I'm NOT an orphan.......

My father passed away three weeks ago.

He was lying in bed, I was holding his hand, and he just .........................stopped breathing.  We called the nurse, who got her stethescope and said that yes, he had passed.

My brother, sister and I were all there in the room with him.  We had a group hug and shed a few tears.  We hung out with my dad's mortal remains, as the retirement home staff came and went.

Someone offered some food and, although we didn't feel hungry, when the food came, we ate.  Maybe it gave us a distraction.  Something to do besides dwell on the immediate issue.

My dad was a planner.  We knew already that he'd made plans for the funeral arrangements for my late mom and himself.  No muss, no fuss; everything figured out ahead of time, including his wishes.

At the funeral home the next day, I got a call from a dear old friend.  She offered her condolences.  I remember very well when her dad passed away, and the letter I wrote to her.  And her telling me of the comfort the letter gave her.

She told me I'd joined a unique club.  And I knew what she meant - the Adult Orphan.  I said I understood her point of view, but just didn't think that way.

Later, my brother and I talked about it.  I felt, in some way, that Adult Orphans were making themselves into victims.  I\m an adult, lived away from my parents since I was 21 and made my own decisions.  Sure, they shored me up when I had problems.

But I perceived myself as an adult, and not a victim.

I don't mean to minimize the grief others may feel when their parents pass on, at whatever age or circumstance. And it's not that I wouldn't want my dad back, if his health was good.  Ditto for my mom.

I'm a thinking, rational, independent person.  And I'm not an orphan.

TMI.....

Let me tell you about a friend of mine who, when asked if she'd like to see pictures of someone's grandchildren, says, "No."

I love her.  I wish I could bring myself to do that.  I want to be nice, even though I really don't care.

Now multiply that by six hours of being in the company of three sixty-something women who all have grown children.  And grandchildren.

Two of them talked about their 'kids' like they still needed help tying their shoes.
Their relationships, their education, their jobs.  No, not my friends' lives - their childrens'!  Whom I don't know and will probably never meet.

Not that I need to.  I know more than I ever wanted to:  their allergies, their pets, whether they're coming home for Thanksgiving or where they will be, or will they be having two main Thanksgiving dinners.  Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!!

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY??

And why do these women prattle on with all this  - dare I say it - gossip about their offspring!!?? Do they find their lives empty?  Are they overly invested in their childrens' lives?  Almost like helicopter moms, except the people aren't in junior school, they've mostly finished university and have their own, productive, independent lives.  Is it loss of control in their lives that compels these grandmothers to chatter away?  Are the elders trying to solve their own problems and/or their childrens'??.

Maybe I just need a photo album filled with cute pix of my imaginary cat.

Ai Weiwei Exhibit

My sister and I went to Art Gallery of Ontario to see the Ai Weiwei Exhibit last Sunday.  I can't stop thinking about it.

He's a Chinese artist who lived in New York for ten years, then returned to China to live.  His father and friends were persecuted by the government of China.  No surprise:  China doesn't like people with individual or controversial ideas.  

The exhibit was profound.  

In an earthquake in China, a great many children were killed due to poor construction of the schools.  Ai called it 'tofu' construction.  The government denied any such thing, since it funded the construction.

In protest, Ai constructed a huge snake of backpacks, each backpack representing one of the students killed.

He also printed a giant chart with the name, gender, age, and school each student attended, along with a recording of the name of each student read aloud.  The tape took over 3 hours to cycle through the names.

 This photo doesn't begin to show how many names are on the list.  The wall is about 20' x 60'.


Additionally, he took rebar from the devastated concrete buildings, had it straightened and displayed in a huge, undulating display on the floor.  Who would think that rusted, straightened rebar could be so sensual and beautiful?

I've been thinking about the show all week, and the imaginative ways he has developed to display protest.

How would I, as an artist, protray our displeasure with the Canadian government?  My ideas are so lame and pedestrian.  

The Senate scandal:  make pigs out of the red chairs the senators sit in? Too obvious.

The horror of Lac Megantic? Fireworks in the shape of boxcars or oil tankers?  'Keep On and Play With Fire' signs??  Boring.

Ai Weiwei has developed a way to communicate big ideas in a universal way.  He is resilient, keeping his protests in spite of police-inflicted brain injury, house arrest and the literal destruction of his studio.

I bow down to him in respect and appreciation.

Am I a Snob............??

Am I a snob...............??

The other day I was looking at a food label, and thought some of the contents were extraordinary.  

So I handed it to my co-worker and said, "Here, read this."

Little did I know she would read it out loud to me.  Poorly.  I'm sorry, it was like she was in Grade Six.  

Maybe she doesn't read  much, or isn't interested in reading.  Maybe she has a learning or reading disability.  

I was embarrassed for her, and embarrassed myself that I didn't make it clear I hadn't expected her to read aloud.

Then I started to feel really bad that I felt I was looking down on her for her poor reading.  I was actually starting to feel smug and a bit superior.  Crap!!  I don't want to feel like that.  

I was judging.  I was comparing the two of us.  Not fair.  

And I felt bad because of it.  I like her, and I was mentally putting her down.

Do I apologize?  For my thoughts?  I don't think so!  

Can I change my thought patterns?  I don't think so.

Maybe I can change my reactions and be a bit more open-minded................................

My Rear End......................

My Rear End................

Well, my car's rear end, to be exact.

I live in lovely Prince Edward County, home of 32 wineries (and counting).  And many farms growing all sorts of fresh produce, available in their roadside stands, paid for by a cash lock box.

On Friday I drove past Bloomfield (as cute as it sounds) towardsWellington, to the pick-your-own apple farm listed in the paper.  Six varieties of apples.  Sounded good!  Not so confident about climbing a ladder or whatever to actually extract apples from trees.

I found the farm and its 5-digit 'street' address.  Happily, bags and baskets of **already-picked** lovely fruit were at the roadside.  Small bags, larger  bags, and plastic bags inside peck and half-peck baskets.  Is it 2 pecks to the bushel?  No bushels available.  (Hey, I guess we aren't exactly metric yet, after - what, 40 years??).  Not that I'd know what to do with a hectoliter or whatever.............!!

But I digress.

The sign with apple prices and corresponding sizes was on the table.  And a cash box.  That opened
when you slid the manual lock to the side. With money inside.  I could have taken the whole box.  No chain.  No locking lock.  Free money.  Now that's trust in humanity!

I bought a peck for $10.  I had a $20.  I took change consisting of a $5 bill, 2 toonies and a loonie.  (It's great to be in Canada.)  Staggered to the car with about 30 lb. of apples in the plastic bag lining the peck basket.  The sign said I could have the wooden basket for another $5.  No thanks, maybe another time.

So I head back towards Bloomfield.  Some a**hole in a noisy truck couldn't stand driving behind me (at a smidgen above the speed limit) so roared past me, only to find himself in front of me, but behind an even slower car.  BTW, he had the regular licence plate, and above it a 'joke' licence plate that said I GOTTA PEE.  Wowsa.  That's classy!

At the end of the road, I stopped at the stop sign, indicating my right turn.  Traffic both ways.  Lifted my foot from the brake and    BLAM!  My car was propelled 2 m. ahead under the force of the car behind me. 

I got out to look at the bumper.  The other driver bzzzzzed her window down electrically.  "I thought you were going,"  she said.  "Well, evidently not!  Until your car pushed me forward!!" I replied hotly. 

"I'm reeeeely sorry," says she, not sounding sorry at all.

"Do you have a cell phone?  Let's call the police."

"I don't think there's much damage.  I'll pay for everything."

There were now two vehicles behind us.  The guilty driver suggested that we pull around the corner to exchange information.  Now my body was involuntarily shaking.  I could barely get the pen and paper out of my purse.   Writing legibly was next to impossible.  So now I had her name, car licence number, driver's licence number and home phone number.  I hope I gave her my right phone number.  It was hard to remember under so much stress.

And my five-month-old car now has a crease or two in its back bumper.  Beautiful.

I got home, called the OPP with the details, and later a constable came to my home to look at the car.  The operator said she'd just had her bumper replaced and it cost $1000.  ($1000 is the minimum cost of repairs where you have to report the accident).  The constable didn't think it would be that much. Gave me his card, said if she didn't pay to call him.  Phoned the Honda dealer to find out they don't do any body work.  (Whaaaat??).  Recommended two place to get estimates.  Hmmmph.

Janice Bananas

 I'm 65.  I just fired my husband and moved 3000 miles to be in a new place.

Never mind the details about the marriage, that's in the past....  I wanna get a more authentic life; one where I live it, consciously, boldly, happily.

This isn't about eating the right food or exercising or............  Well, it might have some of that stuff in it, but I'm not telling you how to live your life.  (I may comment on it, though).

I plan to share my adjustment to a new life in a new town while reclaiming the good parts of my life.  And I hope to relate some of the events that happen along the way.