Ten Things I Want To Thank My Mother For On The Occasion Of Her 75th Birthday

Mom and Dad - aren't they gorgeous?

My mom's 75th birthday is today. (How is that possible?)

It's a milestone birthday and richly deserving of some kind of official recognition on a scale equal with the Queen's Jubilee, although I suspect Paul McCartney and Elton John won't be serenading my dear mother while she imbibes in barbecued hot dogs and birthday cake. Thus having no celebrity performances or parades in the plan, the least I can do is present Ten Things I Want To Thank My Mother For On The Occasion Of Her 75th Birthday:

1. Thanks for having beautiful dark hair and big brown eyes and tremendous dimples and passing those gorgeous things my way.

2. Thanks for your kindness and generosity, your big heart, your all-round niceness. You have always been, and will always be, a lady in the old-fashioned and true sense of the word. Except when you give bad drivers the finger. Or when you perfectly hork your gum out of the window of a moving car which, by the way, is a skill I admire and try to emulate whenever possible. You look like you would never say shit even if your mouth was full of it, except when you do say shit. Which you almost never do. Mostly your swear word of choice is "asshole" which usually accompanies giving bad drivers the finger.

Family portrait taken in Midland, mid 1960s. That's me with my teddy bear.
My little sister, Liz, wasn't born yet.

3. Thank you for busting your middle finger and having it wrapped in a cast in the up position for a month. It wouldn't have been nearly as funny if you had broken your index finger or your baby finger. I never grew tired of seeing you wave that stiff bandaged gauze covered middle digit around. Thank you for being funny.

4. Thank you for having that dream about the giant squirrel chasing you up a telephone pole. When did you have that dream... back in the 1960s? See? A dream that's almost 50 years old, a dream that wasn't even my own, and I still think of it. You probably forget it entirely but I remember we were sitting in your bedroom in Midland, that big bedroom in that big old house, and we were talking about bad dreams  and you said the scariest dream you ever had was about a giant squirrel chasing you up a telephone pole. It was funny, this dream of a giant squirrel, and I still think it's so cute that your scariest dream was about a plus-sized squirrel. We were all so young then. I was just a little kid, maybe five or six. You were in your 20s. A girl, really. You always seemed so beautiful to me. Even in that ratty old pink housecoat, the one with the black buttons. Even when you had curlers in your hair. I loved those conversations at bedtime. You were the best mother imaginable.

5. Thanks for rubbing Watkins White Liniment on my legs when I was crying with rheumatism. You gave me a baby Aspirin, you rubbed liniment on my knees and you dried my tears with your kindness and your patience. I still have bad knees and I can't tell you how often I think of you when I'm rubbing Voltaren or Deep Cold onto my aching legs. It never feels as good as when you did it. It never will. Funny, how no matter what was wrong with me, no matter what I was crying about, you always gave me a baby Aspirin to make feel better. Just yesterday I had a terrible day at work and was bawling and feeling sorry for myself and thinking the world hated me. I went to the bathroom and took two Tylenol. I had no pain to speak of. Only the pain in my heart. But I thought of you when I took those pills and you know what, they made me feel better. Thanks.

Mom opening a Christmas present (from Simpson's!) in Markham, 1970s.

6. Thanks for making me spaghetti when I had my period that time when I was a teenager. I really wanted spaghetti for supper that night. We didn't have it often, mostly because Dad didn't like it, but I really wanted it this one time so I said, "I have a craving for it," and you knew it was a womanly-thing, a period-thing, so you made spaghetti using a can of Bravo spaghetti sauce. Dad probably bitched about it but to me it was more delicious than the juiciest steak and also our womanly secret.

7. Thanks for not murdering me. I know, there was times when I deserved it. So thanks for not shooting me in my retreating back when I ran away from home; or hanging me for a thief when I stole money from my brother; or strangling me when I was mouthy, which was all the time so frankly your arthritic fingers couldn't have borne that much strangling; or stabbing me with a butter knife when I refused to help with the dishes. Charming child, I was. Charming adult, too. Sorry about all that. Wish I could have been better because you deserved better.

8. Thanks for having beautiful penmanship; for being a talented artist; for being creative in all things. I love the way you write – I know that sounds silly but your handwriting truly is a thing of beauty. As a messy writer I envy and admire that about you. Also, you should blog more because you are a natural born storyteller with many, many stories to tell. You know me, I hate to be bossy, but get busy. :)

9. Thank you for ordering birthday cakes from Stouffville Bakery, the vanilla double layer ones with lemon curd filling. Thanks for the typewriter under the Christmas tree. Thanks for paying my way through college. Thanks for decorating the yard so beautifully for my first wedding. Thanks for playing Here Comes the Bride on the organ. Thanks for making the world's best apple pies. Thanks for taking us up to the cottage and letting us run wild and have the best times of our lives, while you sat alone and lonely with a crossword puzzle book and your own thoughts. Thanks for supporting me through thick and thin. You have never let me down, never. In a world where nothing is sure and people are cruel, you are my one constant, my rock. Thank you for unselfishly giving up your own life for your family.

10. Thank you for everything. I love you so much. Happy Birthday!

Mom and blue-haired Angus at his Grade 8 graduation last year.
She's still gorgeous. He still has blue hair.

P.S. The birthday girl sent me an e-mail last night to say how much she loved this post and everyone's comments and good wishes. She wanted me to pass on her thanks to you because she was having trouble posting a reply:

"Thanks Cathy for all the kind words you said about me. Thanks to all the people who sent great comments. I tried to comment but it didn't work. I had forgotten about the squirrel dream. That's funny. Thank you very much. See you to-morrow. Love Mom"

P.S.S. I'd like to thank CarrieBoo for her generous donation to the YMCA's Adult Literacy Programs, through my participation in the upcoming Muskoka Novel Marathon. THANK YOU CARRIE! She has a really fun blog, by the way, where she talks about family life and foibles and writing in an entirely entertaining way. Check her out! The novel marathon is getting closer - it all starts Friday, July 13 (eek!) with a whole weekend of writing, writing and more writing at Club 55 in Huntsville. Thirty writers will try their darndest to pump out a novel in that time, as well as raising as much money as they can so other people can learn to read and write. It's astonishing how many adults are illiterate in this day and age. Until I saw the statistics, I had no idea. If you'd like to find out more about the marathon, visit the website. If you'd like to sponsor my own efforts, click on the Muskoka chair (in the States it's called an Adirondack chair) on the top right side of my blog. I am thrilled about the support I've had so far and it makes my heart sing every time I see another donation. So thanks everyone! oxoox

Just wondering

I always cry on my birthday.
Do you?

I'm Alive

Barely.
Everything hurrrrrrrrrrrrts.
This was the best Thanksgiving. The weather was fantastic. I mean, middle of July fantastic, except that the temps got down to zero Celsius at night but the skies were blue and the sun was shiny and the leaves in Algonquin Park were at their most fabulous.
But oh, I am a hurting unit. Three solid days of biking and hiking has jellified these old bones and now I am salivating at the thought of a hot bath and a handful of extra strength Tylenol.
Tomorrow marks the end of my 50th year and I have much to be thankful for as I say good-night to another Thanksgiving Day. A year ago I couldn't have imagined myself biking all over one of the most beautiful places on earth in my baggy-assed sweat-pants, looking for moose and bear, and passing 11-year-olds in a single bound.
I have so much to tell you about but it has to wait, it does. I just wanted to let you know I'm alive and well and looking for the heating pad.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow I eat cake.

Thank god it's Monday

You ever have one of those weekends that is so busy that Monday seems like a holiday?

Yup, I'm looking forward to sitting on my butt all day staring at a computer screen. No lifting heavy boats or outboard motors or canoes. No cleaning the house. No walking around the fair. No riding my bike up big hills. No writing another 1,100 words on my novel. No laundry, no dishes, no grocery shopping .... you get the picture.

It was a great weekend, truly, and the weather was spectacular here.

We were out for a bike ride along the riverbank and we came up to this old church or schoolhouse that is now someone's home, and it is the most adorable place you could imagine living in: bell still intact, brown wood siding, original windows, shiny red tin roof, gorgeous gardens, all overlooking the river. So we came up to this special little house, a house hobbits might live in, and there, transcendent in the sunshine, was a sugar maple with its ruby red autumn coat, waving slightly in the breeze, with the red roof of the schoolhouse as a brilliant backdrop. My breath actually caught in my throat for a moment and I thought, I love this time of year.

Later, Dave and Sam and I were sucking back a cold pop after our ride and we were talking about all the reasons we love fall: pumpkin pie, crisp fresh air, no blackflies or mosquitoes, and fabulous scenery. Sam says, "I've got one more reason."

"What?"

"Fall is when the best video games come out."

Oh yeah.

How could I possibly forget that?

*shaking my head*

For his birthday Sam's father pre-ordered the new Gears of War 3 videogame. Sam's been counting down the days until it's delivered – I guess the game's website has a countdown that measures the Big Event in minutes and even seconds. All weekend long Sam was bouncing off the walls about Gears of War because TODAY IS THE BIG DAY.

It's like Christmas around here, only I didn't have to cook a turkey or wrap any presents. The other night Sam got up in the middle of the night and started to microwave milk for himself – obviously so excited about the game that he couldn't sleep. I fixed his milk for him and sent him back to bed, only to hear him get up a half an hour later. Dave got up to see what he was doing and he was just standing in the middle of the living room, in the dark, in his underwear, just standing there. Dave, being the loving, doting stepfather that he is, said something gentle like, "What in HELL are you doing? Get your ass back to bed!"

And so the weekend went.

Thank god it's Monday.

Happy Birthday, Sam!

Sam-I-Am,

That Sam-I-Am.

How I love my Sam-I-Am.

I could eat him up with jam.

Happy Birthday, Sam-I-Am.

No secret, I've been going to Weight Watchers* for seven weeks and one of my biggest supporters is my now-11-year-old son, Sam.

I hadn't seen him for three weeks because his father was on holidays and had the kids with him on the weekends I normally would have had them. (Missed them fierce, by the way.) Sam never forgot that I was on a diet, though, always remembering to ask me, "how much did you lose this week, Mom?"

When I finally saw him on Friday he said, "You even LOOK skinnier."

Fine words, those. Of course I had to milk it. "Oh yeah?" sez I. "Where exactly do I look skinnier?"

He looked me up and down, analyzing, then said, "Your outline is skinnier."

(I got him a really, really good birthday present.)

* There was no meeting here on Monday, which is my WW night, because of the Labour Day holiday so I haven't been weighed for almost two weeks. Except for Sam's birthday cake, a hot dog at the drive-in (that wasn't even very good - does that count?) and a pot luck last Sunday, I have been on plan. I'm hoping for a few more pounds down the drain to make that outline of mine even skinnier.