A Christmas Carol

Carol #WhereIMFrom

I’m late on this. Been thinking a lot more than writing lately. Blame it on the time of year. Blame it on THIS year.  My mother’s name was Carol. She was born on December 17-the day this post should have gone up. She was named Carol after A Christmas Carol or after a christmas carol. A near Christmas baby.

Her life ended much sooner than it should have. 24 years lived and that was all. Some of those years were joyful and others hard and dark. I always try to picture her smiling. I desperately insert one of the many photos I have of her-gorgeous, regal almost, in my mind. A beauty on the outside with a battered heart on the inside.

I do hope her soul sings in heaven.

Favourite Birthday Memories

What’s your favourite birthday memory?

In this photo I am turning 2. I think I am very happy. My face looks happy. I am wearing a birthday dress.

I’m with my family. I know my Nan is there because it’s at her apartment. And my parents. My hair is fancy and there is cake. I’m sure it was one of my favourite celebrations!

Your turn!

Some Sadness Has No Remedy But There Is Ice Cream

I think sometimes we see things at certain times for very specific reasons (even if we don’t know it in that instance).

I was reading some blogs and came across this-a blog I follow regularly but not daily. Anna lost her son-it’s a devastating story that she shares so beautifully.

Today I read this and I believe it’s no mistake as today is the anniversary of my father’s death. The night he just did not return home. I was 7 years old. That coupled with the recent news of the sudden and tragic loss of my brother, makes it all seem so unbearable at times.

This helps. It offered me peace and made me smile.

Excerpt from the novel Goodbye for Now by Laurie Frankel

“To love is to lose. It’s just that simple. Maybe not today but someday. It is the inevitable condition of humanity. Some sadness has no remedy. Some sadness you can’t make better.”

“But then why isn’t everyone walking around miserable all the time?”

“Because ice cream still tastes good. And sunny and seventy-five is still a lovely day. And funny movies make you laugh, and work is sometimes fulfilling, and a beer with a friend is nice. And other people love you, too. [Death] has been around since time immemorial. You’ve run up against it. And there’s no getting around or over it. You stop and build your life right there at the base of that wall. But it’s okay. That’s where everyone else is too. Everyone else is either there or on their way. There is no other side, but there’s plenty of space there to build a life and plenty of company. Welcome to the wall.”

Dreary Day Even For A Monday

October is finally showing its true colours. It’s damp and getting cold in a way that will make wearing flip flops every day a big challenging.

I love FALL! I love the change of season-the colours of orange and red and everything in-between, just there waiting for me to look at. It’s a special time that not all climates see and it’s my favourite season even though it’s so short and what comes after leaves little promise for me.

The explosion of colours on the trees will suddenly disappear. The leaves will just drop, falling to their seasonal death, leaving an empty corpse of naked tree branches that let you see right through them to the next naked tree again and again.

There is no cozy comfort in this, for me anyways. It’s like a friend once realized, after moving here from a tropical climate. She noticed things were dying in the fall and mentioned it to her husband and he nodded in agreement, not saying a word. And so she said it, “It’s like starting all over again every year.”

She’s right of course, when it comes to trees and plants and the like. But some “things” that die don’t get to start over every spring.

“I would never wrap that rock in paper. Instead someone would place it in the box that held his lifeless body- buried on his birthday, three days after that fateful night of awful.” Lola Speaks

Storyteller- Secret Keeper

She wandered and wondered. At the same time and not. But always one or the other, if not both at the same time. Would it matter in the end? “Being” out loud in thought instead of sneaky in secrecy with everything swirly whirly in her head. A made up story was easy. After doing it enough times there’s a formula, a recipe of sorts. You follow it loosely. Main ingredients of deceit, humour and made up facts, coupled with minor variations of secondary ingredients needed to make a story complete and more importantly, believable.

A story is what it was and what it still is. Some stories are more true than others and some are just stories. No one really knows except the storyteller and she often doubles as a secret keeper. It’s a full-time gig at times and at others, a commercial break interrupting daily life.

It’s all there, the truth. It’s just a matter of who wants to know it, including the storyteller. Who is ready for it and who would rather be lulled to calm and peace by a story versus the truth.

Perhaps they can dance together.