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

These Two...

Julian has started to read my blog.  I always knew this day would come, and I assumed they would react in one of two ways:

Reaction #1:  insist that I delete the entire thing so I don't ruin their reps

Reaction #2:  fall in love with every post and find joy in learning about who they were at a very young age

I am pleased to find that the reaction has been overwhelmingly #2.  Julian and I were up until 1:00am this morning reading through old posts (he read them out loud to me as I sipped on red wine) and it was lovely.  He has been reading them for about a week.  He told me he is trying to limit the amount he reads each day as he wants to savour them.  Last night we binge blogged, for sure.

A few days ago he told me that I should start writing about him and Nora again.  He said that since Auntie Shari died my posts have become depressing.  He is right.  But, I have to remain true to where I am and my posts are reflective of that.  It has been such an incredibly difficult two years for all of us.  I lost my sister, but Julian and Nora lost one of their very favourite people in the world.  There have been many tears, many talks and we keep Shari alive through our honest conversation.  Our house and their rooms are full of her arts and crafts.  These two not only have her things, but they each carry a piece of her as well.  She connected with them in such a beautiful way.  Deep conversations with Julian and endless hours of art with Nora.  I know she would love their quirky senses of humour.  She would love their fearless nature and lack of concern around looking or acting silly.  She would love their sensitivity.  Their kindness to animals, people and mainly their kindness to one another.  The massive loss they experienced at such young ages has shaped who they are and will continue to throughout their lives.

A part of me is sad that I haven't captured the MANY crazy stories and moments with these two on this blog over the past few years.  The dance parties in the kitchen.  The monologue performances before bed.  Speaking with accents as often as possible.  These two give me more then they could ever know...

jbxo

My Sister's Things no. 3

Finding a photo of my sister that I had never seen before is truly the greatest gift.  For a moment it feels like she is here and I am able to see her in a new way.  It is so easy to take for granted the fact that when we see someone we love we don't necessarily know what they will be wearing, how their hair will be styled, what the expression on their face will be... When the people we love are no longer here it is painful to realize that we won't be able to see them in that 'new' way again, all that remains are the memories, the photos and things.

I love this photo of Shari.  I found it on her Facebook account months ago and it took my breath away.  It reminds me of childhood moments with her, walking through the woods on our parent's farm.  I believe an old boyfriend of her's took this photo, I wasn't there when it was taken.  I even love that it is slightly blurry, that she is moving, that she is smiling, so beautiful and alive.  I love the caption she put on it:  "Me running from the grizzly, putting on a brave face."  I miss her sense of humour, I miss everything about her... I hope I find more photos that I have never seen before.

We lost you two years ago today, and the missing is unbearable.

jbxo

My Sister's Things no. 2

It is interesting to consider the effect a scent can have on you.  The memories that come rushing back with a specific smell.  Combine the scent of a person with the loss of that person and you have the perfect storm for sensory and emotional upheaval.  

This is Shari's perfume.  It is a cream scent, purchased from the health food store.  I had bought one - but in the scent of Patchouli Rose and I showed it to Shari.  She loved the container, and liked the smell, but she quickly decided my choice of fragrance was not 'her'.  On her next visit to the mall she went to the health food store and picked up Oasis... a 'sister scent' to my Patchouli Rose.  It is a lovely, beach smell and it is so very Shari.

I keep this little container on a table in my bedroom.  On occasion I open it, stand very still, close my eyes and inhale the scent deeply.  I can't explain how wonderful it feels to do this.  It is interesting how, although I rarely allow myself these moments (I am strangely worried that the fragrance is going to 'run out') I often smell Oasis when I walk into my bedroom, as well as in other areas of my home.  When I catch the scent I stop - frozen in a moment of remembrance, and I can't help but smile.  I see her, warm, smiling, colourful, vibrant... Shari.

A while ago I was at my parent's farm for a visit, and my mom went up to Shari's room and pulled Shari's art portfolio out from under her old bed.  Mom gave it to me as I have become the keeper of Shari's artwork, and it only makes sense for me to store it properly in her portfolio.  I couldn't seem to find a spot to store it when I brought it home, so her portfolio has taken up temporary residence in my living room, leaning against the wall near our piano.  I noticed a few days later when walking past it I could distinctly smell Oasis.  Bending down and smelling the portfolio directly it is as if someone has smeared Oasis all over the cover.  This is interesting considering the portfolio sat untouched under her old bed at the farm since she graduated from university.  It is not logical that the portfolio should carry this scent as Shari only started to wear Oasis in 2014.

I choose not to question this.  Instead, I prefer to walk into my living room, pause, smell, and smile.

jbxo

My Sister's Things no. 1

 

It has been very difficult to write since losing Shari.  I did continue to write, but it was in a word document saved on my computer.  I wrote miscellaneous ramblings about how I was feeling.  Free-flow text containing shock, loss, sadness, lists of the little things I miss about her... things I didn't feel like putting 'out there'.  At the very top of the document I typed the word 'BRAID'.  I typed this word without thinking much about it.  It just seemed to belong there... 

Shari was such a unique soul.  A gypsy girl with the most interesting sense of style.  She combined colours and patterns that I would never consider, and pulled them off flawlessly.  She always asked me if she looked 'crazy'.  I always thought she was stunning, and was forever proud to show her off when we were out together.

Since losing Shari I have felt very connected to her things.  I suppose it is because they are the only physical items that remain of her.  Lucky for me, she was a collector.  She loved to shop and pick up special items everywhere she went.  Touching her things, holding them, wearing them make me feel connected to her.  Interestingly, I tend to receive many compliments when I wear an item of hers.  Likely because the item is usually far more colourful and interesting than my usual uniform of black or grey.  

A few months ago an item of hers, a fun little, colourful keychain broke.  It upset me more than it should have (considering it was, after all, just a keychain).  It felt tragic because it was hers, and as much as I want to use and wear her things, I want to be able to keep them perfect as well.  It was a reminder that we can't hold on too tightly to anything.  It also gave me the idea of starting a catalog, an archive of Shari's things.  Nora has been gifted much of Shari's special jewelry, and even some clothing that is far too big for her now.  Both her and Julian have numerous pieces of her art.  I would like them to be able to see Shari's things, and know the story of where they were from.  Just another of the many reasons I miss her - she had an incredible memory, and she could tell you exactly when and where she purchased every item she owned, as well as exactly how she was feeling when she purchased it.  She could also tell me what I wore to a random family get-together 15 years ago.  My memory is very foggy on such things, but I will do my best to piece together a little archive of some of Shari's more special objects - or, I should say, some of Shari's objects that are special to me.

Shari bought this braid ring in the summer of 2014 at the second hand store:  Goodwill.  It is sterling silver, and she paid around $6 for it.  I freaked out when she came over wearing it.  I can still remember her sitting at the island in my kitchen, and I must have asked to try the ring on five times.  I loved it - and so did she.  She asked me if I wanted to borrow it, but I just couldn't.  It was perfect on her long, elegant finger.  She was dating a sailor at the time and she bought this ring because it reminded her of a sailor's knot.  Shari was wearing this ring when she died, and I have worn it every day since.  It has become one of my most treasured possessions.  

When I am particularly sad or missing her I close my eyes and give this ring a little kiss.  The symbol of a braid means many things to me now.  It reminds me of the time that Shari wasn't well, and I brushed and braided her hair.  A braid is two pieces that come together to form something beautiful, something stronger than each piece could ever be on it's own.

jbxo

Sista...

We were more than sisters, we were best friends.  We grew up together on a farm outside of a small town, sharing vivid imaginations and a love for music and art.  Our Hungarian grandfather used to call us his little gypsy girls.  As we grew up, and moved on to separate universities we stayed connected through many letters and late night phone calls.  Shari eventually moved to to the town where I live so we could be closer.  She became best friends with my children.  She was one of the most unique, funny and special people I have ever known.  Her kind heart touched everyone who met her, and her art continued to flow, becoming special gifts for those whom she loved.  On September 15, 2014 my sister lost her lifelong battle with anxiety and depression and died by suicide.  I lost my beloved sister.  Our hearts are broken, but we are so grateful for all of the moments we shared with her.  Be at peace, my sweet sister.