This One's For My Mum

   Well over two years ago, for a local writing event that used to be held at the shop where I work, I wrote a piece for my Dad. I talked about all the ways he's positively influenced my life even though he spent much of my childhood away at sea. I was happy let him know that he was still a good father, even when he was far away.
 
   Ever since then, I have tried to write a piece for my Mum. At least a dozen times I've sat down at the computer or in front of a blank piece of paper with a pen in my hand and tried to put into words how much she means to me and...the words won't come. Now, I did write her a song, but it was about her relationship with my Dad and not about the person I've become because she is my mother.

   I've tried to figure out why exactly this is and it's certainly not because we aren't close or because I don't have anything nice to say. If anything, I think it's because I have almost too much to say. Also, perhaps I feel that this piece would be a vanity article. My Mum and I are a lot alike so if I started singing her praises would I also be singing mine?

   Even now, I'm having trouble. My heart is beating rapidly, a great feeling of love and respect is swelling in my chest and creating a lump in my throat. I'm a very emotional person and before I can put emotion into words, I have to work through those feelings. I know I am lucky to have a mother that makes me speechless with admiration, but I'm going to put the emotion aside and get on with the words.

   My Mum is a healer. She has been in the field of healthcare since her late teen years. When I was a little girl I dreamed of being a nurse because I wanted to be like her. My Mum looked so professional in her nurse whites and she always looked proud to go to work. She used to come home with funny stories or sometimes very sad tales about her patients. Some of the stories she would tell at the dinner table would make most people blush, but we loved them. Nursing has it's dark side and to get through some of those times, my Mum would use humour. It's a trait I've picked up from her; even in my darkest moments, I've still been able to laugh. Sometimes through tears, sometimes a little manically, but I can still laugh.

   When I was a child, although my Mum laughed and joked and made up silly songs about crocodiles and skipping to school with lunch in a basket, I hardly ever saw her laugh hysterically. The first time I can recall her doing so I was about 11 and the sight of her laughing uncontrollably in the kitchen, head down a cutting board, really frightened me. I thought something was wrong with her and practically begged her to stop. I remember how angry she was with me for thinking that her laughing fit was a bad thing. I felt guilty, but it was at that moment my view of my mother really changed. I realized that this woman standing in front of me wasn't just my mother, someone who was born to take care of me and my brother, cook our meals and keep the house clean. I realized that she was a person, a woman with feelings and dreams not yet revealed to me. She could, if I stopped looking at her through narrow eyes, be my friend.

   I tell my daughter that I am her mother first and her friend second.  Once I stopped thinking of my mother as just my mother, this was the relationship that grew between us. I discovered I could talk to her about anything, silly crushes on boys, the cruelty of the girls at school, my dream of becoming an actress (once I leaned about needles, blood and aiding in many messy tasks, I decided I didn't need to be a nurse to be like my Mum) and she would listen without judgement and with great patience. I loved talking to her about these things and more because when we talked I would feel like a grown up. She would share her own stories, talk about things that some people may have thought I was too young to know about, but that she felt I was ready to learn. She trusted me from an early age to do the right thing and armed me with knowledge that helped me in situations where many of my friends remained a little too innocent.

  However, as I said, she was my mother first. When I took liberties with her kindness, or took her for granted and lipped off or yelled, she would put me in my place with a look, or a well deserved scolding. It didn't always go over well. We are both stubborn people who like to be right and get the last word in. When two people with these traits are arguing you wind up with very loud fights. As a teenager, the arguments between my Mum and I happened often. My Dad would often try to act as mediator, but my Mum would tell him that we would work it out when we were ready. The fight would rage, we would go to our corners and when we were ready we would talk it out once the words had been shed of their raw emotion.

   These were difficult times for us, but they made me stronger. I know that a fight can clear the air and that as long as you have the courage to talk after, to work it out, to forgive the hurt feelings and even boldly admit when you are wrong, the foundations of your relationship will remain strong. I have a very good marriage and I strongly believe that my rocky yet strong relationship with my Mum during my teenage years taught me that the right person will work through all life's problems with you. The right person will still love you and forgive you. The right person will love you for all your flaws and goodness.

   My Mum is independent, friendly, and her compassionate and beautiful soul shines in her eyes. People gravitate to her because she has an energy you want to be a part of.  Her many friends trust her with their deepest secrets and know that she is loyal, honest and will not let them down. I try to be this kind of friend too, and when I feel let down by someone I thought was a friend, my Mum understands exactly how I feel.

   For years I lived far away from my parents, but last year the stars aligned in such a way as to bring a distance of almost 6000km between us down to just 7km. Instead of two hour talks on the phone I can now pop over for coffee, gossip, laughter and long talks about everything. We don't fight anymore, or very rarely, and she still shares stories with me and we help each other through the rough times. She is proud of me and the person I've become. She is one of my best friends which fills me with a joy I cannot put into words. But those feelings fall a distant second to how I feel when I look at her and know that I am truly blessed to be able to say that this amazing woman is my mother.


Happy Birthday Mum. I love you.


Cins

Dressing Up Your Pet For Christmas

Hello Blog Fans...very patient Blog Fans...

It has been quite some time since my last post.  It's not that I haven't been writing...I just haven't been blogging.  Well, that's not true.  I did post to my other blog in April.  Here's the link for those of you who are fans and missed that particular post...

http://thingsthatmakemeawesome.blogspot.com/

Now, brace yourselves.  I have big news. For those of you who have been waiting patiently for the tune that goes with the words for the Christmas Song that I talked about in my last posting, your long, painful, agonizing wait is over.   Back in July, we filmed the singing of our tune in Saltwater Sounds (where I work) and posted it on You Tube. Why? Why you ask...have I waited almost 3 months to tell you?  Because the local magazine that nicely publishes some of my writing is soon to release it's fall/winter issue is coming out soon and included in the magazine (Bread 'n Molasses) are the song lyrics and the link to the video.  The deadline was July for the info so we had to film it in the summer.  I didn't want to tell people too soon about the video as it may have spoiled the experience for people who buy the magazine. BUT...the time has come to release the mind penetrating goodness that is

"Dressing Up Your Pet For Christmas."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzLs2rGPWI0

Behold the wonder, the joy, the silliness and the slightly amusing fact that my daughter looks a bit like she's singing for the camera against her will...

I will be back sooner than later, so until then, Merry Christmas!

Yours as ever,
Cinfully Silly

A Christmas Tale in February

Howdy Hey Blog Fans

Before I start, I would like to say that I should have written this entry long before now as it has to do with the Christmas we just had...but I got distracted with other things...life and what not.  So, if reading anything about Christmas in February offends you at very high levels, book mark this post for later seasonal reading or perhaps put a sticky note on your calendar in December as a friendly reminder to come back to this entry and read about a Christmas event closer to Christmas.

But for those of you bold enough to brave the festive waters of a Christmas past in February, here is a quick tale for you.

One day, about a week or so before Christmas while Sorcha was eating dinner and I was washing dishes, we started talking about Christmas songs I dislike.  The list is many and my reasons lengthy, but what it boils down to mainly is that I am tired of the same songs every...single...year...As Sorcha and I attempted to dissect the reasons for the fury that explodes from my being when I hear "Jingle Bell Rock" we both had a delicious moment of sarcasm.  In this nugget of silly wit the gem of  new song involving pets and Christmas cloths was unearthed.  It was a magical moment and I mean that sincerely. In 90 minutes Sorcha and I together wrote a new Christmas song WITH music and sung it proudly to a few lucky family members and friends over the holidays. (and I unleashed the tune on my own without warning at a friend's party on boxing day...twice...to a crowd bemused party guests) We have a wee recording device that usually lets you download your witty imaginings to the computer, but at the moment, it's giving me attitude and refuses to co-operate.

So for now...I can only give you the words to what I hope will soon be a new Christmas Classic.  I give you...

Dressing Up Your Pet For Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

It's not an easy thing to do

They don't care what sweater

That you thinks looks better

Why are you even bothering with shoes

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your dog for Christmas

Don't dress him up as Santa Claus

Put him a fluffy beard

All your friends will think you're weird

He'll yelp if you put boots on his paws

Dressing up your dog for Christmas

Dressing up your cat for Christmas

She's not the mother of the Holy One

She's just way too hairy

To be the Virgin Mary

This won't be her idea of fun

Dressing up your cat for Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

They don't care if they match the tree

Even in something snappy

They'll still look unhappy

It's such a waste of money for me

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your fish for Christmas

He's not into cloths this year

You won't get him to wear a tie

He's too fast don't even try

He hardly even knows you're here

Dressing up your fish for Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

It's not an easy thing to do

They'll just eat the sweater

That you thinks looks better

And soon they will be chewing on their shoes

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your pet for Christmas

Dressing up your pet....for Christmas

And there you have it...a new Christmas song.  My mother in law, who was one of the fortunate few to hear this song over the holidays actually caught herself singing it at work upon returning in the New Year!   This song could be a hit for the ages...and if I can ever figure out how to transfer the recording to the computer, I will post the song so you too can hum a new Christmas tune that will drive you to the brink of  festive madness.

Thanks for reading Blog Fans!

I remain as ever, 

Cinfully yours.

An Unexpected Tradition

Hello all. I probably should have written this entry around Christmas, but with one thing and another, I never got around to it. In November the editor of Bread 'N Molasses asked if I had a piece of Christmas writing on my person that I would like to submit for the Nov/Dec issue of the magazine. I said that I didn't, but I could send something soon.

It took me a few days to come up with a topic, but once I did, the poem came to me fairly easily. Every year in the fall since she was almost 4 my little girl has been cutting paper for Santa. She finds construction paper, or white paper and cuts into tiny bits and leaves it in a zip lock bag for the big guy. To this day, I still do not know exactly why she decided to this for him, but it's become as much a part of our Christmas as turkey and rum sauce (not together of course...). My heart aches at the thought of this lovely offering to Santa running it's course, but when it does at least it will last forever in our memories.

I wrote this with great love for Sorcha.

Paper Love

Late September
3 months to go
Christmas thoughts come early
In her room
Small hands work busily
Cutting carefully
Clipping paper
Not wee fingers
Red, green, purple
White, blue, brown
Different shapes
Odd shapes
Placed gently into piles
Paper for Santa she says
So he can make crafts
And she smiles
A simple explanation
For a generous offering



4 years old
Anxious and happy
The bag of paper love
Sits next to the
Milk and Cookies
With a note explaining
Her gift
To him
Christmas morning
Soft running
On carpeted stairs
A note lies beside
The empty plate
She is pleased
Santa is happy
He promises to makes crafts
For his workshop
A tradition is born

Next September
A new room
Slightly bigger
Busy hands
Clip and create
A new bag of paper
For Santa
To be left
On a different mantel
With the same feelings
5 years old
Delighted at Christmas
At the missing paper
At the craft left by Santa
It’s a Christmas Tree
Full of colour
And joy
Like her




Christmas time
6 years
7 years
8 years old
His Paper waits
With his cookies
Genuine wonder at the

The Angel



The Polar Bear



The Rabbit



All created by Santa
With paper
With love
With the gift
From a sweet girl
Who wanted to give
To Someone
Who gives to
Everyone

And there you have it. And yes, for those of you who are curious, Santa left a picture this past Christmas (2010) with paper she had left for him in 2009. This past November we happily adopted a goldfish named Mushroom. Santa, through is magical and mysterious ways, must have found out about our new pet because below is a picture of the latest creation Santa left behind for Sorcha.



I can't imagine what he will leave next year...


Until next time, I hope everyone's year is off to a good start.


As ever,
Cinfully yours.

Chicken of the Sea

Beached rubber chicken
I see you under that log
You're nothing but a
Washed up comedy prop.

Who's laughing now?

Oh-Can-It-Fit Day

Howdy Hey Blog Fans

If you're a fan of my facebook album "Canada Day Through the Ages" then this story may interest you. I wrote a story for the current issue of Bread 'N Molasses (on sale now!) all about the dress Sorcha is wearing in the photos and how it has become to mean so much more then just Sorcha trying on this dress every Canada Day.

------------------


I had a dream recently in which I told someone in the dream that for my Bread ‘N Molasses article I was going to write about soccer. When I woke up I realized, no matter how certain I had been in the dream, there was no way I could do this. The World Cup News has obviously slipped into my subconscious enough for me to dream about it, but all I really know about soccer is that it seems necessary for a player to rip his shirt off when he scores a goal.

I also thought about writing an article detailing my recent trip with my daughter Sorcha to the West Coast. I thought about describing all that had changed in the 4 years since we’d moved away, but I wasn’t sure where to begin. It’s not that I’m against change, not at all. It’s just that so much changed so quickly. The community I grew up in no longer looked like my old stomping grounds. I was a stranger to the new box stores and large ever expanding suburban areas. I was but a ghost of what was once a quieter town.

However, while we were away, we made sure to honour a tradition held in our family every year on Canada Day for the last 7 years; the wearing of the Canada Day dress. This seemed like as good a topic as any.

In 2003, when Sorcha was 20 months old, we went to Ottawa for my sister-in-law’s wedding. A friend of my mother-in-law generously volunteered to make Sorcha a dress for the wedding. While on the hunt for material for this dress, she found a material covered in Canadian Flags and insisted on making Sorcha 2 dresses. Both dresses were beautiful. Sorcha looked adorable in her wee white dress covered in little blue flowers, but unfortunately the only time she wore this dress was at her Aunt’s wedding. However, the Canadian Flag dress got a lot more use and became much more to us then just a dress.

On Canada Day of that year, we attended a party at a friend’s place. While Sorcha tromped around the yard in her second new dress of the season, Canadian Flags waving from shoulders to knees, our friend Erin took her picture and sent me a copy not long after we’d returned home. It was adorable. She’d caught Sorcha in mid strut. She looked sure footed and proud. I love this picture and hung it immediately on the fridge.

The following Canada Day, the dress being a tent style dress, was a bit shorter, but still fit very well. I’m not sure what made me think to do so, but while Sorcha stood in the kitchen waiting for her close up, I grabbed her yard stomping photo off the fridge and asked her to hold it front of her while I took a picture of her in Canada Day Dress. And the rest is history. Since then, every Canada Day Sorcha puts on the dress and we take a picture of her wearing it while holding the picture of herself wearing the dress from the Canada Day the year before and in the picture of the picture she’s holding a picture of herself wearing the dress from the year before…you get the idea. Every year the roots to this tradition get longer, the history gets deeper, the little girl in the picture gets bigger, and the dress she’s wearing gets smaller. In 2006 it had become a very short dress. So short that shorts were now required under the dress. By Canada Day 2009 it was a full on shirt, but it still fit her.

As Canada Day 2010 neared, some of our friends anxiously asked if we were going to bring the dress with us on our trip out west to continue to the tradition, but more importantly, did I think the dress would still fit? Honestly, I really didn’t think it would. I had considered over the year making it bigger by adding a new panel of material to the dress, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be like cheating. If the dress in its original state didn’t fit, then it didn’t fit. We would figure out how to show this new development when the time came. However, on July 1st 2010, with a bit of struggling and mild squawks of protest from Sorcha that she couldn’t get one of her arms in one of the arm holes, we got the dress on. It still fit…sort of. It wasn’t much shorter then it had been the previous year as most of her growth had been in her legs and not her torso, but it was tighter across the shoulders. The button at the top of the dress refused to close and it uncomfortably snug under her arms. Sorcha suffered wearing it long enough to for the taking of the tradition photo and then politely asked to have it taken off.

This day has become very special to us because it’s not just about tradition, it’s about change. The size of the dress represents the physical changes in Sorcha and the backdrop of the photograph represents all of the changes our family has been through since we started this yearly snapshot. We’ve moved a lot. Between her birth and turning 5, Sorcha experienced 5 moves. Most of these moves are represented in the Canada Day photo because the first 4 photos were taken in 4 different apartments. The 5th photo was taken in the same on as the 4th; a big deal to be sure for us. When I clicked the button on the camera, capturing Sorcha in her dress in front of the same door as the year before, it was a very happy moment. The same place 2 years in a row showed continuity in our lives. Something we had sorely lacked for years. Last year, the 2009 photo was taken in a different location then the previous 2, in front of a different door, but it wasn’t a rented door it was our door. This was the first Canada Day photo taken in a house we’d bought. The photo now had new layer; home. This change in the photograph was an extremely welcome one and one we were never sure would exist.

Now of course, this year the photo was taken no where near that door, because of being, as I mentioned, on the west coast, but next Canada Day, or as we now call it, “Oh Can-It-Fit Day, we’ll pull out the dress and the camera and Sorcha will stand in front of our door. The wearing of the dress is a fun tradition, but the Canada Day picture to me represents the journey our family has taken to find a place we could call home. That journey is finally over. We finally have a home Sorcha can grow up in and grow of the Canada Day Dress in. The picture of Sorcha in or at least holding the dress will now simply show the passage of time. As I said, I don’t mind change because clearly it’s inevitable, but our home, our door is one thing I truly hope stays the same.

---------------


And there you have it!

Have a Cin-Fully lovely day.

Summer Showers with A Spider...Man.

This is an open letter to the spider that is living in our bathroom.


Dear Spider:

AKA Moisty (as you have now been dubbed by my husband)

You, my 8 legged foe, have taken up residence in our bathroom and have been there for quite some time now. I have tolerated this in spite of my arachnophobic nature and let you live. The day I saw you crawling on the floor near the linen closet, I could have called Sean to my aid and had you disposed of immediately, but I chose to just leave you be because I really do believe that your kind shouldn't die just because I'm not very fond of you and your scuttling ways. Also, your diminutive size was in your favour. If you had been any bigger then your "smaller then a dime" self, I would have let out a blood curdling chicken like noise and summoned the aid of my husband who would have introduced you to the tight squeeze of tissue while I huddled in a corner crying and asking through tears "Is it on me? I feel like it's on me!"

BUT I did not.

After your long trek from the floor to the wall to the sky light, you decided to live on the ceiling RIGHT ABOVE THE SHOWER and have been in and around there for a better part of 2 weeks. I have been tolerant of your web crawling and sneaking around the sky light behavior for a couple reasons. First, you look a little pathetic as you try to stay on your single strand of web. The moist air from the shower clearly disturbs the ball like state that you seem to enjoy. While the shower is running your are constantly struggling for an 8 foot hold but with dampness lurking around you on every side, you just can't do it. I can almost hear your wee squeaks of frustration as you slide up and down your invisible web pole and feeling a tad sorry for you, I let you continue to live there.

The second reason you remain a part of our bathroom is out of concern for our environment. I love a long hot shower. Water conservation isn't my strong suit I'm afraid. AND for the last 10 days my family has been away leaving the shower time wide open. However, thanks to you and your web crawling, leg kicking, creepy oozing ways, I've not lingered in the shower at all. It's been all about getting in, getting washed, keeping an eye on you and your whereabouts, and getting out. No extra has time has been spent enjoying the soothing water and thinking about what my next blog entry should be or pondering whether or not wine and popcorn for dinner 2 nights in a row would be a good or bad idea.

All was well...until this morning.

Listen "MOISTY" I thought this relationship of ours was working. You had found a safe place to live with no birds lurking or ants waiting to take you down (although what are YOU surviving on? Your will to live?) and I had found the key to being very water conscience. But NO! You had to almost ruin this bizarre co-dependent lifestyle we've created! During my shower this morning you journeyed from a position not quite above my head to a position directly above my head and for some reason you seemed to be having "extra trouble" keeping your single strand to a short length. I'm not going to lie to you, this made me nervous. So if you recall, I said "OK! The shower is yours! I surrender it to you!" I shut if off, did my drying thing on the far end of the tub and as I lifted up my head after wrapping my hair in my towel, there you were; dangling your wee brown self no more then a foot from my face! I managed to not hurt myself upon exiting the tub at lighting speed (which is why this entry is not "awesome") and screeched. And you just hung there, legs splayed, increasing your size to full on bluenose, twisting happily in the breeze left by my hasty departure. You seemed, dare I say it, smug Moisty. But smug is as smug does (whatever that means) so let this letter be a warning to you! My family is back tonight which means I will not be taking long showers anyway and if you dare repel down your gossamer thread to within an arms reach of my head, you will not be allowed to flee back up to your home near our sky light, but you will be flung rather rabidly to that big web in the sky.


Think on that my Arach-Nemesis,

Most sincerely,

Cindy Rule