Fifteen Years

The end of an era? Or the beginning of a great new one??

My Youngest turned 15 years old this week. Yesterday, he got his learner's (driver's) license. Today, he is polishing up his resume and could officially begin looking for a job. A few weeks from now, he will have completed his first year of high school ...

How did it go from this ...



... to halfway-to-grown-up so fast??

As if sensing my unease with the way this all seems to have happened so quickly, he assured me that he will still be living at home for quite a few more years. "By the time I finish university, I will be in my twenties ..."

University!?! Yes. He knows what he wants. And he plans to go after it. He has a plan. He is fifteen years old. And he has a plan!

He is a deep and insightful thinker. Within our family unit, he comes off as quiet and a bit of a recluse. Yet if you engage him in something that he is interested in, he can hold up his end of the conversation and you may not have the chance to speak once he builds his momentum.

My 'little hayseed' ...

... has turned out to be full of great ideas and promise.

He doesn't yet 'see' what has to be done in and around his world.

His focus is on his own living space and he takes care of his belongings (and vacuums when the cat hair gets too thick). His Older Brother is encouraging him to take ownership of some of the outside maintenance and this is more than His Brothers took on at this age and stage of their lives.

I believe 'tunnel vision' is very normal for this time in one's life. I never tried to fight it with my older kids because I remembered all too well, what it was like to be that age. 

Children copy what they see ... 

... perhaps My Youngest saw far too much vacuuming in his formative years. He is a tiny bit 'allergic' to vacuuming now.

He has grown up with pets. He has learned to be caring, gentle and kind. He has felt the unconditional love of a cherished furry family member.

He sat by the sidelines and earned the title of being The Chosen One from our Senior Cat (Andre) ... and has finally taken on the pride and responsibility of being the one who fought to adopt our Junior Cat (Ray).

He knows what it is to love someone the way a parent loves a child. Without condition. Without end.

Our 'guard dog' Sheba keeps her young person away from the danger of the stairs around the corner ... 

... we never know what is around that next bend in life. But we know that we can handle whatever we are given when we have loved ones at our side.

My children are gifts. To me. To this world. To those that they bring into their lives. Each and every one of them.

My fifteen year old son gave me the give of appreciating the many blessings that parenthood has bestowed upon me at a time in my life when I was finally open to receive these many gifts.

Every time he advances through an age or a stage that I have gone through twice before, I am given the gift of 'multiplying it by three'. I was too young, too hung up on appearances and perfection, too stressed and trying too hard to figure out who I was as I raised my older children. My Youngest has known a calmer and a more experienced 'me'.

I will continue to expect the unexpected as my fifteen year old son rounds the bend and takes on the challenges that life will toss his way.

May the seeds we have planted along the way, carry him where he needs to go.

My Heart Has Grown Three Sizes

I feel like I'm 'cheating' on our cat ...

How would I feel if I was in his shoes? If I was relaxed and happy in my role of Senior (and Only) Cat in the home ... and My People brought home a younger, more energetic, healthier version of myself. My twin, in fact?

Ray (New Cat) on the left; Andre (Senior Cat) on the right

How would I feel if the Family Computer desktop photo displayed the New Cat in the family?!!?

Honestly, I thought Andre would think that he was looking at a picture of himself ... but who else but 'Ray' would lay in this 'yoga' fashion?!?? The 'left eye wink' is another of Ray's trademarks

Andre, the bystander. He can't believe Ray's lack of modesty!

Andre cowers to my touch these days. He literally winces and his bones become like jelly as he avoids me. If I think it hurts to be rejected by him ... how in the world must he be feeling to have another cat taking over his family?

As much as they appear to mirror each other in so many ways ...

The difference is in their tail placement - Ray is on the right (with the curled tail)

Andre still maintains ownership of 'his' spot on the couch!

In the hierarchy of cats, Andre comes out on top (on the top bench, anyway)

... they are two unique personalities.

I hate to see Andre become any less of the cat that he has always been. But he has. His confidence is shattered. He is so much less of the confident Only Cat that he used to be. And it breaks my heart.

The sad thing is, is that Ray is fast earning his spot in our hearts. He is a fun loving, out going cat with energy, health and vitality. Is this why people are drawn into temptation outside of loving, long term relationships? That lust of falling in love all over again with a younger version of someone who mirrors the person that they have known and loved for 'forever'?

I found myself lusting over townhouses in a new area near us yesterday. It brought me back to the time in my life when I bought a brand new townhouse and was forging out on my own. Everything was fresh and new. Everything was clean and everything worked. I seem to be looking for a younger, fresh and new in more things than cats these days.

Then there is the fact that I have been a small bit obsessed with the idea of attending our high school reunion.

I think that part of me is wanting to go back in time. And what better way, than to adopt a young, new cat?

So yes, I do think that I am feeling the guilt of having an 'affair'. And I think Andre knows that and feels it too. He is trying to forgive me but it is coming out in small, tentative doses. It hurts. But I can only imagine how hurt Andre must feel.

A person's heart simply grows to love more and more as life goes on. A parent doesn't love one of their children any more or less than another. We love with our whole heart. We simply love and appreciate the differences that each unique being (whether they be a child or a pet) brings into our lives.

I think that my heart has grown three sizes lately ...

"The Grinch hated Christmas — the whole Christmas season.

Oh, please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason.

It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.

It could be his head wasn't screwed on just right.

But I think that the most likely reason of all

May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

And what happened then...? Well...in Who-ville they say

That the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!

And then the true meaning of Christmas came through,

And the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches… plus two."

~ Quote from "How the Grinch Stole Christmas"

The Train Wreck Theory (as I know it)

One of the blogs that I follow recently had an article published where the author of the blog talked about the high amount of traffic her blog received after her son was hospitalized. She spoke (respectfully and kindly) of how it is simply human nature for people to stop and look when they see a tragedy but she assumed that her readership would drop off as her reflections on her blog returned to her day-to-day meanderings.

As I read the words, I couldn't help but think of the blogs that I follow. Half of the them involve loss. 

So yes. I too, have succumbed to allure of the typical 'train wreck' observer. I have seen (read about) tragedies and I simply can't look away. Why? But more importantly, why am I still following these blogs four years after the loss? It is because of my dad ...

Dad suffered a massive heart attack and after fifteen minutes without oxygen to his brain, he was revived. If you had read about it in a newspaper, you would have walked away thinking that it was a miracle that he survived. If you were the person that was involved in saving his life, you may walk away feeling like a hero. If only that was the end of the story.

Dad's body survived. Yes. But we lost everything else that he was that fateful night. He continued to breathe for four years and eight months longer. He was hospitalized for the rest of his life. My mom was still married but she lost her husband. There was an entire story that followed that 'train wreck' of our lives.

Surviving loss comes in so very many forms. Death is final and there is no going back. There are so many more ways to lose a loved one. Debilitating health issues change a person and their relationships. Bankruptcy, job loss, retirement and/or career change. Divorce. Family dynamics may break down and you 'lose' a family member that is still living and breathing a life separate and apart from your own ...

'Train wrecks' derail our lives. But life goes on. What can be salvaged is put back onto the railroad tracks and carries on for the rest of its natural life.

My attention is drawn to those that survive and must carry on with some semblance of 'normal' in a what has now become a completely 'abnormal' life. I have learned so much from those brutally honest authors. I sit back on the sidelines and quietly cheer them onwards.

I may not be able to avert my eyes from the tragedy ... but it is the story of survival after the unthinkable happens that keeps me coming back. It is the story of the survivors that is what is most important after the fact.

It isn't about 'survival of the fittest' for me. It is about the 'survival of the survivors' ...

Touched by a Memory

I had a crush on a boy when I was in my early teens. I had several small crushes throughout my elementary years but for some reason this crush mattered just a little bit more than the others. I don't know why ...

I didn't speak to boys in those days. Honestly? I don't really think that I learned how to speak to those of the opposite sex comfortably until I was nearing 30 years old. So I would imagine that I would be about as memorable as a gnat to those in my class. Especially boys.

This particular crush had a memorable moment.

I was in gym class. Somehow in some way, I got knocked over and fell to the floor. I quickly picked myself up and (knowing the me that I was back then) the only injury would have been having my invisibility cover blown. If anything at all, I was probably embarrassed.

Then ... the boy-I-had-the-crush-on, came up from behind me, put his hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was okay. He touched my shoulder! He talked to me!! Me!!!

I was over the moon. I remembered that moment for ... forever. Heavens! Even right this moment, I remember that touch.

One other moment stands out in my mind like that.

I was 27 years old and I was sitting helplessly in my car, watching my 'ex' toss my belongings out of our second story window. I was powerless. But I was not alone.

My brother came up to the car and touched my hand. No words were spoken. But it was a touch that was spoke volumes. It was powerful in much the same way as my teenage moment when the-boy-I-had-a-crush-on touched my shoulder.

Fast forward to this past weekend. Thoughts of my high school's 35 year reunion had me reminiscing and I found my way to Classmates.com.

I signed up and checked out the names that were familiar to me. I found the name of boy-I-had-the-crush-on.

I read his story. It is of a 'Prince-Charming-married-his-Princess-and-lived-happily-ever-after-variety'. That is nice. I like happily ever afters.

Then. Monday morning, I received a message from Classmates.com, that two people had "stopped by and signed my guestbook".

I would have shown up in his guestbook the day prior. It is not an unexpected thing that anyone who is curious may have checked in on anyone who 'signed their guestbook'. Even if they had no idea who that person was.

But ... the moment I saw the name-of-the-boy-I-adored-in-junior-high-school in my guestbook, I was a young teenage girl once again.

It felt like someone touched my shoulder and asked me if I was okay all over again.

I lead a charmed life. Moments where I feel 'angels on my shoulder' in such a wide variety of ways ...

Newer Isn't Necessarily Better

Life is full of little lessons. Who knew that a broken camera could remind me to appreciate what I have ...

I went to snap a picture of the kids Friday morning and the camera was out of focus. Of course I didn't realize it was out of focus at the time. I thought I must have dropped the lens in a vat of oil. But wiping off the lens did nothing to help the situation. It was then, that I had a vague recollection of dropping the camera. So, I batted the camera around (rather) forcefully in hopes of knocking things back into place (hey!, it worked for Fred Flintstone's amnesia).

Nothing worked. So I was forced to feed my Kijiji addiction and I scoured the ads. I found what I assume was a bargain. A never-been-out-of-the-box camera that someone had won from a home lottery. I googled the camera and it looked like it would do the trick. I would have paid $130 for it in the store. I bought it for $75.

Once the battery was charged, I was eager to find out what my new camera could do for me. It has a few little bells and whistles that I didn't have before (sound options which allow me to have a dog barking or a chick cheeping in lieu of your regular, old shutter and button sound effects and various ways to 'have fun' with your photos...).

What I didn't realize, is exactly what a memory card does for you. My other camera was a gift and I do remember being told about the memory card. But since I continually download the pictures off of my camera onto the computer, I really didn't think that I was fully utilizing the memory card. That is, until I tried using this camera without one. I could take approximately six pictures and had room for about five seconds of video.

As I played around with my new toy, I slowly realized that the camera I now have is not as good as the camera that I had. Not having shopped for my previous camera nor having a great deal of knowledge about camera features, I assumed that what I bought would be close to what I had. Close is the operative word. It will be just fine for my purposes ... but I wish that I had realized what I had before I lost it.

Not too long ago, our vacuum cleaner audibly sighed its last breath and died. It was sudden and it was final. The motor - the heart of the vaccum cleaner - was gone.

I could live without a stove without greatly impacting life-as-we-know-it. The same could be said for many of our kitchen appliances. But the vacuum cleaner?! At the height of the mud and dirt during the spring season? I was out shopping for a vacuum cleaner faster than you can say 'Clean it up!'

I just needed a quick fix. Anything with a canister and power nozzle would do. Or so I thought. We brought home our new toy and it was soon put to use. Hmmm ... it was nothing like what we had before.

From width of the power nozzle, to the ease of changing attachments, to the inability to carry the attachments within the vacuum cleaner itself. Little things. But I missed our old vacuum cleaner with the few extra features that it had. I didn't appreciate those little things until they were gone.

Then there is our cat.

Andre is a senior citizen among cats. We know this. We appreciate who he is and what he has to offer just the way he is. He still has kitten moments, but they don't last long. His lack of appetite has been a concern for the past six months. He is slowing down and it is sad. And it is scary. The very thought of losing our precious most-favorite-cat-in-the-world breaks my heart. He is still here. And we fully appreciate Andre for the cat that he is and always has been. He has filled our hearts and home with a special brand of cat-love like we will never know again. And he still does ...

Then we got 'Ray'. Our New Cat. Ray is the new model among cats. He comes with all of the bells and whistles that come with young age. He has energy. He has personality. He loves all and shares his affections generously. He is an up and comer in the cat world. He is a likeable guy. And we are keeping him.

It breaks my heart to see the contrast between our Senior Cat and our New Cat. Our new model is not necessarily better ... but his warranty will not expire as soon as Andre's. If all goes according to the natural law of aging, we will lose Andre first.

While our new model of 'cat' will fill a part of our hearts ... he will be nothing like the original. He has pretty big paws to fill.

That which is new comes at a price. Newer isn't always better. It helps us appreciate what we once had. The sad part, is that it is often too late by then.

Treat what you have with care. You may be able to replace or live without what you already have ... but it will never be the same again.

A Walk Down Memory Lane

An invitation to our 35 year reunion had me walking down memory lane this morning. Since my memory needed a little encouragement, I pulled out our high school yearbook and started thinking about those young and 'innocent' years. All I can say (35 years later), is I wish that I would have made more memories during that time.

As my youngest son started high school this past fall, I found myself reflecting on my high school years as being 'invisible'. It wasn't altogether a bad thing for me. I walked through the halls of My Old High School and made little (or no) impact during those years. I was quiet and absorbed the world I lived in. I believe those quiet reflections made me more of who I am today.

Who am I?

I started my role as 'Mom' shortly after our class graduated. And so began my journey into adulthood ...

My marriage taught me independence. It was an off again, on again relationship that lasted the better part of ten years. I had one more son and three months after he was born (twenty six years ago), I packed up my little 'family of three' and moved to Saskatoon. It was the best move of my life ...

I worked full time in the banking industry from January, 1979 until June, 1998 (when my youngest son was born).

If life has taught me one thing, it is that the best outcomes come out of the most trying of times. It was a moment in the sun with my youngest son that changed my world. I sat in a sunbeam with my infant and knew that 'this' was where I had wanted to be all along. I 'just' wanted to be a mom ...

I opened a daycare and have been operating that (with a three-year hiatus to educate myself and try out a brand new career at the age of 50) ever since. I learned many more hard lessons during those three years of trying out the brave new world. What I learned most of all ... is that I have made a difference in this world simply by being a mom.

My children are reflections of who I was when I raised them. They are good citizens in their worlds and making small differences in the way they see and reflect the world. And they like me. They really like me! Trust me, after raising two teenage boys, I know that I am blessed beyond what words can express to be able to say, "My 15 year old son likes me." I always follow up that statement with the disclaimer "I know this can change in a heartbeat ... but I am grateful for every moment that this remains to be true." I have been saying that since he was 12 years old and he still delights me simply by LIKING me!

So no, I don't have a list of degrees, careers or accomplishments to write about. What I have instead, is a life that I am grateful to have. There is peace in our home and harmony within my family. And my family has grown to include friends that feel just as close as family to me.

Moving back to Saskatoon brought me closer to my 'roots'. I was born and lived in this area until I was 9 years old and I believe that I spent my life finding my way back home. I have researched, interviewed and compiled memories for both of my mom & dad's families and gotten to know my extended family in ways I could have never imagined.

I am nearing 53 years old and I can happily say that I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. If life goes my way, I will never stop saying that. I love being open to being able to go where the wind blows. As long as it always blows me back to a home filled with quiet joy, peace and contentment.

Thirty Five Years Later ...

I received an invitation to my 35th Year School Reunion a few weeks ago. At first glance, I was intrigued and excited about the idea of going back in time and seeing those that I once knew throughout my school years. Then I scanned the two pages of graduates that they are looking for ...

Each and every one of the people that I think of, when I think back on my school years was on that list. From the group of us that used to meet up and walk to school together ... to those that I was closest to in my junior high years ... to the names of the guys that I used to have crushes on. They were all on that list.

I have kept in contact with two people from my school years. One of those friends, I met in grade six. The other, I met in grade ten. That is it. Other than a few rare school-friend-sightings (where a friend of mine recognized my mom or my brother or their name) over the course of these past three decades, I have completely broken away from my school friend bonds.

As I thought of the list of the names that I recognized on that 'missing list', I realized that I made one new friend in my high school years. At least that is what I remember. Are my memories from junior high years meshing with my high school years? I hope so. Because if they aren't, I believe I must have been what one must call a hermit or a recluse or afraid of the world in my high school years ...

I pulled out my high school yearbook and counted up 426 in our Grade 12 year. Two hundred and fifty six of those students are on the 'missing' list. I know from talking to the two friends that I have kept in touch with, that at least three of the lost have been found.

I know that we can't go back in time, but I have rekindled long, lost friendships by being present and available for the opportunity to get reacquainted with someone I once called 'friend'.

Will I attend that reunion? The jury is still out on that one. If I knew that I would cross paths with just one person that I have lost touch with I might.

My biggest fear? That I would walk through that door and people would look at me and wonder if I had ever attended that school. Because I felt invisible in those days ...

Perhaps what I am seeking is the hope that one person did notice and remember me back from the days where I blended in with the walls. I long for the feeling that comes from learning that you did make an impact somewhere in your life ... without realizing it at the time.

My bigger hope? That if I did make an impact ... that it was a positive one. And that is the scariest thought of all. To go back in time and hear that someone remembered who you were for all the wrong reasons.