why is it that some days i would kill to be a teenager again? a sobbing, heart achy, boy crazy, basket-ball playing, musical theatre geek teenager again?
i spent the day listening to mix tapes of yore, and thinking about the good times that were had whilst listening to said mix tapes. remember when driving around and doing nothing WAS fun? or simply hanging out in someone’s room? talking about the boys? thinking about the boys? hating the boys.
i would kill to have the bones and muscles i had back then. and i’m barely 32.
maybe that’s why i want to be a teenager again.
so, i have osteoarthritis. which wouldn’t sound so awful if i was 65. however, being that i am not 65 it sounds awful. so, on the guidance of my naturopath, i am supposed to curb my enthusiasm for all foods that are fun, basically.
and, i am supposed to eat boat-loads of quinoa.
i like quinoa, i really do. but i was starting to run out of ideas on how to eat it.
quinoa with yogurt. check.
quinoa tabbouleh. check.
that was all i had in my bag.
until i discovered quinoa flour… and made quinoa pancakes.
holy eff. so good.
buy this book.
it has been a while since i last wrote. i am house and dog sitting for my family and today i was officially going bonkers. they live in the suburbs, or at least what i think is the suburbs-for it takes much too long a walk to get anywhere interesting. while i do enjoy the quiet, when you are all alone with a sleeping toddler-it just seems eerie. my sister-in-law goes back to work on monday after a year long maternity leave. as i did not qualify for any benefits from EI, i did not have a “maternity leave” per say. so, when i start to consider whether or not i will be returning to work-i get all anxious and confused, for i would have to ask myself the question of “what would I do?” i have a master’s degree in religious studies, but i am also very interested in food, cooking, baking and canning. the question becomes, am i a bad mother for thinking about having a career? while my therapist would tell me no-it’s hard to ignore.
the worst thing is, while i was sitting here trying to think of what interests to type, i completley neglected to write down music as one of them. it’s kind of an insult to myself, as i am in a great band (currently on hiatus) and am a jazz vocalist. neither of which i can say i have been doing much with as of late. what a shame.
the final question is then, “WHO AM I?”
my daughter started walking yesterday, and i find myself thinking about this bullshit.
And, after an afternoon of dazed grocery shopping I come home to a missed telephone call from my mother. My grandma Didi passed away in her sleep this afternoon. She took one last breath in the company of her children and left us. Oddly enough, I looked at the clock at the moment my mom said she was to have passed.
I miss my grandma. I missed her even before she was gone. I miss watching Y & R with her, hearing her yell at Victor for his latest offense. I miss eating coffee crisp and lemon meringue pie. I miss her stories about when she and grandpa ben were young. I miss her telling me I was too fat or too thin. I miss the way she smelled like Dove soap. I miss the way she would leave her spoon in her coffee cup after she stirred the contents. I miss watching her fight with my mom and aunt over who would pay the bill.
The greatest woman I have ever known, besides my mother and daughter lived from 1912 to 2010. Just shy of 98, she taught me so much. God I’m sad tonight.
My mother just called. My grandmother is in her last days. They’ve just put her on morphine and she is refusing to eat.
Death is strange. There is always the thought that you’ll see that person one more time before they go. How awful it is that we take for granted the loves in our lives. Why is it that we don’t ignore the stupid part of ourselves that keeps us living life blindly and without true caring?
I am going to miss my grandmother terribly. I already do. Dementia has taken the last few years of her life, keeping her from knowing who I am and that I named my daughter after her. My strong, loving, generous and capable grandmother. I model myself after her and my mother. I wish I would have cared more when she wasn’t ridden with a disease that steals her memories. I wish I could have learned how to make her raisin pie and her meatballs.
I hope that I raise a better daughter and grand-daughter than I was.
How does a new mother not feel like all she does all day is wash dishes? Beyond acceptance and being happy in my place, how do I move forward with this feeling? I love my daughter and can’t imagine my life without her, but I am just so beyond understanding myself right now.
oh crap. it’s valentines day. or is it valentine’s day. i am a terrible punctuator.
husband got home really late from the show he put on, a little fundraiser for the heart and stroke foundation. at tubby dog. tubby dog. tubby dog. if i wish for it maybe i can get there for a valentines day hot dog. or perhaps, as my friend alva has decided- krautine-
which is basically poutine for hardcore berliners. fries, sauerkraut, cheesesauce, horseradish.
it made me so sad to think i would miss it.
i’ve saved every flower petal that my father has ever given me (he was and is my faithful valentine) and placed it in a fish bowl. still waiting for my dear artist friend to make a piece with it.
one valentine’s day when I was 15, I dyed my hair red with kool aid. it was awesome. it was more pink than anything-in fact maybe i will do it again.
i wish i could see the humour in valentines day, instead of waking up to imaginary flowers and chocolates.
i had the best evening last night. it consisted of a private concert by some of calgary’s best and brightest stars. and i got to hear them sing and play in a room filled with silent mouths and open ears.
check out these folks who have new albums coming out soon!
SAVK (steve vankampen of beija floor)
Laura Leif (of Consonant C, Extra Happy Ghost and her own project “The Unbundling”
Ship Shape (Arran Fisher of The Summerlad and producer extraordinaire)
Lucky Sonne (Luke Colborne-step son of my grade school music teacher and overall awesome guy)
I posited to my fellow musicians the irony of playing to a quiet room. On the one hand, we as musicians want people to listen and get annoyed and hurt when we can hear lots of talking and shouting during our sets. However, when we play to a room of listeners who are actually present and alive to our sounds, we are more intimidated than ever. It’s strange to me that we would rather share our gift to a bunch of rowdy drunks than to our peers and mentors…Talk about getting out of the comfort zone.