A friend dropped in on me unexpectedly tonight. I delight in this friend and the conversations that we have, unexpectedly and with very open minds and hearts. She found me searching the internet and wanted to know what I was doing and why! She knows I’m an internet junkie but is amazed at how much time I can spend plugged in.

Our short conversation sparked a ton of blog subjects. Not the least of which was related to why I was surfing the internet (someone has plagiarised a poem that I wrote as a teenager and I was trying to track down the poetry thief to learn more about them – that will be the subject of another blog).

But the one topic that drove me to this entry was about a young teenager that she knows. He is trying to re-define his life in his current environment. He has consciously made a decision to be a different person that he has been over the past years. The choices that he is making will reap him much abundance and happiness in the coming years. At some intellectual level he knows that, because he is very smart. At some other, deeper and more touch-sensitive level, it hurts indescribably much.

He no longer wants to be what he once was; the skin doesn’t fit. But he hasn’t yet found his place in his new tribe. The old tribe wants him back. He doesn’t want to go back there. The new tribe hasn’t recognized him as one of them. He hasn’t yet figured out the approach that will get him from one trapeze to the other. He is in the middle place; scary, stressful, lonely, empty. The chrysalis span.

The story tugged at my life. I remember being in high school and hanging out with the very bad crowd. Of course, bad in those days was relative. It was all about smoking on school property, skipping classes, drinking at the dances, snubbing your nose at anything that had a *tomorrow* label on it. All very tame in comparison to today. But, relative or not, it was bad enough in those days that I know my Mom despaired over what I would make of myself.

At some point I came to a flash point. I don’t remember the point. I only remember the change and how awful it was and how I felt that I no longer had a place in the world. I decided that I would drop the “bad crowd”, that I would study harder, that I would not cut classes, that I would not sneer at the rest of the world in its attempts to define success. All well and good.

Except I no longer had a place, a belonging, a community, a network, a tribe, a gang. I was all alone. I was no longer one of “them” and I was not yet one of “those”. I was alone and I was lonely. For years there were weekends where I would get home on a Friday night and not leave my place until Monday morning, and I hadn’t spoken to a single soul in the period of time.

As I was recalling all of this for my friend, the feelings that I felt back then, some thirty five years ago, came back through the quiver in my voice. I remember so well the years where I believed that I never quite fit in.

Where you were you, and I was me, and there was no us.

Life cannot be more forlorn.

I wanted to tell her young teenage friend: Have hope. This will define you. Your decisions will mark your future, where you alone will determine how – and with whom – you want to spend your days and your energy. From a weekend with no voices, to an address book with over five hundred people who would spend time merely because of who you are, and not which group you belong to (or whether you have excelled at Facebook-friend-delusions).

This is the journey I have travelled. It will be yours. Stay the course.

The time of being between trapezes is well known to change management advocates. I prefer the analogy of Linus-with-his-blanket-in-the-dryer. For sure we know the security is gone. What we don’t know is: Will it ever be the same? Will it be different? Will it be better? But most pressing of all: How can I cope with this feeling of nothingness in the meantime?

Most of all, I wanted to tell her young teenage friend that I too have travelled that lonesome road. Having come the distance, I can promise you this. You have made the right choices. At some point you will look back at this time and find that, in the place to which you have now travelled, you may sometimes be alone but you will never be lonely. You will find your tribe, your group, your gang, your community, your role.

And you will have done that because you stayed true to yourself.

Travel well, my young friend. I am on the path in front of you. I am cheering you on.

Laying Down Beside Love

They said it wouldn’t last six months. She was too young and naive. He was thirteen years older with a wandering eye. The passion would fade; the love would gradually wear down; or – the most frequent thought – he would move on to his fourth. The worst of it was that some said it with a certain kind of glee, like they believed that no one could be allowed to stay that happy. Like Eyeore, “it’s not raining now, but it will be soon”.


They were wrong. They were wrong by hundreds and hundreds of months. By decades.


Today, Jim and I celebrated our 29th wedding anniversary. Six months at a time.


And, I am delighted to report to all those naysayers that we are as happy today as we were back in days of the shadow of their doubt. More than that, the years have brought a contentment that not even we forecasted. We stayed longtime lovers and we became fast friends.


I am reminded today of our wedding song.

I’ve spent my life looking for you
finding my way wasn’t easy to do
but I knew there was you all the while
and it's been worth every mile

So lay down beside me, love me and hide me
kiss all the hurtin’ of this world away
hold me so close, that I feel your heartbeat
and don’t ever wander away

Mornings and evenings all were the same
and there was no music till I heard your name
but I knew when I saw you smile
now I can rest for a while

So lay down beside me, love me and hide me
kiss all the hurtin’ of this world away
hold me so close, that I feel your heartbeat
and don’t ever wander away

Hold me so close, that I feel your heartbeat
And don’t ever wander away

My Jimmy. Thank you for every month and every mile in this journey of our love.

Golden Sun

I know I am not alone. I know that there are mothers out there who miss their children, to the extent that they will wake up in the middle of the night in panic. Was that a child’s cry? Did I leave a light on? Did I lock the door? Did I close the safety pins? Who are they with? What are they doing? Can they ever understand the precious gift that was given to me with their first breath?

I count myself among the fortunate that Lynn and Corey are but a short trip away from me. I can check on them at any time the mothering whim overtakes me – they are but a scant few miles away and I don’t have to calculate time zones!

Kelly is, on the other hand, in California. Passports away. Two hours-before check in at the airport. Almost a six hours flight. Finding baggage; traversing strange airports. American money. Leave your more than three ounces of toiletries at home. No scissors or sharp objects. Forget about cutting your nails while you are way. No more than one lighter per person. Take off your shoes; leave jewellery at home; is that change in your pocket? What are you wearing a studded belt?

A trip into Berkeley from SFO where you have to read a strange map with coloured lines and wonder whether you are heading in the right direction. Am I going towards her, or am I not?

Kelly is coming home for a few weeks. We talk today, with me negotiating whether or not I am *allowed* to meet her at the airport. Or is it Todd’s turn? The last time she came home, I went to the getting her with Todd and I don’t think he will ever be the same – there is something about your girlfriend’s mother embarrassing you at the airport. Is that her? Are you from a plane in San Francisco (I say to complete strangers de-planeing from Washington)? Why is it taking so long; check the board again; shouldn't she be here by now? I am singing through the airport “the Berkeley Babe is coming home!!!”. “My baby is coming home!!!”. Todd is looking everywhere but at me. But he is smiling inside because he is just as excited as me; he just isn’t as crazy.

Of course, now she says “you will have to take it up with Todd”. Cute, imagine the conversation that will be?! She says I won’t be able to stay up until midnight when her flight comes in anyway because I’m usually in bed at night. (Helloooo, I am writing this at nine o’clock!). I suggest that Todd will get the pickup pleasure; I must be there on the leaving.

I’m laying down the mommy card.

I relate the conversation with Jim. He understands; after years of knowing me, all he can do is start singing:

I left my heart in San Francisco

High on a hill, it calls to me
To be where little cable cars

climb halfway to the stars

The morning fog may chill the air,

I don't care

My love waits there in San Francisco

Above the blue and windy sea

When I come home to you, San Francisco

Your golden sun will shine for me

And So...Hello, Golden Sun. How many more sleeps till you come home?

And We Are Better for it...

My friend, Sylvia, has a great post about the sadness of illiteracy. You can find it here.

As I read it, I was reminded of my grandfather, John Gleason, who was a proud and strong Irishman but who was illiterate. He worked as a supervisor during most of his life at CN. And he managed to cover up the fact that he couldn’t read or write a word. I remember so fondly the stories my grandmother used to tell. How Grandpa used to memorize every one of his crew members’ names and then come home to tell my grandmother how many hours each employee worked that week. Despite the fact that she was raising seven (or eight) children, Mau used to help him with the payroll records every week so that each of his men got paid the right amount. Together they kept better records than any fancy techy payroll system could do today. All the men got paid. And, nobody ever knew that he couldn’t read or write; he was that good at hiding it.

I was also reminded of my uncle who also could not read or write. However, he got so good at recognizing his favourite shows in the TV Guide that you could almost swear he was reading right from the Guide. He also learned how to read the lotto numbers in the paper. My uncle, a big and generous man who fought in the War. And, nobody ever knew that he couldn’t read or write; he was that good at hiding it.

And then I was reminded about Kelly. How we were told in her primary years at school that she had a learning disability, and that meant that she would also have trouble reading and writing, forever. How Jim and I fought back against that label in a school system that was quick to assign damning labels to those who didn’t quite fit into their check boxes. How we insisted that she get special help but without assigning their fancy labels. How a wonderful teacher by the name of Ms. Wright showed the system that they were wrong. How she encouraged me to read to Kelly every night – a task I embraced with Joy. How Kelly rose to the challenge. And, by that grace, Kelly can read and write beyond the skills of most of the population. And she won't need to hide.

And, finally, I was reminded about Peter. I read with Peter every Saturday at the library in a program called Leading to Reading. Peter came “with labels”. However, in the two + years that we have enjoyed together, he is reading at the level he is *supposed* to be at for his age. We rejoice in that together. And when we are together I am reminded of the opportunities available to him that were not available to my orphan Grandfather. And I am proud of the social system we have built in Canada. And hiding from labels is something Peter will, thankfully, never have to experience.

And so, as a read Sylvia’s post, I think of the concept of full circle. I wish I had lived at a time when I could have helped my grandfather to discover the joys of reading authors like R.L. Stine (a favourite of Corey’s when he was growing up and now a dawning favourite of Peter’s).

My mother always said that we are placed on this earth to make things better for the next generation. Through the power of words and books, we can open up new worlds and rip off the labels. And so the link goes from my grandfather, to my uncle, to Kelly, and to Peter. We have triumphed over the labels.

And we are all better for the contributions that they have made, or will make, to our lives. And we don’t even know it.

When I read a book I seem to read it with my eyes only,

but now and then I come across a passage,

perhaps only a phrase, which has a meaning for me,

and it becomes part of me.

To You Who Make A Difference

My friend, Shannon, sent me the text below. It reminded me of the wonderful people in my life who are teachers and I wanted to honour them. Joanne, Valerie, George, Karri, Lisa, Kelly: this one is for you...







The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man, a CEO-of-much-self-proclaimed-importance, decided to explain the problem with education.

He argued: 'What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?'

He reminded the other dinner guests what they say about teachers: 'Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.'

To emphasize his point he said to another guest: 'You're a teacher, Jane. Be honest. What do you make?'

Jane, who had a reputation for honesty and frankness replied, 'You want to know what I make? (She paused for a second, and then began...)

'Well, I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.

I make a C+ feel like they can achieve the Order of Canada.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of class time when their parents can’t make them sit for 5 without an I Pod, Game Cube or movie rental.

"You want to know what I make." (She paused again and looked at each and every person at the table.)

I make kids wonder.

I make them question.

I make them apologize and mean it.

I make them have respect and take responsibility for their actions.

I teach them to write and then I make them write. Keyboarding isn't
everything.

I make them read, read, read.

I make them show all their work in math. They use their God-given
brain, not the man-made calculator.

I make my students from other countries learn everything they need to
know in English while preserving their unique cultural identity.

I make my classroom a place where all my students feel safe.

I make them understand that if they use the gifts they were given, work
hard, and follow their hearts, they can succeed in life.'

(Jane paused one last time, then continued.)

'Then, when people try to judge me by what I make, with me knowing money isn't everything, I can hold my head up high and pay no attention because they are ignorant...

You want to know what I make?

I MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

What do you make Mr. CEO?'


His jaw dropped, he went silent.

Before I Was a Mom

Before I was a Mom I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom I never held a sleeping baby
just because I didn' t want to put it down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.

I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.

I never knew that I could love someone so much.

I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom I didn't know the feeling
of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth.
The joy.
The love.
The heartache.
The wonderment or the satisfaction of being a Mom.

I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much
before I was a Mom.

And before I was a Grandma, I didn't know that
all those "Mom" feelings more than doubled
when you see that little bundle being held by "your baby".