Time Does Fly

Soul Mate and I are extremely fortunate. Between us, we have four amazing kids. It is astonishing to us that they are all growing older at such a quick pace. Yoga Kid (the baby of the lot) turns 26 today. That is amazingly freaky to me. I can't easily lay hands on the *first* baby pictures of her to include here, but she was a beauty then too.

When I remember the little darling as a toddler, this is the picture that appears in my heart and my head.

Quite honestly, she could be a handful at this stage. One of my dear friends even nicknamed her "Taryn the Terror." She clearly had a very strong sense of self, even then. She knew what she wanted and when she wanted it and she started perfecting her persistency approach with a vengeance as soon as she learned how to walk and talk.

I like to think that Yoga Kid's tenacity at such a tender age showed me that getting our needs met or realizing our dreams takes passion and effort. She taught me that sometimes we need to holler and cry. I also like to think that some of my greatest growth spurts were taking place at the same time as hers were, in her first few years. I believe that back in the day when I was telling baby Yoga Kid and her older sister First Born to "get up and brush themselves off," that "they could do it," and that they were "terrific," that my own words were echoing or boomeranging right back to me.

Clearly, by the time we got Yoga Kid to her kindergarten graduation, I had also graduated into a whole new way of life, and I credit my beautiful daughters for inspiring me to grow up and be more terrific.

She never really did lose her ability to terrorize once in a while, but the early grade school years also started to bring out the sensitive, compassionate side of this little person who would grow up to be Yoga Kid. When she was five, she actually changed her name to Alice for a while (she was obsessed for over two years with a black and white version of an Alice in Wonderland movie.) The following except about Alice is from an entry in my journal on June 7, 1992:

Today is my baby's 7th birthday. She was an angel in her dance concert [a few days earlier]. That day she came home and adopted a caterpillar. It was priceless. She was gentle and caring towards it. She read it stories, and took it for rides on her dinky cars. It was precious.

Needless to say, she soon graduated to loving dinosaurs and dogs. She wanted a dinosaur, but we were unable to deliver on that one. I have no idea whose puppy she was holding in this picture, but how cute is this kid!

As her grade school years clipped along Yoga Kid grew into an exceptional dancer, learned how to play the piano beautifully, and became a prolific writer. In addition to crafting stories on a regular basis just for the fun of it, she was expected to journal daily in school. I think you get some of the flavour of who Yoga Kid was becoming from this entry on her first day back at school in the fall of 1995:

This summer I went to Red Deer to visit my dad. We went to Banff twice. Every summer we go camping there. It's so pretty in Banff. We also went to Drumheller. Again, we go there every year. It's very interesting when you love dinosaurs like I do. When I grow up I want to be a paleontologist. One of my hobbies is collecting fossils. I never really liked dinosaurs until we learned about them in grade two. In Edmonton at Northlands Park ther's a Canadian Derby. We go there every year too. They just fixed Northlands up and it is very nice. It's a lot more enjoyable watching horseracing in a place like that. Some of the horses are so beautiful. While my dad is at work my grandma watches me. She comes down from Whitehorse every summer to watch me. We would take the bus to the mall a lot, but at weekends we would go places with my dad. Now a little about myself. My full name is Taryn Rae. I am 10 years old and my birthday is June 7, 1985. I was born in Whitehorse, I have a dog named Poncho. he's terri-poodle cross. I have an older 14 year old sister and I'm the youngest. I'm a chocolate and taco lover. My hobbies are tap dancing and collecting fossils. My pet peeves are: some cats, bees, wasps and all seafoods. My favourite colours are blue and pink, plus dark green. My favourite shows are "Are You Afraid of the Dark?", "Rugrats," "Rocko's Modern Life," and "X-Files." I love to read. My favourite movies are "Jurassic Park," and "Little Women." I like antiques like old teacups, sewing machines, etc. I love going to history places.

As a historian, this entry warms my heart. The years from ten to fifteen were pretty uneventful, and then the next few were interesting as the Terror returned for a few grand performances. But we all survived and once again, she was a beautiful graduate.

The past few years, our girl has grown into a beautiful young woman. Yoga Kid has retained her love of vintage as far as some clothing and jewellery goes, but to my knowledge she no longer plays the ponies and she now despises the colour pink. She is no longer a terror in any way, shape or form, although like the best of us, she can still get pretty cranky once in a while. The only dinosaurs in her life these days are her parents. She had to give up dancing so she took up yoga, which is now her life's passion. She still loves to read but reads mostly non-fiction. First Born teases her for only reading "textbooks" and just bought her a novel about yoga for her birthday to try to get her back into fiction (First Born and I love reading novels). Yoga Kid still loves dogs, and wishes she had one again. She is no longer a fan of caterpillars. Although she claimed that she hated seafood at age ten, she has never actually tasted anything in the fish or seafood family in her entire life. She is currently the only vegetarian in our family, but she still sits at our table when we serve ribs, First Born's favourite. Yoga Kid is an exceptional makeup artist, but traded that career to work in another job that allows her the freedom to devote more time to teaching yoga in the evenings. She even has a yoga blog on her Anahata Moon Yoga site. If you go to her blog, you will learn that she still loves chocolate.

I don't know that any of us would have expected Yoga Kid to grow up to be Yoga Kid. But we are so very happy that she did. I still learn from her every day. Earlier this year, as I wrote in my Yoga Kid, Hearty and Me post, I learned a lot about the true meaning of mindfulness, of being present. This daughter of mine is caring, wise, funny, sensitive. I look at her or think about her and can't help but marvel over how precious and priceless a gift she is to our family.

Happy birthday, darling girl. I love you.

We Never Get Over It, But We Do Get Through It

Last year when a dear aunt passed away, I wrote a post for my cousin on my old blog. It was intended to provide her some comfort, and she said that it did. Today I read a blog post by Cathy, whose  mom has just died. I don't know if anything I wrote for my cousin will help. But here it is, to you Cathy, with love and understanding.

Our Lives May Grow In Different Directions, Yet Our Roots Remain As One

Turning fifty this year has been great, overall. But a few things about getting older are really bringing me down. A good example— I am running out of relatives at an alarming rate.

Last week, my third last living aunt passed away, and although in her honour I would love to write something hilariously funny (Auntie Joyce was hilariously funny) I also feel intensely compelled to write something thoughtful—perhaps even meaningful—for her daughter, my cousin Cory.

These are the times when I am sorry that most of my relatives live clear on the other side of the country. If Cory lived closer, I would invite her to come and spend the day with me. I would feed her, pour her a glass of wine (I am one of only two cousins who doesn't drink wine, or anything for that matter), and create a space for her to start telling her story, her story of losing her mother. I would try mostly just to listen, having had the opportunity to tell my own dying mother story so many, many times already over the past ten years. At moments, I am sure that I would contribute a piece of my narrative just for support, or as confirmation of how she is feeling, what she is thinking. Not that I claim to know all of it, but…

I want to tell you, Cory – I have been where you are. I know some of what you are feeling, and most of what you are trying not to feel.

I know that in these early days you are probably swinging between paralysis and hyper-activity. You will find yourself having some difficulty getting through the motions of daily life. Don’t forget to eat, to drink lots of water. Brush your teeth. Put clothes on if you leave the house and remember that deodorant is a good idea in August. Staying up all night listening to the music that sears through your soul and makes you feel, feel, feel the feelings – is okay for a few days. But please don’t do it every night for a week. You need to rest, to recover, to heal. You need to be as gentle with yourself as you would be with your mother if she was going through what you are going through right now. You may need to tell Rod (your husband, Cory) that although he mourns too, he should probably take charge of your lives for a while. Be firm when you tell him that there is not a hope in hell of you making any decisions about much of anything this week, month, summer, year. Take all the time you need. And write this down:

“I may need a lot of time to get over this because I really, really, really liked my mother a lot.”

Your two beautiful daughters will be watching you closely (as mine were), looking for a sign every once in a while that tells them there is at least some hope that you will eventually be okay. You might not believe that, but fake it once in a while, just to give them a break. Do something normal. Yell at one of them for something ridiculously unimportant. You know, like we do. If you are up to it, give them each a hug and say “honey one day soon we will talk about your grief, your pain. But for now, It’s pretty much all about mine.” They will giggle. Eventually, but not right away, you will want to consider that they too have been through hell losing their Nannie and watching you go through hell, but you likely can’t deal with that today. For now, just tell them to brush their teeth, wear deodorant, and for Christ’s sake turn their goddamned music down after midnight. The taking God’s name in vain part is optional, but in our family, as you know, the option is almost always taken.

Cory, the one thing that has sustained me through a decade of mother missing, has been that I always speak to my mom. In my head, that is. I talk to her about all of the good things that are going on, and the bad or scary stuff. And because I knew my mom so very well, as you did yours, I can always hear what she would say, if she were here. You will hear your mom too, Cory. Just listen to your heart. Like her favourite music, photos of your mother will bring you both comfort and agony right now. Speak to your pictures of your mom and tell her what you are going through. Please, do let somebody know if you really believe she is talking back to you. That would be a bit much.

Cousin, I wish that I could tell you ten years from now that all of what you are going through will be behind you. Much of it will, but the longing for one more day, one more talk over tea, one more argument even, might never fully go away. I am fifty years old and there have been so many moments over the past ten years when I have whispered to myself or even said out loud, I want my mommy. Your aunt (my mother) told me, speaking about the loss of her own mother, that daughters never get over losing their mother, but they do get through it. I did. You will. Our daughters will.

And after all is said and done, we really are the fortunate ones. We had amazing mothers. And we have amazing daughters. The mother-daughter bond still exists, for us.

International Women's Day, March 8th

In honour of International Women's Day, another blogger suggested sharing something written by a female ancestor. I hope to find time to dig up and read the many letters that my mother wrote to me when I lived a letter's distance or more away, but I can't do that today. So, I don't have much close at hand, but I do have a short excerpt from a diary entry that Mom wrote in 1996. (She only wrote in a diary very sporatically toward the end of her life, mostly at my urging.)

June  28, 1996
The reason I picked this book up - I want to start putting down some of my thoughts. For instance: today George went to Edmonton with Eric and I decided to clean some windows and put my "Les Miserables" tape in the player (I only play it when I'm alone). While I was rub-a-dub-dubbing the windows and singing along with the music, I recalled a day a few months ago at Debra's when she, Dawn and I were listening to the same music and Dawn and Deb broke into song. (We three saw Les Mis together at the Jubilee and loved it). Anyway, they were both singing their hearts out and altho I laughed, because they don't really have classic voices, it was one of the special moments of my life, they most likely have no idea how happy I was to see the closeness between them or how very much I love them. I only wish the same closeness could be shared with the boys, maybe someday!

Thanks Mom, for taking the time to put down your thoughts. If you were here you would know that our voices haven't gotten any better, but you will be pleased to know that my sister and I both listen to our favourite music as loud and as often as we please, regardless of whether we are alone or not. Debra in particular, still favours the music from Les Miserables, whereas I remain partial to the Phantom of the Opera. Of course, there is no such thing as a "tape player" anymore, we listen to our music on iPods. You wouldn't be into iPods because you didn't like putting things in your ears, but they also have docking stations. I know, sounds weird, hey? I am sure you will be happy to learn that since you have left us, both of your "girls" have actually shared moments of real closeness with one or the other of our brothers. We'll try to get a few more in, in your honour.

Happy International Women's Day, Mom. This one's for you.

Oscar, The Girls, and Me

I've loved watching the Academy Awards ever since I was a little girl. My mother loved the Oscars, and way back in the 1960s we kids were allowed to stay up late to watch the entire show, a big deal when we had to get up and go to school the next day. As with any other family tv night, we were each allowed to have one bowl of potato chips and one glass of Pepsi as a treat. Mom would "ooh" and "ah" at the gowns, and shriek with excitement as her favourite movie stars paraded on to present or accept awards. Mom's exclamations of "oh my god, she's looking old - beautiful - ill, etc." were replaced over the years with her observations about who had obviously been spending money on plastic surgery. She'd be blown away on the latter, these days.

I may be dating myself, but I note each passing year that while the Oscars continue to showcase famous and beautiful celebrities, there just aren't the same calibre of "movie stars" in Hollywood as there were back in the day. I am thinking, for example, about the likes of the iconic Bette Davis, Susan Hayward, Rock Hudson, Jack Lemmon, and even Rosalind Russell before we knew she was a terrible mother. I don't think we have seen Elizabeth Taylor at the Oscars for years, and tonight Kirk Douglas looked like the oldest person still alive in Hollywood. As the survivor of a massive stroke, he is still doing pretty good. Tonight's show payed homage to Bob Hope, who hosted the Oscars more often than any other person. I met him once. In 1987, while I was standing in the Empress Hotel lobby, Bob wandered down the hall with his entourage and when he passed me he tipped his hat ever so slightly and looked me straight in the eye and said "Isn't it a beautiful day?" I was completely stupefied but managed to reply, "It certainly is, Mr. Hope." Moments later I phoned my mother (collect, of course) from the hotel pay phone, and cried with shock when I told her what had happened. She loved Bob Hope, always.

During the last years of my mother's life (she died at age 68, way too young), she and I would as often as possible, get together to watch Hollywood's big night unfold. The last time we did so was in 2000, just a couple of months before she died from leukemia. My aunt was visiting from Montreal, and as had become our tradition, we wore our pyjamas and snacked throughout the night as we watched Gladiator take best picture, and Russell Crowe win Best Actor for his role in that film. We were thrilled to watch Julia Roberts pick up her first Oscar as Best Actress for Erin Brockovitch. It was an amazing night as I recall, although bittersweet for me, knowing that it would be the last time I would share that tradition with my mother.

Luckily for me, I have two daughters and so, the tradition can continue, albeit in a somewhat different manner. This afternoon, Yoga Kid and I headed over to First Born's apartment early so that we could catch the red carpet show. We dined on Noodle Box (most excellent southeast Asian take out) and Yoga Kid's gluten free chocolate mint cupcakes. I have no idea where that kid learned how to bake. I wore pyjamas and First Born wore sweats, but Yoga Kid was rather overdressed as she had to leave half way through the show to go to a dress rehearsal for a fashion show she's modelling in next Friday.

I have to note several freakish changes in our world since the last time I watched the Oscars with my mother. Tonight, while Yoga Kid snuck out for her rehearsal, we PVR'd the show and simply checked back in where we had left off when she returned. We may have had VHS recorders back in the day, but nothing so convenient as a PVR. Furthermore, the three of us were afraid to check our Facebook accounts while we were in Oscar hiatus, in case people were FBing information about the winners. They were, so I'm glad I didn't check. There was no Facebook when my mom was still living, but I think she would have been an FBer. She sure would have enjoyed the show tonight, and the company. I know that if things were different and she were here, she would have wished to spend an Oscar evening such as this one with both of her own daughters and all of her granddaughters. I think she would have wondered where all of the old stars have gone, and Kirk Douglas would have freaked her out some, but she would have enjoyed the cupcakes, for sure.

Although there is no indication (whatsoever) on the horizon that either First Born or Yoga Kid ever plan on having daughters fly out of their loins (and I am fine with that), I told them tonight how much I treasure what is now becoming our own Oscar tradition. They drive me batty sometimes, but I really like them both a lot. If there were Oscars for best daughters, they'd each get a golden statue.