curriculum vitae

Geez, I really struggled in school. So when my daughter showed me a video recently - posted on Facebook by my sister - wee tears sprang to my eyes. How I wish I had had the gumption to state aloud that an exam result shall not define my fate. Or my worth, in my case...

And then a whole lot of stuff started whirling around inside my head about schooling. I've been trying to stay positive when presented with the query "why do I have to learn this!!!" flung in my face during homework. It's tough. And: I hate homework. I already DID homework!!

We read Wuthering Heights in high school. Grade 12 if I remember correctly. I slogged through that book, not understanding a single syllable that Kathy's family's gardener uttered. After a while I would just skim his parts and hope that whatever he said would be illuminated contextually at a later point. 

(Luckily my English teacher read aloud the gardener's parts in full brogue. Suddenly the jibberish made some sort of sense!) 

Then there was Shakespeare - one play a year. Another slogfest. I never knew how funny, romantic, current, lewd... heck - downright entertaining! - his plays could be until I saw them in action either in play form or a movie. 

My son is at the slogfest stage now. Although he says that they don't just sit in class and take turns destroying the various characters by reading aloud. I'm not sure exactly how they do it, but given how much different his other subjects have changed since I was in high school I'm sure Bill isn't spinning quite so fast in his grave these days.

Thanks to one of my cousins, my kids have been priviledged enough to experience Shakespeare as a really funny play long before now. This cousin acts in a company that modernizes Shakespearean plays all the while staying true to the text. She was in their production of Henry V last summer, and her own 8 yr old son ended up knowing great swaths of the play verbatim.

Just the other day, my son announced that he felt sorry for his cousin... saying that all he's known so far is how funny and entertaining Shakespeare can be. 

"Once he gets to high school, he won't even recognize these plays! ... he's in for a rough time..."

So maybe I've been lucky to suffer through the poorly read production of The Merchant of Venice, and Hamlet et al and then be illuminated. I can't imagine how it would be the other way. 

Hopefully by the time my cousin's son is in high school, the curriculum will have evolved even more. 

staidHome

I think the first time I was required to create a username was when I joined Ravelry in 2007. At that time I was coming to grips with the fact that I was probably never returning to the paid workforce. I had prepared for, longed for... the time when I would be Working. I loved my jobs: three in six years, all in research labs doing basic benchwork. Something - the only thing - that I had ever wanted to do.

After I had decided to embark on the adventure of parenthood, it became clear to me that there was no reason to return to work. Other than personal fulfillment - which yes is a reason in and of itself, but not enough to potentially throw many things into a tizzy around me. Mostly me.

My Mom had stayed home. She didn't seem to like being at home. My absolutely completely and utterly worst fear was to end up like my Mom. Stuck. At home.

And yet what were the Fates throwing me? Just exactly that. Breathe in, Breathe out.

So when I was staring at the screen tapping finger against cheek I tried to think of one concise expression to sum me up. I didn't go back to work... I: Stayed Home.

Then, a play on words. Staid: sedate, respectable, and unadventurous. One image that pops uninvited into one's head when picturing a SAHM. That ain't me. But sticking my tongue in my cheek and using that word would be very much me. Capitolized the H just cuz.

So there you have it.


addendum: I miss Science. Less now than 10 years ago, but I do still miss it. However I am 100% sure that being staidHome is the right thing for me. There is no bitterness in me, and I am NOT my Mom.

expectorant

My sister beat me to this blog post...
(I suppose if you've clicked over from her blog, you can now compare who is the more screwed up. I vote for me...)

Susannah's weekly week-end offers included this link, and I thought 'hmm, I wonder what my over-expectations are?'



I am supposed

to be more mentally stable
to be thin, effortlessly
to (like to) eat vegetables
to (like to) ski
to put things away
to make my kids eat properly
to be an artist
to have everything organized


Let's change that, shall we?

I will

congratulate myself on my present excellent mental health
be comfortable in this skin, reside in my body
appreciate my appetite
celebrate my family's skiing ability (from the spa. heh heh)
tidy, but not expect pristine
educate my kids on refueling themselves
be an artist, of sorts
embrace messy

That's better. Be your own best friend...

collectively sorry

I heard this opening essay on one of my favourite shows last week. I stopped in my tracks, standing stock still in the middle of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand. Breathing and listening. And, it's stayed with me. And I've discussed it with my own teens, trying to not sound absolutely completely freaked out. Breathing and listening again.

I don't know if this story has made it past the Canadian border, but in a way I hope it has. You can google her name and find the original video if you wish: I warn you, you may become nauseated. I did. Apparently her Mum has said that the video should remain available... that this is what her daughter would've wanted. 

I thought the second half of his essay hit it... bang on:

... the suggestion will reek of arrogance and denial, 

and it is that denial that may be our greatest battle in this moment

as if a previous generation’s difficulties

should form the prescription

for inaction and dismissal now,

as if we don’t have the evidence 

that this is a new kind of epidemic

  ~  quite the opposite  ~

shame on those amongst us 

who would misunderstand the way

in which the world has changed

yes we have suffered bullying in the past,

(many of us know that all too intimately)

but we did not live in a world of social media...

of Facebook taunts that can invite 

a pile-on of participants from around the world

that will live in infamy,

in online pages that are near impossible to extinguish,

that can follow a young teen to any computer screen,

no matter how far her family moves to stem the tide,

no matter how hard they try to hide

  ~  on the contrary  ~

we should not rest 

until all of us together -- as a national community --

take on the bullies who will try to tear us down

we should not rest 

until any and every teen understands that

it is okay to be 

unique, 

themselves, 

different -- or the same --

immune from societal blame

we should not rest

why I don't colour my hair (anymore)

There's talk in my circle of authenticity, living life whole-hearted... and yet I don't understand why everyone (everyfemaleone) is not being their authentic self...? how can one be themselves if they have fake hair colour...

wow, that's simplistic huh? (ok, and a bit judge-y)


For me: I was fed up. The kicker was when I read online how one woman kept mascara with her at all times so she could fix her roots in the washroom. Much like I quit a popular diet -- >ahem< lifestyle management -- company when they advocated counting each stick of sugarless gum (5cal), that was what did it for me. No way was I about to start getting that persnicketedy.

oh, come on! it was 1989...

I have curly hair, so I don't have a part and thus no skunkline of regrowth, but I have been going gray since my teens so after 18 years of colouring the gray away I was starting to see more gray regrowth than I felt comfy with. But fussing that much? nuh uh. I find having to reapply lipstick too tedious sometimes...

So six years ago I let it go au naturelle. Telling myself that I knew where my fake hair colour formula was and could return to it if I wanted. No biggie.

Except I haven't looked back, and I am more comfy now than I ever was. I've never been a primper, so I have a fairly basic routine. And I follow the Curly Girl approach to taking care of the tresses: cleansing my hair usually only once a week with mostly just conditioner (aka the No Poo approach to hair maintenance). Blow dry on occasion, always with just the diffuser and never completely dry. Very often I just clip my hair up wet, sleep on it and in the morning remove the clips and I'm off! And I haven't used a brush or comb on my hair in years. I just use my own two hands.

ps :: I'm not dissing authenticity 'n stuff, I'm in complete and total agreement with Brene Brown and her work... sometimes it just seems strange for people to wander around declaring "this is the real me!" when it's not, completely, y'know? and yeah, I guess the same could be said for makeup (yes, I wear makeup) but somehow that doesn't seem quite the same.

What do you think? Could you go gray...?


edits and further thoughts:

[my husband just read this and admitted that a fellow dogwalker asked him last week where his Mum was since she hadn't seen me out walking our dog in a while...]  8D

[which then reminded me of when we were car shopping 16 years ago and the car salesman asked if I was planning on buying the car for my son, gesturing to my husband nearby]

[which goes to show that it wasn't due to my hair colour, but due to the fact that my husband looks far younger than his years... see photo below... he's actually older than me!]

he's 27 here!

impressions in waxing nostalgic

Just heard that Sam Sniderman (ie Sam the Record Man) passed away.

This summer we took a weekend trip to Toronto, and I walked along Yonge St. where his store used to be. I actually didn't realized that the building had been levelled after being sold to Ryerson University. I hope the students who will one day wander through their new building feel the vibe that will linger. Ryerson has his storefront sign -- iconic oversized vinyl platters -- in storage. Hopefully they'll find a way to use it fittingly.

In our local media there's been a lot of nostalgia for this store, more now than when it closed it seems. I too have thought about my weekend trips to downtown from my home in the suburbs. How I almost took this kind of experience for granted: buying an import vinyl LP record. I say almost because I knew that one of the advantageous of living in a Big City was that I had access to a store such as this. One that could carry the obscure, the one-of-a-kind... and in my case, the Import. During my 80s it was British Imports.

But I would never have been able to foresee a future where such a successful store would've closed. (And I read science fiction -- I thought about What the Future Would Look Like.)  Statement of the obvious: music consumption has changed so much!

Now those same records that I saved up for, planned the Trip Downtown for, coveted as precious goods...? those songs accompany me on my grocery meanderings up and down the aisles. My oh-so-cool alternative imports are now elevator Muzak.

Music and nostagia seem to be a theme this week. I had difficulty reading this blogpost from all the nodding my head was doing in agreement (hell I've had an almost identical post sitting in my head for ages!).

Nostalgia reigned supreme at the mall recently while shopping with my 13 yr old daughter. She bought a cowl-necked sweater, surrounded by bright neons. Slouchy boots. I even saw a shoulder pad!! Don't worry; I looked away quickly, averting my eyes.

But: I warn you Fashion Industry... you even try to bring back Mom Jeans?? Forget the Arab Spring, the Occupy Movement protests... these riots would dwarf them. It would get ugly.

5 words that inspire me

(Luminance, Bokehful, TiltShiftGen apps)

no title will do justice

Happy Canada Day!

Today is Canada's 145 birthday. Living in her capitol allows me and my family to indulge in some really great Canadianna... not sure how much or exactly what we're gonna do today as of yet; there's a cousin's birthday and party at his place. With this heat that may be it for me until the cooler evening and fireworks!


My husband has to attend a funeral though. I'm incredibly sad. Actually, I'm immensely angry. The anger supercedes the sadness. She was slightly younger than I, three kids under 10 years old, taken by a bitch of a cancer in ten months. 


And that? That is. just. plain. WRONG.

lexicon needed

You know, there should be a term for what happens when you go online to look something up and then next thing you know TWO HOURS have spun around the clock and you've forgotten exactly why you opened your laptop and the battery is running down and you're lost somewhere in the tangled branches of the internet tree.

why blog??

I guess the short answer is because I can no longer not blog. If that works for you, stop reading now. If you need to know more, forge ahead -- !

For years friends have recommended - sometimes rather forcefully - that I should blog. I occasionally create ponderous, quirky email messages and I guess they've been on the receiving end of one of them. They'd tell me that they had a great laugh, or at least were entertained enough to mention the receiving of my email, then whack me gently across my arm and exclaim 'you should blog...!'

I read blogs. I find less time now to read them, but I still read 'em. And whenever someone would bruise me with a declaration that I should too I would think of dooce or suburban bliss or mighty girl and feel very very daunted.

I have always wanted to write, and I had entertained the idea of becoming a journalist when I was young. But as I got older, I found it really difficult to write a good essay for school. So I figured that if I couldn't write essays, I should shelve my writing hopes.

Three years ago my son was diagnosed with a learning disability. When the psychologist was describing to my husband and I just what he had difficulty doing I sat there nodding along, all the while thinking "what's so different about that?? doesn't everyone have those kind of difficulties..?" It was all very very familiar. I finally voiced that thought and had two heads swing around at me. 'hmmm,' I thought... 'I guess we know where he gets it from, huh? '

So I tried blogging a couple of months ago, and lo and behold I really liked it. It had a specific theme - our family trip - and I missed it once we returned home and I no longer needed to update friends and family as to what we were seeing.

"Why another blog?" could also be the title for this post. Is there really a need for more navel gazing? I fit very neatly into the Mommy Blogger archetype, and godonlyknows there are more than enough of those. (and some damn fine ones too!) My kids are old enough that I don't need to reach out and reassure myself that much anymore. Mind you, they aren't teens yet, so that may change...

No, this is for me. I just feel the creative need to jot things down and send them off into the Void. I don't know what will become of the thoughts, untidy little things that they are.