My wife and I have purchased season tickets in the past to the NAC Pops series, and it can get a tad expensive once you add in 6 shows, babysitter, sometimes dinner, sometimes parking, etc. Plus, honestly, it’s a heavy commitment at times. You don’t “pop” out for quick listen, it’s a full evening, requires planning etc. Fun, but not like going to a movie on the spur of the moment.
This year we opted for a smaller subscription, just four shows, and we aren’t in the same seats for every show. Which may turn out to be fun since we’ll get to try all different kinds of seating across the newly renovated NAC.
Saturday night was our first outing, and it was an 80s night. Basically the orchestra plus two singers working their way through the hits. It sometimes seems odd, since if you love the orchestra, you miss out on some of the performance because the singers are over-riding it. To compensate, the orchestra does some of the numbers as pure instrumental.
The two singers this time were Nicole Parker (MadTV) and Aaron Finley (Broadway, including Kinky Boots). I didn’t know either one before the show, but I know Finley’s “type”. Many of these shows pluck a singer from a series of Broadway shows, hire them for the run, and they sing the various songs. They mix and match men and women, throw them together, great, there’s a show. But unlike a Broadway show where the singer gets to “live the part” and therefore “inhabit” or “own” the song, many of the songs come across as high-end karaoke…they can sing, but they are not great at embodying the lyrics. Add in that they are all Broadway-trained for that earnest, belt it out to the back of the theatre, projection voice rather than say a band singer who often relies on the speaker system to do that. It is good, don’t get me wrong, but often seems like they are just “missing” the song, not quite nailing it.
Aaron’s opening number was Bryan Adams’ Summer of 69. If you know the song, you know that Adams infused it with a bit of edge. Not hard-core, but a bit of regret, a bit of blue-collar rock, some grit. Finlay sang it like it was glee club day and shucks he was just happy to sing. I’m exaggerating slightly, but it wasn’t awesome. Perhaps because I like the original.
However, when Nicole Parker started singing Elton John songs, it was world-class. She was flat out awesome. The two of them worked their way through Sad Songs, I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues, and I’m Still Standing, and the benefit of having professional singers in an NAC-level performance hall becomes literally crystal clear…every word is totally understandable. I swear they would have a chance at making Wooly Bully understandable.
Take Boys of Summer. It’s a decent song by Henley, easy to get lost in. Finlay made every word, every lyric crystal clear. It was like hearing the words for the first time. Parker did the same for Lauper’s True Colors, introduced with obligatory reference to being American and having to deal with Trump. Parker is also a comedienne (hence the MadTV experience) and she kept a lot of the light entertainment going during the night.
The orchestra’s three big pieces were a medley of movie soundtracks in the first half, kicked off the second half with David Foster’s Winter Games, and followed it up later with E.T.’s Adventures on Earth. While the last was clearly a John Williams score, it really didn’t fit with the rest of the evening.
I felt like filing an official protest when I saw there would be a double offering of Toto — Rosanna and Africa, but I have to admit it is the first time in years that I didn’t want to go running the other way. An opening part of Rosanna with the violins made it almost sound like the violins were saying the word “Rosanna” in the chorus. Michael Jackson’s Human Nature was also decent, but not overly well-received (many were talking quietly during the performance)…perhaps reflecting that it is one of the few songs on the Thriller album that didn’t chart well. Sting’s Every Breath You Take was decently performed, but as Finlay noted at the start, there is a creep factor to it too which always leaps out at me.
I was really looking forward to the last piece, as it was three from Lionel Richie…You Are (zzzz), Stuck on You (zzzz), and All Night Long. I thought ANL would be AWESOME. It is one of my favorite songs of the early 80s, and along with a couple of others in that era, it always puts me in a good mood and I love the rhythm and backbeat. It’s just infectious. Plus there’s a couple of horn sections that are really strong transitions. I’m no musician, clearly, but I like the song. I was really looking forward to the orchestra blasting it out, with the singers along for the ride. Particularly as I said, there are a couple of horn sections, plus some slightly more muted but still recognizable string sections.
It was good, it wasn’t great. I don’t know if the conductor was going for his own interpretation, but a couple of the transitions which should have given free rein to the trumpets came out almost muted in comparison. Singing was good, but I got the feeling I was watching two hosts of a low-rated NYE special trying to get the crowd going to ring in a soggy new year.
The encore was a question mark…I wondered if maybe Queen, lots of bands to choose from. Andrea noted that none of the artists were people who had died in the last year, so no tributes going on. Turned out it would be Prince — 1999.
Unlike All Night Long, the orchestra finally got to let loose a bit. A really good encore, but again, the hosts were doing their best to act like they were rocking out with an Ottawa crowd who are mostly sitting and likely to remain sitting no matter what they do. Not everyone, but it makes some of the festivals who complain about everyone sitting in their lawn chairs look downright peppy.
Overall a good night, and Nicole Parker was awesome. There were some good songs, but not as good overall as some of the shows we’ve seen.
We’ll see how the next show goes — Casablanca (the orchestra plays the music along to the movie). While the movie is undoubtedly a classic, there are some sections of it that were in dire need of an editor, and the middle act has some reaalllly slooowwww parts. Still, it will be nice to hear the live orchestra doing the accompaniment.
I’ve been promising myself for some time that I would go ahead and start uploading some of the stuff I’ve written, including papers, personal stuff, short-stories, etc. Under the personal category, if you exclude commentary on writing / news / civil service / etc., most of it is already on the site in terms of eulogies or tributes. One thing that is glaringly absent considering how much time I put into it and how important it was is my speech at my wedding dinner. My wife and I divided up some of the thank-yous, and so I didn’t have to cover everyone in the universe, but I also had a challenge. Talking about heavy emotion, particularly when it comes to someone like my wife, would completely wipe me out. So I had to keep it light, short in some areas that were a little misbalanced, and with enough pause areas and flow to get me through it.
For those in the know, my wife and I have initials that spell out “P and A” i.e. Panda. It’s our nickname for each other, and we organized our wedding around a panda theme — a panda logo, for example.
And I wanted a theme that would allow me some flow to the speech, I like astronomy, and a couple of the sub-sections lent themselves to talking about stars and universes, so I force fit it into a larger “panda astronomy” storyline. Here it is…
Introduction
I’d like to begin by saying I’m a man of few words.
No, seriously, it’s true – I have a small vocabulary, I just tend to use the same ones over and over a lot.
Instead, I do need to begin by telling you that there is something that is not in any of the speeches tonight, and that is reference to my father. After seeing Aunt Marnie wipe out an entire room at Bruce and Jenn’s wedding with a warm and loving speech, and the fact that I cried all through my father’s eulogy, there is no chance that I will get through the speeches tonight if we refer to my father. Instead, my brothers Mike and Will are going to help us out with a toast later to those who couldn’t be with us tonight. Thanks guys!
So, as I start the speech, I want to introduce you to a little known field of study called PandA astronomy. Little is known publicly about it, and tonight I will reveal all. If you get bored, well, unfortunately, it’s my wedding.
I’ve got the microphone.
I aspire to be a writer.
You’re trapped on a boat.
In summary, it sucks to be you.
Chapter 1: Stars that dance in the sky
As you prepare for a wedding, you all know there are hundreds of decisions and one early one that is quite fundamental.
And it is quite difficult. I mean, you know how you feel today, and what your choice would be. But how will you feel months from now? You have to decide, but some doubt remains, it’s only natural. It’s a huge decision.
So you consult with friends and family, those who went before you. How did you know? When did you know? Did you both know at the same time or did one help the other make up their mind?
Even after the choice is made, you must wait. But if there is one thing that Sadler men are known for, it must be patience. I’m sure Sadler women would agree? So you’re patient, you trust in your instincts. You may even take a test drive, kick the tires as Uncle Rod described it. But eventually, the test drive ends.
Then the big day arrives. You’re standing there like a deer in the headlights. The big question looming before you:
Carrot or lemon cake?
Fortunately, Andrea and I got to have both. I hope your cake was as good as ours, and feel free as you mingle around afterwards to thank our two bright stars that dance in the sky, Izabella and Natalie, who made all our cakes tonight. Thanks to them, and to Bill, for putting up with us stealing them away for the last couple of months.
Chapter 2: Black holes
There are Black Holes in PandA astronomy. Black holes of responsibility. Gravity wells that suck in all the blame. The black hole even has a name – Stephan.
It was Stephan who…
was already friends with Andrea;
who got to know us both, worming his way into our confidence; and,
who decided that both of us were nice and that nice people should lunch together.
It was all Stephan…we were puppets controlled by the puppetmaster.
So, from now until eternity, everything is Stephan’s fault.
If I don’t do the laundry for a couple of weeks, blame Stephan;
If I forget to put down the toiler seat, blame Stephan.
If Andrea accidentally noggins a power bar, blame Stephan; and,
If Andrea hipchecks me on the side of my leg where I already have a giant bruise, blame Stephan.
So we want to thank our black hole, Stephan, for allowing us to blame him for everything. It really does make life much easier in general.
Chapter 3: Orbiting moons
There are moons that orbit and affect the main planets in the Panda universe.
For example:
today we had escort moons – Bruce, Don and Liam – who helped seat everyone;
we have speaking moons – Sharon, Mike and Bill who are helping with toasts;
my sister Marie is a moon with a somewhat elliptical orbit, intersecting lots of other moons, as she has been helping out with things from the beginning;
There are Carnivore Moons who joined me for golf and steaks! The poor cow never stood a chance;
We have also had a lot of friend moons who advised us, put up with us, and who are still speaking to us!
While Andrea has already thanked some of you, I just want to say that your pull on our orbits is definitely felt and appreciated.
Chapter 4: Star Clusters
In PandA Astronomy, we have star clusters – ones that almost always appear in groups.
First, there are the Hortons:
Doug, it’s been great getting to know you over the last few years, and I hope Andrea and I can follow your path to happiness;
We saw Aunt Barb last night, but we don’t see her near enough;
Some others like Beth and Jim, Matt and Kerry couldn’t make it;
But Keith and Jenny are apparently insane and think that a drive from BC to Ontario is an afternoon jaunt.
Then there are the Malcolms:
A quiet, unassuming family.
Shy almost. Withdrawn even.
My family got to meet most of them at the engagement party that the uncles and aunts put together for us, with great food and guests and presents, oh my!
But you can’t talk about the Malcolms without talking about the cousins – let’s see, I need to check my math here:
There’s the old cousin, the tall cousin, the younger cousin, three Inglewoods;
Multiply by the teachers, add in a doctor;
Carry the Whitaker, start a new Paige;
Double check Snuffalupugus;
Tick off a few more names;
So, if my math is correct, I’m not sure, but I think it comes to …
a CRAPLOAD of cousins.
And like star clusters, you never get one or two, you always get a bunch of them. And most of them are all quite sporty.
Some more extreme sports like adventure racing or teaching.
But I know what you’re thinking: Paul should have no trouble fitting in. Because when all of you met me, I’m sure the same word went through your mind… athlete.
Oh, sure, there were other words. Like “Non-athlete” or “Not much of an athlete”. But athlete was in there, somewhere.
And I met them all at once. At a wedding, no less. Bruce and Jenn’s wedding to be exact. As an aside, for the friends who were disturbed to hear me talk about great bridesmaids dresses that I saw at a wedding in Toronto, those were Jenn’s attendants. So I want to say a special thank you for Bruce and Jenn…Six years ago, you had a tight venue with an equally tight guest list. When Andrea wanted to bring me, I’m sure someone asked “Who is this yahoo? He works at CIDA? Holy crap, he’s going to be some granola-eating Birkenstock-wearing hippie!”. But in true Malcolm fashion, you overlooked those challenges and found a way to include me.
Tonight even marks a special occasion for Bruce, one he probably doesn’t even know. After years of being teased, he no longer has to be the oldest of the group of cousins. Just don’t trip over my walker when you’re dancing. So, for Bruce & Jenn, we have set aside our fourth dance tonight and invite anyone who has gotten married in the last six years to join them.
Thanks to all the Malcolms for finding room for one more.
Chapter 5: Orbiting Planets and Dwarf Planets
As I look over the new extended family today, I think one of the phrases that comes to mind is, “Oh, great. More siblings”.
For my brothers, I admit I’ve been pretty lucky and each has their own unique story:
For Don, it is one really long weekend at the cottage where the radio only seemed to get one song – “Walk Like an Egyptian” by the Bangles;
For Mike, it is having dinner at the Elephant and Castle, having a long emotional conversation about family, and meeting his Base Commander with tears rolling down our faces;
For the brother formerly known as Bill, it would be doing stockings for Mom and Dad – or dart guns, or the elephant gun that shot those red balls, or just the fact that you let me tag along with you when I was a kid and never sent me home;
For Ken, it would have to be the shark dive, hands down; and,
For Bob, oddly enough, it is simply walking back to the store to get a package of gum that we didn’t even need on the day of my father’s wake.
Feel free as you mingle later to ask them about those stories.
I get another brother today, and the bar is pretty high, Dean. But you know what? You get to be the smarter brother. Oh sure, there’s a long odyssey about Dean, Andrea and I heading to the cottage one weekend with Dean navigating, and us ending up at the Haliburton Family Restaurant. But that’s not the story that I’m going to tell. One day, we were driving down the 417 with me in the backseat and Andrea in the front seat beside Dean, and like all good brothers, I was razzing him. We were talking about dating the Horton girls, and I teasingly said, “Yes, but I got the better sister.”
Dean opened his mouth to respond, and then he stopped. He said, “Dude, there’s nothing I can say to that. I can either slam my girlfriend or my future sister!”
I can tell you, most guys would not spot that trap. They would have walked into it flailing wildly. But Dean, the smart one, said nothing. And that is the reason we wanted him to be MC tonight. To show he’s plenty smart.
Just don’t ask for directions or how many letters there are in the alphabet. But he’s plenty smart.
He did, after all, manage to snag Becky, my new sister.
When Becky and Dean got married, Andrea talked in her speech about how Becky was crazy, emotional and violent. And I remember thinking, “Wow, now that’s efficient.”
I too have sisters who are crazy, emotional and violent, but they’ve divided up those responsibilities. I won’t say which is which, because Megan and Stephanie may not know that their mom Marie is crazy. And the emotional one Carolee is in Europe tonight and so she can’t cry in her own defense. And well, the old violent one Sharon who started the toasts might come up and swat me.
I’m happy to have Becky join the rank of sisters, including as our sister-of-honour today, but unfortunately, Becky, well, you get me as a brother. And I just want to say, “If you’re talking to my sisters, don’t believe them! They lie!”
Sure, Andrea got the better deal having Dean for a brother, than you do getting me, but well, I promise I’ll be the best brother you ever have! So, in that vein, Becky gets to be the sister with low standards for brothers!
In the PandA world, all these siblings are like orbiting planets. Sometimes leading, sometimes following, but always around. They’ve even added a dozen or so dwarf planets, with the extended family of nieces and nephews who helped out with a variety of tasks today like decorations and photography.
And let’s not forget the newest addition to the nieces, Grace, who was in charge of cuteness at the ceremony! Of course, with Grace around, there’s a reason why we didn’t ask Dean to help out with photos – we were kind of hoping Andrea and I would be in a couple of them – and he doesn’t take pictures of other people anymore.
So, thanks to all the orbiting planets and dwarf planets swirling around.
Chapter 6: Binary Star Systems
For those who don’t know, this means TWO STARS in the same system. For most prospective suitors, meeting the bride’s parents and getting to know them might seem intimidating. After all, these are your future in-laws.
But Ron & Marney are not much older than my sister Sharon. Not old enough to need to break a hip yet, but not likely to start wrestling me if they don’t think I’m good enough for their daughter.
Marney, you’ve welcomed me into your home and your family. You’ve raised a beautiful daughter who inspires me everyday. And if that weren’t enough, you even take me as a bridge partner.
Ron, I appreciate that you have never tried to intimidate as my future father-in-law. I have, after all, seen you golf. But as Andrea and I formalize our lives today, I don’t want you to think of it as losing a daughter so much as gaining space in your basement. Some day. And I promise not to beat you at golf until you qualify for the seniors’ tournament.
Chapter 7: An Anchoring Sun
Like any solar system, the “P” system includes an anchoring sun in the centre, my Mom. When I was writing my speech, I considered a lot of things to talk about…
The way my Mom makes tenderloin when I come home.
All the times she’s made pumpkin pies or peanut butter cookies.
Playing euchre
Garage sales
Salt and pepper shakers
Needing on-ramps into conversations.
Or the fact that I’m the golden child, the baby, the spoiled little brat that…oh wait, I think that’s Mike’s speech I’m reading. Hmm.
Instead, I’ve decided to tell you a different story. Some of the friends here are part of my monthly movie group called “Mid-Month Movie Madness”. It’s a group that I organize to go to the movies once a month, or at least I do when I’m not organizing a wedding! And I do it because my mom gave me a love for movies.
The year was 1972. I was four! And my mother took me to see a movie. A classic. It isn’t even available on DVD. Most of the actors, directors, producers never worked again. But in the summer of 1972, my mom took me to the theatres in downtown Peterborough.
I had to hold her hand as we walked down the busy street …
I know I got a drink. I think I even got popcorn.
We sat down and the lights dimmed.
And we watched…wait for it…The Lives and Times of Grizzly Addams.
Do I remember the plot? Nope. But you know what it had? BEARS! And not just bears, GRIZZZLY BEARS! And not just grizzly bears, but BIG ASS GRIZZLY BEARS that went RARRRRR!
Let me tell you. When you’re 4, and you can go to the movies with your mother, sit in a theatre, eat popcorn, the lights go down and you can see bears, you think it’s a pretty cool universe.
Thanks Mom for this, and a million other things.
Chapter 8: The A Solar System
For those who are wondering how we ended up on a boat tonight, and if this speech will ever end, we are coming to the close. We are on a boat because Andrea and I went on a boat cruise for one of our early dates. We cruised around the Parliament buildings, over by the Museum, and up the Gatineau River.
As we got close to the bridge where this boat left from, Andrea was sitting on my left, and we were watching the sunset. The light was streaming in from the side of the boat, and it was shining through her hair. I looked over at her, and it was like an electric jolt. I suddenly realized I was in love with this woman. And while I couldn’t have spoken then if I tried, Andrea noticed the look on my face during that same moment, and as she describes it, she went all melty inside.
From that moment on, my desire for Andrea has never been a secret. But what I didn’t know was what it also meant in the way of transformation.
Before, I was a PolyWogg. And most tadpoles turn into frogs or toads.
I must be the first to ever turn into a PandA.
But Andrea has that kind of effect on me.
She taught me to speak PandA. Words and phrases like noggin, fin, Bougainville, Moohaha, power bars, Rosedale/Rosemount, silly songs we sing to each other, “it’s a dog”, Orange!, bean and other bean…all these words come from the A Universe and now fill my world.
I can’t imagine my life without her influence; her presence is the atmosphere I need to breathe.
I’d love to go on and on about Andrea, but there’s no chance of doing that coherently.
Conclusion
So I’ll finish with a toast:
To bright stars, black holes, orbiting moons, star clusters, orbiting planets and dwarf planets;
To binary star systems, anchoring suns, and big ass grizzly bears that go RARRR;
and,
To the woman who reminds me each and every day that it’s a pretty cool universe, just because she’s in it.
Back when I was a wee lad, in the home country don’t you know (well, Peterborough, Ontario, population at the time around 55K), I ordered books from the Scholastic Book Club. I loved the SBC order forms, and frequently started out with 20 or 30 books I wanted, and had to whittle down my order to only one or two. One time, something I had ordered wasn’t available, and they gave me a credit plus a grab bag of three free books. One of those free books was part of the Alfred Hitchcock and the Three Investigators series. Eventually growing to 42 books, the series was in its late teens volumes, maybe early 20s, but I think teens.
I fell in love for the first time, partly as the lead investigator was about my age, my size, and smarter than most of his friends. I had read some Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, and I would go on to read Sherlock Holmes, Tom Swift, Rick Brant, the Bobbsey Twins, the Happy Hollisters, Louis L’Amour out the wazoo, Travis McGee, dozens of other series. Including my favorite “adult” series, all by Warren Murphy.
But the Three Investigators were my first true love of a series. I tracked the others down. Some through the library, most through the Trent University Book Store and a Coles store in the Peterborough Square. Then I found a bookstore on George Street in Peterborough, a rather small shop with a mix of used and new. And they carried the new 3I series books. Every couple of months, I would find a new one. I didn’t know the business model, but the authors were all on contract. Four or five in total, I think, most of whom got paid relative peanuts to write-for-hire i.e. no royalties, just paid to write in the series.
I have no idea how they licensed Alfred Hitchcock’s name, and eventually they had to deal with his death (the premise was just as Dr. Watson would “introduce” and tell the Holmes’ stories, Alfred Hitchcock would “present” the 3Is’ stories and the intros to the book were supposedly by AH).
Eventually the stories petered out, and it took awhile even to find the last couple. One or two of them I actually had to order, an unheard of idea back in 1980 or so for my pre-teen life.
Later, they tried to release an “update” to the series, with the kids no longer 10-12 but mid-teens. The stories were fine, but the characters were nothing like the earlier versions, more like kids with the same names. Pretenders, not the real McCoy.
It has been said that you can never fall in love again for the first time, but actually I can. I’ve started reading The Secret of Terror Castle, Three Investigators Book 1 to Jacob. I feared it would be too mature for him, but he’s following the story just fine. In retrospect, a ghost story premise is probably not the best of ideas since he thinks there are ghosts in our house and monsters in our basement, but I know the ending and think he’ll be okay with it. Think any episode of Scooby Doo and you can guess the outcome.
Last week and again this week, I’ve been reading to him here and there. We’re about halfway through book one. What I really want to know? If he’ll want to read Book 2 on his own when I’m done, or will want Daddy to keep reading to him. Either way, it’s nice to feel the love in the air.
Of course, I also have Artemis Fowl and Percy Jackson on deck at some point too. Not quite ready for Harry Potter, but he’s got time. There are 41 other books to go.
Again, no, it’s not a baby or a pet. It’s a new BBQ. We went with the Sovereign 70 from Broil King, Natural Gas version instead of propane, no side burner, and just because they didn’t have the model down from it that we wanted but could give us a decent deal to move up to this one, we have a rotisserie rack too. I won’t be surprised if I never use it, or try a roast or something once, but for now, it’s there.
The fun came when Andrea informed me as we were getting it that we needed to have it professionally connected. I didn’t know that. I just thought I’d be responsible for connecting hose to nozzle, and I wasn’t really thrilled about it. Some might be more annoyed with paying someone else to do it, but when it involves connecting a fire source to the natural gas feed that runs through the house, I’m okay with having it done properly by someone who theoretically knows what they’re doing, not by me after watching some YouTube videos.
Apparently though, nobody wants the business to do this. Andrea worked through 3-4 people (two or so private referrals, two or so businesses) and while I could understand the individuals not doing it, the businesses didn’t even want to phone us back. We’ve had the BBQ almost three weeks and there was still no joy.
Yesterday I called a fireplace store on Carling, and after a bit of scheduling adjustments, they could actually fit us in today or next Wednesday. We opted for today.
The install was relatively straightforward. They started in the house to look for shut-off valves, and that was a learning experience for me as I got to find ones I didn’t even know about or how to reach them. In the end, none of them were for the BBQ. So out to the back. Yes, as we knew, the line was there, and the shutoff valve is right there too. I confess I wasn’t as happy about that, even with the capping on the end. In theory, anyone could have toggled that switch at any time — me, landscapers, Jacob. No gas would have leaked because of the cap, but if the cap wasn’t perfect…
They connected the hose, tweaked the BBQ a bit, ran the gas, lit fine. Tested the hose and caps for leaks with soap and water, all good. We paid and off they went.
Except then you’re supposed to run the BBQ for 20 minutes to burn off any residue, and we couldn’t get it to light. We could smell gas, but no joy again.
Called the store, they called him, he called me, we tried a couple of things, nope, he had to come back. Turns out when he was testing for air leaks with the soap and water, he disconnected the one hose and when he put it back on, it didn’t go “all the way” on. Small tweak, fired it up again, and then Andrea tested it with success this time.
We burned off any grease and oily residues, and then cooked hams and hots tonight (hamburgers and hot dogs for those not up on tailgate slang). Worked great.
Although I find it a bit odd…this is the first BBQ in the history of every bbq that I have ever used that seems to have the “hotter” spot at the front of the grill. Sunday night it will be time for pork chops and steak.
Oh, and there was a small bonus in there. The guy is also a fireplace technician, so while he was there, we talked about our fireplace “problem”. It worked okay when we first bought the house, but then it stopped lighting. The pilot light was there, the fireplace would come on, and then it would go out. We’d reset, start again, it would come on, and then it would go out. We had it looked at a year or two ago, and they told us that it was a broken part, tried to get replacement, couldn’t, probably need a new fireplace. Not what we wanted to hear. But Andrea would like it working, and we figured if it went well with the BBQ installation, we would willingly consider them for our next business transaction. The guy thinks it could very well be the switch, and even though the company is out of business that made the furnace, he said they have a guy who custom adapts switches and things to fit out-of-business designs. Certainly worth a check anyway, so we’ll likely pencil him in before Labour Day (he told us they get crazy busy from October through December). Great service, working BBQ, what’s not to love?
Just under a year ago, I posted a message about feeling loss around the time of Easter (An emotionally difficult weekend). Basically, it’s a holiday that for me has always been associated with my mom. Not that she was a giant “Easter” person with egg hunts and stuff, maybe just because it is at heart a religious holiday and my mother symbolized my Catholic heritage. Since her passing, I’ve struggled with grief in varying forms.
For the first year, most of the time was taken up with logistics of her estate and the grief was kept at bay, at least in part. Then, as time passed after closing the estate, I noticed that I was run down. My normal psychological tools weren’t working either. Normally, if something is bothering me, I have three tools available to me.
First, self-reflection. If I think about things, try to quiet my mind, and simply reflect on the times when things are bothering me and what some of the triggers might be, I can often figure out pretty well who, what and sometimes why. Not always, but it works pretty well. This is a direct result of my tadpole years where I stripped my psyche bare and then rebuilt it by hand. I know the pieces pretty well, and while I can still fool myself, quiet self-reflection is often enough.
Second, I can just tune out completely. Separating myself from whatever is going on, at least mentally, and going to bed, often allows my subconscious to bring it to the surface first thing the next morning. It just pops up like my brain has been working on it all night and the computing is done, ready to spit out the answer card. Doesn’t always work, but sometimes it’s awesome.
Third, I have my “sore tooth” method. This is a bit more mechanical, more linear. Rather than using method one which is more intuitive (getting in touch with my psyche), or method two which is even more intuitive (letting my sub-conscious do it’s own thing), method three is very analytical. I call it the sore tooth method because it is like having a sore tooth — you aren’t exactly sure which of the teeth it is, so you gently probe the area with your tongue. Is it that one? No. Is it that one? No. Is it that…argghhh! Yep, found it.
I can do the same mentally when I’m having a problem. I run through a list of possible causes, test each of them. Is it a conflict with a family member? Is it lack of progress on that goal or any goal? Is it something with work? Sometimes I have to go a lot more granular but the sore tooth usually kicks back a response to guide my analysis.
Of course, I know myself well enough that I don’t have to be so detailed most of the time, but for deeper concerns, one of the three methods will reveal what’s niggling at my subconscious.
In Year Two after my mother died, I knew something was bothering me but I couldn’t figure it out. I tried quiet reflection, and I suspected there was grief mixed in, but nothing came out of my meditation. Sleeping on it didn’t help. When my tongue probed “grief”, no response. None of the my self-analysis was presenting any resonance with me at all. Through work, we have access to the Employee Assistance Program, and I called them for a therapy referral. I didn’t think I needed a psychiatrist, or psychologist, more someone to talk through what I was feeling. I ended up with a retired social worker who does some basic counselling, and I think she is mostly aimed at family practice. I had out-paced my own knowledge and options, and I needed that extra perspective.
We worked through a couple of scenarios, but it was grief that resonated the most strongly with me. Partly as it explained why none of my normal “receptors” were coming back “sore tooth” — since grief often acts like a wet blanket dampening down everything. Almost like an interference layer too. And knowing WHAT it was allowed me to push past some of it, and manage it a little better.
However, as I said last year at this time, I am feeling still the loss of my roots. Peterborough is very clearly part of my past, not my future, and I’ve almost reached the point where I will have lived in Ottawa longer than everywhere else combined. This is my home, my roots are (trans)planted here. Yet at Xmas, I was feeling run down. Not grief exactly, more the isolation factor that I had allowed to creep into my life unchecked and even unrecognized. I felt a distancing, but was in active denial to even probe it, let alone deal with it. Part of my new year’s goals has started to address it, but at Xmas, I was drained. I went to Peterborough for the holidays with my wife’s family, and don’t get me wrong, they’re awesome, but I couldn’t handle the social interaction. I had no energy for it. I’m not an extrovert by any stretch, but this time, I actively had to limit my exposure to groups and even had to spend some of the time in the bedroom reading.
In February, I took a mental health break from work to get my shit together, and I’m slowly rebuilding my energy levels, while also ticking off some goal boxes. Those are not separate things, actually — I re-energize myself with blue energy projects and I’ve been deep diving into book reviews, reading, organizing my website, etc. My energy levels are starting to return. I had enough energy to blast through a bunch of stuff for medical stuff this past month. New dentist, new hygienist, a few torture sessions in the chair to get me back on track for now with a plan for the future. I followed up with the sleep clinic, inspired by a friend’s success, and have my new sleep machine routine going. Not raging success or fully in my habit yet, but improving. Saw my regular doctor, had a checkup on a bunch of things, altered some of my blood pressure meds. Hearing test is next on my list probably, although I might have overdone it with visits this month (more red energy than blue, but came out a bit even I think overall, might need to pause for a week or two). I’ve called the social worker for another session, will set that up likely for next week or two. Kind of a mental tune-up, check in, nothing serious, but I am a bit harsher on a few things of late, adjusting my balance from previous years. I was feeling pretty good as the month wound down.
Which prepared me not at all for Easter. I was smart enough to realize that spending four days in Peterborough would wring me out like a wet towel, but I like the idea of Jacob getting the time to spend with his grandparents. So I convinced Andrea to go on without me, and her and the cub took the bus to Peterborough on Thursday night. In the snowstorm. Not ideal, but actually everything worked out fine for them. Leaving me Thursday night, Friday, and all day Saturday to hang out by myself in Ottawa. It was heaven. I did a deep dive into my computer on Thursday night and emerged sporadically throughout the weekend for food and daylight, and to talk to them on the phone, but not much else. I plowed through 5 years of old files, something I thought would likely take weeks to accomplish, and I did it in a single go on Friday morning. The mental boost was huge. Great plan.
So, gearing up for Sunday morning, I felt like I was going to be good to go. Nope. I slept like crap on Saturday night. Tossed, turned, couldn’t get comfortable at all. Stressed I think about going to Peterborough. Not the family side. I wasn’t even sure what. Until I got in the car and started driving.
It took me forever to even get in the car, hoping to have left by 8:30 and I didn’t leave until just after 11:00. Turned on the radio, listened to some tunes, and every song was unacceptable. I didn’t want to listen to anything. I wanted something to totally distract me, and it wasn’t working. My brain was going 200 miles per hour and my car was doing 60, but I couldn’t distract myself. I hid it from my brain for almost 90 minutes, but as I reached the half-way part of the trip, the music stations start to die, and the landscape changes to farmer’s fields. Just like the landscape out by the lake where we camped when I was growing up. I came around a bend and it was like hitting a wall.
I didn’t want to go just because it was Easter Sunday. I could lie to myself when I was in Ottawa, I could ignore my mother’s absence when I’m there, but Easter Sunday in the town where she lived her whole life? Not a flipping chance in hell of avoiding that hit. There’s nothing to do about it, really, it’s just the nature of the situation. Going to Peterborough is different now. We used to have to adjust our schedule to go see Nan for part of it, do the balancing act of who is having dinner when, maybe cover one year with the inlaws and one year with her, etc. But that is gone now. As annoying as it was, I feel it’s loss.
Don’t get me wrong, I was not a blubbering idiot all day. I just noticed it, that it was weighing me down. Kind of like the lyric, “Hello darkness, my old friend”. And I know that the only way out is through. But yesterday I didn’t really want out. I wanted to feel the grief in part because it is a connection to her. To feel the link that is mostly gone. To feel the place where the sore tooth used to be, I guess.
Dinner was nice, as it always is. There is little drama in my wife’s family, and little tolerance where there might be any. And I suppose in part because I didn’t grow up with all of them, there is no history to get in the way either, no old slights that might trigger drama. At least not for me, nor apparently for anyone else. It’s just easy. Relaxing almost. I love that Jacob not only gets to spend time with his grandparents but also his great grandfather Doug. I never knew my grandparents so it is doubly special for me to see him have the opportunity.
I really had only one particularly painful moment. Bittersweet perhaps. This morning as we were getting ready to go, Jacob was playing on the piano. Nana and Andrea had taught him some of the Sound of Music, since they’re going to the NAC in a few weeks as a big family outing. Jacob loved the movie, likes the music, and he likes playing on the piano. Today, he was actually playing something. Just the Do-Re-Mi song, but he was quietly doing it by himself, practicing and singing, everyone else was gone to other parts of the house and I was sitting back away in the room. He wasn’t playing for ME, he was just playing for himself.
And I felt the stab that I would love to be able to show that to my mom. She would have loved it. So innocent, so pure, so perfect. And that is the greatest source of grief for me I think. That she doesn’t get to share in these moments, except in a metaphysical sense. She loved Jacob, maybe even in part because she knew it was the golden baby of the golden child, the last of her children to have children, her last grandchild. I weep for the fact that Jacob doesn’t get to see or feel her love and pride in his accomplishments. He’s my awesome possum, but she didn’t get to share it enough.
Then the day ends, the weekend ends, and life returns to normal. Another Easter survived. Life continues.
