Ode to a childhood home

My wonderful parents recently made the decision to move to a home more suited to their needs, and their home of 49 years officially received its SOLD sign on Saturday morning. 

It's a momentous occasion for our family, and I sat down to moodle on the good karma of this place just over a month ago. Re-reading what I wrote today, I barely had to change a word (but Dad wanted baseball and bunnock games in there, and Mom wanted Ante-I-over somewhere...) 

Ninety-nine twenty-seven,

you've been the meaning of "home"

for almost half a century.

And what a beloved place you have been --

a place of comfort and joy,

of games and fun,

of laughter and tears,

of celebrations and challenges.

Your big old Mayday tree in the backyard

where we set up skipping ropes 

to ferry messages via ice cream pail

from one trunk to the next

(and where I once got stuck),

and your Snoopy and Woodstock playhouse

that Marjorie and Elizabeth 

decorated before we came,

always full of spiders

or neighbourhood boys

that we didn't like.

Your proximity to the school across the street

so early mornings didn't have to be 

quite so early.

The backyard tent 

built over your umbrella clothesline

and the dress-up clothes fashion shows

that entertained us on summer afternoons.

Slinkies walking down your stairs,

"hospital" played in your attic,

a "passion play"

complete with thunder and lightning

(when Jesus died)

enacted by puppets 

behind your basement bar.

Oh, and the school hamster who escaped

(don't panic, DON'T tell Mom!)

and somehow squeezed under it

to be discovered in the corner of a keepsake box,

happily munching a saved school report.

Ping-Pong in your rec room

with Dad, 

who played left-handed

(until we beat him),

card games around your dining table

with all the cousins at Christmas,

and watching The Wonderful World of Disney 

in your living room on Sunday nights.

Piano lessons from a neighbourhood babysitter,

twelve-string guitar songs floating down

from your pink and purple bedrooms,

Study No. 6 ringing through you

over and over and over,

til Mom sighed with pleasure.

One of your rooms full 

(every wall)

of Edmonton Oilers newspaper highlights

painstakingly cut out of

The Edmonton Journal.

Renovations...

and your new family room

full of light.

Baseball and Bunnock games

across your street

and over the schoolyard fence

on which more than one of us

ripped our pants.

The sound of the adding machine

balancing the books for the business,

computer games,

and term papers being typed

in your basement office.

A boarder who didn't stay.

Birthday parties,

youth group gatherings,

graduations, 

and meetings of all kinds.

A first kiss for a future husband

on your front step,

and a wedding's second day party

in your newly built garage.

Campers and trailers 

of various sizes and shapes

parked in your back yard.

New babies

and doting grandparents

building couch cushion forts

for them to crawl through

as they grew.

Your dress up clothes

for another generation,

and costume jewelry besides.

Your huge piles of raked leaves

into which Grandpa

threw his grandchildren

over and over again.

Church music practices

in your front room

once a month

(turn up that bass, Aaron!)

Your Harry Potter party,

complete with costumes

and Grandma's creations --

chocolate marshmallow frogs!

Wild games of ante-I-over

with tennis balls flying over your garage

and leaving marks on your sunroom windows!

Running freshly cut homemade noodles

up and down your stairs

and all over the house

to dry on your beds.

Your much-loved sing songs --

King of the Road 

and Darktown Strutter's Ball

(turn up that bass, Aaron!),

bellowing 'Enery the Eighth I am, I am

or softly singing

Love Can Build a Bridge

with forty of our favourite people

(a few different ones every time).

Lots of splashing in your heated birdbath

and Grandma helping a grandchild

to rescue a bird 

who froze to your chain-link fence

one very cold day.

Surprise kids' art

and handprints

on your walls 

near the treadmill.

Kartoffel und gleis,

chicken noodle soup,

Christmas dinners and Easter suppers.

Playing Christmas game gifts, setting puzzles,

and watching 

Bing, Danny, Rosemary and Vera-Ellen

in White Christmas

every year.

Visiting through your window screen

or sitting around your firepit 

properly distanced

during Covid times.

A little black dog chewing pork bones

or napping

on your back rug

during coffee visits.

The company of so many

friends and relatives, 

and Uncle Fred sleeping

in his favourite bed.

And now it's time,

sad as we are to say goodbye,

for us to let you go

so another family can enjoy you.

Just looking at you,

ninety-nine twenty-seven,

they'll never know

how much good karma

is in your bones 

and in our hearts.

Thanks for the memories!

A morning with my other sisters

Let me start by saying that I have two perfectly marvellous, fun, and brilliant sisters (that I love deeply)  from the same mother. And then let me tell you about how I rediscovered two of my "other sisters."

Recently I decided to look up my very first best friend from when I was 7-9 years old. I'd tried to look her up online previously, and though I found her on a travel website, I was unable to jump through all the right internet hoops to be able to contact her at that time.

So it was exciting to find her again, this time on Facebook. I sent a message to be sure I had the right person, and a few weeks later, received a message back. She was the right person, indeed, and we actually lived in the same city (I always thought she lived one province over)! So we chatted a little bit via the internet, and I promised her that when my second batch of strawberries were ripe, I'd invite her and her grandson over to help me eat them.

My friend and her little guy came to visit on September 4th, and to be honest, it seemed a little awkward at first. So much water had flowed downriver since we were kids. We had missed so much of each other's lives. As she came up the sidewalk, I was looking hard for some hint of the girl I once knew. Her face vaguely reminded me of my childhood friend... but it took until she laughed before I knew her once again -- her laugh was like hearing a song that I loved but had nearly forgotten! We hugged each other tightly, and both our eyes filled with tears.

Today, I hugged her older sister, and it happened again. These two women meant so much to me as a kid that it nearly broke my heart when our family moved away from them. Today I called them my "other sisters" because my morning with them was sort of like coming home. Rediscovering them has been something of a miracle in my life, and it's such a joy knowing that they're both doing as well as can be in spite of the heartaches and struggles that came with their lives.

Playing with these two friends as a child, I just played. I didn't think to ask personal questions because knowing the details of each others' lives wasn't as important as rowing our imaginary canoe down the river; building snow tunnels through the lilac bushes after the blizzard; seeing how deep we could wade into the flooded area at the park before our rubber boots filled with water; or making a perfect, smooth, crab racetrack by sliding our bums across the sandbox.

It's only now that I finally know that these other sisters originally came from Thunderchild First Nation in Saskatchewan, but were taken from their family of origin at ages 3 and 4 (during the so-called '60's Scoop) and placed in a foster home -- until they reached the age of 18 and were told they were on their own.

Life has not been easy for them, but they have managed to reconnect with their biological family and build strong relationships. It's such a relief to know that they have come through many hard times and will continue to thrive because of their love for each other. They are amazing women, definitely part of my Amazing Club.

This morning, my eyes filled again as my rediscovered sisters invited me to smudge with them. I closed my eyes and prayed, "Thank you, Creator, for bringing us back together. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Afterward, we sat and chatted for a long while, reminiscing, jogging each others' memories and laughing about things that happened in our almost forgotten shared past, trying to remember names and places, catching up on bits and pieces of each other's lives in the years since, and losing track of time.

It was holy ground.

One year ago...

...we were in the little village of Taizé, France, which has become synonymous with the Taizé Community, an ecumenical place of worship that draws young pilgrims by the thousands every year, but particularly in the summer. For me, walking into the Church of Reconciliation was a homecoming that filled my heart with so much joy because it is a place where all are welcome at Christ’s Eucharistic table, where music is the primary form of prayer, where  justice, reconciliation, love, and hope are the bottom line, and where people of all ages share their spiritual journey.

The beauty of nature surrounds the little village, and nature's proximity added so much to the experience. Hearing the birds singing their morning songs through the open windows of the church in our times of silence, or walking to St. Stephen's source kept us in touch with God's wonderful creation even in the midst of 1500 pilgrims. It was more beautiful than I dared to imagine.

I was deeply, deeply touched by the experience of being there, to the point that when I was trying to explain what it was like to visit Taizé at a Good Friday Taizé service, I couldn’t speak for the emotions that filled me. All I can say one year later is that the prayer services, three times a day, were a taste of heaven for me. The whole place was!

It has been quite a while since I’ve moodled about my heart’s home here, so I leave you with a walking tour of the place that touched my heart so deeply one year ago, set to one of my favourite chants. It's a bit jumpy, but so wonderful to walk that road again. Thanks to Mostar Taizé for posting this video on YouTube. Enjoy!

Simple Suggestion #46 of 100... Store memories, not souvenirs

It's vacation season... and who can resist a souvenir shop? We will be heading to Seattle, and I'm sure there will be stuff we've never seen in the little stores there. Fortunately, I have no ambition to load up on kitsch, as I see many lifetimes' worth as I unpack bags of donations at the Clothing Room of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul. T-shirts from every destination under the sun (some never worn, retail tags intact), address books, wall plaques, postcards, pillows, tea towels, keychains, mugs, jewelery, windchimes... and on the list goes. Most of it isn't terribly useful to our homeless folks, and I certainly don't need any of it cluttering up my home.

As some wise person said, "Take nothing but memories, and leave nothing but footprints."

So for our vacation, I'm taking a camera and my journal. I've done that all my life, and still love to reread memories and look at pictures from years past. If I get any particularly good ones this year, I might share them with you, too. Watch this space.

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Try here.

The gift of experience...

My girlfriend and I were commiserating yesterday about how much we hate shopping, especially when it comes to certain people for whom it is hard to find the right gift. She was stumped by her mother-in-law, who isn't one for "stuff" (and Cathy's not into giving "stuff" either). So I suggested an "experience." You know... a ticket to something, an activity or a show, something that her mother-in-law might enjoy but wouldn't necessarily think to do for herself. Cathy found a great gift online -- tickets to a dinner theatre. What made it even better was that she didn't have to leave her home in BC to get a wonderful Calgary present.

My favourite gifts for the past two years came from my parents. Two years ago, they gave us tickets to see Aga Boom, a troupe of clowns (once members of Cirque du Soleil) who played at the community theatre in Sherwood Park. We still talk about that evening and how hard we all laughed at the chaotic, messy and totally participatory ending of the show. And last year, we received the gift of a canoe trip from Devon (west of Edmonton) to Edmonton. We went in August, and what a wonderful day it was!

There are multitudes of experiences that can be given as gifts. Think massages, foot rubs, a trip to an art gallery or museum, a nice dinner... use your imagination. Some experiences don't even have to cost a penny. My husband gave our girls the gift of teaching them to play his old "Risk" game one Christmas. Experiences, especially good ones, can stay with us longer than almost any single "thing" because things tend to wear out faster than great memories...