Like Mother, Like Daughter...

My relationship with my mama is pretty special.  From the time I was a small child I just wanted to be around her.  Like... all the time.  I have heard numerous tales of me, as a little creature on the farm, clinging to her leg 24/7.  One would think that growing up on a farm would mean possessing a natural affinity and love for the sound of loud engines.  I was not born with this trait, and the sound of a tractor, snowmobile, motorcycle or any other motorized vehicle revving up would send me running, screaming hysterically, clinging to my mama's leg as though I had been chased by a psychopath wielding a chainsaw.

When I transitioned into the teen years, I remember many heart to heart talks with mama.  Don't get me wrong, these were not girl talk sessions featuring a mutual bearing of our souls.  This was me, either asking really uncomfortable questions, or spilling every juicy detail of my young, inexperienced life.  I never shied away from 'sensitive' topics, much to her dismay I would imagine, as she has always been much classier than me in regards to subjects of conversation - remember, she never swears.  I recall around the age of 15 or 16 spilling some especially scandalous tea, and her saying:  "My mom friends always complain that their kids don't tell them anything, sometimes you tell me too much..."  This, of course didn't stop me, and through my life, when something particularly personal, even better - embarrassing - happened to me, she has always been the first person I wanted to call.  Nothing makes my mama laugh harder than a story about falling down in public, a poorly timed bodily function release or anything of the like.  

Sadly, we now live two hours apart from one another.  When I was working, my daily routine included calling her on my drive home so we could chat about our day.  Good, bad or ugly, we shared it all.  Since the pandemic started we are not in touch daily, but she is still the first person I call if anything embarrassing arises.  Sometimes we text back and forth, and our text conversation from a few days ago might be one of my favourites... so much so, I thought it should live on forever in my blog.  I think future generations will really appreciate it.  For a bit of context, the topic of vaginas came up (as it does) and I had referred to it as a 'foofer' (as you do):

mama:  I didn't know how to spell foofer before, I thought for sure it would have a capital "f".

me:  You can spell it however you like as it isn't a real word.  Yours must be special to get a capital "F".

mama:  Mine does not have a name.

me:  Mine has at least two names:  foofer, clinka... there might be more, I will have to think about it.

mama:  Well, if mine ever did have a name I can't remember it.

me:  You should ask dad.

mama:  OMG can you imagine?  I will tell him you want to know.

me:  He might have you institutionalized, or write me out of the will.

mama:  Probably both.

My dear mama, thank you for always being my bestie, for listening to years of oversharing,  for sending me six hearts whenever I need them, and for pushing me out of your foofer.

jbxo

static & silence

Six years ago today Shari left us.  In the early days after losing her it was difficult to comprehend how I would get through a day, or a week, impossible to believe I would survive six years without her in my life.  

Six years.  That is:

72 months.

313 weeks.

2,192 days.

I remember the feeling of September 2014.  That month, and many of the months that followed had a scent, a taste, a sensation, both in the pit of my stomach, and the ache in my heart.  I sometimes struggle to comprehend which part of losing her was worse in those initial days:  realizing she was gone, and not being able to find her, or finding her four days later and confirming that she was gone forever.  Once we found her the next stages began.  Floating through a fog I recall going through her apartment.  It wasn't frantic.  It was oddly peaceful.  The first day it was just me, in the silence, looking through her things, taking my time to sift through every pocket, every nook and cranny as I slowly folded and packed away her precious things.  When the silence became unbearable I pressed 'play' on her little CD player.  The Sundays album static & silence began to play.  It was oddly perfect, and I felt a sense of peace when I realized I was listening to the last music she had listened to.  I must have played that CD ten times while I was packing her possessions.

The fourty-two years I had with sista were not all perfect.  There was a lot of worry, frustration, sadness, concern.  But, there were also some of the most wonderful moments.  Playing with our Fisher Price 'People' when we were little, not liking the way a specific story line was going, and making a deal to start the People's lives fresh with four simple words:  "Starting now, 'kay?  Go."  Sleepovers in one another's rooms as children with fits of giggles, and then as teenagers with late night heart to hearts.  Listening to music, enjoying good food, going for walks, talking about life, love and our latest thrift store find.  Laughing so hard we would cry - usually at something super weird, something that no one else would understand, let alone find remotely funny.  

When I talk about Shari I can feel my face brightening.  She really was wonderful.  Creative, intelligent, funny and beautiful.  I always felt proud to be her little sister.  Whenever she was in a low point, I always wished she could see herself through my eyes.

I remember after Shari died, a few close friends asked me what I needed, what would make me feel better.  I could only ever think of one thing, and it was something no one could give me:  time.  I needed time to think, cry, remember, breathe, be.  The few weeks I took off from work were a drop in the ocean of the amount of time that I craved.  Life was so busy, a family, a cat, a house, work... life.  I wanted to find a cabin in the woods, near the water, with books to read, food to eat, wine to drink, and just sit... in silence.  

Some magical moments have happened over the past year.  In December someone sent me the clip of sista and I on Speaker's Corner from decades ago.  Seeing us being ridiculous together all those years ago was amazing.  In May a friend of Shari's stumbled across this photo of her, and thought I might like it so he sent it to me.  I had never seen it before, and it is now one of my favourites.  Last month another one of her old friends sent me a video of her from University.  Shari's magnolia tree bloomed for a second time this season.  Now, this may be a result of it being so dry the tree actually thought it died, and then when we started to douse it in water her tree thought it was spring again.  But, I prefer to think it was a lovely sign from sista, of course. ;) During the past six months I have had the gift of time... static & silence.  

I am still processing losing her every single day.  I know I always will be.  It never gets easier, it just gets different.  But, the edges get a little softer, and in the silence there is peace.  

I love you and miss you, always & forever.

jbxo

Girl, you know it's true...

A few months into quarantine Julian got into designing images. This one is my particular favourite. It sums up every pandemic feeling and vibe I had experienced up to that point. 

Let's break it down, shall we? 

• the calm, pink background: represents slowing down, the serenity, the peace
• the throwback font: homage to the past, grieving what once was, but also - kind of fun, because we are just 'being' instead of constantly 'doing', plus consuming way more wine, which makes everything way more funky
• the message: enough said.

The world has certainly changed, and many of us have changed as individuals. Some of it is sad, some of it is scary, some of it is revolutionary, some of it is just, plain lovely. Ultimately I hope it is for the better.

Personally, I am grateful that I had this opportunity to stop. To pause. To go for long, quiet walks and bike rides. To savour tasty wine and meals with my fella. To get to know my children as people. To realize my children are incredibly smart and sensitive humans who have a lot to teach me (for example, the title of this post should actually be: Folks, you know it's true... but they also are too young to understand the Milli Vanilli reference). To become acutely aware of who is in my inner circle, and why. It has changed me. I am not the same person I was in March 2020, and that is a good thing. I started writing again, I started playing guitar again, I started reading books again. I made the decision to leave a company where I have spent almost half of my life to spend more quiet time with my family and figure out what I want to be when I grow up. For all of these things, I am grateful.

But, we are also kind of fucked, aren't we? We are grieving the past, we are scared of the future. We are in the 'in-between' (kinda like The Upside Down in Stranger Things) and hoping that the Mind Flayer doesn't show up. There is uncertainty around the simplest of things: "Will I catch a disease if I go to the the shop to buy chips and dip? But, I really want chips and dip..." (we discovered HeluvaGood french onion dip during quarantine, and... wow). For those of us who have experienced a type of 'awakening' there is the question of - what is next? There is uncertainty, but there is also a whack of excitement and anticipation around the prospect of something new, becoming the 2.0 version of yourself.

For now, in this moment, I have decided to sit here for a bit. As much as I despise this term, I am going to: lean in to this moment. I am going to honour the past, and welcome the future, while being in the now. It is all sorts of weird, and kind of wonderful at the same time.

jbxo

The F word...

I grew up in a home where swearing was absolutely not ok.  We did not swear.   Well, we did not swear in front of my parents.  My mom considered 'fart' to be:  the F word.  We said 'pass gas' instead.  Which, by the way, is so gross - like you can actually picture the biological function involved in 'passing gas'.  Fart just sounds cool.  I was desperate to say fart as a kid.  We secretly suspected that dad swore when he was out and about... doing farm guy stuff.  Someone once told me he swore regularly outside of our home.  I remember finding that quite shocking - but also pretty cool.  No matter what, I still would not swear in front of either of my parents growing up.  When my mom would hear people swear she would say things like:  "How can they kiss their children with that mouth...?"  Meanwhile, I was so deprived of swearing as a youngster that I would fully binge on swear words any moment it was safe to do so, away from home, of course.  I remember having a sleepover at my little friend's house, we couldn't have been any older than 10, when we mindfully decided to have a 'swearing fight' outside.  Her parents were tucked away inside of her house, out of earshot, of course.  It was incredibly liberating.  We stood, two tiny creatures, in her yard on her farm, pointing at one another and stream-of-conscious swearing... connecting every single swear word we could think of - even if they didn't logically belong together.  It was both therapeutic and soul cleansing, even though I worried I might actually be going to hell afterwards.  Interestingly - a thunderstorm rolled up out of nowhere during our swear-fight... coincidence?  We may never know.

I am now a grown up with my own family.  I almost hate to admit it - but I really enjoy swearing.  Nothing adds emphasis to whatever it is you are saying quite like putting the real F word in front of it, or behind it.  The F word makes everything sound bigger, better, cooler, crazier...  For the majority of my children's lives I did not swear in front of them.  I reserved swearing for 'adult' conversations.  Thank goodness I have had the pleasure of working with people who shared my love of the F word.  I could spend eight hours a day swearing at work, and transition into a sweet baby angel while at home with my family.  The odd time Andrew would accidentally let a swear word slip out in front of the kids I would join them in 'mock shock', my eyes wide, mouth agape, a rose blush taking over my cheeks... how could he...?  

As Julian and Nora got older they became fascinated with swearing (as most children do at some point).  This was back when I had them convinced that 'stupid' was a swear word.  They often asked me:  "Mama... did you ever swear?"  I would look at them innocently:  "Oh my... of course not, my sweet pea."

Then, one day, I can't even recall when, it just... happened.  I dropped the F word in the car.  They knew by the ease with which it slipped out of my mouth that it wasn't 'my first time'.  They both looked at me with an expression of absolute shock on their faces.  Andrew thought it was hilarious.  I spent about five seconds trying to convince the kids it was my first swear word EVER, but they knew.  Honestly, I think they were relieved.

Then came the time that my own parents never needed to worry about.  That time when your children start to swear - in front of you, the parent.  The first time I heard each of my children swear, I honestly felt almost sick inside... What had happened?  Where did I go wrong?  How had I failed them?  

This past summer Andrew and Nora went to England - leaving Julian and I in The Well.  We decided to have a weekend getaway in Toronto.  We stayed in my favourite little boutique hotel, and Julian literally spent his life savings on records.  Just the two of us, mother and son, bonding in The Big Smoke.  It was awesome, and very 'grown up'.  As we  casually walked down Queen Street, feeling incredibly free and independent, it happened.  Julian dropped the F bomb.  I didn't want to behave like the shocked mom I was on the inside, so I played it cool, and came up with a deal.  As long as we were in The Big Smoke, on Queen Street, we could both swear as much as we wanted and it didn't matter.  It didn't 'count'.  After that weekend away, the odd swear word would slip out, we would look at one another - and one of us would say it:  "Queen Street".  Although we still physically live in The Well, psychologically we have taken up permanent residence on Queen Street.  It is fucking awesome... (sorry mom).

jbxo

William Was Here

Artwork by Shari - Christmas 2013
"William Was Here" was written by Shari in 2003. In January 2005 she sent it, along with another children's book she had written "Never Disappear" to ten publishing companies in hopes of having them professionally published.

In her submission letter she wrote: "William Was Here" is a tale about a creative young boy who learns to discipline his art... It also presents the idea of preserving history and leaving your mark in a positive way.

Although her submissions were declined, she certainly left her mark in a positive way on all who knew her. We love you and miss you, always & forever. 

jbxo

William Was Here

by Shari Tamcsu

William's house was always neat
And his house was always clean
But every surface in every room

Was really a sight to be seen.

Ever since William could hold a crayon
His parents encouraged him to draw
So he would scribble high and low
And on every empty space he saw.

His folks were proud of his gift at art
Never following him with rag and water
"The colours add life to our bare walls
And we can always paint over it later".

William created thousands of patterns
For sheets and curtains of natural muslin
And when it was time to give them a wash
William would decorate them again.

When he was old enough to do chores
William would set out the dinner plates
And decorate them to match the theme of the meal
(Everyone got used to the waxy taste).

William would never leave the house
Without his knapsack full of drawing tools
By the designs he left on the sidewalks, trees and paths
You knew which route he took to school.

When it was William's turn at "Show and Tell"
The class would go on a field trip
To see his latest drawing on the side of City Hall
His best work was a fifteen foot pirate ship!

William's friends grew tired of piano lessons
And decided to switch to electric guitar
While others decided they no longer enjoyed tennis
So they would take up basketball.

But William's favourite hobby never changed
He believed that of art he would never grow tired
And his after school job of delivering papers
Helped him to purchase the tools that he required.

It seemed that the further that his arms could reach
And the taller that William grew
His art became grander and of larger scale
And his ideas were more elaborate and new.

As the town seemed to run out of empty space
On which William could showcase is art
His parents sat him down with heavy news
That they feared would break his heart.

His father cleared his throat and began to speak,
"The company that I work for has begun to grow
So they are opening an office in another town
And I will teach the employees all that I know".

"This is the house in which you were born
And these are the walls that you have drawn upon
Every picture tells a story about your life
Now it is time for that story to live on".

"Will the new house have bare white walls?" William asked
"Yes, higher and wider upon which you can draw"
And with that William breathed a sigh and smiled
And his parents were happy with what they saw.

The next few weeks were a very busy time
William's house was always on display
Some of the visitors were in awe of the colourful walls
While others stomped off in dismay.

William's parents became anxious to sell the house
And were almost ready to buy white paint
When a young couple entered and cried in union
"This is it! How cosy, oh, how quaint!"

"We will purchase if you include the art"
The newlyweds proclaimed, strong and bold
"Well, we can't take it with us", William replied
So the papers were signed and the house was sold.

Next there was packing and filling boxes
As moving day was approaching near
William took the time to say good bye to his art
And to sign each piece "William was here".

There were many good byes and teary eyes
As William's family set off to depart
And cries of "We'll miss you! Come back soon!"
And "William, you really left your mark!"

They drove for many hours, over many miles
The sunshine switched to cloud and then to rain
And when they finally arrived in the "new town"
William's first thought was "How plain".

"The buildings are covered in plain brown brick
And the trees are either brown bark or black
The sidewalks are simply grey concrete
Oh well, I'll have to do something about that!"

William decided to be optimistic
As they pulled into the drive
Of the house which was larger than the last
Yes, his father did not lie.

William could not wait to decorate the walls
But for now he was busy emptying each box
His work would not be done until each shelf was filled
And the proper drawers contained pants, shirts and socks.

Two days had passed and William had not stepped outside
He was now completing a mural in the hall
When his father exclaimed, "Let's go to the park
We can explore the neighbourhood and play ball."

It was a perfect, sunny day for a game of catch
And an afternoon snack of soft serve ice cream
William and his dad sat in the shade so their cones wouldn't melt
And from the park bench William surveyed the scene.

"Sixteen trees that could use some sprucing up
A pavillion that needs a colourful roof
Park benches that I can decorate with acrylic paint
Yes, here I can certainly be of some use".

"What are you thinking?", William's father asked
"You look as though you are staring through a lens"
William watched the kids playing in the park
And said, "Well, I wish I had some friends".

"There's a boy who lives in the house next door"
Said William's dad. "And he is just about your age
Why don't you stop over after dinner?"
William didn't know if he had the courage.

The kid next door turned out to be kind of cool
His name was Chris and he was into photography
When William told him about the murals in his old town
Chris asked: "Did you take any pictures, can I see?"

It was at that moment that William realized
That he did not have any photos of any kind
The only pictures that he had of the pirate ship
Were the memories that he kept in his mind.

The next day William filled his pack with art supplies
And invited Chris to accompany him to the park
"Bring your camera and after I finish the murals
I would like you to take pictures of my art."

Chris was surprised that they were going out in daylight
"This William must be a rebel" were his thoughts
Drawing art on the side of buildings during the day?
Chris sighed "We are sure to get caught".

"Did you say something?" William asked
"Ah, nothing", Chris replied
And William thought, "Why is he so quiet?
This Chris is one strange guy".

The pair worked undetected for one hour
On a mural of a spaceship landing on the moon
"That looks really cool!" Chris exclaimed
But it appears that Chris spoke too soon.

As along came Constable Catchimfast
"What do we have here?" he cried.
"Graffiti on our pavillion roof!"
"I am almost done", William replied.

"What do you think?" William proudly asked
But did not receive the response he expected
As Constable Catchimfast ordered the boys off the roof
And brought them to the police station to be questioned.

William was not familiar with the term "Graffiti"
And on the car ride home he hung his head in shame
Chris looked out the window not knowing what to say
William's father knew that it was up to him to explain.

"Not all towns... no... not many towns are like the old town.
Some towns prefer bare brick. I know not why"
William then realized that they were not on their way home
But pulling into the parking lot of "The Art Supply"

As William's father priced huge rolls of craft paper
Chris brought William to the sketch book section
Explaining that they could still do art in the park
On books of paper that they could carry with them.

"What do you say son, seven foot, twelve foot roll?"
William thanked his father and replied
"Dad, let's stick to portable art for a while.
These sketchbooks are travel size!"

William made many friends at his new school
And his favourite subject was art, of course
He no longer thought of that day in the park
He no longer felt sadness or remorse.

But Constable Catchimfast did not forget
He still thought of that spaceship landing on the moon
That kid's art brought an idea to his head
And he knew that he had to do something about it soon.

Constable Catchimfast had a sweetheart named Ida
And with her he wanted to spend the rest of his life
At a meeting with William and Chris at the station
He told them of a plan to make her his wife.

Chris took a fine photo of Catchim and Ida
Sitting in the park under a willow tree
And then William painted the image on the pavillion roof
And underneath were the words "Will you marry me?"

Ida walked right under that painting
And did not even know it was there
As the only way to properly see it
Was as a bird up in the air.

Constable Catchim took Ida for a ride in a hot air balloon
And her look of surprise you can only guess
As they hovered over William's fine work of art
Ida wiped away tears of happiness and said "Yes!"

As William grew he was asked to do many murals
And he put the money from his work away
To pay for college where he would study fine art
And become the professional artist that he is today.

William now has his own mural painting business
And he has painted murals in many cities and towns
His old buddy Chris has taken a photo of every work of art
That William keeps in a portfolio that he carries around.

William's childhood home has been knocked down
And years of rain have washed the trees and sidewalk clear
But the pirate ship on the side of city hall still proudly stands
And if you look very closely you will find the words "William Was Here."

Pleasantville...

Andrew has introduced me to many wonderful things...

When we met, I had been a strict vegetarian for ten years.  I wasn't a 'healthy' vegetarian.  I basically survived on bagels, rice and all other things carb related.  Early in our dating life I watched him cook and eat steak.  It smelled good.  It looked good, and a few weeks later, it tasted good as well.

When I met Andrew I smoked cigarettes.  I was one of those smokers who swore they would never quit.  I loved my long,  skinny, lovely, cigarettes (this just seems gross now, I know...).  I had a silver Zippo lighter, that I could open AND light on my jeans (so cool) and a matching silver cigarette case, both engraved, of course.  Smoking was a part of my persona... Andrew hated smoking, and as a result, I found that I didn't smoke when I was with him, and eventually I was with him so much, that I stopped smoking altogether.  Quitting was actually, kind of, easy.

Growing up I always had 'different' taste, and a love for unique things.  Music.  Fashion.  I credit this to sista Shari who introduced me to so many cool things.  I will never understand how she discovered so many cool things living on a tobacco farm.  Then I met Andrew, and he introduced me to an entirely new universe of music I had never heard before... 

When Andrew and I first connected, we felt an almost desperate need to educate one another on everything that defined us as indiviuals... music, films, food... all of it.  We watched 'Withnail and I' (his film) and 'Notting Hill' (my film).  No judgement from either party, only pure appreciation and love.

Throughout our relationship he has often talked about, no... RAVED about the movie Pleasantville - but for some reason I had never seen it, until last night.  It was truly wonderful.  Beautiful and poignant, especially with everything going on in the world right now.  If you haven't watched it - do.  You will be glad you did.

One scene in particular brought me to my knees emotionally...  The mural scene.  Watching this piece immediately reminded me of one of my sister's written pieces:  "William Was Here".  After everyone went to bed last night, I pulled out the box where I keep all of Shari's writing pieces.  I read "William Was Here" for the first time in years.  I will share it here at some point.  It is beautiful.  Just like Shari.

Happy Birthday Andrew.  Thank you for the patience, understanding, kindness and love that you always gave to Shari.  Thank you for showing me Pleasantville, and all of life's most colourful pieces...

jbxo

The Well...

We live in a small city in Niagara, which we lovingly refer to as:  'The Well'.  The Well is a unique community with a variety of interesting characters and places.

One evening during the Christmas Holidays last year, I drove downtown to our favourite Thai restaurant to pick up dinner for our family.  The scene was absolutely magical, Christmas lights decorated the downtown core, and the lights on the bridge over the canal looked so pretty, with the snow falling gently around me.  I suddenly found myself in a moment of pure joy and appreciation... I felt an overwhelming sense of pride for this place I call home.  I stood, outside of my car for a moment, holding the big bag of Thai food in my arms, gazing at the beautiful scene that lay out before me.  I was so entranced in the moment I didn't even hear the car that was slowly approaching, until it was approximately three feet away from me, and the passenger, a teenager wearing a Santa hat, stuck his head out the window, and yelled at the very top of his lungs:  "Merry Christmas, cock breath!" 

Merry Christmas indeed... and welcome to The Well.

jbxo

Grief.

Well... hello there.  It has been a while.  I am not sure  quite where to begin.  It is crazy to think that I have not posted since 2016.  In some ways it feels like yesterday, but it also feels like a million years ago.  If you would have told me four years ago, we would be in the middle of a global pandemic, and I would be home, with no idea as to when or if life will return to 'normal' again, I wouldn't have believed you.  To say these are bizarre days is an understatement.

I read this article a few weeks ago that beautifully articulated what we are all feeling - and that is:  grief.  As someone who has experienced intense grief, this instantly made perfect sense to me.  We are all losing something. Immediately, we have lost our freedom.  Bigger than that, the life we lived up until this moment is gone forever.  We don't know what life beyond this will look like.  There is also the very real fear right now that we, or our loved ones could become ill, or not make it through.

At the end of my final day at work, I went to my sister's bench - it is where I always go when I need peace and solitude.  The following week I went back to her bench for more of those good vibes, and as I stood behind it I quickly realized I was afraid to sit there.  What if someone else had been sitting there who was carrying this virus?  It was a sad moment.  The grief hit again - will I ever feel 'normal' sitting here after this?  Is there an 'after this'?  Will people be comfortable hugging or shaking hands again?  Will wearing masks in public become the norm?  Will we carry hand sanitizer and bottles of disinfectant everywhere we go?  So many questions...

For now, I am enjoying little things.  Slowing down.  Being home.  Time with family.  Phone calls with friends.  The importance of good wine and food have reached an entirely new, elevated status at our house.  A weekly take away from a favourite restaurant gives me something to look forward to.  I am resting, reflecting and trying to remain in the moment as much as possible.  I wrote a blog post for the first time in four years... :)

Maybe many of us will be better after this.  Maybe we will be kinder, more patient, more grateful.

I have always believed that grief, as painful and terrible as it is makes life on the other side far more beautiful.  The awareness and appreciation of what we do have becomes heightened.  The memories of what existed before, even sweeter.  

This is my hope.

jbxo