GC and I originally planned on having a very small civil ceremony, maybe one step up from eloping. But during our five-month engagement we kept adding little upgrades. Like family, food, booze, cake, flowers, balloons, photographs, a poem, homemade wedding favours, cupcakes, a candle ceremony and media. And, when we were totally caught up in the spirit, we promoted our witnesses (my sister and GC’s brother) to matron of honour and best man. We even added a wedding procession at literally the last minute.
As we careened towards our wedding day, we were torn between wanting more time to get ready, and wishing it was over already so we could stop obsessing about it. At first we were able to offset each other’s occasional panicky moments, but in the final few days, we found our panic was starting to merge and accelerate. By Saturday morning we just wanted to get it over with.
Fortunately, other people didn’t see it that way. By the end of the day we felt genuinely happy, and grateful to all the people who went out of their way to make this such a special day for us.
Some highlights:
Michele and the staff at The Running Stitch were wonderful – they offered their quilt store as the venue, and it was the perfect place for a wedding.
Ali, who works for The Running Stitch, has tons of energy and enthusiasm, and she took photos and handled all the media stuff. The Running Stitch had told us they were putting out a media release but GC and I didn’t think any media would actually show up. We were wrong – the Kanata Kourier, the Ottawa Citizen, and CBC all came! While being interviewed on camera, I babbled nervously, and then hoped Kate Middleton would have her baby so our wedding would be bumped. But she didn’t, and it wasn’t. Fortunately they did a super editing job and cut out most of my incoherent babbling.
My sister Debbie, despite living in a different city, helped with everything, every step of the way, from dress shopping to the surprise shower. She gave a terrific speech at the lunch. If you’re ever looking for a matron of honour, I highly recommend her.
Our officiant, Floralove Katz, designed a lovely ceremony for us, one that was warm and meaningful and inclusive and fun.
My son, James – the only person besides me to attend both my weddings – bought his very first suit just for this occasion. My niece’s husband just happened to bring a knife to the wedding, and he removed all the external labels from James’ new suit.
GC’s sons, Jason and Daniel, told a reporter “We wouldn’t call them quirky, exactly, but they are a little unusual.†(This was edited out of the video, but my sister overheard it. It was my favourite line of the whole day.)
Chelsea was the most adorable ring bearer ever.
Duncan gave us our first wedding present of the day: a warm mouse. So many people gave us other warm and thoughtful gifts and cards and filled our facebook walls and blogs and twitter feeds with good wishes.
People came from all over the place to be part of the day – our Montreal families, our Orangeville and Toronto families, Rob’s son from Edmonton, my brother and brother-in-law from Lanark. They all gave up a perfect Saturday of golfing, tennis, fishing, or whatever, and drove to Ottawa to celebrate with us.
I learned that you can plan and prepare for a wedding, but once it’s underway it gets its momentum and energy from everybody else. It’s the people who make it what it is, and our people were outstanding! Our families finally had a chance to meet, and they seemed to like each other. Yay!
After the ceremony, the interviews, the luncheon, the speeches and cake, GC and I went home, kicked off our shoes, put on our comfiest clothes and heaved a big happy sigh. Not only was it over, but it had been good!
That night, we went out for pizza at Za Za Pizza (we had a gift certificate we’d won from Apt. 613 during Fringe Fest), and it was the best pizza ever. I’m not even kidding, it was amazing. Then we went for a little walk in the Glebe and ran into Pat, who is a bartender at Irene’s. She was getting into Dean’s car.
“What are you guys up to?†Pat asked.
“We just got married,†we said.
She and Dean got right out of the car and marched us into Irene’s and bought us shots of tequila, which was the perfect end to a perfect day.
My dear friend, Watawa Life blogger Robin Kelsey, died on July 2, 2013 at the age of 64. Robin was a photographer, a writer, a biker, an introvert, a lover of cats and a kind and gentle spirit. He was also one of my favourite people in the whole world.
I met Robin in 2006, when he wrote to tell me he was a secret fan of my blog. We visited each other and went out for pho or breakfast once in awhile, but our friendship was mostly online. The Internet is the perfect medium for introverts: we can socialize and be alone at the same time. When Robin retired and moved to Peterborough last year, he told me “I’m just a keyboard away, Zoom.”
Robin broke his ankle last week. He had surgery and was back home trying to master crutches. I asked if it was getting any easier and he said no, not really, plus he was short of breath now too. He said the painkillers were working though.
You don’t think about these things much, except in retrospect after your friend has died. Then all those last conversations take on so much meaning.
His final blog post is called, perhaps prophetically, Hiatus.
A couple of days ago I was walking and daydreaming in that stream-of-consciousness sort of way where one thought leads to another and you follow each one down its own little rabbit hole and who knows where you’ll end up. Anyway, one of those random thoughts was that Robin might die one day and I might never see him again. It was just a fleeting thought, but then he died the next day and now I will never see him again and I am flattened by that fact.
But you know what they say, it’s better to have loved and lost. Robin marched to the beat of his own heart. He was honest and gentle and sensitive. He was smart and witty, and humble and kind. He was quirky and stubborn, a little eccentric, reclusive and sometimes lonely. He knew himself well and accepted himself for who he was, warts and all, but I think he struggled to keep his loneliness and his introversion in some kind of balance to avoid getting overwhelmed by either. And these are the things that made Robin Robin.
Thoughts and memories have been randomly floating to the surface ever since I heard the news:
Writing: Robin didn’t consider himself a writer because he said writers are driven to write, and he wasn’t. Nevertheless, he won first prize in The Toronto Star’s short story contest many years ago. He let me read his story and it was excellent. It was about a boy who found his mother’s secret stash of chocolate, and ate it. His writing style was simple, honest and direct. He could accomplish a lot with very few words.
The burlap people are back!
Pictures: Robin was a wonderfully talented photographer, and I loved how clever and witty some of his pictures were.
One year on his birthday I gave him a gift certificate for Blurb, so he could create a coffee table book of his favourite photographs. He never used it. But now that he’s gone, I think we should do it in his memory. I’d love to have a book of his photographs. (I know we still have his website, but it’ll disappear when the annual fees aren’t paid.)
Cats: Robin and I got our cats – Duncan and Clint Eastwood – the same day. We talked each other into getting cats, and he was the one who convinced me that Duncan was the right one for me because he was the most bloggable cat at the Humane Society. Both of our cats went on to accomplish great things in life. Duncan was Pet of the Month and a character in a novel, and Clint Eastwood became a toilet-trained Youtube sensation.
Friends: Robin was a recluse, definitely, but he loved a handful of people with all his heart. He spoke with great affection and humour about the people he loved. He had friends from way back in his honest-to-goodness hippie days when he ran a sandwich joint called Paradise Lunch in Bancroft, and lived on a sort-of commune in Maynooth, I think.
Honesty: He believed in the truth, even when it didn’t show him to advantage. He didn’t say things he didn’t mean. You could take him at his word.
Retirement: It didn’t last long. We recently had a conversation about the projects he was working on: “oh photography, trying to figure out what’s next in that. Trying to learn to do macros. Making kefir and beer. the ongoing saga of Clint’s toilet-training. and so on.” On the subject of boredom: “it’s there though, an abyss you could fall into.”
It’s hard to believe that he’s never going to take his next turn in Scrabble. It’s hard to accept that he’s gone forever.
My heart goes out to Judy, Patti, Jake, John and all who knew and loved him.
My sister Deb came into town this weekend to help me shop for something to wear to my wedding (which is only 12 days away, tick tock tick tock). Unlike me, Deb’s a veteran shopper. There are some things I can buy on my own (jeans, for example, and t-shirts), but for the more complicated dress-up stuff, I need help.
Debbie pre-shopped on Friday while I was at work. Then she picked me up and 45 minutes later I was buying the dress. She said we set a speed record and a price record for wedding dress shopping: 45 minutes and $39.97.
The shoes took longer and cost more. Even though I’m only five feet one and a half inches, I don’t wear heels. I like flat, well-made, durable, comfortable shoes. The kind that don’t look good with dresses.
I knew I was going to have to step out of my comfort zone to buy shoes that would look okay with the dress. The only question was how far outside of my comfort zone? I tried on a couple of pairs with high heels. They’re so freaky. I honestly don’t know how people walk in those things. I almost fell over just standing, and I got instant cramps in my calf muscles. We all agreed – me, Deb and the sales clerk – that I needed something more down-to-earth.
Two stores later, I ended up buying wedges. They look nice, but they’re not very comfortable. I’ll have to practice walking in them every day between now and the wedding so I’ll be able to get through the day without clinging to walls and lurching from person to person.
I’m officially outfitted and ready to go get married, more or less. (Even though it’s a small, simple wedding, there is no shortage of details to take care of.)
On Saturday morning we had plans to meet Debbie and Bonnie for breakfast at Tutti Frutti’s.
Did you ever have one of those experiences where your brain can’t keep up with what your eyes are seeing? First I saw Debbie and Bonnie sitting at the table, and then I saw my other sister, Mudmama, from Nova Scotia, sitting next to Grace, from Brockville, and I wondered how they knew each other and what on earth were they all doing in Tutti Frutti’s today? It just seemed like such a crazy coincidence, you know? And then my eyes started moving around the table from one unexpected person to the next, and everybody was smiling at me, and eventually it dawned on me that it was a surprise party! Even then I couldn’t understand why, since it wasn’t my birthday. Finally I clued in that it was a surprise bridal shower. (I say eventually, but this probably all happened in just a few seconds.)
Anyway. I’ve never had a surprise party before – I loved it!
The most surprising thing of all was that GC – who can keep a secret about as well as your average five-year-old – was in on it. Debbie had enlisted his help, and he was a reluctant co-conspirator. It was a huge relief to him when the day finally came and he hadn’t blown the surprise and he didn’t have to keep the secret anymore.
I won 2 tickets from Apt. 613 to see Chesterfield at Fringe Fest, along with a gift certificate for a ZaZaZa pizza! We haven’t eaten the pizza yet, but we did go see Chesterfield and we got front row centre seats in a pleasantly air-conditioned sold-out theatre.
GC and I had absolutely no expectations going into this play, since we hadn’t read anything about it beforehand. It turned out to be a horror spoof, and the chesterfield was not a prop but a significant character in the play. I don’t want to say too much because the element of surprise should be maintained. But I will tell you this: my hat goes off to the creative genius who figured out how to bring that chesterfield to life. And speaking of life, there is a live animal in the play that makes everybody in the audience collectively go “Awwwwwww.”
After the show we had a beer in the beer gardens and did a little people-watching and talked about the play. I liked it more than GC did. He wasn’t sure he’d recommend it. I would, and not just because they were nice enough to give me free tickets. Sometimes I go to plays or events that seem long. I steal peeks at my watch and try to will the time to go faster. This was not one of those times. The play kept my interest and attention for the full hour. I was completely entertained. The audience seemed to love it too, and even GC, who didn’t like it as much as I did, agreed it was entertaining.
So…If you like elements of the absurd in your comedy and you’re looking for something that will entertain you and make you laugh, and is probably unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, go see Chesterfield. (As an extra added bonus, it’s a creation of Dead Unicorn Ink, which is a local theatre company.)
We’re hoping to get back to Fringe to see Red Bastard, Botched, The Bike Trip and the Insight Theatre play (I forget the name). We’re open to other suggestions too!
You may have already seen this, since it’s making the rounds, but I’m sharing it just in case. Besides, I’ve watched it a bunch of times and I’m not tired of it yet.
This little Brazilian guy is almost two years old.
I’ve been sick for 10 days now. I’m tempted to go on and on about my symptoms, but you can only get away with that if you blog regularly about interesting things, and blog only occasionally about being sick. Since I haven’t been blogging much lately, I don’t think I can get away with a sick post. (But if I could blog about my symptoms, I’d probably start with the laryngitis and headaches and then move on to the sore throat, hot flashes and general fatigue, and finish up with the annoying cough that flares up every evening and goes on for hours and causes insomnia.)
My Cranberry Chutney Quilt Top
So, in other news…I’ve been quilting when I have the energy, and reading when I’m too tired or too high from the cough syrup to quilt. Right now I’m reading The Navigator of New York, which I’m liking. I’m also reading Life Is About Losing Everything, by the controversial Canadian poet, Lynn Crosbie – but this book isn’t exactly poetry. It is, I think, a fictionalized memoir made up of plotless short stories. It reads like a verbal collage, a feast of phrases. She’s like the half-mad love child of Charles Bukowski and Allen Ginsberg. I’m not sure I’d like Lynn Crosbie in person, but I really like her book.
I also just finished reading The Suspect, which I bought at a garage sale. Sometimes when I’m choosing books, I like to open them up at random and read a sentence: If that sentence speaks to me, I buy the book. In this case, that sentence was about two things I like very much: The Sunshine Coast of BC, where I spent one wild summer of my wayward youth, and parrots. Based on that, I bought the book. It’s a mystery, set on the Sunshine Coast. But the parrot was disappointing – he was a very minor character. What a waste of a parrot! (If I’d written that book, the parrot would have been a key witness.)
Speaking of mysteries, it’s a mystery why I just read two mysteries when I never read mysteries. The other one was Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn, which was surprisingly well written. I read it because Sheilagh Rogers recommended it as good summer reading. I also just finished One in Every Crowd, by Ivan Coyote, which is an excellent collection aimed at young people. The world would be a better place if everybody read that book in Grade 8. It’s about fitting in, or not fitting in, and learning to honour your own (and other people’s) differences.
Speaking of which, GC and I went to Gender Mosaic’s 25th Anniversary party a week or so ago. Gender Mosaic is the oldest transgender social and support group in Canada. It was a lovely party and we met some very interesting and likeable people. I was pleasantly surprised to learn there is a trans police officer on the Force.
Long-time readers will know that the last weekend in May is my favourite weekend of the whole year, because the Great Glebe Garage Sale and the Ottawa Race Weekend both fall on that weekend.
Okay, first of all, congratulations to everybody who ran this weekend! My hairdresser, Bev, ran her very first marathon! We didn’t see her, but we did see our friend May, who ran the half-marathon. And Finola ran too. Congratulations to all of you, and to everybody else who ran too – you’re all freakin’ amazing.
I bought the $1 monkey at one sale, originally for Rosie. I was looking for a stuffed snake for her, because she loves chewing on stuffed snakes. I couldn’t find one so I settled for a stuffed monkey with long arms and legs. Then, a few blocks later, I found this little faux shearling coat! It was only $2. I said to the woman “It’s the Ikea Monkey’s coat!” and her little girl said “That’s what I said!” The mom said “Too bad there’s no monkey to go with it,” and I said “I just bought one a few minutes ago!” And the woman and the little girl and I were all so happy. It was one of those win-win situations all around. Except for Rosie, who didn’t get a snake OR a monkey to chew on.
But GC bought her a stuffed toy that has an elephant head, a snake body and paws. Definitely weird. GC also started an impressive metal lunchbox collection.
*Apparently not everybody is familiar with the Ikea Monkey, so if you fall into that category, here’s a little background:
This has been a crazy week for news in Canada! Scandals within scandals!
Between the scandal about the prime minister’s office covering up Conservative Senator Mike Duffy’s expense scandal, the sanitized Senate audit scandal, and the scandalous video of the Mayor of Toronto smoking crack, I’ve been riveted to my Twitter feed.
Key players have been falling like dominoes. Two Conservative Senators resigned from the Conservative caucus over investigations into their expense claims. The Prime Minister’s Chief of Staff resigned over an improper $90,000 payment to a Senator, and Toronto’s Mayor’s Chief of Staff was fired for apparently telling the Mayor he needed help.
Yesterday a judge ruled that the Conservatives were guilty of election fraud in six ridings in the last federal election, and this barely registered a blip on the political radar because it was overshadowed by bigger scandals.
Mother Nature has been weird this past week too, with wild mood swings, hot flashes, cold sweats and earthquakes.
So anyway, about Toronto’s mayor smoking crack.
Not surprisingly, I don’t like Rob Ford. He’s a vile, arrogant, boorish, obnoxious, repugnant, right-wing bully and he sees those characteristics as qualities. For evidence of this, see the infamous “Fat Fuck†video:
I’m nowhere near as good a person as Bob Rae, who tweeted that nobody with an ounce of sensitivity could take any joy from watching what is happening to Rob Ford. “He needs help,†said Mr. Rae.
I’m not taking joy exactly, but I admit to enjoying it.
When the reports of the crack video first surfaced, I found them entertaining but I was skeptical about the authenticity of any such video. For one thing, Rob Ford’s too fat to be a crack addict. For another thing, as much as I dislike and disrespect him, it seems improbable that he could have such outrageously bad judgement as to allow himself to be filmed smoking crack and making obnoxious comments about ‘fags’ and minorities. The crack video wasn’t some ancient thing dredged up from a misspent youth, either: it was apparently taken sometime in the last six months.
Despite my initial skepticism, I now believe he really does smoke crack. The longer this drags on, and the more his inner circle seems to believe he has a problem, and the more he literally runs and hides from the press and refuses to admit or deny that he smokes crack, the more convinced I become that it’s true. He is behaving like someone who is frightened, irrational, guilty and stubbornly clinging to a lie that nobody else believes.
Meanwhile, his empire crumbles around him. In the past few days he has been fired from his volunteer job and banned from schools in the Toronto Catholic School Board, and he has fired his Chief of Staff, apparently for advising him to go to rehab. City Council’s confidence in him appears to be eroding quickly and there is talk about how to force him out, although apparently there is no mechanism to do so.
My prediction is that Stephen Harper and the Conservatives will – unfortunately – survive their scandals, but Rob Ford is in a political death spiral.
On top of everything else, as he hurtles towards rock bottom there’s probably not a crack dealer in Toronto willing to sell to him right now.
The other day I was on a conference call and we were discussing which tags and keywords should be included in a collaborative online database.
The terms “substance use†and “harm reduction†were both on the list. I suggested we add “addiction.â€
Some other people on the call said that we don’t use that term anymore, because it’s considered stigmatizing. Nowadays we prefer the term “substance use.”
I deferred to their expertise and dropped it, but I keep thinking about it. Not about addiction per se, but about how and why language changes. We decide a certain word has become corrupted by certain associations we collectively attribute to it, and then we retire the word and come up with another, less beleagured word.
In some cases I can see it, but getting rid of a useful word like addiction seems pointless to me.
Addiction is:
“compulsive need for and use of a habit-forming substance (as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly : persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmfulâ€
In my opinion it’s not interchangeable with “substance use,” because not all substance use involves addiction, and there are arguably some addictions that are unrelated to substances (eg behavioural addictions). There’s nothing about the word “addiction” that strikes me as value-laden or stigmatizing, other than that the thing it refers to IS stigmatized. Addiction is stigmatized, not the word but the condition. It doesn’t matter what we call it, the stigma will still be attached to the condition. And maybe we’re contributing to the stigma by saying the actual word for the condition is stigmatizing.
Do you know what I mean? Or am I missing something here?
Also, what happens to all the organizations that have the word addiction in their names? Will they all have to change their names now?
On a related note, I’m in the process of developing a survey, and one of the questions is about substance use (“How often do you use the following substances?†– tobacco, alcohol, injectable drugs for recreational purposes, non-injectable drugs for recreational purposes). I sent the survey out to a bunch of people for feedback before submitting it to the Ethics Review Board. Someone responded that the use of the word “substance†is objectionable because the only people who use the word are researchers and authority figures. People who actually use substances never refer to them as such, and might be put off by it. I racked my brain trying to think of an alternative word, but came up empty. Any suggestions?
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