Sorry I haven't been around babes... I've had a very long week last week. I'll probably have another very long, well, a four day long week (which means I have to cram 5 days of work into 4 days) this week. This, combined with difficulties sleeping, has made me one very tired and cranky person lately. But over the weekend, I had the house to myself (ok, the dogs were constantly under foot, but what can I say... they keep hoping I'll drop food). I did some cleaning, cooking, mowing and attempted to catch up on my sleep. A very wonderful friend and kindred spirit that I've never actually "met" felt a disturbance in my lifeforce and sent me a little "how are you" e-mail. Thank you dear... your e-mail gave me energy.
I listened to all manor of music as I went about doing my chores (I need an I-Pod for mowing, truly I do) and I ended up listening to some country music (Brad Paisley - he cracks me up, he does...), classic southern rock and some big band swing - Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Chick Webb and Tommy Dorsey. I pulled out some old Louis Armstrong too. This sent me in search of clips, because I not only wanted to hear his mastery, I wanted to see it, albeit it on a little screen.
And I found this...
This clip reminds me of my Chicklet, but not just because of the drum solo I can't wait to share with her. You see, I want her to take something from this clip.
No matter what she chooses to do or be in life, may she show the same exhuberance and love of what she does that Mister Danny Barcelona exhibited as he played.
Danny Barcelona, a self taught drummer (this will thrill Chicklet beyond words) became Louis Armstrong's drummer at the tail end of the 50s and was a part of his "All Stars" for about 15 years until the day Satchmo put the band to rest because of his failing health. You can tell, by watching him in that clip just how joyful his music makes him and all that passion he feels for his "job".
I was telling someone that some of the best stories about music that can be written aren't about the front men or big name artists.. there's a ton of information out there for someone who might want to learn a thing or two about "the legends".
The ones that intrigue me are the session musicians, the supporting players, the performers who spend their lives on stage, in small venues, just jammin'. The witnesses and "background" participants in music history, the stories they could tell just beg to come out if only we would listen.
I'll be taking my daughter to the Montreal Jazz festival, but not to experience the big old (and expensive for someone on a tight budget) concerts... I want her to walk about and hear music coming from the street stages, the lesser known artists, the "working" musicians, who never give up the love of music just because they didn't "make it big" and who hold on to that hope. The artists who play for the pure joy. I know my friend Coco teaches music with that kind of passion.
No matter what you do in life babies, find the things that bring you joy and go with the flow.
Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!
I sat at the computer this morning with my Mother's Day Giant Mug of Coffee (aka Mommy's little helper) that my Chicklet had lovingly prepared for me as part of my Mother's Day breakfast in bed.
I checked my e-mail and found this which I share with all of you.
A baby asked God, 'They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?'
God said, 'Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you.'
The child further inquired, 'But tell me, here in heaven I don't have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy.'
God said, 'Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel's love and be very happy.'
Again the child asked, 'And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don't know the language?'
God said, 'Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.'
'And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?'
God said, 'Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.'
'Who will protect me?'
God said, 'Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life.'
'But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore'.
God said, 'Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you.'
At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, 'God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel's name.'
God said, 'You will simply call her, 'Mom.'
Thank your angel today, be she with you on Earth or watching over you in Heaven.
Merci Maman... je t'aime. This was one of my Mother's favourite songs... "Les Roses Blanches". A song about a young boy's love for his mother, the roses he gave to her.. and his loss.
Times of Joy and Love...
My Chicklet will be a fine mother some day... and I'll know a grandmother's pride just like Mom.
It's odd isn't it, how it can seem to drag on forever... and then you want to stop it because it flies by far too quickly.
For my Chicklet, who makes me proud and amazes me everyday... soon, you'll be ready (though I might not be).
“Time is swift, it races by; Opportunities are born and die... Still you wait and will not try - A bird with wings who dares not rise and fly.”
-- A. A. Milne
and for my Honey, who feels like home...
"The hours I spend with you I look upon as sort of a perfumed garden, a dim twilight, and a fountain singing to it. You and you alone make me feel that I am alive. Other men it is said have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough."
Yesterday was parent-teacher-child conference. And I'm very proud of my Chicklet. She's a math and science whiz , got a great evaluation in English as a second language, gym and dramatic arts.
Her chosen reward? a book!
She's been working very hard this year, and we've all noticed that she's matured a lot this year (we = homeroom teacher, English teacher and myself).
She was so proud to show me a powerpoint presentation her project group worked on about lizards (I'm thinking of contracting out that part of my job to these 9 and 10 year olds... it was that good).
Considering I've been having a crap week.. this was just what I needed.
Oh.. she wrote a lovely little composition about friendship. I'll have to share it with you soon, kids are wise.
Enjoy this tune, Chicklet and I really love these guys.. The Alternate Routes a great bunch of guys with a great band that we discovered when we went on our summer Chick Road Trip to see Taylor Hicks in concert...
Sorry if I haven’t been around much but by the time I get home, deal with Shark-dog and Dum-Dum and get dinner on the table (on the days when it doesn’t consist of something instant like Chinese take-out), I feel like I’m about ready to collapse. I see to homework, chauffeur my daughter to her theatre class, check a few e-mails (a few hundred... man some of my friends like to let those rip LOL), tuck my sunshine in for the night and then spend some quality time on the phone with the man who owns my heart.
Then... I crash.
Of course, I usually end up waking up in the middle of the night trying to find a way to get back to the luscious dream I was having, but nooooooo...... *sigh*-LeighAnn I know you relate to this. And then I’m stuck with going over conversations and lists and pondering life’s important questions like: Does a bear really shit in the woods? What use can we find for the indestructible part of corn? Turnbaby and I have already ruled out using it to make the outer shell of the space shuttle as we are concerned it’ll just pop upon re-entry on account of the heat.
I’m having difficulty getting my (Damm) ducks in a row, so to speak. My mind has been jumping from one thing to another and this just might be reflected in this post (*snarf*- just this one?) so hopefully you’ll bear with me.
So, what was the highlight of my week? I got a cruel glimpse of what’s in store for the next 8 years…
My daughter didn’t want me to walk her to the door when she had her second theatre class this week.
WAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!
I’m cool damnit! You’d think she’d like having me around... I know her new friends would think I’M cool! Right? *sigh*
OK… Deep breath.
So I have a tween. She’s just shy of her 10th birthday and I’m not ready. I’m not ready for her to grow up like that. I miss the little girl giggles, the baby kisses that smelled like green apples, the soft curls on the nape of her neck, watching Dumbo 3 times in a row (actually, I don’t miss that...) and tricking her into eating meat by coating it in plain yogurt (don’t raise your eyebrow at me! It worked... for a while). Those were the days...
I spent a good part of my morning with some Amy Winehouse (what a talent!) as my background music this morning and it’s got me wondering.
The world today is taking a far more critical look at artists and celebrities who end up with substance abuse problems. Is it because the paparazzi are ever present and we get to hear more of the misadventures of the rich and famous? Is it because it’s a bigger problem now than in the days of Janis and Jim and Jimi? Have we all turned into hypocrites? Are we holding them up to a standard we never held the rock & rollers of the past to? Was that a mistake? Do we actually think our opinion matters to them in the end?
I’m a single mother (for now) of an almost 10 year old girl who loves classic rock, shows a passion for music and will go from Led Zep to Taylor Hicks to The Alternate Routes to Lily Allen in a heart beat. Fortunately, she doesn’t quite get some of the lyrics of some of Lily’s songs... yet...
I worry about what’s out there. I worry about the images and videos she’s apt to be bombarded with. I’m concerned about the world she’s growing up in and about the creeps who lurk on the internet.
Will I criticize Ms Winehouse for her behaviour? No. Will I throw a stone at the youngest Spears unfortunate soul? No. We’re just far too much in one another’s business if you ask me.
“But but... they’re the examples for today’s youth” I hear some say. Shit no, they aren’t. We the parents are! Not Hannah Montana, not the Manning brothers... US. And grownups all need to stop trying to be Oprah or The Donald.
Who set the standard for me? Who gave me my morals? My parents! Not actors, sports stars and name-only celebrities... Yes, I admired Nadia’s prowess at the Olympics, I dreamed of kissing Kevin Bacon like Lori Singer in Footloose, and I wanted to be Molly Ringwald. But it’s my mother’s dedication to helping others that guides me... and I’ve finally found a hard-working man who owns up to his responsibilities and doesn’t make excuses, just like my father.
When it comes to my daughter, I’m the one whose shoulders it falls upon to be an example of what a woman can accomplish. Who’s responsible for teaching her what a decent human being is. What’s that you ask?
A decent human being is someone who believes in giving people a chance to make up for their stupidities, who allows people to learn from their mistakes and better themselves, who doesn’t take advantage of people when they depend on you, who plays Free Rice(you saw that coming folks, admit it), who helps when she can and lends a friend a shoulder to cry on.
Yes, my daughter will see things and she’ll hear things that I don’t approve of because I can’t watch her 24/7, and I can’t filter out all the crap out there... But, I can keep the lines of communication open, be ready to listen when she has questions (man does she have those...) and love her.
Maybe somehow the world will look perfect to her, no matter what crap is going on around her...
or maybe she’ll see the injustices and step up, stand up for what’s right. If I only teach her one thing...
I hope and pray that those who have lost their way can learn and change their course, and that a decent human being will give them a hand, a shoulder, the opportunity to better themselves. But I also hope someone will hold them accountable for what they’ve done instead of making excuses for them like some parents I know.
Decent? Well, maybe not quite... but entertaining, plus the tune is catchy...
Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!
I sit at my computer, sipping a lovely cup (well, Santa mug really) of delicious and sweetly aromatic chai tea. I'm waiting for the storm after the storm that will come when my Chicklet learns that she in fact, as she predicted last night, gets to stay home from school for her second snow day since the it's-not-winter-yet-but-you'll-have-a White-Christmas-cause-you-all-complained-last-year unofficial start of the winter season.
15 inches... it never seemed so big... oh well!
Mo chose a theme word once more this week, a word in keeping with Christmas (for those of us who think in the obvious way). Well, finding the inspiration for this edition of Manic Monday was easy...
Last year, my daughter spent quite a bit of her free time at school practicing for the school's Christmas choir. She practiced in the washroom, in the car, humming in her classroom I was told, at the dinner table, she sang to her doll, she practiced in her bed... basically, she sang Christmas carols all over the place. Considering what our family was faced with she managed to bring JOY and the magic that comes with Christmas into our lives. For the not so long time reader... my mother was in the terminal phase of what was a losing battle with cancer.
They recorded a lovely song written by a man named Jean Naty-Boyer about the children of the world... and the wish for a peaceful Christmas. Thankfully, Mom got a chance to hear it.
Noël Des Enfants du Monde (with a so-so translation by moi... my apologies!)
Enfants de Palestine(Child of Palestine)
Ou enfants d'Israel(Or child of Israel)
D'Amérique ou de Chine(From America or China)
En ce jour de Noël (On this Christmas Day)
Que ton regard se pose (Whether you should look)
Sur la terre ou le ciel (Upon the earth or up to the sky)
Ne retiens qu'une chose (Remember but one thing)
Il faut croire à Noël (You must believe in Christmas)
Matin couleur de cendre (Be it an ash colored morning)
Ou matin d'arc en ciel (Or morning filled with rainbows)
Qu'importe il faut attendre (No matter, you must wait)
En ce soir de Noël (On this Christmas night)
Que les fusils se taisent (For the guns to fall quiet)
et répondent à l'appel (And answer the call)
De cette parenthèse (Of the spirit)
Qui s'appelle Noël (That is Christmas)
Un jour viendra peut-être (Hopefully a day will come)
Un jour au goût de miel (A day as sweet as honey)
Où l'on verra paraitre (Where we'll see appear)
Un oiseau dans le ciel (A bird in the sky)
Aux plumes de lumière (With feathers of light)
Un oiseau éternel (An eternal bird)
Colombe pour la terre (A dove for the Earth)
Un oiseau de Noël(The bird of Christmas)
As we prepare our houses for the coming of Christmas, as we grocery shop for the Christmas dinner, as we plan what type of cookies we'll bake for Santa... some children may not have enough to eat.
The United Nations World Food Programme manages the funds raised through Freerice and numerous other donations, and they have distributed rice in many countries...
Myanmar...
Nepal...
Cambodia...
Phillippines...
Sri Lanka...
Bangladesh...
Cote d'Ivoire...
India...
Madagascar...
Ecuador...
May your holidays be filled with love and laughter... and may their stomachs be filled.
May the guns fall silent and may we all find PEACE.
As a quick note... I received a wonderful e-mail late Friday and have had a few exchanges with the author since... more about this is another post.
My thanks to Turnbaby who promoted Freerice once again on Turnbaby Talks. SMOOCH!
Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!
I know some people have been waiting for an account of the trip and a review of the show.
I haven't been in a frame of mind to write lately, and Youtube kept eating my videos(I know.. Taylor is yummy.. can't really blame Youtube for eating.. um... wait! it's all about the music! right Travis?)and I'd about given up.
I thought maybe I should put a few pics up of The Chicklet, myself at the concert (man it was hot out there...)and a few of the Soul Man himself.
I must say we had a blast with our Hoochie sister and Chicklet's auntie Pia, and we had a blast with some fellow Soul Patrolers.
There are stories of thongs and a few inside jokes (Whadawadawadawadawadawhat? DUCK???).
We met a sweet and humorous waiter who waited patiently as I attempted to stop laughing long enough to answer him(I don't believe I was successful).
The Chicklet got her flight wings and after a few short flights, has become a seasoned traveler(although she still reads along with the safety card during the preflight message and knows all about how to open the exit doors).
I tell you, there are only a few grey seats in those airplanes and on EVERY flight we were seated in the grey rows..(something to do with Taylor? I say yes!).
What can I say about the concert... the man was outstanding and demonstrated to us what true showmanship is. He mixed it up, had us singing along and when he blew that harmonica... *sigh*.
He was in GREAT form! Wait.. did Youtube actually relinquish some of my videos??? Quick, somebody pinch me! (But not too hard, I don't want y'all to leave a mark.. *giggles*).
The high pitched squeal? Chicklet!
A great time was had by all, women fought over a sweaty towel, Chicklet loves the South and wants to go back.
And I'm jonesin' for the next Taylor concert.
That's all folks,
Love you all more than my luggage (which only carried 3 pairs of shoes)! Hugs, smooches and gropes!
After a cup of coffee (the required potion to transform me from an incoherent grump to my usual super safety wench self),I launched into my regular mad dash between ironing a top for work (really I should do this in the evening.. I need to get organized...), fixing the Chicklet's snacks for the day (also something I should do the night before... I'm so disorganized!) and feeding Chelsea the beagle her pill coated in peanut butter (vet's orders... must be in the morning... can't get THAT organized... oh.. and did I mention that the pills have a nasty gastrointestinal side effect, in which I almost stepped whilst running from the kitchen to the living room to turn the TV off - yuck - Damn.. must pick this up... double yuck!), when I ran into the washroom to brush my teeth alongside the Chicklet. Luckily, I've managed to make sure my socks match every day and I'm not walking around with a fabric softener sheet stuck to my butt, most days...
Sharing a washroom (although she has a perfectly nice pink washroom of her own) with her in the morning is interesting. She sings along to classic rock and roll (her version of Kiss's "I wanna rock and roll" is smokin') with reckless abandon and asks endless questions.
Why does the medicine make Chelsea poop that colour?
What's that stuck to your butt?
Why did you only put makeup on one eye?
What's that smell?
Who's the cutest kid in the whole world (AHA! an easy one to answer!!!)
Can I invent chocolate toothpaste?
She and I stood side by side brushing our teeth and...well...
I think Blake is rubbing off on us...
Beatboxing with a mouthful of toothpaste suds is messy...
Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!
But first.. a short tale(yeah! yeah! I know, bad Anndi...)
I’ve been having a rough week folks… The funk came back… I worked crazy hours… and I didn’t even have the energy to visit very many blogs.
The highpoint of my week was on Thursday evening when my Chicklet, the awesome child that I’m raising to be, God-willing, a truly stellar human being, performed in a concert at school.
She participated in the opening and closing numbers of the show (the kids sang wonderfully). Towards the end of the extravaganza she recited a poem she wrote. She was the only one to have her writing (her first ever poem) featured in the concert and stood up there while I sat in the audience beaming and demonstrated her artistic flair. (Oh.. by the way.. it's in French). It's a cry out for our planet, one main theme they focused on at school over the past year is reducing waste and pollution.
La Terre(The Earth)
A poem by Chicklet
Ma mère la Terre, (My Mother Earth) mes sœurs les Océans, (my sisters the oceans) mes frères les Continents, (my brothers the continents) ma vie la Nature. (my life is Nature). Depuis longtemps ma famille est en danger. (For some time now, my family has been endangered.) Les océans pollués de l’essence de bateaux, (Boat fuel pollutes the oceans,) les continents sont malades, l’air pollué fait mourir les arbres. (Our continents are sick, air pollution is killing the trees.) La terre a ses eaux polluées et ses continents pollués. (The Earth's oceans and continents are polluted) La terre envoie un S.O.S. (Planet Earth sends out an S.O.S.)
The concert was held in my old high school’s auditorium. It brought back many memories, and was bittersweet as it was renamed some time ago for a former vice-principal who died from AIDS. I remember watching “Philadelphia” not too long after he passed. I still can’t watch that movie without crying over his death.
I told my Chicklet that the auditorium was named after him, and that he had been a wonderful educator. She asked me what made him so great.
“He treated us, the kids, with respect. And we loved him for that.”
Too few adults respect kids, and we can stand to learn a thing or two from them, that’s something he taught me by example. And he will forever be in my heart.
Je t’aime Serge, tu me manques. Merci pour tout ce que tu as inspiré en moi.
My weekend in a lobster shell...
The Chicklet was away with her father this weekend, so I had some alone time with Dad, and some time for myself, a tub of Hagen Dazs and a chick movie.
As it turns out, Chicklet’s Dad was going to cook a dinner for some friends on Saturday night and some lobster was on the menu along with chicken brochettes(anyone need a bib right about now?).
Chicklet has always turned her nose up at lobster, although she loves to visit the lobster tank at the local supermarket. She knows they’re on their way to becoming someone’s food but enjoys saying hi(I say she taunts them… “Your father was a Hamster…”).
Well, she agreed to try some! If she’s anything like me and my mother (which she is in almost all aspects of her personality so far…) she just might like it. Of course, she and I both have NOT inherited Mom’s taste (if you can seriously call it that without snickering.. or saying “bad taste”) for liver and something my mother thought was a delicacy, pig tongue pickled in vinegar(all together now… EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!) on saltine crackers(mom was crackers herself sometimes).
I drove her to her father’s new apartment. I had changed out of my jammies and pink fuzzy slippers and gotten dressed although I did joke about driving over in my nightwear to a friend(hehehe... you were right! It DID end up in a post LOL!!).Besides, I actually find it easier to drive in high heeled red sandals than the fuzzy pink slippers!
And I probably would have caused a slight stir at the market in my baby doll top and cotton capris…
After dropping her off, I drove back from the city and stopped off at Dad’s. Some friends are helping to get the pool started and I chatted with them for a bit.
Thoughts of lobster were firmly planted... swimming.. crawling(?) in my head and I know it’s been ages since Dad had some. Dad LOVES lobster! We had some fresh from the pier every summer when we went on vacation to Hampton Beach back in the days when I was a kid.
So I offered to go pick up some boiled lobster and make Dad a scrumptious lobster salad. Well… seems if you want the folks at the market to boil the lobster for you (and believe you me, that’s what I had in mind) you have to order ahead of time (how inconvenient!). Now, she could have boiled them in a batch later on .. but then Dad would have eaten too late so… I sucked it up, bought two live and squirming lobsters, got the boiling instructions and a small bag of sea salt and then I went into the liquor commission (booze store) and bought a lovely bottle of wine to bolster my courage.
When I returned to Dad’s, I set out to commit lobster homicide.... lobstercide? Cooking! I had a big pot with water, some sea salt ( to REALLY make it feel at home), a very large glass of wine (for me) and a big spoon with a very long handle to poke the lobster once I had conned it into believing it was going for a lovely spa experience…
A very wise woman suggested I dump a bit of wine in the pot so my squirming and backpedaling soon-to-be dinner would have a little buzz. I decided against it.. can lobsters actually drink I wonder? Besides, by the size of it , it was decidedly underage although I’m willing to commit lobstercide, I stop at providing alcohol to minor lobsters (and I have no clue about Maritime law..) Besides, I do NOT, as a peace loving conscientious Canadian want to cause an international incident.. (what if they were from Maine?).
For those of you who have never boiled a lobster, it’s an interesting experience. The hardest part was putting lobster number two in the water… it put up a fight worthy of Muhammad Ali or Laila Ali (depending on it’s sex... and no... I didn’t ask, and I didn’t look.. I’m no perv! Turnbaby, stop snickering this very instant!).
All those videos on YouTube about poor unsuspecting people who chuck a lobster in the pot only to find it tries to crawl out of the pot to exact revenge are all too true!
Lobster number one (I don't name my food.. I'm funny that way) spread out his claws (I've decided to assume the lobsters were male, don't read too much into it.. really) and tried to hold on to the sides of the pot as I attempted to shove him in the nice lobster jacuzzi. And lobster number 2 (the one on the right in that there picture) just straightened himself out as soon as I invited him to join his compadre making it VERY difficult for me to drop him and close the lid.
I learned that lobsters do not, in all actuality, scream the lobster equivalent of "save me" when you put them in boiling water... they mutter something about a pox and attempt to spit on you (but I don't believe they have salivary glands).
As I attempted to shove number one and number two in the pot, I stopped to fortify myself with a little vino.. Closing the lid on a jittery lobster feeler was not enjoyable. In fact.. it reminded me David Cronenberg and his bug movie... CREEPY. I kept expecting number one (clearly the more feisty of the two) to sit up, drape his little legs over the rim of the "lobster spa" and carry on a conversation about Noam Chomsky's views on child language acquisition and the innate basic grammatical structures that children are born with allowing them to have the ability to learn any language they are exposed to within the formative years. Ok.. maybe a little too much vino for me...
I was reminded of my mother's chief complaint the odd times when she ended up having to steam the lobster herself... the water, sea salt and lobster combination makes the kitchen smell like the ocean.. and NOT in a good way.
When all that was said and done... the lobster tails (see.. I finally got to them) were yummy when dipped in homemade garlic butter...
Love you all more than my luggage! Hugs, smooches and gropes!
and pride
