What's in a word?

We had a scare as a family. My father had been told that he may have prostate cancer.

Cancer is one of those words that is so common in our venacular, and we are not adverse to hearing it on the street about various aquaintances. But no matter how often you hear it, the commonality of the word, does not prepare you.When you hear the word cancer spoken about a loved one it sends you to a place that can only be described as pergotory. That simple word can have the most calm person go into a state of panic for what can be lost forever.

Panic for a life. Panic for the loss of a lifestyle and the quality of life has been taken for granted. Panic laced with a taste of death.

My father had a taste for this word. As he/we had a cancer scare. Having this scare opened up Pandora's Box and all of us seemed to find ourselves in Pandora's Bedroom.

As a child I had certain perimeter that I was willing to explore. As a child I would like to think that my existence on this earth was through immaculate conception. My parents did not have sex to make me. I envisioned the day the heavens opened and released me to earth... Celebrated in my miraculous birth and my parents full of love and wonder with my very being. The fantasy had been dashed away as my parents went on to have three other children besides me.

I am the eldest and believe in a bit of decorum. I believe that there are parimeters in your family life that should not be crossed and talking about my parents' sex life would be top of my list.

I suppose I had a belief that we kept our sexual cards close to our chests. My father was a prude and we never saw him naked. We never mentioned the word sex as a family. But the cancer scare brought the word sex right out into the open air. We learned that my father not only had a prostate but a penis to go along with it.

As my family gathered in my parent's living room, there was talk. There was talk about my dad. There was talk about the prostate. There was talk about his penis. There was talk about his sexuality? There was talk about the fact that he would rather die than not??? Than not??? What word are we saying here?

What are we talking about here? What are we talking? This box is wide open and they, they being my siblings, are all talking and joking about my parents' sex life. I was just listening to them with my mouth hanging open as if witnessing a lovetrain wreck: a sex wreck.

This sex posse went on a diatribe about how 'randy' my parents were/ are. All three seemed to go on with glee as they talked about the walls shaking. They had given my parents sex monikkers.They talked about the fact that my parents need a new bed every four years because they need more 'spring'... I do not know where I have been, or how far in the dark I was/am but glad I have missed on the 'noisemaking' since I left the house twenty three years ago. And I am eternally grateful that my bedroom growing up was far away from theirs. Apparently, my siblings did not have this 'luxury' or so they have bestowed upon me with an endless array of adjectives and adverbs to describe these two people that I have only addressed as 'Mom and Dad'.

Now, my family has me bright red with embarrassment , my mother is busy in the kitchen and my father is in the garage getting all the celebratory livations that are required for having all his children: (apparently the product of his loins) all in one house. And we were all there to be part of the celebrations as he was diagnosed cancer free. He does not have to worry about his 'manhood' for a while yet. 'And if that is not something to celebrate, he does not know what is'....This utterance has not come from his lips, it has come from my sister's.

My father enters the livingroom, his children abruptly seguay into other topics. And decorum has been brought back to his living room with a great sigh of relief from his eldest. As more people arrive, the gathering is becoming more civilized.
I am grateful that the grandchildren have always chosen the comforts of the reckroom for these family gatherings as opposed to the LIVING room with the scoundrels.

There are twelve adults have now meandered into the dining room, in a confined space and one must raise your voice to be heard across the table. One learns very early on to annunciate and support your voice through your diaphram if you want the potatoes passed. A lull in the conversation could be the perfect opportunity to tell a joke. But with so many people gathered there is rarely a lull so one has to pounce fast if you would like the undivided attention of the group.

My elderly, niave, cousin from Ireland, as well as my mother's baby brother have joined in the family dinner. There is a lot of frivolity as the food is passed around the table. There is a wicked sense of life. There is a sense of relief and there is a sense of thankfulness in our moment of all gathering together. We rarely have the luxury of gathering together although we live relatively close. Lives are filled to the brim with commitments and other somewhat benial things to fill our plates. And the fact that the cancer scare has passed it has caused a certain electricity of hope and appreciation for a healthy future and we are all glad to partake in the breaking of the bread together.

Now, I have rarely mentioned my dear, sweet, husband; BoyWonder. BoyWonder tends to like to be 'a mixer': a troublemaker: Johnny Mischief:. He always has a twinkle in his eye and he loves a good laugh. And he loves to razzle my family. He has taken upon himself to be in the centre of the table at this gathering and I am sitting across from him. He is in between my rude sister and my cruder brother.

He has decided to seize the opportunity to report about my younger cousin's band. He decided upon this topic as he knows how to get all these people started. This Pandora's Box has been opened afterall. BoyWonder is just poking at it a bit.

He clears his voice and addresses my father.

He says 'Have you heard of Neil's formed a new band?'

I glare at my husband. The table is too wide for me to kick him. The table is now silent as they are riveted to my dad and WonderBoy's loud conversation of importance.

My dad replies that he has not.

WonderBoy says that they are quite good. And with that he gives me a momentary reprieve. He has me breath a sigh of relief. He makes me think I do not have to whip the mashed potatoes at him. But just as quick as he gives me this gift, he takes it away.
He then sighs, an audible sigh that could be heard over the clattering of utensils on plates. He gives this long sigh and then makes certain that everyone at the table can see his troubled look.

I am going to kill him.

I glare across the table.
He's not!
He's not!
Oh yes he is...

Shame about how rude tha' band's name is. says he.

My dad asks 'how rude can a name be?'

BoyWonder has them all waiting. He has them all without food in their mouths. He has them all watching him.

'Weeeelllll, the band's name is Neil&Bob.'

And with that my crude, ruffians, that claim to be related to me, burst into volcanic laughter... All are laughing except for my mother and my elderly, spinster- could-be/should be-a-nun, cousin.

My mother says'I don't get it'

My cousin says I don't either...

The entire table is crying with laughter...

My mom turns to my dad and is getting angry for not being in on the joke 'What are they laughing at????' she cries.

And to my absolute horror,to my utter horror Dear Reader, from the head of the table, where all eyes are on him, He, my father, my uptight, never talks about sex,but now has a penis and a cancerfree prostate father, looks down the table and says 'Honey! You know...'

And then winks.? Yes, he winks.

My cousin screams in exasperation ' I still do NOT get it!'

My mother is frustrated' I don't either" and glares down the table.

Her younger brother fidgets in midlaugh and says" I don't think you wannna know!'

She rebuffs her younger brother and retorts 'Of course I do. Why would I still be asking?'

And with that, all heads turn to my dad. He clears his throat, and with a bit of embarrassment of a schoolboy caught behind the fence smoking his first cigarette says 'Honey, You know KNEEL and BOB'

He waits to see if it registers. We all turn to her.

Nothing and then, with a sigh, he says it again, except with the actions of a blow job.

My cousin screams' Mother of Gawwwwwwwd!'

My mother blushes and cries 'What kinda rude people have I raised????'

My dad shrugs as it really is NOT his fault. It's BoyWonder's. And he points at my husband and says 'it's his fault!'

I am guilty by being associated with BoyWonder.

My family is howling.

As that dear reader, this is how with a simple word, my entire notion of immaculate conception was blown out of the universe. The image of my father has shattered all the perimeters of my fantasy. My shattered notion of immaculate conception and pretty much every other sacred illusion that has passed my mind about my parents...

De Nile is not only found in Egypt.

My daughter turns Nine on Saturday.

And amongst the chaos, of preparing for her party under the stars, with her twenty most intimate friends, I want to take the time to reflect on her miraculous birth. It is a time to be thankful for her. It is a time to think how I am blessed by the everyday joys of having her in my life and it is also time to remember how she splashed into my life. Her entry into the world was a cue for wonders and to believe in everyday miracles for they happen everyday sometimes you just need a reminder.

My pregnancy was unique as all pregnancies are. I had a menstrual cycle through the first trimester. I only went to the doctor because I thought I had mono. But while in the doctor's office, waiting to seen, I thought... Just maybe, I could be pregnant.

And pregnant I was. I kept my miraculous secret, a secret for two days as I wanted to tell my husband on Valentine's Day, with baby clothes.I wanted his first Valentine to be from our little Scooter. His first Valentine from his wee baby.

I named my wee zygote Scooter as she scooted past the radar of us. She just scooted into our lives and well into our hearts. When we first heard that beautiful cacophony over the monitor, that whhhhaahhhh whaahhhwhaaa whhaahhh heartbeat and saw her flicker on the monitor, our hearts could not contain our joy. The miracle of a life is something to behold. It certainly had my husband and I star struck as we watched the ultrasound. We could not breath as watched her dance on the monitor before our eyes and with the back drop of the heartbeat had the two of us were riveted to the screen.

We had minor and major hiccups with the pregnancy. At 29 weeks, we had a scare during a full moon when our wee little Scooter wanted to come out. Our midwife met us at the crowded hospital where she called in advance so that I may have a bed. I remember being whisked in and forced to lie in a bed, they attached me to a fetal monitor, and while there was panic all around, I was trying to sing a calming lullaby to my wee Scooter I was trying to coax her to stay in for just a few more weeks. A few more weeks and she would have lungs to help her breath and she would not be torn away from us.
And somehow, through no medical intervention, she decided to stay inside until the day she was due. No rhyme or reason, she opted to stay in.

On September 30th at 6a.m. I had my first contraction.

Actually, that's a lie.

My first contraction happened the day before when I was running to catch the bus in the middle of a downtown intersection. I was tying up loose ends at work as my baby was due on September 30th, I had back to back meetings. I was running late when I saw the offending bus.
I ran,
and Owwww!!!
Whoa!!!!!! THE PAIN !
I remember just stopping on the street.
I remember holding the side of a skyscraper with my right hand and my left hand was on my belly. Just one sharp hit and it had me breathless, and I was holding myself up.

It was such a shock that I am certain I howled. I am certain I must have grunted.

Somehow I was not heard or noticed, as I had my first contraction. People kept walking with purpose all around me and there I was motionless and for a brief moment without air.
This contraction that was so unexpected that it did feel like a kick through my spleen.
I breathed in, I breathed out. I breathed in and ooooooout.
And the pain past, just as the people around me did. They fluttered about their business, while I stayed for a brief moment in suspended animation. When oxygen came back to my head and I could find my legs, I continued on my way.
I gingerly walked to the bus stop and waited for the next bus and my composure to return so that I could finish my meetings for the day.

After, tidying all my loose ends at the office, you find me on September 30th at 6am feeling my second contraction while lying in bed. It is a mild taste of yesterday and I am able to function as a normal human being.

I go to use the loo and there is the bloody show. The time has come. My baby is coming. I go back and lie in bed and listen to the birds chirping and the warm autumn air drifting through my open bedroom window. I am going to meet my baby today. I am going to be able to smell her, to hold her, to see her eyes, feel her skin, I am going to be able to nurse her in my arms.

I am talking myself through the day. I am envisioning a bath, I am envisioning a back rub from my husband and while I am 'dreaming' of the activities the pain begins to mount.

At 7:30am the alarm clock goes off. My husband, Boy Wonder wakes up. I tell him I am in labor. He smiles, kisses my belly and goes downstairs to take a SHOWER????

He is whistling in the shower, he is listening to the news, he is having a normal day.

Meanwhile, I rise from our bed descend to our second floor and begin pacing the halls. Walking back and forth. Millions of thoughts of self doubt are swarming through my mind in a flurry of contractions.

Boy Wonder turns on the radio in the bathroom. Boy Wonder shaves. Boy Wonder brushes his teeth. Boy Wonder tests the water. Boy Wonder takes a shower. Boy Wonder combs his hair. Boy Wonder gets ready for WORK?

I have opted to lie in our prepared birthing bed on the second floor, I am in the fetal position, he walks in and plops himself down in the rocking chair in the corner of the room.I look up. He begins to rock himself, his eyes meet mine. He looks at what he is wearing and then cautiously says'I guuuuueeess,I'mmNNNOOOOOOTgoingtowooork?'

I drag myself up from the birthing bed and pass the smiling, the freshly showered, the humorous, the 'non working ',clean man, rocking contently in our rocking chair, in our birthing room.

I start to walk the hall again. I go to one end of the long narrow hall then when I reach the end I return. Back and forth, back and forth. And all the while thoughts are zooming through my head as the contractions build. I am transported to an open field in sixty five years ago to where my grandmother is giving birth alone, I am in the hospital wing where my mother is in her 24th hour of labor on the hottest day of the year with no ventalation. I am thinking of my paternal grandmother giving birth to my father who was her first and weighed in at twelve pounds thirteen ounces. I think of all the birth stories that I have been told to me. I wince through then all and I think I am so unworthy of THIS club. This club, this club of endurance. What made me think I could be a mother?

I then talk myself through the fact that I can not walk away from pain I have to walk through it.

I re-enter my birthing room. My Boy Wonder has now changed into his birthing clothes. He slides himself down on the rocking chair and asks if I have seen his book.
He finds his book and proudly shows me the cover triumphantly, 'The Birth Partner' says he... HE cracks it open and reads aloud 'Chapter One... '

Now, Dear Reader, do not hate him. Boy Wonder went to every appointment with me to see my midwife. He went to the birthing classes. Heck, he even took a parenting class. He just did not do the last bit of homework and now he is cramming.

It is around 9:50 am.

I haul myself up again and walk down the hall to reevaluate my inadequacies in the birthing department.

When, what do I hear from down the hall?
Power tools?
Yes, that is exactly what I heard POWER TOOLS!

I walk towards the noise, towards the birthing room and there, there, in the birthing room is my Boy Wonder installing a new light fixture. I scowl at him as I slink back in the bed.
He then proudly points to a chart that he has made while I was 'away'.

He then says 'Oh, you should be having a contraction!' he says with enthusiasm,
and with that it came...
he timed it... as well as a many others.

and then the phone rings...
He answers it????What tha???? Yes, Dear Reader, he answered the phone.
it is one of my clients... I had a contraction, while Boy Wonder was on the phone with my client. My client then informs him that it would be in his best interest NOT to pick up another call.

Anyway back to us...
Back to the ' uncommunicative wife' and the Birth Partner. The Birth Partner has decided that I am not communicating appropriately, so he calls our midwife at 10:30 am. She tells him, that I have a longway to go and that I have to remain focused. She will arrive at our house at 1pm to help. She then asks to speak to me.

One thing about me Dear Reader, I have a very high pain threshold. And Dear Reader, I was able to 'talk' during a contraction. Our midwife had no idea about how far along I could be. Apparently women should not be able to talk while in full labor and who would have thought that I could have defied what the norm was.

Now, as I mentioned our midwife gave my husband instructions. She told him that I had to remain 'focused'. But focused to a woman in labor and focused to a man that is freshly showered and with power tools mean entirely different things. He took this cue or me needing to remain 'focused' as a perfect time to install a baby mobile above the birthing bed. I took this as a 'cue' to take a walk down the hall and think of ways to distract me from killing him.

When I slunk back the room holding my belly, I saw him smiling in the rockingchair, the showered face, the brushed teeth, the power drill in his left hand, the chart on the table, the Winnie the Pooh baby mobile above the bed...I just said,quite calmly 'You turn that thing and you die!'

I lay there for about a half an hour and then I started pacing again.

And then Dear Reader it all unfolded.
I wanted to relieve the pressure. My water had not broken. I knew it was going to be a long arduous day. But if the sac would just break.

I am focused and think if I just go to the washroom.

At this point my husband has had all he could bare with me. He tries to call the midwife's pager again and this time he reaches a pizza delivery place. He hangs up and calls again. Again it goes not to our midwife's pager but to a corporate switchboard. I should mention, that he did call the proper numbers. But while he was calling, a satellite crashed to earth and took down all paging systems from around the world for ten minutes.

10 minutes of not reaching vital number.

Boy Wonder after one minute of not getting through begins to panic. He makes an executive decision to call the landline of the midwives. He gets a hold of the receptionist and informs her that he needs to talk to a midwife. He thinks that things are really beginning to happen as he says this, I push.
I scream.
He comes running into our bathroom with our portable phone and places the phone on the counter as he yells 'Oh My Gawd,It's the Baby!'

And I yell back that ' IT IS NOT!!!!'
I stand up and everything goes back in.
My husband screams back 'If it is not the baby you are in BIG TROUBLE!!!!'

Now, in Celtic folklore, being born in the cull/sac is one of the luckiest thing that can happen to a person. There is a belief that very few are and it is very special. To be born in the cull is looked upon as a miracle. Well, that was certainly the case with us, as I sat on the loo and pushed to relieve the pressure. Three strong guttural pushes and the baby came out in the cull.
The sac broke my baby's fall as she hit the toilet.

The cull exploded.
The umbilical chord snapped.
The chord snapped, in the right place.

I get up. My legs are shaking and I am hemorrhaging.
I try to get my baby out of the toilet. I can not stand. My husband, pushes me aside and knows from years of experience to move the seat UP, and he picks up our beautiful daughter who has not cried at all. She is just looking all around her like a sage, ole creature.

One thing I have not mentioned through this story has been the fact that I had a dream months before giving birth. I had a dream about my daughter's birth. In my dream I was all alone upstairs in my bathroom and the windows were closed and I could not call for help. In my dream, there was 'a voice 'that kept saying everything was going to be okay. In my dream, it told me to go to the tub to deliver.
And so I followed my dream. And I trusted the voice. I went to the tub, our great Victorian tub which supported my back and my legs and helped me deliver the placenta. I would never have thought of that on my own. It was a perfect place for me to squat. A perfect place to sit and breath.In and out, in and out.

And then the world came hurdling back to us.

We could hear the midwives screaming from the portable phone on the counter'PICK UP PICK UP!PICK UP!'

My Boy Wonder, my hero, picks up the phone, the midwives tell him to give me the baby or I will go into shock if I am not physically responsible for the baby. They also tell them that they have called emergency services and he better get down stairs and open up or they will break down our door to get to us.

They also instruct him to give me the phone.

They start telling me to hold the where the umbilical chord broke, they tell me that Iam the strongest woman alive, they tell me that help is on its way and to stay with them...
And all they while I am holding the umbilical chord, and my daughter and I are just looking at each other.

The paramedics arrive in a matter of minutes.
They take my baby from me and give her to my husband, they also give him a list of things they need from him from our house and then they start ot work on me.
I know that the situation is not good because they will not look in my eyes. They are just focused on trying to stabiize me. I want them to notice me. I want them to hear the voice too.
I want them to stop panicking.
I read one of the guy's names from his badge. 'Jim.'
'Jim!' he stops 'Jim, do you have any kids?'
'Yes'
'How many, Jim?'
'Three.'
'Jim, after each one, everything was all right, right?'
'Right.'
'Well, Jim, everything is going to be okay.Everything is going to be okay' and with that he looked into my eyes and I had him repeat after me.' Everything is going to be okay.'
He nodded and he paused. He looked at me in my eyes. I knew he saw me then. I knew that he saw me as a human. I knew that I was there and he saw me, not just a body that was bleeding away.
I had an IV, I was on a heart monitor and then my 'back up' midwife arrived.

She flashes a badge and said that she is legally allowed to give me these drugs.
And with that she injects me in my left thigh.
She then injects my right thigh.
With the help of the paramedics I get out of the bathtub and I am walked to my birthing room.

The midwife goes to work on stopping the clotts from traveling to my brain.
This basically means that the midwife sits on my chest and beats my stomach for close to twenty minutes.

No one EVER told me about the beating!

The paramedics are not allowed to leave me with the IV. The midwife is not allowed to take it out. Nor is she allowed to touch the heart monitor. The paramedics can not touch the drugs, nor can they touch the baby's med pac.
Very strange as it is all legal mumbo jumbo... But the paramedics and the midwife have to work as a team as the hospitals were in a crisis mode and not taking on any new patients.So this emergency team must work together so they can stabilize me as there is nowhere to go. I will die if the bleeding does not stop.
The drugs start to take affect. I am stabilizing but will need a bit more medical attention from the midwife and I certainly need the IV for another hour or so.

As the midwife works on my body, the paramedics clean up my bathroom. There was blood through out the bathroom and being the compassionate, caring people that they were, they took it upon themselves to clean my bathroom ceilings, floors and walls. They believed that I should never see it.

Our main midwife arrived when all the chaos had passed and my Boy Wonder had to talk the midwife out of the shock of missing the birth of Scooter. She had been a midwife for 20 years and this thing just does not happen. She has never missed a birth. She cries about all that could have happened. Boy Wonder consoles her.

The rest seems so inconsequential as the midwives took an hour to knit me back together, how they ensured that I had enough fluids in my body, how the administered Vitamin K into my baby, how they took all the vitals of Scooter, how the midwives gave my husband some drugs for him to cope with the shock. (He claims that he was just fine, but I do not think that if he was complete control of his faculties as he would have given me the phone to talk to my father when the midwives were knitting me back together...)

This story has been told a great deal of times by us. It is a story of my daughter's birth and my near demise. It is a story that still causes my husband to be overwhelmed with emotion when he gets to the part with the paramedics. The paramedics were taking control when he realized how out of control it all became. The paramedics allowed him to take in the whole story.

It is the story of how we became a family and when my daughter splashed onto the scene at 11:45pm and when the midwives left us at 6pm.

I do not know if I can say with a certainty that fate helped my wee family. I do not know if I would think of us as special as aren't we all? I would say that I do think of most days as having some kind of miracle in them, and sometimes we need to take the time to find it.

I can say that within my heart I am so eternally thankful for having each day.I am so grateful that I am watching my beautiful, wonderful, daughter, flourish. I am beholden with her laughter, her sense of being and her love of song.I am grateful that I can witness her endless compassion. I am grateful that I have the strength to stand by her as she makes mistakes. I am grateful for when I am there to watch her succeed. I am grateful to be there for when she struggles. I am so fortunate that I have experienced nine years of her. I am so fortunate to be part of her cognitive memory. And that she has filled my soul with wonders as she has been growing up.

And while her birth is just part of her story. It was only her entry. I know that someday she will ask for the whole story. The story of her birth. The story that may have her envisioning me walking down the hall and her dad with power tools.

I rarely think of what could have been lost that day. I only think of what I have. And what I have is a great story for my daughter to envision. What I have is a most wonderful husband that could never bare to think of me in pain, much less dying and not spending the rest of his life with me and power tools. What I have is truly a wonderful life with endless moments of miracles in being. And on my daughter's birthday it is just nice to have the reminder.

Neil Sedaka - Calendar Girl

A Girl's Slumber Party.

I am about eleven years old. I am too old for dolls and too young for boys. It is an awkward time to be a girl. That is, unless you have your absolute best friends around and then all fits into place.

This song brings me right back to my bedroom on the third floor in my house in the city. This brings me back to me standing beside my record player and playing this 45 that I just inherited from an old uncle of mine. I would play it over and over and all my girlfriends would take turns dancing, singing and miming out the song. Each time the song played, the campiness of our dancing and our singing would put any Dean Martin Roast to shame. We would squeal and laugh and fall onto my bed and play it again. We would all be wearing our comfortable pj's. We would have our sleeping bags and best junk food littered on the floor. We were young. We had each other.And we had years of friendship under our flannel belts.

I grew up in an age before MTV really got its groove. If you even want to call it a groove now. I grew up LOVING musicals.I could sing the entire score to Fiddler on the Roof and force my friends to play various characters. I grew up listening to Bing Crosby. My parents did not listen to any of this. It was just me, an odd quirky girl. A girl that could persuade her friends to listen to all types of music. I grew up listening to Frank Sinatra mixed in with the Rolling Stones, David Bowie, twinged with Elvis'69 comeback special. I grew up listening to the Jackson 5 and the Osmonds. I grew up to The Beatles and the Monkees. I grew up listening to The Bay City Rollers, Bobby Darren and Eartha Kitt. I grew up listening to Peter,Paul and Mary laced with a bit of Genesis and a whole lot of disco. The time I am bringing you to is before I began to contemplate that Paul McCartney may be dead and talk for hours on the phone of the evidence that sergeant Pepper's produced. I am talking about a period before I found the Sex Pistols and The Ramones. I am talking about a time when I could belt out the words to Cocaine by Eric Clapton and not think what the song was about. And heck, I would sing Rod Stewart's Tonight's the Night at the top of my lungs, much to my prudent, Roman Catholic, father's chagrin. I had not idea it was about THAT!

I grew up in a city. I grew up in a time when you could not order Indian food for delivery. Or there was maybe one Japanese restaurant in the city. Thai was not even heard about in my social circle for a meal. Chinese food was laddened in glow in the dark syrup and a great MSG glow. Pizza was the food of choice for delivery. It was filled with waxy type cheese and pepperoni and always seem to arrive a wee bit soggy.

But at the same time I grew up in a time of new immigrants. My best friends were German, Greek, Japanese and Pakistani and Ukrainian. How's that for a mix?

I would remember each friend and our wee traditions. With my girlfriend Naseem, I would attempt to learn Arabic, I would be part of the daily prayers. I even had my own prayer matt when visiting.I could pray to whatever God I chose. But would have to respect that they were praying too. After, we would finish our prayers we would quickly go back to our Nancy Drews, or our Archie comics laced with a bit of the Trixie Beldon. We would always have Indian music in the background and the smell of delicious curries would permeate the house. The house was filled with exotic women in saris of all different colours. Most of the men wore white and always barefoot in sandals no matter what the weather.

At my German girlfriend's house we would go into the backyard where my girlfriend's father would be building his own airplane for the family to fly to the cottage in.He was always tinkering with his inventions and when we would bore of him, we would then go downstairs where would would make pottery as my girlfriend's mother had a kiln and clay for us to weld our creations.At the end of the day, we would listen to her father play the piano, Beethoven of course... and sometimes he would add a bit of Mozart to his repetoire. We would sit in the living room as her father would give us a recital. And you know, we gobbled it up.We loved to hear him play. We would always insist that he end it with dadadadummmm... from Beethovan's fifth symphony... He would never fail to explain that it was a symphony and we would just look at him and say... Just play the DaDA DaDummmmmm part then...

At my Greek girlfriends house we would enjoy the yoghurt cheese and talk about our love for the Bay City Rollers. We would listen to disco music and try out our best disco moves. For the important Greek Orthodox holidays we were forced to dress in our finest and go to church with Maria. We were forced into all the pageantry as Maria's uncle was one of the highest priests in church.And it was magical with all the gold and we would sit in the pews of honor with Maria's entire extended family. One of my girlfriends caused quite the stir one year as she crossed her legs in church... Apparently that is a BIG NONO!!! And when the service was over, we would all file back to Maria's family's house where Greek music would play and only loud dialogue was spoken.

At my girlfriend Kimiko's house we would be enthralled with the pageantry of being Japanese. Her Grandparents lived upstairs and her parents lived downstairs. Her Grandfather would take enormous pride in his garden. There were exotic flowers and bushes that were cut into the most exquisite shapes. It was easy to think of yourself as a regal princess in his garden in the city. Even when we played Charlie's Angels and we were fighting off vile villains, the garden was where Charlie lived.And we Angels were just visiting with Bosley.
Kimiko's grandmother wore kimonoes of the most beautiful silks. Her hands were always manicured and lotions were always used. Her hair was always in a bun and it was never out of place. She was a most gracious woman and would be calm even when all us girls would descend upon her. The rice steamer was never off.I remember large banquets upstairs with endless arrays of cantaloupe and melon that were the sweetest I have ever tasted. And the orange that were always cut and on display were always bursting with juice. Everything looked beautiful. They never had small dinner parties. There was never less than 40 family members gathered around their table eating and talking in Japanese with us girls running in to grab some sushi from the table and run into our makeshift fort downstairs.
I remember gathering all of our snacks together. I was the offical 'wrapper eater' as I did not care for the Japanese candy but loved eating the rice wrappers from the candies.

The Ukrainian household was a great deal like my own.(But my house was also ensconced with the Irish traditions as well) Where we would eat borscht and Vareneky and Holobtchi and could eat spoonfuls of sour cream. Where there would be songs from the old country. Where there would be thick accents and pinches on the cheek to say that we were all too thin. The conversations were always around the table. There would be a circle of woman making vareneky(Peorogis if you are Polish). The tea towels would be laid out while the women gossiped and had tea while attending to the task at hand. There would be thousands of little dumplings all laidout and the house was always humid with the boiling of soup to accompany the evening meal.

Through all the ethnic diversity we grew up together. We knew all of our traditions We incorporate them all. Christmas Eve was very important for my German girlfriend, so we would all descend on her family for the lighting of the candles.We knew about Ramadan. We all attempted to fast. We knew about bad Japanese movies. We watched countless ones where with bad Japanese accents we would fill in the missing dialogue. We learned about how the Japanese were interned during World War II. We learnt about the Nazis, we learnt about the resistance in Germany , we learned Greek songs and attempted to learn Ukrainian.

And now, in my city I can order Sushi. I can order Chinese, Vietnamese, Korean, Greek Indian or anything else I chose.

But my life is not peppered and seasoned with the truly ethnic experience I grew up with. All of my gal pals have married and have taken very different paths. They all live in the suburbs and I am the only one that has opted for the city life. My Greek girlfriend married a Hindu boy, my German girlriend married an American, my Japanese girlfriend married a Spaniard, my Ukrainian girlfriend married a Dominican , and my Pakistani girlfriend had an arranged marriage at the age of 16 that had all of us in a tears.

But for a brief moment... Through this song. They are back at my house. We are upstairs and we are full of promise. We are giggling and being told to quiet down which causes us to laugh harder. We are too old for dolls and too young for boys... And we are all Calendar Girls!

A Technicolor Dreamcoat?

He saw her at a dance. He can not recall what she wore. He can just recall the moment he saw her. He can only recall the feeling in his stomach. The urgency, in his being, his destination.

He turned to his friend and said 'I am going to marry Her!'

The friend had been listening to the music and scoping the room for a girl to dance with.The friend was just about to cross the room when it dawned on him, his friend had just something?

What? Who? Who are you going to marry?

Her, That girl over there...The boy's friend adjusts his glasses ands takes a better look..

Oh, I don't think so! I went to grade school with her... And you are not going to marry her! You are not on her radar, Bub! She has career plans... Marriage is not in her mind...Have? Have you, even met her?

No, But I am going to right now.

And with that comment suspended in the air, the boy left his friend alone at the other end of the room and went to meet his wife.

She does not recall the dance. She does not recall any urgency upon meeting him. She just remembers dancing all night with him. Every dance was with him.

And on the third date He proposed, at a movie theatre over the buttered popcorn and a soda. He gulped down his pride, straightened himself up, stared at the curtain and asked... 'Will you marry me?' No ring. Just a statement/question.

She laughed as the curtain went up at the movie theatre and the song 'More' by Bobby Darrin started to play. He laughed and said, 'They are even playing our song.'

He took her laughter as a 'Yes' for it certainly was not a no....

He was on top of the world and was glad that his destination was sealed.

Little did She know.

The following day, He went to her family's home to ask her father. Her father was a large, hulking, new immigrant with hands the size of baseball mitts. English was not his first language. He was an overpowering figure to this scrawny nineteen year old boy who was all bones through his suit. This man escaped through the mountains, with his wife and eldest daughter when his family was being persecuted in his old country.This man had helped build a railroad, had slept in ditches to bring his family to this country. This father had been a farmer. This man knew sorrow. This man knew great happiness.This man wanted the best for his youngest daughter.

This boy went through the doors of his betroved house, as He knew He would bring her happiness. I know He thought this, as how else could He have had the courage to go through the door?

I do not know what they talked about. But permission was granted to this boy on the cusp of his twentieth birthday. On the cusp of a new life.

When the girl returned home from a day of shopping with her girlfriends, She was flabbergasted that He was serious. That He DID propose in the movie theatre.
And when She really thought about it, when She sat down and looked at him, her heart filled with joy. A joy that She did not know that She was in need of, until then. She realized that She did say 'Yes!' at the movie theatre, ... And that She, She who had not looked for him, now, could not imagine life without him.

They married 42 years ago.They married in sunshine with the father of the bride crying the entire way down the aisle with his youngest daughter in duchess satin.This boy and girl, this husband and wife, married with a trust of the future with the security of a love everlasting in their hearts.

Beginnings are always beautiful to talk about. They are what most people can relate to,as everyone has had a beginning, just as everyone has known an end.

And I am happy to say, there has not been an end.

The middle is the hard part to talk about. The middle is where it is messy. the middle is what gives the fabric of life its substance. The middle is filled with births and deaths, the middle is filled with sunrises and sunsets, the daily coffees at the kitchen table, the cups of tea in the evenings in the reckroom, the laughter and the incredible pain, the lovemaking and the fights,the dances and the walks, the friends and the family, the moments of endless phone calls to each oher, the loveletters that are still left on the kitchen table with their nicknames for eachother enscribed at the end, the days are filled still with each other, the nights are still spent on a double bed, the nights and the days, the hours and the weeks, can all conveniently blend into one, in a narrative.

But when I think of trying to even encapsolate this couple I am at a loss. A loss because it all would seem trite. The fabric of this marriage, this life together has many interesting stitches, Some have given way in the centre where there a huge gaping holes and other spots have had shoddy patches placed overtop. There is duchess satin and Egyptian cotton, there is burlap as there are parts othe heavens, there are a few stars and many tears, and I do not know how but I am certain that laughter is embedded in the fabric, just as trust and compassion, but just as there is this, there is also rage, there is also anger and there is passion that can not be wasted on the faint of heart. This beautiful blanket allows for others to come in and be enveloped in its beauty. This blanket covers the couple at night, as they have their gentle slumbers or turbulant nightmares. This blanket nourished me as a young girl and as a grown woman.

This blanket helped me through a few storms.It has been a beacon of hope for many.

And on September 18th.I hope that you will raise a glass with me and toast the 42 years of my parents. A lovestory with a beginning and a middle... And for the grace of god, or fate, or whatever you want to call it, no end.

The Year of Heroes and Villans

September is filled with a great deal of emotion for this old girl... This time of year is filled to the brim with memory. And yesterday September 10th is a big day for me, as that is the last time I saw my best friend. He flew here from New York City to be a part of my daughter's first day of school. He came to my country to be a part of our family moment. A family that he loved. It was his first voyage to a foreign country since his kidney surgery. A surgery that left him minus a rib, his adrenal glands and both kidneys. He came to my country with a sense of hope for the future. He came to my country in a great deal of pain.

He came to my country to grab his independence back. To realize that the machines that sustained him would not bind him. He was determined to travel again. But just for brief stints as he did love his city so, and New York was home.

I sit on my porch and there under my welcome matt,is the deliable imprint on my bestfriend's shoeprint from that maiden voyage. My husband painstakenly paints around it every two years... But there is a footprint stays on my front porch as a reminder of his last visit in September 2001. A print that always has me sigh, laugh and cry all at the same time, as I recall him stepping on the newly painted porch and all of our laughter at the folly at the time.

My dear friend, that passed away was the embodiment of New York. He was born in New York. He was raised in New York. He grew up with his family on the upper east side in a beautiful brownstone house that housed the last greenhouse ever to be built in a home in Manhattan. Central Park was his playground and the city restaurants were his cafeteria.He loved theatre, he loved art, he loved culture and ethnic diversity. He could have all of it in his great city.

He was jaded and rough, at the same time, having the refined witt and grace of an educated socialite.He grew up on the upper east side but had the edge of being an outcast as he was gay and grew up in a time when he was ostracized by his family and society itself.

He stuck with his fair city through thick and thin, in good times and in bad. He was in New York for the Stonewall Riots and would cry as he would relay all that happened on that day. He would relay in full account of the abuse he faced in the riots all due to what he was. He could cry for what New York did to him and his friends on that day. But through his tears there was forgiveness.

When New York was going broke, he invested. He adored his fair city with the warts and the tinsel. He knew that New York would rise again. He never abandoned hope for his city.

We would walk through Central Park and he would show me where he would sled as a child, or where he would have boat races with his three older brothers. He would show with some twisted sense of pride where he was first beat up as a kid, or how he was robbed at gun point at the age of 20, only having the Guardian Angels rescue him. He would show me murals from graffitti artists that he would enjoy, or go to the MET and marvel at an extraordinary new addition to the walls.

All street corners and stoops had stories.He would recall when he lived in the Dakota how he would have tea with his neighbour Lenny... Or to all of us, this man would have been Mr.Leonard Bernstien. He would relay stories of Dakota and all its legends and ghosts that wandered its halls. I remember entering the lobby of the Dakota and he said 'And this is where John Lennon died.Right here. The three consierges here tried to save him.They tried with all their might. But he died in their arms. Right here, in the fourth stair'

He was a playwright and always used his fair city as a reference.

He was also business suavy and as a result he invested and made his own money. He knew the business world and could manuever around his finances with great ease.He was a New Yorker that believed in knowing your banker and where his fair city had instabanks, he never trusted them. He would always go to his branch, deal face to face with his banker. He felt that you always had to have a face and respect for money. So every time he went abroad he would take out an extrodinary amount of money to last him his vacation. And he would always have a budget for all that he did.

He could take me on walks and show me with great delight the oldest bar in New York and know the whole history of the place. He could tell you how the bar was actually saved by Jackie Kennedy, as it was one of the Irish bars that Jack adored. He could tell you about Jane Mansfield living two doors down from his house. He would talk of his mother sending Ms. Mansfield a letter written on linen stationary scented with roses.The letter addressed to Ms. Mansfield was not a fan letter but a letter to remind the young starlit to pick up after her dog.

He would talk about the great performers of Central Park. The amazing puppetteers that come out every Sunday and give some of the best performances that New York has to offer and all they want is a small donation in their cap. Whenever my daughter and I were with him he would always discreetly put in at least 100 dollar as he knew what it was like to go hungry. To be poor and give art to the mases is never easy. And he never wanted New Yorkers to miss out on such talent. Street performers were part of the fabric of his city and he felt accessible art helped bind his fellow man.

Outside his place on Sundays or Monday nights there would be homelessmen, and these men would set up televisions ouside my friend's home, along with lazyboy chairs, popcorn and beer and have a long wire running from my friend's place as they pirated his cable and his electricity so they could watch their football games. They would always nodd, call him by his name and let him know the score, later on in life they would also tell me if my daughter was up to mischief in the house...Always referring to my daughter as the Wee Miss...

He would not suffer fools lightly and it would not matter if we were in a play or in a cab, if the person did not know their trade his tongue could be ever so wicked. I remember a few plays where he got up and just threw his insult as we left. Sad to say,it would also happen in restaurants as well. And coming from a city where we are all polite and manners it would just send me into manic spasms.

He would take me to endless restaurants and simply go to different planets when he tasted something delicious. He would bang his spoon down and cry with delight exclaiming that he could just lick the plate. He would boast how restaurants were now the biggest tourist attraction in New York. He would take me to all the great restaurants and cute greasy spoons he found through his 57 years of living in New York. He would just love to dress for dinner. And would always gasp in delight, whenever his chosen family entered a room. He would marvel at how we,his family, could clean up for dinner.

And the way he could hail a New York cab was a thing of beauty to bestow. The hand discreetly up like that of Nuryev or Barishnikov. My daughter has since perfected the stance and I enjoy thinking of how he would have loved to see her now.

He was an excellent host. And when in his fair city you knew anything could happen.

That is, until the impossible did.

I remember watching in dismay as I saw the World Trade Center on fire.How my stomach ached when I saw the plane hit the tower. I automatically called my friend. The phone lines were down and panic filled my heart. When the towers crashed. I had to talk with him. I had to hear his voice. I had to hear hope. I had to touch New York.

The phone lines were jammed for close to three hours on September 11th. I heard from my dear friend at 12:18pm. I sighed and cried.
He scolded me.
He asked me 'how I could think that he would be down in the financial district?He hadn't been down that way for close to 15 years'
And I asked 'what were the chances of two planes hitting the WorldTrade Center?'
I had been there, with my daughter in the mornings. And it is not an odd phenomena to be down to visit the World Trade Center.

The odd thing was he was grappling to be that logical New Yorker. He was hurt and angry. He did not know where to turn. New York a city filled with hope. Filled with tinsel and now the air was filled with dust and debris. You could taste the residue from the buildings and the airplanes in the air. He could not get thetaste out of his mouth. He could not breath. The smell was overpowering. The smell was suffocating him. The smell was filled with dispair.

He had been to my house for close to ten days and had just returned to his city. On September 11th, He was on his way to the bank when to second plane hit.He went to a bank to withdraw money and was informed that the banks had closed.He was informed that the subways were closed. He was informed that New York was closed. Closed.

He, as New Yorkers are, are prized fighters. Nothing was going to get them down. Clean themselves up, put on a brave face and do not let them see your tears. The show must go on...

He wanted to grab something that was normal. Something to prove that New York would go on. And on September 11th there was no hope.
It was so overwhelming that New York stopped. And New Yorkers cried. As did the world.

It seems very fitting that my best friend died in the year of heros and villans.He died on December 20, 2001.My husband said it was kind of him to pass on the eve of winter solstice so that we would have the darkest day of the year to mourn him...
But I reminded him, that the darkest day already passed.

So as the anniversary of September 11th approaches. I am on my porch and thinking of the last time I saw my dear friend. I think of all that was lost in my heart in 2001 and the wonderful careless footprint under my welcome matt on my front porch.

Man,I Feel Like A Woman???

Nothing like getting together with some galpals and breaking bread. It had been a long time. I am the only one with a kid and therefore my girlfriends built the whole night around me.They are all still single and they get together all the time. I am the one who is out of the loop. I was grateful that they were building the night around me. It made me feel special and wanted. And dare,I say it???'Carefree, childless and husbandless...'
it was a bit liberating to just be plain ole me'

I got ready. I even let my hair down,I put make up on. I dressed in an 'unkid friendly' way!
My daughter enters the bathroom and exclaims 'Momma you look beautiful!' This sends shivers down my spine, as I think of a http://dribblingwitt.blogspot.com/2006/06/just-click-your-heels-together-three.html.

My husband follows her, hears the dialogue between the two of us and then interjects with 'No, hon you look good in a GOOD way!' which translates into' No, Hon you do NOT look like a HOOKER!'
So, with one more look in the mirror, a double check for wallet and keys, I am off to the races.

I walk briskly up the street clicking my high heels and feeling invigorated. A night out with the girls is just what I need. A pit stop to refuel for the day to day.

I wait at the streetcar stop and then head on ...

Now, I have been in a bartender in my pastlife. I know the drill. I know that at one drink you, may tell me a story, but at 8 drinks I become the most gorgeous woman in the room. Liquor does that to people.
I walk onto my streetcar and there are three guys who have had at least 15 drinks each and I am the only woman on the car.

They start to scream... 'Ohh, my gawwd!!! Guyssss!!! Cannnnnn you believe it?'
'Can you believe our luck?'
'I know that she lived here at one time! But Fuck! It's her! It's heeeeeerrrrr!'

'Mother-of-God, not AGAIN!!'! think I!

They then belt 'Shania, come oooooon give ussssssssssss a soooonnnnnng!!!.
They start to show themselves as loyal and true fans,of mine, by 'singing' and crooning all of Shania's repetoire.
And as the serenade continues, I stare out the window, willing the streetcar forward to put myself and the other patrons out of the Shania Mania misery that has ensued.

As I am pushing the streetcar forward to telepathy. I watch a woman at the stop ahead. She is in her early twenties. Her hair has recently been cut into a bobb as she keeps trying to put her hair behind her ears and it keeps falling off its target. She is reading a hardcover book. She is carrying a yellow, burlap bag that has buttons stuck on the straps. She occasionally looks up to see how far the streetcar has inched forward.
A man in his early twenties runs up the street. He is in a rush. He is bouncing from one leg to the other . He is late for something. And he is preoccupied with the bouncing as if the streetcar will reach him faster if he bounces faster and shows his anxiety.
And then, dear reader, he sees 'my lady'.
He sees her...
and his world stops...
You can actually see the world stop!
He stops bouncing. And he just stares.
My streetcar lurches forward. It lurches to an abrupt stop.
Which causes my fans to stop singing... The say, Wellllll Shannnnnnniaaaa, this isssssssss oursssssssstoauuuuupppppp... Ev'n iffff you are a snob we sssstilll love ya kid...
and with that the leave me with "Man I feel like a woman!'

The young lady boards my streetcar along with the young man in tow.
They sit in the seats directly behind me just recently been vacated by the Shania fan club.
The young mand musters the courage to ask her what she is reading.
She replies that it is just a book of poetry...
He knows the poets and lists off a few that he likes... and they are off to the races...
Our streetcar is now going at lightning speed and we enter the subway before we know it. The exit in front of me and I follow at a respectable distance down to the subway.

They stop abruptly.

and she says...Well, I am going west'
Ohh, says he... I am going east
Well, says she, That was nice... See you around...
Ahh, yeah, It was nice.

And with that she heads towards the westbound platform and he is in front of me walking down the stairs for the eastbound platform...

'I am staring at his head. I am putting in all me telepathy... What are you doing man???That WAS nice????'
'Where are you going?????'

And then he stops halfway down the staircase.
He is fumbling with his pockets. He is looking for something... What??? A Pen ? A paper?

I can hear the subway breaks screeching...'Idiot, What are you doing???' My heart is racing!!!

Ahhh, he finds what he is looking for... His Businesscard!!!

He turns around abruptly and runs up the stairs, three steps at a time!!!

I rush down....

I look across the medium for the girl going west... She is not there??? Ahhh, there she is but I hear the subway... Where is he???
I see him. He is looking for her. He sees her. He runs. He reaches her. He taps her on the shoulder.
She smiles.
He smiles.
He gives her his card.
And then my subway arrives.

I board.
I am Euphoric?????
Yes, I am Euphoric!!!!

I meet my girlfriends and relay the story to them.
They are good friends who know the fine art of listening.
They only interject with...
And then????
And then???
Awwwweeee!!!!
And did he???
Ohhhh...
and,
YES!!!!
We had a wonderful time.

And at the end of the evening my girlfriends serenade me to 'Man, I feel Like a woman!'
Man, that woman has fans everywhere! Who would have thunk???

What Advice Do You Follow???

As a kid you are given endless pieces of advice... There are pieces that stick and there are those that just fly by...

There is a great deal of my life that is twinged my gaelic superstition...
Like you NEVER put new shoes on a table...
Itchy nose... Means you are going to have an argument or your going to be kissed by a fool... So if you do not think you are going to kiss the person you are with, quickly shake their hand so your ties of friendship may not be broken through the argument...

My homicide detective dad would cringe as his mother would bestow such advise... and then go into his own diatribe..Like if a guy is asking for directions do you give him directions?

The answer is no... For what the hell is a guy asking for directions of a girl for... The jails are littered with guys that succeeded in getting directions...Men are what fill jails... And it is not up to you to figure out which ones are the good guys...

and if he would then go on with if I ever found myself to to be lost... I was to only go to a mother... find a mother and ask for help...A mother is a whole lot easier to find than a cop... And a mother will help...

These pieces have filtered down to my parenting even today...Even the shoes...

When I was a young girl and just embarking on the dating game my mother turned to me and said'Don't get me wrong, your father is a good man.... But NEVER.....NEVER....Depend upon a man for your happiness... That comes within you. Be self reliant.'

When pregnant, I was told a mother instinctively knows where it is best to have her baby. hospital vs. home... And that a mother should always go with their instincts.

When discussing labour my best friend who was the first survivor of kidney cancer in New York told me... 'Never have a clock near you when you are in pain... Do not look at a clock... Do not think of time... Just deal with the moment. And you can get through anything.'

And now I want to know from you dear reader what piece of advice you have been given that you follow...

Or that you give...

I have yet another tale to tell...

I can only now write about it... But two weeks ago, it was too close to the heart...

My husband returned from England in the wee hours of the morning and had to go into work early for the day before our departure... He gingerly kissed our wee daughter as she slept and went in to debrief his collegues on his trip while I started to pack for our two week adventure...

My daughter awakes up with a horrible stomach ache. My daughter has a very high pain threshold when it comes to an illness, so when she says she is in pain... It is always serious. She asks for a freezee as her stomach is so sore. I give her the freezee, she takes a few bites of it then returns it to me... The freezee is not cold enough... How about some ice??? Ice is colder than the freezees she reasons...She gobbled a bowl of them up... and while she was eating her ice she is fine but 20 minutes later, with no ice, she is in exteme pain...
She screams in pain...

It baffles me and I think it could be the appendix, I make the decision for hospital vs doctor...
Long story short...
The doctors at the hopsital were baffled in the first five hours of our stay, as all her vitals normal... but this pain... that could only be cured by ingested ice..
They ruled out the appendix... It was not a whole list of things...
Through all the checks that they were doing on her, I thought that it could be just a weird virus.

Anyway... enter young whippersnapper doctor new on the shift... chin jutted forward, posture of taking on the world instead of taking in anything around him...
He has a point to prove.
He wants to show the world of medicine how worthy he is with his bimbo nurse with the tongue ring that causes her to slur her sentences...
He utters, dear reader...
he utters....
that may daughter may have
cancer...

C A N C E R

He then has his nurse's full attention and me in suspended animation...
My heart stopped...
It just stopped...
I look at my daughter...
I look at him...
I look at the nurse who seems to be squealing with importance of being associated with him reiterating all he has just said she repeats with conviction what the moron has said...'Cancer, doctor?'
I am weak in the knees...
I can not speak...
I can not think...
And then reason...
I need a second opinion of someone less cock sure and someone who in in no need of an audience...
I am surprised that I that i can muster the words,with conviction and I am not shreaking down the passageways...'I want to talk with your superior, Now!'
His chin juts out further, as does his chest...He postures over me with a old style fraternity look. A calm of knowledge that he is a doctor afterall... and he knows of what he speaks...
He then just walks away, leaving me there to breath, to think and to pray.

I then go and call my husband at work...
I take in a gulp of oxygen and call him and I have to utter what this 'doctor' has said to me...
My husband takes it in and is on his way...

My heart is racing...
Nooooooo.....
I keep pacing my breath, I keep looking at my baby...
I keep saying it is a mistake... It is a mistake...
All her vitals are normal...
I do not get how under a urine sample they could make such an assumption...
I see my old crumudgeon of a doctor that I saw initially... The head of emergency... He sees me after I corner him with the news that his fledgling brought to me...
I ask for him to re-examine my daughter with this 'new found knowledge' from the idiot that poses as a doctor...
He examines my daughter...He then says there is a mistake...He apologizes for the idiot. He tells me that he will be dealt with...
He then tells me that things were said that should not have been said...
My daughter, albeit sick... maybe with a bladder infection... but nothing more... He believes that she should be observed at home...
He'll call me by Tuesday with the results of her tests...
My poor husband was caught in traffic and for an hour he thought our wee one was soooo sick...
It took my only 43 minutes to find out differently... 43 minutes of suspended animation...compared with his 67 minutes..

The ole reliable doctor read me, and knew what all moms need to know...he called me that night so I could sleep, he called to say it must be viral as there was NOTHING in her tests...
And luckily by Friday morning it did just that... It passed...
But only after a valley of tears from my husband and mine silently held close to my heart...

I was so excited to get into our rented van and take up our trip far from the confines of the city...
We had an absolutely glorious time...
I did all I was hoping to do...
I read three books, I painted, I wrote, I fell asleep to waves beating on the shore, I cooked, I played a mean game of badminton, I had bon fires under the stars, I wished on falling stars, I ate burnt marshmallows, I felt dew on my feet in the morning, I saw hummingbirds, I saw hawks, I body surfed, I laughed at many joyous moments, I endured a terrific storm with a power failure where we played board games by candlelight, I met some pretty terrific people on the beach, chased our naughty dog around fields of buttercups,I played mini putt, i played bocci ball, I toasted many,many, beautiful, glorious sunsets, I had many bottles of wine, I sang old tunes and new tunes, I danced... And all the while... I kept thinking how wonderful life is... how it was not really all about I ... But us... How all three of us enjoyed so many things together...It truly was a great family vacation...

I returned home on Friday and quickly paid you all a visit... I may not have commented on all but was happy to touch base...

And then Saturday, today, I got the call...
Rita waited for me to return...
She died on Friday afternoon...
I will go to her visitation with Harvey tomorrow and her funeral on Monday...
I wonder about the meaning of things a great deal...
I wonder why or how Rita lasted until my return...
Somethings are not meant to be answered, they are just meant to be...
And with that in my heart, I will go one last time to Rita and to utter how lucky I was to have embraced the moments I have had with her to her family...
and I was truly blessed to have the honour of being her friend until the end...

I do not know what lessons I needed to learn in the past month. But maybe it was just a refresher. A reminder that life is so very precious. Things happen that I can not take control over. There are things that I can not change. Things that are predestined. But hopefully I have the courage of heart to face all with love and compassion.

Bugger??? No, BogHER...Why not Boghim? BogHER BogHER! Bless you!



I am going on vacation, dear readers, for two whole weeks of bliss... with my husband that poses as a Comedian abroad.
That is, if my husband, can make it home from London tonight... The plane that was supposed to take him home to my loving arms has rerouted itself to Cyprus to pick up some people in greater need than us. When he returns we will not be going to Blogher, nor Bloghim just to a cottage on cliff that overlooks a lake with the most wondrous sunsets in the world.

So, hoping that he does make it home, as I am anxious when he is so far from us, last year he narrowly escaped the bombings in the tubes on July 7th.(all I can say about that is I am so grateful that he is forgetful as he was at the staion at just two minutes before the explosion, and realized he had to go back to the hotel as he forgot a pass, three hours of agonizing waiting to find him safe...)

But as I wait in anticipation for my man, I thought, I would fill up some loose ends from my blogthis past month, to keep you, dear reader, uptodate on the goings of Ms. Pendullum.

Dr. Jekyl has come and gone with a haze of happy well wishers. We had endless dinner parties at our home to welcome our time-traveled friend home. For a week and a half it was party haven here.
He dropped a bit of a bomb on us by letting us know that he is planning one more trip. His last trip before he hangs up the ole bicycle gears...
He is going to cycle from Korea(He will take a boat) to Australia. Australia is his 'training cycling ground' for the great wall of China/the Far East and ending his journey in South Africa. I am not happy with his decision. I know that it is not my decision to make... But still...
Besides the Far East and all the problems in Pakistan and India, besides Iran, besides him doing it ALONE, besides the fact that he is pushing 50, alone on a bike with no one waiting for him at the finish line... Besides all that... there is Africa...
And there are a great deal of wars that are not even mentioned here...
A friend of mine who is working as a prosecutor for the UN on crimes against humanity was nearly murdered there just a few months ago... and that was with an entourage...
Not a lonely westerner on a bike with perceived disposable income...

As you can see I am worried... And the condescending 'he knows what he is doing' is not going to get you far in this gal's blog...
as 'All the power to him' 'Good on him' seems like hollow by yours truly.
My question to him as he left for his plane bound for Korea was 'what are you running away from?' and as he laughed sheepishly, he said 'Good Question, good question!'

Harvey and I went to see Rita. It was horrible. I have experienced 10 friends of mine who have all died from this horrible disease but none were as bad or as helpless as young,dear,sweet,Rita.

When we entered the room, we were greeted by Alice (go figure?). Alice talked to us as if Rita was not there. In the far corner of the dimly lit room was Rita's older sister who is a nurse. She was writing in a journal and when she looked up... I saw what Rita would have looked like had she the opportunity to turn 50. The possibility of what future wrinkles and fuller figure will never be there for my dear, sweet friend who had sunken eyes, a bald head and weighed no more than seventy pounds.

We talked, and Harvey brought pictures of his children, he held Rita's hand and told her of his travels and of the orphanage in which he volunteered, he talked about becoming a vegetarian and he talked about his business failing. He stood the entire visit.

I would like to say it was beautiful. It was. But all the while Alice was lyin gon her back, on Rita's bed. Alice was asking about the possibility of meeting Harvey for a coffee, she was talking about her new found religion, that, being a new GP that knew everything. And to me, Alice knew a lot of nothing.

They, Harvey and Alice, talked about anti-depressants together and the lack of sex drive. I could not believe Alice. I could not believe that she was flirting on a dying woman's bed even though she 'lacked sex drive'. Looked to me that she was not lacking in the flirting department... Just a catty observation...

I knew where Harvey was coming from. I knew that he was scared. I knew through his pacing. I knew that he was hurting and trying to find Rita through the morphine and pain. Trying to find the beautiful vivacious graceful woman that he knew. And that is what I wrote in her memory book that Rita's sister asked me to sign.

I wrote that while Harvey was talking about his life, all the while underneath it all, was a whisper of love, that Rita mattered so much in his life, Rita, that you were loved by him, that you instilled a grace in a room, your laughter could feel a room, your insights into the worlds workings will be missed and that, he, wishes you Godspeed old friend.

When we walked out of the hospice, we were reeling with all kinds of emotions. I know that I was hurting and I was angry because I hurt so much. I just turned to Harvey and asked what the hell Alice all about...

I did not handle it well... But a woman flirting??? And dear reader she was...
Asking if Harvey's wife would be threatened by an ex? Laughing and imagining if they had kids? Talking about how Rita's husband had deserted her and only she, Alice and the sister are there...(Blatant lie, as I talked with the sister and she informed that Rita's husband has been there everyday. He also brings their child every single morning///)
People handle things differently I suppose but taking credit and discrediting people for your own benefit... Big no!no! My way I tell ya...
But as I established I was angry. And Sad... And Helpless... Nothing was going to bring Rita back. And through the haze of it all we wanted it to be a big mistake. But htere was no question it was Rita and when there were those brief moments when she was lucid, we saw our friend trying to make cancer okay for us.

We made it home, quite late, in the evening. We arrived home at around 12 am. And my house was dark. My husband and daughter were asleep. Harvey needed to have a cigarette(which we purchased on our walk home. He has not smoked in fiv years) and a beer. I needed a big honking glass of wine...

And as we settled onto my front porch... My daughter comes barreling down the stairs crying...
Momma, Momma, I could not sleep... You were in big trouble... I could feel it... I could feel your heart being sad... Momma... I could feel it...
Are you ok???(May I add, that she did not see us off... She was in playdate heaven and had no idea about our trip... so she indeed felt us and our grief)

My husband turned on the light and all I could see was his silhouette form from our dark front porch, somehow I was calming seeing his wild haired bedheaded being...

He just shrugged and told my daughter 'See... They're home...'
And with that she retorted 'Not Yet!'
And she insisted;insisted; that we take out an old video...
An old movie that I took out about a month ago...Folklore at this stage of our lives...
It was of a time together, Harvey, my husband and I, when we had countless get togethers, before children, before bankruptcies, before cancer...
A time of frivolous humour...

My 8 year old was right! We laughed and laughed, and somehow it grounded us through our history. Funny how old movies do that.

So, that when we departed for bed, we could toss and turn about Rita in our own way. We would have all our own silent tormented dreams about our dear Rita. But all the while a flicker of that video of happiness and laughter played in our subconscious dreams.

We did not sleep well. But we did have the visions of the past dancing in our heads.

The following day, I was walking with my husband and daughter and we were going to cross our favourite bridge to the lake... when... all these police cars swarmed all around us just as we began to cross the bridge...
And to our horror, there was a young woman getting ready to jump. she was all poised to leave this planet, when I diverted my daughter and my dog's attention to look at the train coming towards us instead of the horror unfolding behind us...
By the time my daughter had her eyes turned around, the lady jumper, was wrestled to the ground by 4 cops. I explained that she was not feeling right and that she needed medication so that she would not be hurt. She was used to the restraints needed for a friend that has drastic seizures so she seemed fine with our explanation.

So, as you can see dear reader... I need a vacation. Where my main concern in life is if I put enough sunscreen on my daughter, if I can really body surf the next wave, catch a frog, or see a heron...

I look forward to toasting the sunsets on the lake. I look forward to thanking the sun for a glorious sunny day... I embrace our dinners on the cliff with a bottle of wine, I salute our bonfires, and we will stare up at the stars in wonder... and at the end of it all, I look forward to dragging my butt up the 100 stairs, to our cottage and putting on a old Danny Kaye movie or whatever else strikes my fancy, and watch a movie with my tired husband, my exuberant daughter and my naughty dog...

Ohh... And by the way... During all of the above I managed to reach 40 years of age. My mother called me on my big day and asked 'How depressed are you?' As she remembered how depressed she was when she turned 40....
And my retort that 'I was sad for Rita and all my friends that could not share the moment with me...' I told my mother, as I am telling you...I am going to throw a big party in the fall at a dance hall for my 40th year... I was going to charge $10 a ticket and all my profits were going to the Cancer Society. I skidded into 40. I have had a lot of friends that have parted, that I was so blessed to have known... and I know that they will be with me, when I take off my red high heels, and dance like there was no tomorrow...

I hope I get wireless service up there. And will hopefully check in with all of you.
I hope you have fun at Blogher. I hope to see lots of pics posted on the internet with wild witty remarks. I hope that I can read all your blogs in the morning light, with a sip of coffee and watching the waves from above. But if not... I will have visions of Catch, Nikki, Rhonda, Kirstin, Kim,Kristi, Mimi, Domestic Chicky,Oh the Joys, Motherhood Uncensored, Painter Beach Girl,Mrs. Moghul, Domesticator, Kevin Charnis, Mothergousemouse, Pandamonium and countless others in my head...

Cinderella I Am NOT!!!!

I going to relent and post a pic...And I want to state right up front that I am not a glamorous gal. Just a regular gal. I do not light up a room when I walk in. I am just a normal gal who looks like a hundred other gals and 'Bella' is form of greeting that my young Italian Restauranteurs. The pic I have chosen is of me in the morning on my front porch... In FULL 'mornin'glory...

I will post my pic but you will have to endure another story...

I used to know this actor.
He was a Shakespearian actor.
Onr of those amazing voices that you would die for.
His name was John Colicos.

He used to frequent the bar I worked at years ago. We met each other and we had the same quirky sense of humour... He could tell a good yarn. His stories were amazing. I loved all of them. We just got along like old souls. No attraction just a love of a good story and for it to be delivered with that voice...Wow!
What an honour to hear him speak!

I quit working at the bar but continued my friendship with John Colicos. We would meet for the odd drink and just share some stories. We would always be approached by people who were greatly effected/affected by his work...
Apparently he was one of the best King Lear's of our day. He first performed the role in 1966 and it changed people...(Or so the many people who approached whatever retaurant we were in would say!)He of course was in a whole lot more, as I learned through his fans. He was the first Klingon in Star Trek and Baltar in Battlestar Gallactica. He was in the Battle of Navarone, He was in the Postman Always Rings Twice with Jessica Lange and Jaaaaaackk...

He was modest and never talked about being an actor. He just talked about life, renovations and stories about the stars that I would just gobble up over dinner.
He was always gracious with his fans. He signed autographs a plenty. The fans always left feeling like they connected with a star.

And I was always left pondering how we became friends.

One day, I had just worked out at the gym and was on my way home. I had no make up on my face, it was blotchy from a workout. My hair was stringy from just having showered. I was wearing comfy clothes and running shoes. And to top my 'look' off I had my work out bag.

I was walking with purpose when I bump into John wearing jeans and a yellow ascot.(I kid you not)

Pendullum Dahhhhling... Is that you???

John? How are you?

Pendullum where are you headed?

Oh, I think just home.

Pendullum, why don't you join me for a drink?

Oh, what the heck why not?

I am not feeling self conscious as these moments are to be embraced. How often do we bump into an old friend and you both have time for each other?

Well, we hop into a taxi and he gives an address that I am not paying attention to as we are gabbing and getting caught up in each other's lives.

We head out a bit and then the taxi stops in front of a red carpet, search lights and someone opens the door. I look at John.

Oh Dahling, it's just a premiere.
What? A Premiere?
A man grabs my hand, helps to haul my sorry worked out butt out of the taxi.
I look at John as I want to kill him. Everyone is in black taffeta. Everyone is decked out and then there is me. Miss Workout in her skanky, comfy, illfitting outfit... I could have killed him.

It was sink of swim.

John did not have a mean bone in his body. He was the most unpretentious person I have ever known. He never judged people by their appearances and this certainly proved it. I was with a man going to a premiere that was wearing an ascot he was in a denim shirt and casual pants. He never noticed my ratty appearance... He just saw a friend...

He then announces me at the front. He gives my full name and it sounds glorious. I have never heard anyone annunciate my name before. It sounded so regal, so majestic. I pulled my shoulders back and took in my name...
It was a voice that the Queen of England is accustomed to, but not this wee gal.

I became the Empress With New Clothes.
Through the delivery of my name alone I became a starlet for one night. In my stringy, now dry hair, in my wild, comfy clothes I became someone. Someone who had an introduction like no other.
Norman Jewison came over and asked me what I had been in. I had actors approach as John guided me through the crowd of people waiting for the picture to begin.

I loved him for that moment. I love to tell that story to my daughter. It was a life's lesson. It is not what we wear. It is not what we look like. It is all in the delivery. Hold your head up. Walk tall. And have a great Shakespearian actor on your side!


We should all be so lucky.

Do I Know You???

I have one of these faces that reminds you of someone...Someone's mother, your old best friend, someone. And someone famous, someone that I do not know.

I get it all the time.

There was a time my husband and I were in a Hasty Market and the guy behind the counter was very excited. I thought he was on old friend of my husband's and that he was just happy to see him again. His face had a grin from ear to ear. He was racing around us. We were talking with an old friend of my husband's already. Hasty Market seemed to be the place to be! I thought he was just waiting for a lull in the conversation before he interjected with 'Remember me ole buddy?'
But no!
He was excited to see me. HE was fussing over me.
'Let me take that from you.'
Is there anything else Missss.. Anything else??? Ohhh, this is my lucky day!
Now, just wait here...
I have a camera somewhere... Please lemme take a picture...
And he gives me a sheet of paper and says 'Please for me, my name is Rick.'
I look at him and think he is joking.
He is serious...
My husband just looks at me and I shrug.
'Who does he think you are?'
'I dunno.'

There was a time I was in Sardis in New York, havin a drink with my best friend before a show. I went upstairs to use the loo. By the time I was leaving the loo a crowd had gathered outside the restoom. I was swarmed by people asking for autographs.
I protested and said 'I am just a vistor, I am not who you think I am'(and just who do you think I am???)
and they would get indignant and call me 'A SNOB'as they trust their sheets up paper under my nose'
My friend came up and I had to scream for him and he literally had to break it up as we were late for our show... It looked as though I had a gay handler who was very irrate with my delay...We were going to be late for a show... Which caused the crowd to go into squeals of 'Break a leg honey!'
And I did not ever find out who I was... Maybe I am just plain scared to find out that I am like Florence Henderson or some other character actor...

Well, fast forward to me present day.(Well, at least me in the last few years.)

One of my best friends in the whle entire world asks me out. And I accept. Hubby is working late and will not miss anything with two gals yakking all night. She decides on a very cool restaurant downtown and we agree to rendez vous at around 7 as it will be pretty hard to get a table as we had the film festival and the jazz festival happening in our fair city.

I head on down and my girlfriend is waiting for me at the bar. She comes over to me and says that they are fully booked and there is no way we are getting in. The robust owner is rushing around cursing and then sees me, he makes eye contact and screams 'Bella! Bella, you're here'
I look around, as it can not be me.
'Bella, have you been waiting long?'
Gianncarlo, go clear that table immediately!
Here Bella, Table for how many?
Two?
Here you are Bella.
My girlfriend and I sit down.
Pendullum, do you come here often? asks my gal pal.
Nooooooo
Hmmmm???/
The owner comes by with a really nice bottle of wine, 'On the house Bella!'
This is ridiculous! I do not know what to do...
But it's happenin and we are just laughing...
Anyway we have a wonderful dinner...
Owner comes by and invites us to a party with Al Pacino. I decline as I just do not want to take this any further.
Then he says 'How about a party for David Cassidy at my brother's restaurant???'

Now, I must take you, dear reader on a side adventure....

Flash back to a young girl who loved the Partridge Family(Before she saw the Elvis 68 comeback special) she thought that David Cassidy was love.(Until she saw that Elvis special with him in leather... and then I reeeeally knew what love was... But I digress)
She bought the Teen Beat. She set up the poster and each one of her gal pals would kiss David.
The infactuation died as they always do.And that person is a million miles from my teens.

In my teens I was a babysitter for the big hotels.
And one day, I was called to do a job and who answers the door but ..........David Cassidy!!!!!
My face went scarlet as I was certain that if my Teen Beat pictures could talk they had told a thousand stories to the man standing in front of me. I was so embarrassed. I was red and my face would not stop glowing. I could not look at him. And I was going to be left in charge of his kid????
What kindof justice is that????
Anyway, he left, with his beautiful wife, and I did not damage his child as he was asleep in the room before I got there.

Now, flash forward to me and my gal pal...

Nahhh, thanks anyway.... But I told the owner my David Cassidy story...
As the night progresses, my husband just happens to walk by and he joins us. It is one of those fun nights with laughs galore that you just do not want it to end.
We are tipsy and have a craving for a cognac and cigar...
(What would be the first indication that we are tipsy???)
We decide to leave the restaurant and go to a restaurant that specializes in our poison.
The decision is made for a bar up that is within walking distance up the street. And being loose, we absolutely forget that this is where the David Cassidy party is supposed to be.
We walk in, the owner sees me and screams 'Bella , you made it!!!'
Ohhhhh Noooo...
My husband just looks at me.
My gal pal just says,'Loooong story!Just smile and be part of the entourage.'
The owner of the previous restaurant called his older brother and has relayed my David Cassidy story.
This guy isis only too excited to get me, Bella, (Whoever the hell I am) and David back together....

Nonono.... I protest...

'We don't want to go to the party! We do not want to see David Cassidy. We do not want to hang with the entourage...
All we want is a cigar!' But this guy just doesn't hear what I'm saying...

'Ahh, Bella, David is not here yet...'

'I don't want to see David. I just want a cigar and me and my pals are just going to sit at the bar.Ok?'

'Ok!'

Well, in walks David... He is swarmed by adoring middle aged fans. He is polite, (he at least knows who he is) he signs autographs and is escorted to the private dining room where his party is waiting for him.

And my group of three is just having a good ole time at the bar.

And then I feel a hand on my shoulder.

'Hi, I am David Cassidy and I hear that you babysat my stepson.'

He stayed with us all night. My husband talked with my gal pal and I talked with David.
Polite, kind, funny. He stayed with us the entire time. And he picked up the tab when he left.How often does that happen??? I'm livin' the dream I tell ya!

After he left, another famous Canadian actor came sat beside me and said'You seem like the person to know.'

I felt like David Letterman holding court...

But I do not know who they think I am.

Guess I will never know.

But there is my first crush story. No Elvis Presley in leather... But there you have it...

Might I suggest that you go to

http://othejoys.blogspot.com/

as she was the inspiration for my long story... Her story of Celebrity crush is stellar!!!

Her blog is soo funny...
Could not stop laughing and it brought back to many memories.

Planets In My Universe Went Bam!!!!

As I mentioned in my earlier blog I lived with all these guys. And Harvey was a guy that lived with us the longest. He was a constant. He had a good disposition. He made bread on the weekends, he liked to dance when he was drunk. He even liked and even laughed at my husband's bad jokes. Harvey always kept his cards close to his chest. You never really knew what was going through his head or his heart.

Harvey founded a company with a partner. He worked very hard at this company. The company did well. He never had the desire for opulent wealth just comfort. Harvey always believed that he was fortunate and he always gave back to the community.He had the opportunity a few years ago to give back and went to India to work, for four months, in an orphanage. He's that type of guy. He worked hard. Was honest. He sold to all my artist friends, at cost. No profit.

Anyway, he expanded his company and long and short of it, one of his employees robbed him blind and now he and his partner are losing everything. He is going for broke. Not bitter. Just the way it is. He feels a fool but can not change the past.

Now, apparently, if you are ever in the position of bankruptcy, it becomes like a mind altering experience. A man that always has played his cards close to his chest will tell you everything about his life. No stone left uncovered so to speak.

So when we had our soiree for Mr. Jekyle a few nights ago, he was with his closest of intimate friends that he had kept at bay for 20 years, and he decides to share his life's story. As the night progressed he opened up. He talked and talked and we were all riveted to his life's story. A story. A journey that certainly had Dr. Jekyle in awe.

All of us were dumbfounded as the conversation was deep, insightful, painful, funny, and mindblowing in its honesty.

Harvey talked about his failures, his triumphs, his recent loss of his company, going bankrupt and he also talked about his lost loves and of his regrets.

Harvey is married now, and he loves his wife, Margaret, incredibly, and adores his children. And because of that he thinks that he is grounded for the obstacles up ahead. It has been the worst year of his life but he kept on saying that he has is health and his family is healthy. It took him a long time to put it in perspective but now it is...

But before he got to the point where he was this married guy, he was a sad bachelor.

He was a bachelor looking for love. And at one time he was dating two girls who were good friends... And he had to make a choice between either Rita(my friend) or Alice, no friend of mine, but a good friend of Rita's.
Rita was a devout Roman Catholic, from a large family. She blushed, was soft spoken, kind, well read, a wee bit uncertain of herself and a virgin. She had a hardy laugh when she heard a good story and always had a kind word. But the virgin thing at the age of 28 can be a bit daunting for a man I suppose. And Mary Tyler Moore character is hard to figure into a 3D life I suppose.

Alice on the otherhand was a powerhouse. She was strong and confident and took life by its horns... Never had a doubt about herself or where she was going. She had a swagger to her walk and a head that was cocked up, ready to look you in the eye whenever she spoke.

Harvey chose Alice. And regretted it. (Alice, the skallywag, broke up with Harvey on his birthday 2 years later.)

As a result of Harvey choosing Alice, I dealt with a very, sad and dejected Rita. She slowly faded from the picture as it was too painful to see Harvey at functions.

I would bump into Rita on and off again. We always had a good laugh. We would run into a coffee shop and get updated in the course of a coffee. The last time I ran into her she was happily married and had a beautiful girl.

Harvey, just before our Dr. Jekyle soiree bumped into Alice. She lives a block away from where he is raising his family and they have never seen each other up until now. They had a quick conversation and that was that.
Harvey came to the party without his wife as they could not afford a sitter.
Harvey relayed his story of bumping into Alice and he wondered aloud what ever happened to Rita.

He told the group that he still to this day regrets his cowardice in dealing with Rita. He misses her friendship. He thought that she was absolutely something extrodinary. Age has taught him all of this. He misses her. He would not trade in his life. It is just a feeling of 'whatif'... and 'I am sorry' that he has always wanted to relay...

Now, I was walking down the street, a week after our soiree, and I bumped into my neighbour that I always share, brief life's lessons about our kids and living in our hood. We always have a good laugh. Today our conversation took a turn ...I find out that this neighbour that I have been having a good ole laugh with for the past ten years is Alice's sister..., Wow...
But the story continues...
If that is not enough to blow my mind...

Alice has just connected back up Rita. It seems as though Alice after bumping into Harveylast week , just happened to bump into Rita's best friend directly afterwards. The best friend of Rita's told Alice some devastating news.

My neighbour has just informed me that Alice is helping to nurse Rita. Rita is dying. She has but days to live. She is in and out of coma and it is just a matter of time. The family knows that she is not coming home. They do not have enough money to pay for the round the clock nurses and friends are picking up the slack.
Alice has just become one of them as of last week.

I write this to all of you while I have the phone beside me waiting for Harvey to return home to get my message.
I am waiting to tell Harvey this horrible news. But somehow I think the universe has gone BAM! that all of this has happened, and that there is some lesson here...
Some hard terrible lesson that Harvey and I are about to embark on and I am so sad.
I am sad for Rita.
I am sad for her 6 year old daughter. I am so sad for her soulmate and heart's companion.
I am sad for Harvey.
Somewhere in the universe, a planet has decided to set all of us in motion colliding towards Rita in her last days...
And now I sign off and wait for Harvey's call...
and wait for my neighbour to call with all the info so that I can be put on the list ... and maybe Harvey will sit with me...