midnight Robbers and their Robber Talk.

There was this one older gentleman with a fully beaded and worked up Robber mas taking to the mic for his monologue saying ( and you know my memory for nonsense) “I am the Midnight Robber and you shall never know when and you shall never know where but I will come for you in the darkness and just like your father before you I will disintegrate you and grind your bones into gun powder” and then he shot the cap in his gun and scared the living crap out of me and Reina.

As he made his slow, deliberate, dramatic stride off the stage I wondered if I would ever see that Robber again and for six years I did and even saw his young son or grand son with him in the later years, giving his Robber Talk to the crowd on Carnival Monday and Tuesday, keeping the tradition alive. I tell you Daddy, I have so many moments of my childhood in Trinidad, frozen in time in my mind that it doesn’t really seem like I have lived abroad longer than I lived at home.

When I am looking to connect with what is going on for Carnival, I find the best time is at night when while the boys sleep. The cold of winter stays outside as I surf the net, curious as to what is going on now at home for carnival, ever so grateful for Panorama clips and soca videos looking for anything to remedy this homesickness. Tonight, my mind took me back to every Carnival Sunday drifting into J’ouvert when the music trucks and steel bands from the fete at the Chinese Association would take to the streets, heading down St. Ann’s Road and into Port of Spain. Curled up in my current bed tucked under a heavy comforter to keep me warm, I am taken back to a time when all I needed was a thin, multi-coloured striped cotton blanket to cover me, fan blasting on hi-speed 3 in a too-warm-to-sleep room, listening to the revelers and the music, longing for the day when it would be my turn to chip in the streets J’ouvert morning from a fete.

The only problem with remembering all that I do, Dad, is that it’s Carnival and this is when I miss you the most. This is when Sui Yen and Meiling miss Uncle Kit Sang and this is where Dominique and Gabrielle miss Uncle Nicky. Daddies like you were our original connection to Carnival and all things in our culture. Daddies like you made your children appreciate what it is to be Trinidadian.

Like I said in your eulogy, not many parents would put their kids in the car late for so on a school night and drive them to a pan yard in Lavantille, Woodbrook or Belmont. You took us to mas camps to see how mas was made; took us back stage at the Savannah during the King, Queen (and back in the day Individual) preliminaries, semi finals and Dimanche Gras competitions. I remember being so small and the costumes being so big, beautiful and at times frightening but I loved the atmosphere and the lights, the smell and the sound of the casters at the bottom of the costumes. I remember the names of the winning costumes through the years and who portrayed them and what band they were from. I remember one of the last costumes Uncle Archie worked on – it was an individual and he was part of what looked like a French Cafe. It was a small mas compared to the others but it was so well made and wonderfully decorated and the colours were this rich emerald green, gold and purple and though I knew he was not going to win, I hoped that he did. I remember the calypso/soca monarchs from years and years ago AND I remember what they wore, the skits performed while they sang, the political satire and I remember lyrics from way too long ago. Chalk Dust, Sparrow, Kitchener, Crazy, Rose, Rudder, Brigo, Scrunter, Penguin, Gypsy, Denise, Super Blue when he was Blue boy and Explainer and those are just a few. I remember going with you to each mas camp to pre-interview each band leader, gathering all the info you could before you and the other announcers broadcast the shows, me feeling lucky to see the inside of a mas camp, staring at the sketches of all the costumes in the various sections and always happy to head home with a flawed headpiece or standard or a piece of a costume every time.

I remember the rivalry between the uncles when it came to whether Despers, your beloved Tokyo (because you worked at Carib), Invaders or All Stars were the best steel bands and I remember EVERY year you would tell us about what Carnival was like when you played as a young man and yes, they gave you a lot of cloth for your money when Sally brought Imperial Rome …What was it?…ah yes…gold lame AND you got mas boots as part of your costume. You took me to my first J ‘Ouvert and dropped me to my last and put Adam on your shoulders when he was a baby and chipped through my band in Woodbrook with him so he could see his mummy in her costume. When I brought Tom and friends home, you made sure we had a Carnival experience to remember, making sure everybody tasted all the food, made sure everybody had their costume and drove us everywhere at anytime teaching everybody that they were indeed taking part in the Greatest Show on Earth. Carnival has changed over the years, and some say it isn’t what it used to be but what I was exposed to as a child has created those frozen in time memories I spoke about earlier. Memories that make me smile. They are nice reminders of who I am now that I am so far away and have been for quite some time. One thing is for sure, no matter how Carnival has changed, the atmosphere is the same, as is the vibe that brews from deep inside our bellies and allows us all (every creed and race) to find that rhythm that was fused into our being way back in 1838. Rhythm from tamboo bamboo, biscuit tins, tassa and the mighty oil barrel that dictates the movement of the hips of every Trinbagonian baby.

In my mind, there is book learning and then there is cultural awakening and I have you to thank, Dad, for making me a Carnival Baby, a Savannah Chile … a true Trinidadian. I have lived in three different countries, one state and three provinces and I have always been as Mr. Rudder says, “Trini to de Bone”. Drop me anywhere and I will still be Daniella from St. Ann’s because of you. If you could take us, Daddy, you did; anywhere, anytime. From parking behind the rails at the horse races at the Savannah to all things carnival, to kite flying, to cricket, to going for coconut water and jelly and oysters and roast corn, to football, to look at the boats race in Caranege – you took us everywhere all the time and you populated my mind with treasures that I will take to my grave. I tell the boys about all this but it is not their experience because they are Canadian and that is fine. They know about it and appreciate it as much as they can but this is mine to share with Reina and Mummy and the cousins and that’s kind of nice, having this thing that is unique to us. Thank you for being our teacher and our tour guide through the most important trails of our culture. Thank you for the stories and the experiences, the tastes, sights, smells and sounds that will stay with me forever. What you gave to me is worth more than precious metals, more than gems, more than money. You gave me my Trini soul. It was an honour to have you as a father. It go be waxin’ warm from tonight,Dad and I can’.t wait to see Maria’s photos. Maybe you have a stadium seat in the great beyond and you are seeing it all. Maybe you are back and in the midst of it, if resurrection or re-incarnation is a thing,,,either way, I miss you and I wish we were there together like old times.

And so I end this letter to you, knowing maybe you are not watching us from some great beyond but in case you are, here are some calypsos we used to sing in the car on the way to school back in the day and a couple I remember you holding on to Mummy and “taking a lil chip” with her at at Uncle Mike’s and Uncle Nicky’s house fetes.

XOXOXO your first girl…your Danie.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G8Bm11vZDG8 (For Reina ) Look the Devil – Penguin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-roUT3G5Bq0 (For you and Me and Mom) The Sinking Ship – Gypsy

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKNrCUHIPnM (Again for Reina) Tiney Winey – Byron Lee

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VCYlLG8VR8 (For All of Us) Trini to De Bone – David Rudder

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cYkqMT6HKD0 (For You and Me) King Liar – Lord Nelson

Leave a comment Posted on January 23, 2016 Uncategorized

Just over a Year to Fifty: The Fun and Importance of Keeping Conversation, Kissing, Friendship and Love Alive in Marriage.

Last Sunday, we woke up to snow. The first true day of winter came just 4 days earlier after an unseasonably warm November and December. There were high winds, blowing snow and it was damn cold. But on Sunday, the snow was steady, coming down like heavy rain one minute, changing to a slow and gentle flow of snowflakes from the gloomy grey sky the next. Albeit not my favorite season, I love winter days when it snows endlessly, especially if I have nowhere to go and nothing important to do. It’s a nice alternative to the usual winter days when you have to be out in the bitter cold, shoveling your driveway and sidewalk, scraping your car and generally sitting upright and hyper alert while driving about town. After being born and raised for twenty years in a tropical climate, I have seen twenty seven winters now; twenty nine if you count the two I spent at Syracuse University, and though I have lived abroad longer than I have in the land of my birth, I am, as calypsonian David Rudder puts it, “Trini to the bone”. I suppose you could say I have been able to embrace my adopted home and embrace it’s wintry climate by actually learning to do the fun things in winter mostly due to joining my kids and husband in snowball fights, tobogganing , skiing, snowboarding, skating and hockey and realizing that when you make an effort to enjoy it, winter can sometimes go by before you know it.

It’s easy to stay in bed a little longer on a snowy morning, jumping out just long enough to brush your teeth so that kissing is pleasant and enjoyable. Let’s face it, they only kiss first thing in the morning in movies. It was one of those Sunday mornings that we have referred to as “Lazy Day” chez nous and it is how we “take Sunday back”. Mornings like these usually start with me rolling over, bidding Tom good morning and asking him a single question that would lead to an all out, in depth discussion which would continue into our walk with our dog and a drive to our favorite coffee shop for our Sunday morning treat. The question that morning was “Tom, what scares you?” to which he replied in his uber deep morning voice with the slightly oh-here-she-goes-this-is-going-to-be-a-long-one tone of voice, “Spiders and heights”.

Staring out the window at the snow, his long arm wrapped around me, we talked about why, in spite of his fear of heights he rode crazy roller coasters and parachuted out of a perfectly good airplane and how I don’t understand why a man who stands 6 feet 2 and 195 needs reams of paper towel to kill a spider the size of his index finger print. He had no cool or concrete answer for the spider thing but as it turns out, the parachuting and crazy rides were some of the ways he faced his fears. We chatted and segued from one topic to the next. Unknowingly, fingers interlaced, my chin on his shoulder, we talked about the Hadron Collider, our theories about inoculation, antibiotics and the constant evolution of the human species. Before we knew it, legs were no longer woven and we were out of the comfort of our bed, dressed and outside walking hand in hand in the snow up to the trail where we would throw the ball for the dog, pausing for a moment to take a look at and chuckle at her red toss toy that was still stuck up in the pine tree in spite of that windy Wednesday. We chatted about how incredibly brilliant Adam is and how hard it must be for him to have to do some of the things he does because we live in a society that is filled with people mostly comfortable thinking and living inside the proverbial box. It was then we vowed again to give him the happiest life we possibly could and to make him as independent as possible without squashing who he is. We then turned our attention to Logan and voiced how pleased were at his maturity, astute and insightful nature, in spite of his bouts of male goofiness and periodic brain lapses that make us shake our heads. We spoke of cave men, the first true scientists and inventors and that perhaps the development and utilization of verbal language and body language is why we have the emotion of love. We talked about God, the abuse of religion and the irony of religious wars and how disappointing it was to occasionally discover how many people who were the pillars of their churches were actually the most corrupt human beings around. Climbing in to the car, the conversation became about the balance of science and religion in our lives; he, a non-worshiper continuing to maintain an open-mindedness about the possibility of the existence of a being or force such as God because there were still some things science could not explain and an existence of God, in his opinion could not be disproved. And then there was me, someone born and raised at home and at school in the church, with a personal evolved opinion about the way I view my religion, God, science and fact. I talked about the struggles I face navigating our life in light of what I had been taught about God, my occasional skepticism and the disappointment I feel when I come out of mass having been subjected to a “catholight” version of a sermon that often leaves me with nothing to draw from and apply to my life (I have been waiting to be moved by a sermon for about 4 years). Yet though tried, tested and challenged in life like everyone else, I cannot and will not let go of my religion even in the times when I seem to have stronger hope than I do faith. A sharp left turn of the wheel, I lean into him and kiss him on the cheek like I always do and he smiles as he does every time, patting me on the thigh saying “Elephant shoes” – this phrase when mimed looks like you are saying “I love you”. That kind of moment to me. is still as wonderful as it was the first time we faced each other and said it at the end of the aisle on our wedding day, long past everyone’s view and it was silly and it was ours.

Our conversation came to a natural end when he descended into the basement to sit in front of his computer and I headed to the kitchen table so I could stare at the snow through the glass sliding door while I jotted my thoughts on all this. It snowed and snowed that day, stopping late at night. It was cold but we were toasty in our house, resting in our beds, waiting for sleep to overcome our minds and shut our bodies down before we had to welcome a new day and week. It was a wonderful snowy Sunday and I was glad we decided to “take it back”. To me, there is nothing more wonderful than chatting with someone you not only love to be with, but someone you actually connect with and can engage in intriguing and interesting conversations with and never grow bored of their company or what they have to say.

My marriage is not perfect; no marriage is but we are happily married (yes, I checked in with him before I typed this). Marriage is hard work and requires a lot of time, patience, understanding, respect and devotion from both partners. It’s recognizing when you have hurt the other and apologizing and trying not to do it again. It’s complimenting the other person randomly, lifting their spirits whether they need you to or not, holding hands, massaging shoulders, kissing, touching, making love to them and of course simply telling them you love them. I didn’t get married to be unhappy. I love spending time with my husband. I love that he still reaches for and holds my hand and that we kiss… a lot. My mother told me once that my grandmother told her in a few quite subtle words that keeping the love alive in bed is also a main ingredient when making a successful marriage and I certainly think my grandmother had given some sage advice. There is nothing stale or outdated or wrong about honoring the body of the person you love. Sure we all get older, change shape and size but that doesn’t mean we stop making love. Think of all those healthy, positive endorphins! Sex is certainly not just for the young or the promiscuous, or the unfaithful…I’m just saying…don’t let love making die. Life is too short to ignore it and it is also too short to not say “I love you” as much as you can.

I mentioned before, I asked Tom what scared him, the snowy, conversation laden Sunday morning. I told him I had many fears but my biggest fear which I have no real control over is, not growing old with him and not being able to do all that we would love to share together. I want us to be here to see our sons find their niche but based on the foundation we have laid, they will (even headstrong Mr. Adam). Beyond our children, I want to continue to grow the relationship I have with their father; to see the way we change as time goes on. Right now, and I try to live mostly in the now, it is a wonderful privilege to have someone to listen to and who listens to me. It’s a pleasure to take care of and be cared for by the person who promised to do so 19 years ago and it is an honour to continue that walk down the aisle hand in hand along what has become an unsteady and winding aisle of life, just as we promised we would in front of 22 of our family members and friends.

I am no expert on marriage. I’ve gotten it wrong many times over the years. I have frustrated him as much as he has frustrated me and of course we would. We are two very different people from two very different families and backgrounds who have chosen to live under the same room AND raise children together. Are there days when we both wonder if we chose not to marry? Are there days when we want to rip each other’s heads off or run around screaming in sheer frustration at the other person? Hell, yeah! I remember this foolish couple who sat in my living room years ago among other friends who declared that they never, ever ever, EVER fought. That they were such good friends there were never any raised voices, differences of opinion, sharp tones or words because they were buddies! Buddies, Buddies BUDDIES! Best, best friends who never got on each other’s nerves. Well, ran into them a few years later, a couple of kids later and it turned out that Mr. and Mrs “buddies” were divorced and not as civil and they could be. She was all about the kids and he drifted into a corner and disappeared and then got distracted and well … you can put the pieces together from all this. I know I have a rather colourful personality and disposition. Passionate and impatient are a couple words that describe me. Tom is patient and sometimes almost too patient. He is quiet with a temper that one sees maybe once a year but it’s there. He is strong where I am forceful and we boost and rein in each other as needed and over the years the relationship has been molded to suit each stage of our evolution as husband and wife; father and mother. We are all aware that some male humans have that basic animal instinct to spread as much seed as possible and some female humans have that other basic instinct that dictates the “okay I got my babies, thank you very much – off you go- to hell with you” thing going on sometimes, but we have to remember we are more evolved than that and that we certainly rise above cheating or neglecting the other partner’s need for attention and love.

I once had a conversation with another woman about being married and I told her if ever my husband and I have one of those “stinger” fights, one of the ways we mend is to remember why we got together in the first place and see if that plus all that we have built together is worth losing over whatever it is we lock horns over. She told me (and I have heard this before from other women and men) when she got married, it was what everyone she knew was doing and so she did. Based on this statement, do we conclude that some people are just insecure? Are some people lemmings? ( Oh look, my friends are jumping over a cliff, so I may as well ). Why would you marry someone you have nagging questions about in your head? Of course you can never truly say without a doubt, this is the perfect person for me. No one is perfect but if you don’t feel love for and from a person, why would you make such a commitment that will make you live a life trapped in misery living with a man who has become a roommate or a marriage that will only end in divorce? Mind you, if the damn thing is dead, set each other free and end it already! No one is doing anyone any favors (especially the kids) by putting up with a marriage. As a woman raising men, I say it is the responsibility of parents to raise the most respectful and honorable men we could but parents of girls must do the same. We must raise our children to not settle or succumb to the pressure of what other people are doing. Guys, even trophy wives loose their shine and get dusty and ladies, please don’t bring children into this world hoping to use them to make better husbands of your men. If you are with someone you really don’t want to be with adding kids to the mix is like adding oil to fire.

With almost one year to 50, 24 years of being together and 19 years of marriage all I can say is that I get it now. I get it when I look at my mother and listen to her now that is has been almost 10 years since my father passed away. She did not have a perfect marriage but she had a solid one filled with happiness, support and love and respect. I watched them put a lot of work into it, always remembering to put my sister and me aside from time to time to care for each other. Mom has done well considering her husband died and left her behind. I like to think that outside of what we can do for her and give her as daughters and grandchildren, it is the love she had with Dad that keeps her going. Watching her and Dad throughout their marriage has made me realize that I have to treasure my time with Tom. I think marriage should not be something we do. It is not just some next step. I have no intention of encouraging my children to marry or have children. They have to do what is right for them and they have to sort that out on their own. If they do marry, I hope what we are showing them is a good example as my parents’ marriage was for me. Our life has been very busy since our children were born like everyone’s but we have made it a point to make time for each other no matter how brief or to some perhaps dull and boring. I love our long conversations, our walks and our marathon TV days and nights. I love when we have a meal together, spend time over a coffee and when we occasionally go to the movies. Ever the optimist, he always says “the best is yet to come” and while I am sometimes afraid of “what if one of us misses it?” I am more fired up with anticipation because I believe he’s right. As long as we are fortunate enough to be healthy, keep the conversations alive, keep loving and caring for each other, I think and I hope my marriage won’t end in divorce or won’t end with us living trapped in a marriage that eventually will fizzle out. I hope (a very long time from now), like my parents, only death will do us part.

Leave a comment Posted on January 1, 2016 Uncategorized

Just Over a Year to 50 … In 2016 Happiness will be the Choice.

Christmas has just gone by and tomorrow a new year begins. As usual I’m sitting here checking out what is going on with Ryan Seacrest at Time Square in New York, wishing I was there because it looks like quite the good time. As I watch, I’m thinking about the year I have had; about what I have learned and what I would change and do differently. Perhaps I will try once again to make New Year’s resolutions and perhaps like every year since I was able to understand what a resolution was, they will fade away – but like my body, my hair and my mind, the way I do things will change yielding both good and poor results and life will go on. I will make many new mistakes but I think I shall not make old ones. I will have to be forgiven, I will have to forgive but I will not forget and as usual, I will live and learn with eyes and mind wide open and hope that so too will my sons.

I have been blessed to have all that I have – the good, the bad, the painful, the stressful and the maddening as all of it is a component of who I am. Every emotion, every situation and experience is the fibre of my life and this journey that is the most intriguing story. If life was a book, it would be the most perfect book filled with great mystery with endless twists and turns and around every other corner, a surprise for the main character. Whether the story be a long one or short, how fortunate we are each day to open our eyes with an opportunity to see a new episode of “the show”…our show and even on the most mundane of days there is something miraculous that happens with every breath, every sight, every step…most of which we take for granted. But that’s okay because all of us have moments when we stop and realize just how good our life is …because we have all tasted the bitterness. Yet, as sure as the sun will rise we also know the darkest days are always redeemed by days of light…we just have to pay close attention and we will all see that there is indeed good in everything.

With my 50th birthday just over a year away, I’ve been settling into the next-phase-of- life Daniella and I love her more than I ever did between the ages of 25 and 35. The numbers vary from person to person but we all can recall those flying blind, confusing, career chasing, home building, family life balancing, ever so busy and ever so-tired-from-taking-care-of the-the-babies- you -could-just-puke years between ages of 25 and 35. After all the growth and knowledge I gained during those years, I find the growth and knowledge that happens between the ages of 40 and 50 pleasant and comforting. Thanks to my mother, when I was quite young, I learned the importance of being comfortable in my own skin and confident in my choices . She always said, “If you can’t live with yourself, you can’t be happy living in this world,”. Over the years, on the days where my confidence was shaken or a difficult decision had to be made, that one sentence of my mother’s sometimes was all I needed to move forward and in the last ten years, more specifically the last three, I made a concerted effort to discover and re-discover the things I wanted to do that filled my soul and simply made me feel good. Absolutely, Tom and the children and all the things we did together and all the places we visited made me happy and satisfied but when you are juggling raising a family, working whenever you could, raising a kid like Adam, driving kids, encouraging kids, being that shoulder to lean on for your husband, keeping people properly fed and healthy, staying on top of what goes on at school, sports, tutoring, and therapies and funding, it is easy to lose a chunk of who you are and for me I put a part of myself on hold, mostly because when you are a wife and mother sometimes, it’s what one must do. So for a while, I put that Daniella on hold – the girl who always had time to do the things that made her heart smile … the girl with the imagination that ran wild with ideas and stories that stretched out the days and now that my boys are older and finding their paths and at work Tom and I are entering that fifth year of business that is a nice somewhat settled place to be, the opportunity to nudge that girl on hold and get her back in action again.

With age 50 approaching, I started looking at the way I did the “everyday ” things I thought were in order. Stupid little things that were a part of my life that had become stale and un-enjoyable. So, I started to re-evaluate them and made changes that changed my life and brought that dormant part of Daniella back to life. It started with the silliest of things like quitting the gym three years ago, to play my sports and to take up yoga which I love and now crave. But as I moved through the postures, I realized that something else was missing, something that yoga and my sports did not give me so I signed up for adult ballet classes and moved my body in ways it had not in what seemed like a hundred years. And in spite of the agony of retraining my body to move in a balletic and graceful way, I smile from that first pique at the barre to the final courtesy and applause for the pianist and I am bursting with joy.

Re-vamping the simple things started me on a path of slowly learning to re-vamp other areas of my life. On a friend’s suggestion, I started this blog. She knew I always wanted to write novels and articles and she knew even though I had a taste of being published a few times, I loved it and hated it equally. With our sons having autism she and I have a busy and unique lives compared to typical mothers and she understood why I always found it a struggle to find the time to write. I put a lot of pressure on myself to get manuscripts in on time, always checking and re-checking publishing requirements, tweaking and re-tweaking formats and praying and crossing my fingers and toes that I wouldn’t get a rejection letter. But this blog allowed me to start writing when I could find the time. With no deadlines or pressure, I could hit the keyboard and say what I had to say. It was a neat way to write for myself in a format and style that was perfect for me while sharing my thoughts with readers around the world. Taking her advice was the best damned decision I made with regards to my writing. While I feel that it is important to continue to learn how to write well, I cherish the no pressure outlet that is my blog, the freedom it affords me and the endless and priceless joy it brings me. It is all mine. I don’t have to change my words or phrases to please anyone and for the first time in years, I feel and smell and breathe this love of words once again. Perhaps when my boys step out on their own in a few years, I will buckle down in front of the computer and write my novel(s) but until then I shall blog to my heart’s content.

2015 was also a turning point for me as a parent. Raising a family today is quite different from when my parents raised our family and quite different from when Adam and Logan were children. I had to learn and learn to change in order to be everything I need to be while I walk beside my boys’ two very different journeys through puberty on their way to manhood. Raising young people is a fascinating privilege but it can be worrying and draining too. You have to be firm enough, authoritative enough with the right amount of trust, gentleness, support and understanding with a generous sense of humour and copious amounts of patience all wrapped up with reams and reams of love. I have found it more important now to take the time to step away from dealing with them (especially Adam) than I did when they were little because there is a whole lot more to worry about now than when they were small. Happily, Logan is on the right path so far and hopefully, Adam will find his way back to the peace he used to have before puberty.

Looking at the last 10 years of our life like a rollercoaster ride, our cars were filled with moving back to Ontario and establishing ourselves, raising little boys who are now teenage boys, my father’s illness and ultimate death, my mother’s life without him, new jobs, old jobs, Tom’s parents’ health, our growing businesses, perimenopause, school,religion, work relationships, friendships and Adam’s autism. And as these very full and heavy cars approached the top of the track Tom and I worked very hard and hoped and prayed that on the long steep decent that preceded all the twists and turns to come, we could keep everything and everyone securely and safely fastened in the cars. But like any ride, not everyone survives all the twists, turns and loops and in 2015 some of our shit in the form of friendship, flew out of it’s car and blew away in the wind forever and though I did grieve that loss somewhat, I have come to realize it was for the better. I’m too busy with my family and my life to waste my time on insignificant, vapid people who simply cannot grow up and see beyond the superficial bubble they share with their equally defective peers. This year was the first time I ever had to verbally end a friendship. There was some sadness, some anger and bitterness over what I felt was a waste of my time and effort and then there was relief followed by gratitude; I was grateful to have had this experience because it re-affirmed what I knew in the first place…I had enough amazing friends not to mention an awesome family that includes my sister, my mom and my dozens of cousins no matter how near or far away they may be. As this year comes to a close, I embrace the people and things that make me feel good, even closer and I abandon the trite, toxic and the ignorant to the past.

Barry Neil Kaufman wrote a book which he simply called “Happiness is a Choice”. I remember reading it when I was trying to navigate Adam and our family through the initial stages of his autism. Everyone chooses whether or not to be happy. I am guilty of sometimes choosing the thing that can bring me down. I’m not one for resolutions but in 2016 and beyond, I’m going to try and choose the things that lift me up. If it doesn’t feel good; if it’s inconvenient, out it goes. Life is wonderful but its hard and sometimes upsetting and frustrating and sad and it is also damn short so but I’m going to try and make those not so great moments as short lived as I possibly can. Maybe I’m onto something by choosing to remind myself of all that I’d read in that short simple book by Kaufman. I’m going to keep on with finding the simple things that make my heart feel full. I’m going to try and choose happiness over the nonsense and put myself and my feelings first in certain situations and see where it takes me. I have a feeling it’s the right choice. Here’s to choice in 2016 … choices that make you happy.

To Tom and Logan you are my pillars of strength and I love you to the ends of the universe and back. May 2016 bring us all everything we hope for and may the four of us be together, safe and happy for years to come. And to Adam – all I can say is we love you. You are talented and you make us proud but you are difficult to live with at times. You did turn it around somewhat this year but there are still some important lessons you need to learn. I hope in 2016 you can see the consequences of your actions. I hope in 2016 you can understand that positive attention is better than negative attention and I hope in 2016 you can bring us all to a place of peace. Happy New Year, my son.

Lastly, to my dear friends here in Canada and around the world, to my SJC sisters who tether me to who I really am, you mean so much to me… to my sister Reina and my mother and all my relatives wherever you may be, I love you and wish you peace, joy and a happy new year.

Leave a comment Posted on December 31, 2015 Uncategorized

2015 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,500 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 25 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Leave a comment Posted on December 11, 2015December 13, 2015 Uncategorized

Almost One Year to Fifty … Christmas and Me

I’ve been having a little difficulty getting into the Christmas spirit this year. I thought it was because of the hectic nature of the last three weeks with deadlines at work, moving offices, dealing with stuff at school with the kids and of course running the household, but I’m no stranger to busy so I knew it had to be something more and as I started writing this I started to uncover why my mood has been a little less festive than usual.

I have always loved Christmas. I loved the Santa, North Pole, reindeer fantasy and magic of it as a child and was so grateful to be able to create that wonder for my own children. I love the joy and cheeriness of people and the extra effort they make to be kinder and more generous and loving and I have always felt that Christmas gives many of us a chance to perhaps redeem ourselves, give of ourselves and to have a chance to end the year in a positive and uplifting way so we can start the New Year with a clean, fresh slate. Having been raised Catholic, I also cherish the true meaning of Christmas, the birth of Jesus Christ.

The birth of the man who walked the earth advocating a way of life so simple, it is hard to understand why we have made it so complex and why we have let greed, competition and hatred turn a simple life concept based on love into this unattainable goal of peace and unity.

I have always loved Christmas, be it green and hot or white and snowy, it has and always will be my favourite time of year. Like childhood, I feel that Christmas is too short, so my benchmark for the start of my Christmas season is the American Thanksgiving holiday. To me, it is the perfect time to start thinking of putting up the tree and decorating the house to create that warm, inviting, family feeling that is so comforting to me and mine. It is a perfect time to start planning when to host or visit family and a perfect time start thinking of that special little gift for each person in my life and thinking of ways (with the boys) to make someone’s life in our midst a little better. It is a perfect time to start my personal countdown to at least three days when I am surrounded by family, relaxing in the comfort of our home without having any work, school or extra curricular commitments to interrupt our time together.

I have always loved Christmas with all its sights, sounds and smells. I close my eyes and can smell the warm smokiness of Mom’s ham, the aroma of the seasonings she used to prepare the turkey wafting throughout our flat, and the hearty scent of the stuffing and pastelles that confirmed it was Christmas chez Barsotti. I remember Daddy squeezing his eyes shut in the delight of opening the jars and having the tangy, garlic, mouthwatering smell of uncle Manny’s, Aunty Barbara’s and the Abreu’s garlic pork hitting him in the face, and year after year savoring the delicacy, unable to decide which sample was the best. I also will never forget the sweet, fruity, rummy smell of every aunty’s black cake and if I keep my eyes shut long enough I can taste it all too…the pastelles, the sorrel, the ginger beer

… because with my eyes closed I never left Trinidad, I am still a child and everyone …everyone who is supposed to be there, is there.

That’s it you know…that’s why I am having a harder time getting into the Christmas spirit this time around. I find myself at almost one year to fifty realizing just how many of us are gone. During all these years spent creating Christmas memories with my husband and children, there was an unconscious comfort knowing everyone who made my Christmas memories special were still around. It’s like the pieces of the puzzle that created my Christmas were still in place keeping my foundation solid so that even though I was far away creating new memories with my own family, the essence of who I was and who I am was still there.

I have always loved Christmas carols and songs that bring back so many wonderful childhood memories that involved the significant parts of the puzzle of my foundation that are missing now. I don’t know how much it has changed, but when I was younger and lived in Trinidad, Christmas seemed to last longer than the ones I have experienced while living abroad. I was always dancing in some end of term Christmas pageant, singing at the hospital, hospice, old folks home or at the big Creche at the St Ann’s Gardens and of course the celebration of Midnight Mass all of which to me was the best build up to the greatest time of my year.

I remember my mother wrapping presents for her sisters and brothers and our dozens of cousins and how excited Reina and I were to go with Dad, and deliver them to their homes and having a little visit at each stop. I remember admiring each of my aunts trees, each decorated with a similar Yee Foon style with a flash of their own flare. Each year on Christmas Eve, Daddy’s brother, Uncle Frank would bring our cousin Natasha over for a visit. When we were little we played from the time she arrived until she left and as we got older we moved around less while our mouths moved more as we chatted endlessly about things and people at our school and what we hoped we would get for Christmas.

I have always loved the childhood memory of the pride people took in readying their homes for the arrival of Baby Jesus. You see, I grew up in the Caribbean at a time when people would sometimes use Christmas as the perfect time of year to splash some paint on their walls, maybe sew and hang new curtains and freshen up their place a little bit. I grew up there in a time when people, no matter how much or little they had, took pride in a clean, inviting presentation of their home and always had some kind of refreshment to offer folks who stopped by to wish them all the best for the season. As the end of November approached, you could hear Christmas music on the radio, never mind we were sweating in the heat of the sun as Bing Crosby belted out how much he was dreaming of a white Christmas … and as my mother readied her ham, pastelles her turkey, ginger beer and her sorrel, she swayed her hips and shuffled about out kitchen to the merry notes plucked on the quatros and guitars that was our Parang. I don’t think I know anyone who grew up with me who don’t know at least 10 Christmas songs and carols word for word. What was even more astounding was whether we understood them or not we all sang along to popular Parang songs in perfectly pronounced Spanish.

And even after I outgrew Santa Claus, Christmas Eve through Boxing day was the crescendo of my Christmas season. To me, there was so much goodness in the atmosphere I couldn’t help but be happy…so happy I could burst and I will be forever grateful that I was blessed to have been born and had the opportunity to grow up for 20 years in a place where life, cultural events and holidays were celebrated by all regardless of ethnicity or creed or race. There we all were, on a hot sunny island, the pieces of the foundation of my childhood memories – my parents, my aunts, uncles and cousins and dear and cherished family friends dancing and eating and celebrating in somebody’s house every weekend as Christmas approached.

Aunty Meiling and Uncle Mike were always ready to host a party. At Aunty Moye’s and Uncle Kit Sang’s there was always the most delicious food and a lot of jokes and laughter. At Aunty Jean’s and Uncle Joe’s it was always spic and span, beautifully decorated and there was always some ditty or treat you never tried before and, of course, Uncle Joe’s Punch de Creme that he was always willing to share. Aunty Yvonne was always one for for her kind words and her deeply felt well-wishes for us all and I will forever have the carefully crafted, beautifully hand made pieces, family artists Uncle Archie and Aunty Pat would give to our family every year. I will never forget my parents’ dear family friends, Nicky and Jean Inniss who had live paranderos and a steel band at their home where life and holidays were to be celebrated by all.

I will always fondly remember the fantastic Christmas floral arrangements and the spectacular decorating job my mother’s friend Aunty Barbara would create not just in her own home or for her friends but in the shopping malls and business places alike, lending her signature style to an entire island. I will never forget my sweet Grandad who took us to church and walked everywhere and took the most time to carefully ponder what would be the most mentally stimulating and interesting presents to give Natasha, Reina and me. To this day, I carefully open and turn the slightly yellowed pages of the English grammar books, the dictionary and special interest books he gave to me all those years ago, even if just to read his handwritten inspiring note to me and to touch something he once held. I will forever remember Mrs. Sylvia Hunt, who for years, shared her culinary prowess with our tiny twin island nation on television. Sylvia became a family friend and all I have left of her are two not very flashy and simply laid out, stained-by-ingredients-over-the-years cookbooks that guided my hands as I fought my way through certain local recipes so I could add my heritage to my boys’ palette.

Now, almost one year to fifty, I look back on those days with pride and joy but tonight I am weepy as I write and recall. You see, short of Mom, Aunty Meiling, Uncle Mike, Aunty Moye, a few other aunts and uncles and the cousins many of these dear people are gone and I feel sometimes that part of me is gone too and because I live away from the land of my birth, the memories I am making now with my family are wonderful but so very different and alas, I find my Christmases now, a little shorter and colder and I am not talking about the weather. While I know, like anywhere else, Trinidad has changed, I can tell by posts on line by my family and friends, the atmosphere is pretty much the same.

I wish Christmas everywhere was less commercial. While it’s fun to shop and get special gifts for our family and friends, it has become out of control because we let ourselves be controlled by the things we see that we feel we must have. Everyone is too busy to get together and just sit and spend time chatting during the holidays. And while presents and prices have gotten out of hand, we like to shove that politically correct stick in the spoke of the Christmas wheel that chastises people for saying Merry Christmas. You know what, as a Christian, I have said nothing as non-believers and non-Christians piggy back on the celebration of the birth of Christ just to take advantage of retail sales and receive presents. They have no clue that the exchange of gifts is the commemoration of the wise men and shepherds bringing gifts to the baby Jesus – they just know guy in a red suit, retail frenzy, exorbitant costs and Boxing Day sales. More, more, more. Me, me, me. I also really wish those “wannabe non-offenders” would stop offending me by trying to tell me I can’t say “Merry Christmas”. If I say “Merry Christmas” to you and it doesn’t apply, it’s okay and easier to nod and either say “thank you” or “same to you”. “If someone came up to me and said “Hey, happy Kwanzaa” I’d be all, “Right back at ya. Happy Kwanzaa,” So much easier than making much ado about absolutely NOTHING. I wish people could just stop for a moment and dial Christmas back to a time when it was less about stuff and sales and bargains and political correctness and more about friends and family being together. I wish schools could call a Christmas pageant, a Christmas pageant and that kids could sing carols about the birth of Christ without a lot of fuss from tightly wound-tightly-over-nothing adults in control. Wow…that was a rant in the middle of a heartfelt piece….sorry I digress. Re focus, Daniella.

I have always admired and respected the effort my parents made to give us the best childhood and the most special Christmases they could. I remember while doing their best to give us better than they had, they taught Reina and me what the true meaning of Christmas was. One of my earliest Christmas memories was of Daddy taking us and several toys to the orphanage to distribute to the children there. We spent time making meals for the homeless and with our Dad and with our school we spent time with the elderly who very often had no family, We were taught the importance of giving and remembering that it only took a minute to think of people who were poor, ill or lonely and another minute to share what we had with them and spread joy. Reina and I did receive a lot but we knew it was important to our parents for us to give even more and it is something I have continued with my sons because as their mother, I have an obligation to put two good and decent people on the planet.

I think in the days to come I will get into the spirit of the season. At this very moment, my heart aches because I am missing those who are gone and I am missing being able to jump in the car and go to my cousins. At this very moment I want to be downstairs in the courtyard of the Inniss’ home in Santa Cruz, dancing with our friends and family to sweet parang. I want to sit and watch Aunty Moye in the kitchen and I want to go by Uncle Joe and pick up a bottle or two of his delicious and potent Punch deCreme.

I want to see Aunty Yvonne’s tree with the big fat gold tinsel wrapped around it and I want to watch from the corridor in Aunty Meiling’s and Uncle Mike’s Valsayn home, at the aunts chatting and fussing in the kitchen while the uncles clink their scotch glasses toasting the season then talking about cricket and politics and whatever else tickling their their fancy. I want to be dressed in my Christmas nightie and be fascinated by that strange, little, yellow Chinese lantern bulb on that old string of lights Mom would string on our tree. I want back the Christmas of my youth and I want all those who have died to be alive and those who are far away to be near again but I can’t have that.

What I do have though, is confirmation from Logan that I have given and continue to give him and Adam their own special memories of Christmas. He said he and Adam also have ornaments on our tree they fixate on.

Ornaments that remind them of special events and special presents they’ve received. He remembers helping in the parades on those cold nights when his father and I worked for the local radio station. He remembers learning why filling the special shoe boxes with crayons and paper and pencils to send to kids in less fortunate nations was important and he remembers the food drives I helped them do for those threatened by hunger in our community. He looks forward to Christmas Mass with us and he has told me so much about what he remembers that I am able to take solace in my effort to give them similar experiences to mine at Christmas. I hope to be able to share many more Christmases with my three men, my mother, my sister and her family and my husband’s family and create many memorable moments. But for now, I am going to take the time I need to miss those far away from me and those who have died. This is the phase of life I have fo
und myself in now… after all 50 is less than a year away. But as I drink my eggnog and pretend it is Uncle Joe’s Punch de Creme, I toast all the pieces of the puzzle of my foundation who live miles away and I remember with love, honour and respect, my sweet father and his brother, my grandparents and aunts, uncles and friends who have left this earth. With my cousins and my friends who are the children of those who have passed, I will share a bit of sadness and grief but I know who we are is a direct result of what they gave to us and they along with all these wonderful memories will not be forgotten.This jumbled mess of words is dedicated to all my friends and family far away with a special dedication to those of us living without our loved ones – Gabrielle and Dominique, Janine and Ryan, Sui Yen and Meiling, Kim and Sue, Nicole and Jo Anne, my sister Reina, my mother Angela, my aunt and God Mother Ruth, Sean and Barry, Richard, Brian, Ian and Leslie. And to my cousins aunt and uncle who I really need to make a better effort to see – Susie, Marcus, Sharlene Michael Jr. and Sarah, Meiling and Michael Sr. – Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year. May you be wrapped in peace and love for all your days to come ~ Danie.

Leave a comment Posted on November 11, 2015 Uncategorized

“Lest We Forget” to Teach Our Youth the Importance of Remembrance Day

It saddens me every year to hear the news of all the stolen Poppy Boxes from coffee shops and stores. What’s worse is that the thieves don’t even care that their image is caught on surveillance cameras and broadcast on the local television news. So whose fault is this? Are parents so busy working to pay the bills, that they don’t have the chance to have the dinner table conversation about respecting the veterans who went to war to fight for and secure, the freedom we all enjoy to this day? Do we need longer discussions at school about men and women who leave their families behind when they devote their lives to their country? Do our youth need to hear the wives, mothers, fathers and children of these brave men and women, talk about how much they miss them and worry about them while they are gone? Do we need to expose our youth to what a family goes through when all they have left of their loved one who is killed in a war, is a flag and their memories? Soldiers fought for our freedom and continue to do so and we live in a time in this country when military service is not mandatory so the least we can do is show some respect for Remembrance Day.

I think there is an entire generation who don’t appreciate the sacrifice of others. I believe the more information we have access to the less inclined we are to seek out facts about issues more important than Reality TV shows, starring socialites. (And let’s take a second to process that being a socialite is an actual job! My God, people lost their lives so that cretins can be free to be trite and frivolous…sigh) Let’s use our phones and tablets, boys and girls, to learn some history. If we do not understand our past, how can we understand our world as it is now and how then can we understand where we need to go and how to get there? Let’s talk to our young people about the meaning of Remembrance Day and why the least we can do is be respectful. Use your change and buy and wear a Poppy on the left side of your jacket above your heart. Let’s understand that the Poppy boxes contain much needed funds to help our veterans get the things they need in order to live their lives. Let’s understand that they saw and did horrific things so we wouldn’t have to and let us all learn to quiet ourselves for just a minute at 11 O’clock tomorrow morning and show them the respect and honour they deserve.

My sons have been told that my grandfather lived his youth during a time of war. He knew what war was and had the worry and fear that accompanied it that no young person should ever have to experience. My husband’s grandfather served in the Canadian Military. My uncle was in command of our Regiment. My children were told about their service. It didn’t take very long and it was easy to explain that kind of sacrifice. It is important to pass this onto our youth because it teaches them about something that is sadly lacking in our society today, and that is respect.

Lastly, lest we forget, we should (as in retailers and consumers) hold off on infusing Christmas before November 11th. I love Christmas …a lot… but there is no place for tinsel and Christmas trees and large images of Santa ahead of the Poppy leading up to Remembrance Day. It’s tacky and it”s disrespectful and it teaches our youth to value the material stuff over respecting those who make the ultimate sacrifice so we can celebrate Christmas and very often when we are celebrating with our families, they are not. So, from now on, can the adults in our society please make a concerted effort to lead by example and pay tribute to our veterans and show the utmost respect by making a big deal about Remembrance Day lest the youngsters are watching. Let’s change it now. Let’s change it forever. Let’s change it for the better. Let them learn to recite the poem.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lest We Forget

Leave a comment Posted on November 6, 2015 Uncategorized

Two Years to Fifty – Boys to Men – To Logan …So, About those Heroes…

In the summer, man-child number 2, the sports fan, heard some startling news about his favourite hockey player. At first, he didn’t believe his idol would do what he was accused of doing.

“She’s a puck bunny, Mom. She’s looking to get his money, that’s all,”

Ohhh-Kayyyy. Time to have the conversation. And by the way, guilty or not, thanks Patrick Kane. You need to learn son, that people, especially younger players are watching and you need to conduct yourself with some dignity and class so you don’t get yourself into these pickles.

You can’t hide much from your children these days. Information is everywhere and you have to be prepared to address all kinds of questions and word brutal honesty in a way they can understand, simply and tastefully. The truth was not easy for Logan to accept because in his mind such great talent on the ice meant greatness in every aspect of the idol’s life and it took me and his father days to explain to him that talent does not dictate character.

During one of our talks about the importance of everyone’s behavior and responsibility to be respectful (especially those in the spotlight) he looked at me and asked,

“Who are the heroes Mom?”

A valid question asked with a mix of disappointment, weariness and not as much hope as I would have liked. So I began by having him look up the definition of hero – a person, who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities. So instantly and quite proudly he started name dropping the usuals – Mother Teresa, Anne Frank, Mandela, Ghandi, Martin Luther King Jr. which made me quite proud but I needed to make this lesson more real for him; more identifiable with his interests and I wanted to challenge his thinking in a different way. I decided to go the sports route and gave him the names of athletes who are regarded by some as solid role models. So Logan, if you read this, perhaps it will help find the answer to your question. Lets start with your beloved hockey and Jonathon Toews.

Jonathon Toews is a young man who is regarded by fellow NHL-ers and people in his community as a stand up, polite and respectful young man on and off the ice. The Winnipeg native has captained the Chicago Blackhawks since he was 20. A calm and composed demeanour gave rise to the nickname “Captain Serious” by his teammates. His hard work and talent earned him and his team two Stanley Cups and he also has won back-to-back Olympic gold medals with team Canada. He is an ambassador for the Canadian Tire Jumpstart Program, a charity that funds sport participation for underprivileged kids and he supports Misencordia – a group home for youth with special needs in Winnipeg, the Winnipeg Nourishing Potential Program feeding kids facing hunger and has supported the Make a Wish Foundation. His actions off the ice have resulted in this 27 year old being awarded the Order of Manitoba.

Rickie Fowler is another young athlete who is a great role model for youngsters. The beautiful thing about this young guy isn’t just his face. He is his own person and has, with the help of his family been able to shake off the haters and senseless criticism and has kept marching along in his colourful golf attire to the beat of his own drum. He is a book, misjudged by the cover. He is young, good looking, earns a decent paycheck and a lot of it comes from endorsements and as such there is a lot of fodder there for jealous haters. As flashy as he looks, this youngster does not drink and does not swear. He likes his cars and his dirt bikes and likes to have fun but he isn’t a party animal. He is proud of his faith and family and is known to be one of the nicest and most respectful players on the PGA tour. He gives as much as he receives and started the Rickie Fowler Foundation that supports (his heritage) Asian American and Native American youth in need and he is involved in the First Tee – a youth golf development organization. My favourite Rickie situation this summer was watching him come from behind to win the The Players Championship 2015, coming down the stretch carding birdie, eagle, birdie, birdie ultimately winning a 3 man playoff against Sergio Garcia and Kevin Kisner with a (-12) twelve under par. But it wasn’t the score that impressed me. It was the quiet victory shutting up the criticism of his peers in a Sports Illustrated Poll that regarded him as the most over-rated golfer on tour. When asked his thoughts on their opinion of him, where he had every right to vent his feelings, he simply smiled that gorgeous smile and said,

“Well, (firmly gripping his trophy) this seems like a significant enough win,”

If I wasn’t already a fan, that comment would sealed the deal for me. He let the golf speak for itself and in an era of trash talkers, this young man chose to take the high road, with grace, dignity, the prize money in his pocket and the trophy in his hands and it was more effective and classier than retaliating with harsh words or gloating. Gotta admire the guy.

LeBron James is sort of like the King of the NBA. He is a four-time MVP and two-time NBA Champion who has simply dominated the league since he joined it, and is without a doubt the league’s best player today. He is also a great human being off the court. He has an active role in the Boys & Girls Club, ONEXONE, and the Children’s Defense Fund. as well as having his own charity – the LeBron James Family Foundation, which raises money for numerous causes in his native Akron. Humble and charismatic, he is also described as fan friendly and loyal. LeBron makes time for signing autographs and taking pictures and interacting with the fans whom he holds close to his heart. He is loyal to the community he grew up in, purchasing new uniforms for his alma mater high school’s football team and even showed up at their pep rally. Once in Oklahoma, the team’s plane was fueling up alongside a bunch of helicopters transporting military personnel. The soldiers wanted photos and autographs. While security said no to the soldiers, LeBron gathered the team together and went to the soldiers and took as many photos and signed autographs for as long as the vehicles were being fuelled, making the soldiers very happy. LeBron James, of course has the incredible work ethic needed to be a great athlete and a great ambassador for his sport. He trains and practices long hours in order to be the best at what he does and puts his time in as Vice President of the National Basketball Players Association. Since his involvement, James has begun taking a bigger role in the direction of the league and how players conduct themselves, setting the example by his own behavior on and off the court with a heavy emphasis on sportsmanship, constantly complimenting fellow NBA players in person and over social media, as well as expressing his support when guys get injured or are unable to play. Watching him stay out of trouble and handle public scrutiny with dignity and class is a pleasure and is what makes him an ideal role model for young people.

I could go on about other athletes who are positive role models but the greatest example I could give you, son, just requires you to look in the mirror. In your reflection you will find reflections of your father, your brother and grandfathers and uncles and cousins and grand mothers and aunts and hopefully a little bit of me in there. You see, my boy, you are a good person. A really good person – even on the days you drive me mad. You have learned (and are still learning) the lessons we teach and we admire how you try to apply them to your everyday life. You are accepting of others and are kind even when others are not kind to you. You don’t intentionally try to hurt anyone’s feelings and if you do, you apologize. I have never seen you make anyone uncomfortable in our home and I really admire how respectful and polite you are. You work hard at the things you are passionate about and you are very open to new things. One of your most endearing qualities is your generosity. One of my favourite memories with you was in church one day when you decided you were going to contribute to the collection plate with your own money. You pulled out a $5.00 bill (that I knew you intended to spend on ice cream) and said,

“You know, I could enjoy the ice cream, but this money could make someone happier and change something for them. I’d rather give them a nice day,”

Child of mine, you truly uplift my soul. You add so much joy to our family and are so amazing with Adam, jumping in and spending time with him and helping us out without being asked many times. I believe you are the kindest person I know, next to your father, that’s why when some idiots go beyond casual ribbing and poking fun at you, my blood boils a little. I know you struggle with that at times and I know you don’t understand why some kids think its cool to try and make others uncomfortable. There are days I wish you had my loose cannon temper so that you could go nuts on them, (hence why I am just a sliver in what makes you a hero, lol) but you are your father’s son and he has several admirable qualities I fell in love with right away and so of course you are like him and I know, no matter what you face, you will choose the high road. (Just don’t forget to continue to stand up for yourself, even if you don’t think you want to …never let people walk all over you. You are far too good a person for that and you always deserve respect. Always. So … demand it.)

So, man-child #2 here is the conclusion. A hero is a person who is mindful of others. A hero does right by other people and gives of himself and though you might find you do good things and the gratitude does not come, do not let it sour who you are, because who you are is beautiful and heroic and your character far outweighs those of men much older than you. You are my hero, Dad’s hero and most importantly, Adams hero. Life will dish out it’s fair share of crap but I feel if you remember who you are and where you come from and be true to yourself, you will find happiness and satisfaction. I believe in you. I always have and I pray that nothing or no one changes you. I wish you the most adventurous life journey. I hope you get to see and do great things and while you do, just be you because everyone you encounter along the way will be lucky to have met you. Who are the heroes? They are the people who see good in the darkest of situations, the people who give without expecting anything in return and the people who are happy for whatever they have and not preoccupied by what they do not have or just can’t seem to get. Keep being our hero my boy by staying as sweet as you are. You are a blessing and I am so grateful you came to us. Love you forever,

Mom.

Leave a comment Posted on September 5, 2015September 6, 2015 Uncategorized

Two Years to Fifty: Boys to Men – Adam

It crept up on me, stealthily like a Ninja. One minute I was watching their father tossing them up in the air, or carrying them on his shoulders, and the next, they are looking me in the eye because they are as tall as me ( one just an inch shy of his father’s height), standing before me with huge feet. Their shoulders have broadened and the skinniest of arms are becoming muscularly defined. Sometimes they sound like kids and sometimes they sound like their father and in between they sound like geese. As their faces morph from childhood to adolescence, their noses look different and their hair has changed. There is scraggly facial hair and pimples, bushy legs and the sprouting of armpit hair and a real need for deodorant accompanied by an intense interest in shower gels and shampoos made specifically for men. There is also very little hot water left after they have showered and my husband and I are finding that we have to make sure we get in our showers before they do or embrace ice-cold water. And as I struggle lately with figuring who is coming up the stairs (they have a similar gait to their father) it makes me a little freaked out and a little sad that somewhere between a bandage on their knee and kissing it better and sending them to their room for the occasional time out, my boys are suddenly becoming men.

Man-child number 1 is Adam. Autistic and smart, living with him has never been easy but it has never been without its joy and fair share of humour. The cut and dry nature of people with autism is really something to behold because they very often get away with saying the things most of us are thinking. Now 15, Adam is still navigating his way around the twists and turns of puberty the best he can. It was a very rough start on the eve of his 14th birthday but it’s gotten better. We’ve been going through this stage with him for just over a year and things are slowly getting clearer now, to him and to us.

You see, now that I have separated the autism from the puberty, I see that Adam is exactly like I was – defiant, moody, manipulative and a “know-it-all”. He has that great need for independence and little need in his mind for his father and me. He is very capable of tending to his needs and why wouldn’t he be when for years I’ve taught him how to do just that? I was afraid if I didn’t make him as independent as possible, I would rob him of many opportunities and put him in a permanent state of dependency. Oh ,no … the push back we get from him isn’t because of his autism, it is because he woke up one day when he was 12 1/2 with zits, a scraggly mustache, a strange voice, almost a foot taller, a shoe size and a half bigger with strange things going on in his pants. Puberty was not a gradual onset for him. It came with a bang with all the nasty physical and psychological changes and on top of it all, he still had to deal with his autism which makes living in the world challenging and confusing.

Like I did as a teen, he feels he is capable of living his life without anyone’s input, most of all that of his parents. He hates my voice. Hates when I tell him to do things and hates it more when ignoring me means he has to hear my voice again. He hates when I sing in the car and ruin the song he’s listening to. He dislikes my maternal fussing and my well intended actions that make him seem like a baby. It took me some time to put it all together, but I got it now.

You see, in a pinch, like when he’s sick or if he needs to have any medical tests done, I’m his girl. He feels safe when I’m with him but the moment any stress is over, he wants me gone. And it is the same with his Dad. In an amusement park, when he’s uncertain about a crazy ride he looks at his father and says, “It you and me, right pal?” and once the ride is over, he prefers to walk a certain distance away from us. It’s kind of like when he was 8 and I would take his hand to cross the street and he would most emphatically shake off my grip – a clear indication that he understood that he needed to look both ways before crossing and he most certainly did not need his mother’s help. One time he put Logan’s both hands in mine so I would not hold his. Then came the riding ahead of me at 10. He knew our route, he understood he had to stop and look both ways at a stop sign or red light and he knew to stay on the sidewalk or on the extreme right side of the road. To his credit, I’m glad I did not have to worry about him because we discovered that his brother tended to be engaged with what was above him or beside him on our bike rides and was a hazard to himself, to us and pedestrians alike.

Yes, Adam James was growing up fast long before puberty and after having people in his face (especially me) showing him how to live in this world his whole life, he was desperately seeking his alone time and independence and as soon as he got old enough and big enough he was determined to get it, except he didn’t quite understand how to gain our trust and show us in a calm and collected manner that he was ready to be in the speed skating dressing room and at practice without us hovering. He acted out in such a silly fashion when all he had to do was say “You can go, Mom” or “I’m okay, Dad”. It took us some time but we figured it out and now he does the majority of the things he has to do in his day, on his own. He still is capable of having a crappy attitude when he is asked to do chores, or asked to be quieter and respect that there are other people in the house who aren’t interested in listening to his music which like any teen he likes cranked up loud. We see his frustration when we want to engage him in what feels to him like an overly long conversation and we understand that when we drop him off at school after an appointment, he prefers to navigate his way back to his classroom just like his typical peers even though we are supposed to walk him back to his life skills classroom. No one wants their parent walking with them through their school….so now we text his teacher to let her know he’s on his way.

Like any teen today, his world is all about his idevices, music, videos, things on the edge of inappropriate and defiance all while seeking this elusive independence as he tries to figure out how to be an adult in this world that is so complex to him. Unlike most teens, it’s hard for him to understand consequence and sometimes he does not have that alarm in his head that tells him it’s time to take a break from the computer when whatever he is doing becomes overwhelming. It is in these moments he breaks down and is more like a child than a young man. We know it, he knows it and sometimes it takes a lot for him to calm down and reset but …we are working on it and progress is being made albeit slowly.

For Man-child number 1 building relationships is still a struggle He has said he likes girls and doesn’t mind having friends but it is clear that there is a “Sheldon Cooper-ness” about him that indicates while he likes being around people, there is no need for close relationships. He does understand privacy and respecting people’s personal space and what is appropriate and inappropriate when it comes to people’s personal space and we revisit this topic frequently so it is drummed into his head. His relationships are compartmentalized and in his world that ‘s nice and organized. Support workers, teachers, coaches, the people in his class.. His father, his mother, brother and his extended family. The people in his life all have a role and a specific time and place but he is not devoid of emotion. There is no doubt in my mind that he knows and loves the three members of his immediate family. What we do, say and think matter to him. The rest of the family members and close friends fall around him in concentric circles depending on how often he sees them. He knows who they are and is content to share a hug or a few words with them and then seek out a space where he can be comfortable, usually with his music. He is certainly an odd ball guy but he is interesting and funny with a sharp and cynical sense of humour. He’s a fierce competitor at times and at other times he’s extremely laid back. He has been able to take care of himself (laundry, preparing food, hygiene etc.) for quite some time now and is able to travel with his team (with us in the stands)and stay in a hotel with a margin of supervision. He has always had a cool and mature taste in music and a sense of fashion that only he can pull off. He is carving paths for himself with his music, his art and his sport and is getting to know his way around automobiles. He has learned to muster up the courage to order his food on his own and has learned to use his debit card to pay for what he needs. He got a job this summer and walked to work every time yet there is still a cap on what he does independently outside of the home. The hardest thing to give him is what he craves the most – his independence. It is a work in progress yet in as many ways we have given it to him, we have to hold back until he matures a bit more and hopefully he will come to understand our decisions. As difficult as this step towards manhood is for Adam, as much as he can be a classic jerk, I am not worried about his future anymore. Even on the rough days, this first man-child of mine has shown me that he is going to find his niche as he makes his way along this unique journey that is his life. His father and I hope that we have and can continue to make it interesting and encouraging for him and that at the end of his days, he would have achieved fulfillment.

Hmm…it’s funny…you never plan on having anything but a regular kid. You never think about special needs or anything hindering your kids in any way but as bumpy as this road is with my son, I wouldn’t change him for the world. He’s Adam and there is nothing about him that isn’t beautiful. At two years to fifty, I see that now. Though the worry is there, it is not as intense nor as frightening as it used to be for me when we were both younger. He and I have come a long way since the days in the play group where it was clear we didn’t fit in. We’ve come a long way from the countless appointments and endless testing at the Alberta Children’s Hospital and I have come a long way from the sadness and level of grief I held inside; the grief that choked me everyday because I was so scared for his future and sorry for myself and for us as a family. Time and age brought a level of reasoning that allowed me to see that Adam was not a tragedy but an opportunity and when I am at my wit’s end I try to take the time to reflect on this musical, artistic, decorated athlete with a strong will and independent nature. When I take the time to think about Adam and all the wonderful moments and people he’s brought into our lives I see that he is also a true blessing. I never thought I would have to have so much control over a life other than my own but I guess it’s more like helping him navigate the twists and turns a little longer than I would have to with his brother…kind of like we did when we were teaching him to ride his bike all those years ago. When the time is right, Tom and Logan and I are going to know when we can let go and watch Adam, the man, take the wheel and navigate the winding road of his life just fine.

*Sheldon Cooper is the main Aspy character in the television show The Big Bang Theory.

Leave a comment Posted on August 19, 2015August 19, 2015 Uncategorized

Two Years to Fifty: A Reminder from the Love of My Life about “MO”

With my husband’s consent, I am posting this to share just one of the many reasons why I am so blessed to have him by my side. We have an extremely unique life and it has more than it’s fair share of hurdles and sometimes I can only see the hurdles and I become blind to the beauty of the simplest of things.

In a marriage or in any relationship or friendship, each person has to bring something, sometimes ever so small yet ever so significant to the other’s life and Tom has always been able to subtly and easily remind me of how much joy a single moment, image or sound can fill our souls. He has always maintained that his goal as a man, a father and husband was happiness for us, for his family, friends and everyone really. It is a good goal. A solid and sensible goal that reminds me that at the end of the day happiness, contentment and love are all that really matter. So here are my husband’s words which I appreciate more and more as I grow older with him. It touched me, brought a tear to my eye and flooded my heart with joy and I hope you take away something good from it as well.

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Heaven help me, I’m about to get ‘deep’ on Facebook. If I were still in radio I’d probably do a ‘bit’ on how stupid that is. I’ve been watching videos on youtube tonight and honestly…I like doing that. I love the internet, and modern times. How it allows us to go get something that comes to mind, almost instantly. I can spend HOURS doing that if I’m in the right mood.

Tonight…it’s music.

I’ve spent a LONG time…a quarter century…in the music field. I’ve been on radio stations ranging from hard-rock to Christian. Yep, you read that right, and I had a great time there. And I SO appreciate that history and everyone and everything that went along with that entire journey. Which has led to a realization that I think I already had, but just couldn’t really focus on enough to present.

One of the MOST important things in life begins with the letters “MO”…and it’s not ‘money’. It’s ‘moments’. Truly great moments are what we all hang on to more than ANYTHING else.

I remember when I was 21, and sitting on a wooden bench next to Daniella when she told me she had feelings for me, and that was something I had been carefully hoping for, and working towards for MONTHS. I’m married to her to this day, love her as much as I did then, possibly more, despite the obstacles life has thrown our way and that’s fantastic…because they’re all ‘moments’.

I remember when my first son, Adam, was born. He cried and cried in the delivery room…and I walked up to him in his bassinet and quietly said “Hello Adam” and he immediately stopped crying, and opened his eyes. Even though he couldn’t see through the dark black eyes it was obvious he was searching for the voice he’d heard so many times while he was in his mother’s belly. GREAT moment.

I remember when my second son, Logan, was born, and he came out blue, and not breathing. Daniella looked at me and asked “is he all right? He’s not crying” with a panic in her voice that matched the panic in my heart that I wish NO-ONE ever experience. All I could do was be strong for her and say “let them work, he’s going to be okay”. He cried soon after and the ‘resuscitation team’ started betting on how big they thought he was. He was 10lbs 2 oz if you need to know. He is a great son…couldn’t be more proud. Some fathers of sons would say “if you have daughters, watch out for my son”…I say watch FOR my son…because he’s going to be an excellent man…the kind you HOPE your daughters find. And if he reads this, he’s going to complain to me about that…but he’ll grow into it. Another moment.

I have been SO lucky and SO blessed to have already had SO MANY moments. I hope you have too.

I love moments.

When it comes to music, my time in the field has given me a very large quantity of respect and admiration for some. Peter Gabriel is probably my favourite, but there are many others. I remember working at 1050 CHUM in my early days. I was 19. Working at an ‘oldies’ station. At first I was bored…wasn’t my thing. But the more I listened something clicked. I gained HUGE respect for these artists…because they didn’t have the crutch of digital, or even mutli-track systems that allowed them to ‘redo’ or ‘perfect’ this or that. When it came to oldies music, if the song was good, it was because the BAND was GOOD. The song you heard was the band all in a room, when someone hit the record button and said “go”. They HAD to sound like that. Listen to the Spencer Davis Group singing “I’m a Man” and tell me that isn’t some seriously good music.

So here now, is one of my favourite things that I will watch over and over again.

This…is Led Zeppelin. And this clip is FULL of moments.

I’m not even a huge fan of Zeppelin…honestly. I like their stuff, sure…but I’m not a ‘zed-head’.

But I love this. I can watch this over and over and still get caught up in the emotion of it.

Here are the surviving members of the original band…who were GIANTS of the world. Back in the day just sucking the LIFE out of life. Center stage, in front of the biggest crowds who LOVED their music. This is 40 years later. Watch the original members, how old they are, and how they still, to THIS DAY, are attached to this music. You can see it in Robert Plants eyes. You can see it in Jimmy Page’s smile. You can also see the reverence that Heart pays to them. They’re performing the hell out of this song, but even while doing that, it’s almost like they have to EARN it, and they KNOW that…and, despite their OWN success, hope to measure up to the task. And you can see the emotion of Jason Bonham, the son of the original drummer, John Bonham, as he honours his fathers work. You can see the respect of SO MANY of the biggest people we know today in this ‘moment’.

I love that. That’s how you know you’ve ‘won’ at life.

I hope you enjoy this clip as much as I do…and I hope you take the time to think of some of your moments too. We all have them. They’re great to go back to again, and again.

My apologies for how long this is, and I completely suspect you’ve either skimmed through this, or bailed out when you saw the “continue reading” part in my status…but if you’ve stuck around…hey!…another ‘moment’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xufuZ0dCmLA

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Thank you Tom for allowing me to share this as well. Thank you for your positive and easy going disposition. Thank you for choosing to be a part of this roller coaster ride that is our life. I love you and I thank you for loving me. ~ Daniella

1 Comment Posted on July 4, 2015August 8, 2015 Uncategorized

Two Years to 50 – Preface

Two Years to 50

As this golden age approaches, I feel happy and excited for a chapter of my life, that I feel is going to be the best one. I feel like my years before were years in training for the ones that are yet to come – the years I believe to be the reward for all the navigation, adjusting and re-starting because of the surprising turn life took 13 years ago. I believe the answer to the meaning of this journey thus far will reveal itself in the years that are ahead of me and I welcome my older years with open arms.

I have been doing a lot of self observation – looking at myself in relation to what is going on around me in the place where I live, the people I interact with , my role in my family , my work and my vocation. I have been noticing the change in the way I do things, see things and deal with people and how comfortable I am with my choices and actions. It takes a long time to grow into an experienced, mature woman and I’ve had my hard knocks along the way. I regret nothing that has happened because every single thing has had its purpose in my life and has helped me define who I am and who I want to continue to be.

My youth was amazing with all the bonuses that accompany that phase of life, yet I feel because I know more now, I have never felt healthier, happier, stronger, more organized, more patient, confident, calmer, more beautiful or sexier than I do now. I understand now everything my mother and her friends have told me about getting older. I feel the way they feel and I get why there is that aura of serenity and that beautiful mature woman glow they possess. In my head, I sometimes look at life like it is a video game where the older I become I level up to a stage of life that is even better than the one before. The way I feel and think, the choices I make and the way I love is on a new level – a higher level, better than before and as I excitedly anticipate this new chapter of my life, I am going to use it as the avenue for my thoughts about my life on my 2 year journey to 50.

While this writing journey is for me, I am happy to share my thoughts with you. Writing is a hobby of mine that brings me great comfort and joy. You may read it if you wish, comment on it or not and while my intent is not to persuade you to my way of thinking, I would be happy to hear your thoughts on your own journey ~ Daniella

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