Hair!

Speaking about my father’s love of my mother’s exotic looks, one story he liked to tell was how much he admired her dark, long hair.  It was very thick, quite long, and extremely dark brown.  Having read some romantic novels where the hero runs his hands through the heroines long hair he was inspired to do so on one of his first dates with Mom.  What did he hear?

            “My hair, please don’t touch my hair!”

            Cold water on the ardent lover!

            It was a refrain he heard many times in their married life.  It was her hair this, her hair that.  She couldn’t go out until she’d done her hair.  My mother had to have perfect hair even to do her grocery shopping (no word of a lie – my mother was well into her fifties before I ever saw her go grocery shopping in slacks.  She always, always wore a skirt when she went shopping – even in Winnipeg in -40 degree weather).  Her hair was always perfectly coifed, she always wore foundation and lipstick.  My mother set the standard for all her daughters and I have to admit I don’t go beyond my property without wearing lipstick.  [When I was in Cuba I wore lipstick down to the beach and one of the ladies I met there told me her companion had commented on how shocking that I would wear lipstick to the beach – I didn’t dare admit that I also was wearing foundation!  True story.]

            Imagine Dad’s dismay when he had 3 teenage daughters who were also throwing hissy fits when their hair didn’t sit just so!  We have a lot of hair in our family which is nice (no worries about going bald) but we are also very sensitive about how it looks.  My one niece has a penchant for hats to cover up her bad hair days, but then she has a good face for hats.  The rest of us are not so fortunate!  Sometimes I’ve had to wash my hair twice in order for it to be decent enough to walk outdoors.  A real problem for me is that my hair is so thick that it takes a long time to dry naturally and in the winter time using the blow dryer makes the hair super dry.

            I used to chuckle when my mother would get impatient with her hair but these days I feel her pain almost every day.  Mother Nature has a way of making things come around to the next generation.  I miss the ‘60’s when hair was supposed to be ignored.  Long, straight, parted in the middle and just let it go!

Pearl Harbour Day

December 7^th in our house was known as “Pearl Harbour Day, also Mom and Dad’s Anniversary” – in that order.  My father used to make such a point of it that my mother felt insulted!  It was Dad’s sense of humour.

            I think my parents were one of the happiest, most in love couple that I have ever been acquainted with.  When we were growing up I never heard my parents quarrel or even disagree.  Not to say that they didn’t, but we were never aware of it, discussion was behind closed doors.  I do remember when I was about eleven or twelve my father getting angry with my mother about his socks not being darned.  For some reason he lost his temper and he dumped his sock drawer out on the floor.  I just remember being very shocked by this show of temper towards my mother because it had never happened before!  It’s the only time I ever remember a disagreement between my parents while I was growing up.

            I remember all of us kids collecting money to buy our parents their silver wedding anniversary gift.  We decided to get them a silver coffee set and the look of surprise on their faces when they saw the gift was something to remember.  Anniversaries other than the 25^th were held by my parents to be private between couples so we didn’t usually give them cards or celebrate the anniversary.

            I remember one anniversary when I was an adult, I asked Dad to tell how he met my mother (even though I had heard it a dozen times before) and he told how he thought she was the most exotically beautiful woman he had ever seen.  He said that he was the luckiest man on earth to be able to marry the woman he loved.  Just after he said that he happened to glance over at Mom who had her feet up on the new coffee table.  He became incensed and raised his voice to her.  Then he looked at me and I couldn’t resist.

            “I’m sure happy to see how much you are still in love.”

            He laughed and looked foolish and then apologized to my mother.  As he got older my father could be quite volatile but he never lost his sense of humour especially when the joke was on him.

            Happy Anniversary Mummy!

Making My Parents Happy

Today’s title probably strikes fear in your heart.  Certainly it strikes fear in every child on report card day.  However, this isn’t about school, this stems from yesterday’s blog when we all tried so hard to please Mom with our selection of Christmas trees.

            You see I was both blessed and cursed by having 2 parents who were perfectionists.  That is a very difficult pinnacle to climb, especially when you don’t even realize you are making the climb.  What do I mean?  I mean that all through my childhood and young adulthood I didn’t even realize that I was trying to please my parents.  But always, in my inner head, I knew that there were goals I had to achieve because my parents expected it.  Graduate from high school, go on to university, go to Europe.  Get confirmed by a Danish priest (for heavens’ sake, I was 18!).

            Yet there were some things I rebelled against because I knew there was no possibility of reaching Mount Olympus.  What might that be?  Well, let’s just say that the sewing machine has always been my enemy.  My mother was a seamstress genius.  She could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear (literally).  I was doomed right from Grade 7 when we had mandatory Home Ec (for 2 years).  We had a most peculiar cycle of responsibility.  There were only 8 sewing machines so you moved down the row of machines until you finally got lucky and went into the kitchen.  We had 2 kitchens with 4 girls in each kitchen.  I was lucky enough to have my name begin with A and get started in the kitchens so I did not have to sit at the dreaded sewing machine for 4 weeks.

            Our task, if we chose to accept it (and who had a choice?) was to make a gingham apron with one pocket.  It took me 10 months to make and when I was done my mother thought it was a rag.  I wilted.  Ever after I stubbornly refused to enjoy sewing.  Grade 8 was a nightmare.  We had to make a blouse.  Not only did my mother refuse to buy the pattern we were supposed to use (it was ugly in her mind) but I had to use the fabric she had left over from a cocktail dress she had made for herself.  Navy blue.  Can you imagine a 13 year old girl in navy blue in 1966?  Everything cool was either paisley or orange.  In the end, in order to pass, my mother sewed the blouse for me.  For a little zip she sewed little white lace flowers up the front.  Miss McKecknie looked dubiously at the blouse and then at me.  I widened my big blues and stared straight back.  I passed.

            I never willingly went back to the sewing machine after Grade 8.  Until we started quilting . . . but that’s another story!

Oh Christmas Tree

For many years we would have a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree.  You know, the sad little tree that no one else wanted.  As far back as my Dad could remember he had a nightmarish time getting a tree.  His older sister would send him off to get a tree the day of Christmas Eve (in those days you didn’t get the tree until the day of, apparently) and for one reason or another he was always late getting to the tree stand.  Then the inevitable would happen.  No foot for the tree.  As I may have mentioned before my father was never a carpenter and on Christmas Eve it was very apparent.  With his father away and later passed away, it would be my father’s responsibility to get the tree standing upright.  One memorable Christmas he used a coal bucket for the tree stand and there it swayed rather precariously as they put on the candles which would be lit later in the evening.  My grandmother and aunt must have had nerves of steel to even think about lighting those candles.

 Getting the Christmas tree in our house was also high drama.  With all my father’s past experience haunting him he could hardly wait to throw the responsibility on to his children.  But first I recall some very nasty drives to the tree lot.  My mother always had an obsession with wanting a skimpy looking tree as they looked more “Danish” while my father was only desperate to grab one and be on his way.  We usually ended up with a bushy or crooked tree and we then had to listen to my father muttering under his breath as he got the tree into the stand.  It always seemed to sway or lean.  Because he had no tools he would use his butcher knife to whittle away at the foot to make it fit into the stand and then it would be too thin and he would have to stick other things into the foot to hold up the tree.  As I say, it was a nightmare proceeding for everyone concerned.

            One terrible year my father finally ended his struggles and we began decorating the tree.  It was looking really beautiful and finally we put up the rather ragged looking angel.  Perfection.  That was the year of the cat.  Yes, I had finally persuaded my parents to let me have a pet and Messe came innocently into our home.  At Christmas time he would have been about 9 months old.  Naturally he was curious to check out the tree.  Naturally we kids were somewhere else in teh house when Messe decided to climb up the tree and crash!  Down went the tree.  Everyone  rushed from all corners of the house when we heard the crash.  Jeanette started crying, I started searching for Messe and then out came my father who took one look at the disaster and Roar!  The next thing we knew the tree was thrown like a javelin out into the driveway and beyond into the neighbour’s yard.  John happened to be outside and saw the tree sail through the air! 

Now Erik, Peter and I started wailing. 

            “It’s going to be a sad Christmas” we cried.

            My mother managed to calm down my father and back it went into the house, propped up by rocks at the foot.

            Artificial trees suddenly started to look better and better to my father but the year we got the artificial tree was also the year he was working late and we ended up with a really terrible silver tree.  Short too.  Fortunately even my dad hated it so much we only used it one year and then went back to getting our own.  But by this time we kids were the ones who were sent off to the tree lot to haul it back.  We didn’t have a sleigh either, we just hauled it back with the old heave ho method.  We still struggled to get the tree upright in those stupid weak foot stands.  One year I remember Erik manfully got the tree home on his own but the tree was really fat at the bottom.  He sawed off the extra branch at the foot not realizing that it took half the tree with it.  It was a very lopsided tree and my mother was so critical that poor Erik went off to shed some tears on his own, he was so upset that my mother was so upset. 

            The day they finally invented the mega foot was the day my father thought he’d died and gone to heaven!

            Yes trees in our house have always been Critical Drama.  These days my mother always says she only wants a foot high tree.  Last year I bought her one of those Granny trees from Michael’s.  It’s a foot high, and the Granny head has a tree for a body, and her legs are planted on terra firma!  The minute I saw it I said to myself “that is perfect for Mom”! 

Snow snow snow

My goodness but I have had an exhausting morning; I woke at 5:30 and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast in bed reading Mrs. Gaskell’s last novel “Wives & Daughters” and finally got up to let the critters out for a run.  I was startled to discover a young owl in my scotch pine right outside the sunroom so ran back to take some pictures, none very good but here you see the young fellow. 

  Upon letting first Thumper and then Cherie out; both of who turned around as soon as they had done their duty; I realized it was time to go out to shovel the driveway.  Keeping in mind that I am no longer a spring chicken I took it slow and steady, at least as slow and steady as I am capable of doing, which is not much.  I like to get things over with unless it’s a good book.  I came in soaking wet as it was still snowing outside.  It actually looks very pretty and as there was no wind it was quite a pleasant exercise for me.

            I had planned to do my steady writing but at the moment I feel too tired to concentrate on anything but this fluff writing! 

            But I also post a picture of footprints I took yesterday while I was taking my walk around the property.  I suspect they belong to a badger and once discovered I trod very softly around the outskirts as I did not want to disturb the critter if he was residing on my place.  When Erik was over for dinner last night he scared me by saying possibly it could be a wolverine.  I don’t know which I am more scared of as they both have a reputation for being irritable and aggressive creatures.

            I think this is a day to stay cozy and comfy in the house with some hot chocolate and a good book!

December

I like December and think of it as a bustling month.  We are all busy with the holiday spirit; at work there are social lunches nearly every day; at home there is the planning for the big day; baking needs to be done; ornaments need to be pulled out of storage and set in just the right place; cards need to be written and the “events” need to be planned.  Yes, it is a busy month.

 Many years ago when my nieces and nephews were still infants I devised a scheme to keep the spirit of the holidays going longer by having a party a week or so before Christmas Eve.  I think I succeeded in keeping the excitement going for them.  Now a days they are grown and long gone out of my life so I look in different directions for my amusement.  I now decorate the house in a more moderate tone (no more red bows and Christmas stockings on the mantle); I pace my Christmas card writing along with my gentle Christmas music; I take walks around the property or out into the countryside and take pictures of the wintery scenery.  Then my siblings or friends will arrange for a movie day where we watch a seasonal film and have coffee afterwards.  I don’t go crazy with my baking yet it is still part of December to pull out the cook books and consider what would be fun to try.  I remember one disastrous year when I went all out and made a whole bunch of weird cookies that ended up being food for the birds (literally).  Then I go back to the tried and true chocolate chip, oatmeal and peanut butter cookies!  Virginia can keep their Revels!

            Today is baking day for me and this year I am excited by having my new Sunbeam Mixmaster at hand to assist with the mixing!  Last night I went through my selection of CDs and discovered Celtic Christmas, just the right note to get me started this morning.  It is supposed to be a mild day and my little critters have been promised they can frolic outside.  I will go for a walk around the property as I still need to inspect the damage caused by that horrific windstorm last weekend.  I can see some of the damage from the house but there is much more in the back 40 which I dread to see.

            I’m missing my mother but glad to know she is enjoying herself with her other daughter.  Yesterday they were going to Sunset Villa (when we were kids we said sunsetsavilla – really fast -- which we thought was the correct name of the park!)  It is a Danish inn with a bakery attached and I am fantasizing about what they had for their tea.  You simply cannot beat good Danish baking – any Dane will tell you the truth of it.  J

1950's Furniture

My parents had some wonderful pieces of furniture before they left Denmark.  Everything was sold and the plan was to buy something when they got to Canada.  They went shopping and found some great looking furniture.  I can still remember them.  They got 2 blue brocade sofas, 2 chairs (one was brown, large and square, the other was round, twirled and was teal blue).  After about two weeks the legs fell off one sofa and the back snapped off of the other one.  The legs on the one table also began to totter but somehow my mother managed to fix it.  They also bought a small china cabinet (no hutch) and a dining table with 4 chairs.

            My parents were shocked at the terrible quality of the furniture.  This was something they were simply not accustomed to back home.  When you bought a piece of furniture it lasted centuries.  As it was my parents learned to adjust by my mother taking up her carpenter skills, and also being creative in how she reupholstered the furniture.  She was really quite good at it.  When they moved to Hamilton she discovered a fabric shop that sold wholesale goods and that’s how Jeanette and I ended up wearing coats and pioneer style winter hats made out of the same fabric as she reupholstered the chair!  It was a good thing we were not allowed to bring friends home because it would have been humiliating for them to see us wearing a sofa on our backs!        Some of the furniture lasted better than others.  I still have the bedroom dresser that my parents bought back in 1957 and my brother Erik has the little coffee table (new legs though).

            Our Bing & Grondahl ornaments did not arrive until later, when my grandfather started sending things to my mother to ensure that we kept our heritage.  To make up for selling our paintings back home my mother took up her painting again and created some fine pieces for our living room.  My brother John still has those pieces in his home.

            I am very attached to my own material goods and I suffer agonies when I hear what my parents sold or gave away when they immigrated.  You have to be a very brave person to give up so much. 

            And that’s just the material side of things.  Imagine saying goodbye to your family and friends and leaving with the very real possibility that you will never see them again.  That’s what it was like back in 1957.  At that time you could not foresee a change in the economy, a time when there would be enough time and money to travel back to Europe.  In 1957 most people still immigrated via ship, not airplane.  To travel by plane was an exorbitant expense.  In the case of my parents both sets of parents were already elderly when they left.  (I just realized with a shock that my grandmother was 57 – does that make me at 58 elderly?!?)  My mother’s parents were 61.  My parents were 24 and 27 – in relation, the grandparents were OLDER.  As it turned out my mother never did see her mother again.

            Life is strange but we have to take it on the chin.

The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of

Do you ever fantasize about winning the 6/49 lottery?  When there isn’t a winner on Wednesday evening and the pot goes from 3 million to 6 million do you console yourself with the thought that more is better?  And as it escalates to 20 or 30 million do your dreams get more grandiose?  Finally, when someone other than you wins, do you then regress back to the modest dreams of the 3 million?

            Sometimes just having the hope of the dream is satisfying enough, at least for those of us who are somewhat settled in life.  I often wonder if winning such a big amount of money would be the breaking of me because, let’s be honest, I am somewhat of a control freak.  I tell myself that I would give away money freely, with no strings attached, but deep inside I just wonder if it is really true.  I’ve read a lot of biographies on wealthy people and seen the biographies on television and my observation is that when people have money they have a lot of sycophants surrounding them.  They don’t like to hear unpleasant truths and apparently misuse people dreadfully.  As well, they all seem to spiral into addictions, the latest fashionable addiction being sex.  Have you noticed that celebrities have “sex addictions” rather than being immoral bastards?

            The drug of choice back in the day was alcohol.  I read several celebrity biographies of the stars of the 30’s and 40’s and they had an “alcohol allergy”.  That’s what they called it to tone down alcoholism.  Today the rich and famous love cocaine.  The foolish ones experiment with a bunch of other drugs and when it gets too much for them they check in to The Betty Ford Clinic.  Somehow I cannot see myself spiralling out of control like that but as I say I remind myself when I am not the lucky winner that God is protecting me from myself!

            Yes, it’s Thursday morning and I have not received my Magic Phone Call – again.  It’s another day and another dollar for me.  I’d like to say that when the happy day arrives I will remember all the little people around me but as I will likely be 102 and well into senility I can’t make that promise.  But the heart was willing!

Stuck in Limbo

Last year I happened to be home to watch one of Oprah’s final episodes where she had Debbie Reynolds and Carrie Fisher on the show.  When Carrie spoke about her particular form of mental depression I was struck by her illustration of hardening cement in her brain.  I am currently stuck in my story writing but I have to say that it is not cement so much as a mouse in the proverbial wheel that is giving me trouble!  I have woken up so many memories that I don’t know where to start and where to stop.  Then I have to find the next piece to make the story run smoothly.  It had all been going so well and now I am in that no-man’s land of jumble.

            Isn’t that the story of a person’s life though?  When we are children we just exist in the same way grass and trees are there.  We wake up in the morning, do what we are told, eat breakfast, brush our teeth, go to school, do our homework.  As we get a little older we have vague thoughts of “what we will be when we grow up”.  Then suddenly we are grown up and willy nilly we are thrown out into the world and somehow have to make sense of it.  Somehow we find our balance and start earning a living.  The next thing you know you become a “heellot”; you start owning things, a car, a house, appliances.  Now you have worries because you need to hold on to these things.  So you can’t lose your job; maybe you need to get a better job.  The cycle has begun.  Welcome to adulthood.

            If we are really lucky in life we may have a handle on our cycle by our mid to late forties.  The house is paid for, we have a good job, we can start to take vacations now and then.  Whoops, now we have the boomerang kids coming back into the house.  Oh dear, Mom and Pop need taking care of and so they move in.  Second mortgage?  Traps of life.

 Luckily most of us can handle what gets thrown at us but every once in a while don’t you just want to say “give me a break”.  I know I sometimes look back on my childhood and wonder why I was in such a hurry to grow up.  Today I see parents hurrying their kids along to maturity by handing them a cellphone when they are 3 years old (some people should be shot).  I remember being somewhat appalled when 3 year olds got a Barbie doll.  A Barbie doll, have you noticed, is a woman.  I’m not worried about the physical look of Barbie, I am concerned about the storylines a 3 year old would have to create to sustain the Barbie doll world.  Somehow that seems to be quite different from having a baby doll at 3 years old.  I suppose because I didn’t get a Barbie until I was 10 I was having a more evolved storyline for the character compared to playing “house” with baby dolls and play china.  In any event the idea of a 3 year old having a Barbie was disconcerting to me.  But I feel absolutely astonished that parents are giving their youngsters electronic equipment.  I must be getting old when I can’t wrap my brain around that kind of “play”.

            So my brain is turning on its little cogs and I wonder if anything I write is relevant?  I personally love nostalgia but one shouldn’t come across as maudlin either.  And lately I seem to be going into a maudlin state and that will never do.  Perhaps this nice storm we are having today will pull me out of the dumps and back into the nervous lizzies.

My mother the Storyteller

Mom called me from Ontario yesterday to ensure that her house was still standing.  What was I going to do if it wasn’t?  Did she think I would tell her the truth if it had flown to Saskatchewan?  Fortunately all is intact and she can cheerful enjoy her travel time. 

            My mother has never been much of a traveller, even when she was a child she preferred to stay home with her parents.  The only place she felt somewhat comfortable was with her Moster (aunt) Olivia.  My mother often told stories of the “lyst hus” (summer cottage) that her aunt and uncle had at Bangsbostrand.  Here in North America the closest resemblance would be a gazebo though in reality my aunt’s was more of a shack at the back of the yard.  Here her aunt would sit in the summer time and sew or knit then later she would bring out the coffee or tea on a tray with the famous Danish pastry or cookies for afternoon tea.  Listening to my mother tell the story made me think of fairy land just like her stories about her own back yard made me think of the Garden of Eden.  The way she told the story about how she would pluck a fresh pear or apple from the tree, take a bite and have the juices run down her arm would be so visual I almost had to wipe my own arm off!

            My father was counted the master conversationalist in our family, he made the most mundane things funny and interesting but my mother could hold us enthral when she would slowly tell us, in minute detail, her dreams.  She was terrific at describing every detail so that I would be convinced I had had the same dream.  I remember one dream in particular was so macabre they ought to make a movie about it.  She dreamed that she was in a terrifying house with evil spirits in every corner.   Then suddenly she came in to a room where there was a pile of grey wool.  Ever so slow the wool started to move, then it began a slow and evil kind of dance, then it was bouncing and jiving around until it formed the shape of a man, then it became two, and then three men.  But all of them were grinning and leering like lunatics and still tied together by the wool. 

            “And then what happened?”  I asked

            “I woke up.”

            And that was the scariest part of the story because now I was left to imagine the worst!

Hurricane Force Winds

Yesterday our part of the world suffered it’s third day of 133 km an hour winds and all I can say is that I hope this is not the kind of winter we can expect for the next 5 months!  Mid week I was still downtown for most of the winds and only saw the devastation second hand but yesterday I experienced rattling house, vibrating garage walls and toppled trees first hand.  I became so nervous and restless I felt like one of those sensitive dogs that howl when they are near the home of a dying person.  I recalled the description of the devastating winds that blew over Colorado in that marvellous James Michener book “Centennial” where he wrote with foreboding of the agony of one woman’s desperation to have the winds stop that she finally shot all her children and then herself.  At least in our modern age we can connect with radio and television to discover what is going on in the rest of the world; we can hear sounds other than the wind screeching over the roof and shaking the rafters, eavestroughs and windows.

Nature is a powerful force, really the most powerful force on earth.  What good is money when you have water flooding in your basement for days and weeks on end; what good is money when you have no electricity and the meat rots in your freezer?  Sure you can call a plumber and an electrician but the agony in the short term is mind searing and nerve rattling.  And these are just the minor devastations that we go through.  We are so fortunate in this country not to have earthquakes, hurricanes, tornadoes or tsunamis killing thousands of people.  Food is only a shopping centre away for us; but we should thank our lucky stars that we are living in a safe country where things are fixable.  These were some of the things going through my head yesterday as I paced back and forth wondering whether the branches or eavestrough was going to crash through my new windows.

            Last night I had a talk with my best friend and we were both feeling kind of low, probably due to this dismal weather we had experienced all day, and in the end we agreed that we should still be grateful that we have our jobs and a steady income.  Oftentimes the things that help us out the most are the things we take for granted the most.  There are a lot of people without jobs these days, I feel very lucky to be one of the ones with a good job.  I have a lot of great friends who are supportive, generous, fun loving and kind.  Life is so unpredictable; it’s not Thanksgiving but I give thanks to all I have.  Life could be a whole lot worse.

2011 Company Christmas Party!

I broke my rule the other night and went to our company Christmas party.  This year was different because I was going as a group.  Not a couple, but as a group.  Did it make a difference?  Of course, now I was able to mingle with people and have a little chat but I could always excuse myself by saying “I must go find my date” and not be lying!  Then I would wander off and mingle some more, arching my neck here and there, a la Alice Adams.  I amused myself!

 When a company holds a Christmas party which includes spouses there really ought to be something done to make the spouse feel more invited and part of things.  I think the party facilitator that can come up with a great icebreaker where the spouse participates could make a fortune!  I feel so sorry for the spouses being dragged along, pretending to listen to the conversations and not looking like “when can we leave” is written bold on his or her forehead.  Few people have a real talent for chit chat, I noticed that yesterday and for the first time in my 58 years I did not feel like the odd man out!  What an interesting experience for me.  That really was a Aha! moment for me.

The party was nice, my group company was the best but I am not sure it is something that I will feel compelled to do every year; perhaps every 5 years.  I have to admit that I was rather disappointed by the food and the venue.  I had heard so many rave reviews about the food but I was extremely let down.  I have been to other parties with much better food, more of it, more exotic and better tasting.  The lamb was delicious and the crème Brule was good.  The venue was simply dark and boring.  I did not find it at all appealing, an ice block does not make for festiveness and as for the cool art, I didn’t see any! 

 As a fan of Martha Stewart before she even had a fan club I realize that my standards are extremely high in the area of entertaining.  Seriously I don’t think anyone can ever reach the pinnacle of my expectations and so I will never be able to enjoy a large gathering such as a company Christmas party.  I much prefer intimate parties with close friends where we can enjoy a home cooked meal over interesting conversation and later play some amusing games that will encourage laughter.  This morning I have pulled out my “Entertaining” by Martha Stewart and I will be studying it so that I can throw a stunning party of my own.  Now that’s a party I will attend!