more days that change your life

So just last week my baby boarded the school bus for the very first time, joining Ms. Wyllie's primary class at Shatford Elementary. Big Kid School. No more preschool. She was very brave. People kept telling me I'd cry when this momentous day came, and I was sure I wouldn't. I am a crier, but generally this is the sort of thing I take in stride, or so I thought. Then I found myself in tears holding on to Michael on our walk home from the bus stop, but not so much because my baby is growing up, but because I remembered how horrible my first day of school was. Luckily, history did not repeat itself, and she was just fine, and 8 school days later, she's still doing great, my young scholar.

The same day Naomi started school, so did Michael, having left his management position at a call centre (where he wasn't happy at all) to join the oil and gas sector. Soon he will be heading West to the Alberta oilrigs, and after 11 years together, we will once again be in a long distance relationship, like the year we started dating. So that would mark the first day of the rest of his life, joining the millions of generation X members who will go through an average of three or more career changes in their lifetimes.

And another day came along this past week that has changed my life forever. I have been diagnosed with Celiac Disease. Apparently 1 in 2000 people are unable to digest a protein found in gluten, causing the intestine walls to become inflamed, and making it difficult for the body to absorb nutrients. An autoimmune disorder, Celiac disease can cause anemia, B12 deficiency, and osteopenia (a precursor to osteoporosis), all of which I have. The only treatment is a completely gluten-free diet. I am experiencing the seven stages of grief for baked goods, the first stage being denial.

But I will not take this lying down. It's not terminal, just one more pain in the ass. So I have started an online petition asking President's Choice, a major Canadian food brand, to begin labelling its applicable products as gluten-free, a practice which a representative told me they have considered in the past, but opted not to bother with. You can add your name to the petition by visiting: http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/pcglutenfree/

days that change your life

I was watching an interesting documentary the other night about September 11, a conspiracy theory tale about the collapse of WTC 7, the third building to collapse that day. The documentary kept referencing a film called "Loose Change: Final Cut," which I am not endorsing, as I haven't seen it yet, but I will definitely be looking up. I have watched a lot of programs about 9/11 by now, and they all grab me in the gut. Seven years ago...still so hard to believe. More and more, when I see footage from that day, I feel like I am watching a movie, waiting for the action hero Bruce Willis or Ahnold to turn up and save the day. I find it harder to remember what was going through my mind that day, as I watched the second plane hit live on CNN, watched the towers fall, in disbelief. Now I am not a New Yorker, or American, but I was both directly and indirectly affected (haven't we all been?) by the events of that unbelievable day, spending the night into the small hours as a Red Cross volunteer helping settle some of the hundreds of stranded passengers in emergency shelters, using my linguistic skills to translate for a group of Orthodox Israelis who no one else could understand. Years later, I still believe the events of 9/11 sounded the death knell of the tourism industry here in Nova Scotia, as I watched my own business figures drop by 70%, although clearly many factors are at work, so I am still very affected by 9/11.

But what strikes me most about September 11, 2001 is that it may well be the single most defining historical moment which will occur during my lifetime. I've often thought a major difference between my mother's generation and mine was the moon landing. My mom didn't think they could do it (and I know there are some conspiracy theorists out there who think they didn't!), but for me, it was simply an historical fact, one more thing that happened before I was born. That reality dramatically impacted the culture of its time. As did 9/11. Not only can time be forever divided into before 9/11 and after, but the public consciousness has changed, in a way we are unlikely to turn back from for a long time to come. Living in a post 9/11 era is tangible in every sense: economic, social, political, cultural. How strange to think that for my daughter, September 11th is one more fact of history, like WWII, Vietnam, the moon landing - and will it be any more or less salient to her than those distant historical events? She started school a week ago, I think her school commemorates 9/11 in an age-appropriate way (whatever that is. On 9/11 preschool children in New York saw bodies falling from the sky. When are we old enough to witness such a thing?). I knew of a mother a couple years ago who was so disturbed by our school mentioning 9/11 to the children, she actually pulled her kids out of school to homeschool them. Facts are hard, death is hard, terrorism is hard - all these things are hard to explain to our children, when really, do we undertand them ourselves? But I do believe they have the right to share in the knowledge of their socio-political culture, in an age-appropriate way. Naomi's dad is a firefighter, like too many of the kids who lost parents, neighbours, relatives that awful day. This is part of her world. Children have a tremendous capacity for compassion, and love, precious qualities we all need to help heal our real and psychic wounds.

I wonder, can there be positive moments that define a generation? Everyone knows where they were when JFK was shot, MLK, and everyone remembers where they were on 9/11. Am I just a cynic, or are their universally beneficial moments that touch us the same way? It seems good grows more quietly and slowly, while bad can happen in an instant.

good sabbath

I am a bad Jew. And I find mostly it is because I don't have time to be Jewish, which seems a poor excuse. I don't go to temple, but it's has a lot to do with the fact that the nearest shul is about 25 miles away from my house. I was going to start Naomi in Hebrew school last year, but it would have meant commuting to the city one more day a week (not even including a commute to Saturday services, so really 2 days). Last year, Michael frequently worked weekends, so I would have had to borrow a car to take her, and with him commuting 5 days, me 3 days, and her already spending too much time trapped in her car seat in the back of the car, it just seemed like too much commitment. This year, she has started school, and although I have tried to keep it to a reasonable level of chaos, I have signed her up for music and gymnastics lessons, plus I am teaching children's art lessons, so I bring her along, which means she has a full schedule already, without adding shul and Hebrew school. But I do celebrate most of the Jewish holidays with her at home, I even led a Purim party at her preschool last year (so although Jews don't proselytise, I am ensuring Jewish programming in her class, which I will continue with her in grade primary). And we have started observing shabbat, the Jewish sabbath, in our own small way.

I had been meaning to do this for ages. When I lived in Israel, I usually lit the candles on Friday evenings to signal the beginning of the day of rest. My Israeli friends laughed at me, the convert, more observant than them. Now we aren't talking full observance here, I still went out and drank and smoked and partied all night long, but after my quiet time alone at home with my candles. Even upon my return to Canada, I used to make challah, the traditional Jewish sabbath bread, every Friday. But all that had long gone by the wayside, drinking, smoking, partying, and the candles too. But then last year at hanukkah, Naomi loved the candles so much I thought it would be a good idea to be a little Jewish every week, and light the candles on Fridays. Except I am so scattered and absent-minded, a lot of the time I am really unaware of what day of the week it is, so I would forget. But finally, over a month ago now, I remembered one Friday as I was setting the table, wiped the dust off the beautiful candlesticks I was given by a Jewish friend as a wedding gift, dug out some (kosher!) candles, and after some scrounging around, found a match, and we had our first sabbath candle lighting. I told Naomi she would have to help me remember to do this every Friday, and Wednesday morning, the first sentence out of her sleepy mouth was, "Don't forget to light the candles on Friday mommy!" And so together, we remembered, and the next week, and the next. Then I went all out, and baked challah, from scratch (but I did use a breadmaker to mix the dough), with Naomi's help:
And the more I thought about it, the more I realized, we need a sabbath. There's a day of rest tradition for a reason. Our lives are so hectic, we need to remember to take time out just to relax, be present, and be with each other. Especially now, with the new routine of early mornings to make the schoolbus at 7:26, I go back to university next week, Michael is doing a training course this month - we can hardly find the time to find each other. So although I can't commit to the full day off from work and activities and errands (I really don't have the time), I can do my level best to sit down to a nice meal at the kitchen table at least once a week, and on Fridays, light the candles, as millions of others begin their Friday evening according to the very same tradition. And I might even put in an appearance at the temple for the High Holidays, which are fast approaching.

coins in the fountain...

So a couple of weeks ago I was having a bit of a bad day (okay, that's an understatement, but let's not relive the details), but luckily the meeting that really sealed my mood occurred just before I was to meet my friend Genevieve, who was visiting having time off from her job in Antarctica (no joke, this is one cool lady, in more ways than one). "Let's go out," I said, and so we first ventured to what was once the landmark restaurant known as La Cave in downtown Halifax, world famous for the best cheesecake in the universe. Over creme brulee and gingerbread with not-so-furtive glances exchanged at our fine waiter from time to time, Genevieve helped ease my mind over my mundane troubles. And I was further inspired to embark on another adventure. But let me first set the scene...

Back in my youth, more than 20 years ago, some older friends of mine initiated me into the tradition of scaling the fence of the Public Gardens and entering the night-time world of the park after dark, for the gates are locked at dusk. A lovely manicured Victorian park by day, by night the gardens become a whole other world. A place for lovers, a way to escape the bar culture, peace and quiet, and a place to get into a different kind of trouble. In the mid to late 1980s I would carry this large bag I had made, big enough to carry a bottle of wine and a ouija board in, always at the ready for a midnight adventure. I still have an old ouija board somewhere with a broken corner - the bag got snagged on the fence during one nocturnal raid.

Across the street from the Public Gardens is a large graveyard, which used to be open all the time, until someone was murdered in there in the 1990s. Both Genevieve and I had lived in houses near the graveyard, and we had both used it as a shortcut home on numerous occasions, before the locking of the gates began. As it seemed a more attainable goal (less traffic, more trees to hide behind), we eased ourselves under the gates of the graveyard, and dashed inside. It was a very foggy night, making the cemetary beautifully eery. We found ourselves under a huge concealing tree, which Genevieve eyed with a view to climb, but we just weren't wearing the right shoes, reminiscing about the old days of Halifax, and other tales from our travels over the years. The jaunt into the cemetary was sufficiently emboldening for us to reassess our true goal: the Public Gardens. So we rolled back out under the graveyard gate, no one having noticed our traipsing and trespassing, crossed the street, and proceeded to case the joint. We searched for a good place to go under rather than over behind the cover of two parked tour buses, but no auspicious opening was to be seen. It was while Genevieve was admonishing the ducks for discarding an empty beer bottle she picked up on the grass that the cop car pulled over. And the crazy redhead calls out to assure the cop we hadn't been drinking (which we hadn't), but luckily he had taken no notice of us anyhow. Still, it wasn't exactly the right moment to hop over the fence while the policeman was inspecting the grounds across the street with a flashlight, so we did a loop around the park. On our second pass, the police car had gone. It was do or die. Genevieve had staked her spot, while I looked on not at all convinced we would fit underneath the wrought iron grate at all. But in a flash, she was through - there was nothing for it, so under I went, and there we were, like spies in the night, ducking behind the nearest tree in fits of giggles, and streaking across the open grass to a denser copse of trees further away from the street. And it was as awesome as ever, perhaps more so after a 20 year absence. Sure I've been in there by day, taken Naomi to hear bandstand concerts on Sunday afternoons, fed the ducks in the pond. But this was different. Although the place has changed, having lost many trees to Hurricane Juan in 2003, when we found ourselves on the other side of the fence, I felt like we had gone back in time. Never have I felt so much like I was fourteen years old again! All the worldly cares that had brought me down earlier that evening disappeared.

Genevieve and I imagined the news copy: "...officials were puzzled when breathalyzer and drug tests taken from the two middle aged women caught trespassing in the Public Gardens last Thursday were negative for any illicit substances..."

Now there is another tradition that goes hand in hand with trespassing in the gardens after dark. There is a fountain where passers by throw coins for wishes.

I have often let Naomi rummage through my pockets looking for spare change for this very purpose. But back in the day, it was something of a tradition to strip down to our skivvies, hop into the fountain, and scoop up the coins. Then we would roll our damp silver and pennies, and spend our ill-gotten gains on treats (well, cigarettes, but I have since quit). In the stillness of the park I realized this was most likely the last time I would find myself in the gardens after dark, so there was just one thing left to do: take off my pants and hop into the fountain. Genevieve was close behind. Now we only scooped out a couple of ceremonious, token handfuls, hardly depleting the waters of the wishes they concealed beneath the surface. Genevieve has a better eye for spotting shiny things than I, like 1 and 2 dollar coins (and even a fifty-cent piece!), while I went more for quantity, using a more Hoover-like technique. There is still a dish full of coins on my kitchen table, it contains about $12, which I intend to use to open an RESP for Naomi.

Genevieve is gone now, making her way indirectly back to the South Pole for the winter (well summer, there). Today I could already detect an autumn scent on the August breeze, and soon enough September will be here again. As I return to university Naomi will get on the yellow schoolbus and begin grade primary, and soon enough this one summer adventure will be just one more Midsummer Night's Dream. But for a few moments I laughed again like I was fourteen years old, just like it was 1985, only it was even better.

What Would God Wear?

So the other day Naomi asked me what kind of clothes god wears. Now we haven't really talked a whole lot about god. We have celebrated both Jewish and non-Jewish holidays, but god just really hadn't come up, and that was fine with me, as I'm really not quite sure what to tell her about god. She only noticed churches last week, and I don't think she really knows what they're for yet, and I have never taken her to a place of worship. So the other day I did tell her some people believe god made the world, but I'm not sure how much she was paying attention - but then she asked about the clothes. So I said I thought god(s) might not really wear clothes (but the idea of god naked was a bit too funny), but if they did, I bet they would be a lot like pyjamas, you know, like the togas of old. But as we gave this some more thought, we agreed maybe a god would like to wear princess dresses or fancy suits. After all, Naomi's favourite outfit at the moment is her Disney Cinderella costume (which is miles too big for her). So wouldn't god want to dress just like that too?

7 jobs and still underemployed...

Okay, so we have been around the world and back, or almost. We flew back to Belfast to visit Naomi's Northern Irish grandmother in mid-May, seeing old friends and family in the North, down South in Dublin and Waterford, with a weeks' holiday in Marmaris, Turkey (that's in Asia!), and a too-brief stop with more old friends in Glasgow, Scotland on the way home. We have been back for a few weeks, and it has been busy, busy, busy and really, just utter chaos. I mean, I haven't seen my kitchen table since last December, and we've actually gone and invited COMPANY for the weekend, which means I need to find the table! The tomatoes are out of the freezer, the kidney beans are soaking, preparations are underway for a vegetarian Mexican feast, but also I really must get in the clean laundry that's been hanging on the porch for at least 2 days before it rains, not to mention clean the bathroom, tidy the bedrooms, and find that darn kitchen table. I mean, there isn't even any room left on it to pile more stuff on.

And why do these things never get done? Well, because I figure Naomi will only be 4 once, this is her last summer before she starts Big Kid School, so given the choice of doing the dishes or taking her to the beach, I generally opt for the beach (I sooo need a dishwasher...). Besides, the weather has been fairly poor, so you really need to go to the beach when the opportunity presents itself. The dishes will wait (Trust me!).

Oh, and because I have 6 jobs, depending on how you're counting. And none are full-time, and none will make me a rich woman. Here's the list: photographer with home-based wholesale poster/postcard business (summer tourist season only), research assistant at Dalhousie University, Assistant Client Services Manager for the tax company (but seasonally laid off 'til January), model for my friend Christian's art classes (starts next week, and before you ask, no, I will not be doing it nude, not just yet anyway. Thought I'd go for scantily clad.), and the latest: instructor of photography, yoga and active play for kids. I start teaching kids workshops next week through our local recreation centre - and I'm very excited. I have a huge pile of books I took out of the library to prepare myself. The funny thing is, the only thing I've ever taught anybody was sociology, and that was to university students (and frankly many of them were a bit bored I think), so this will be a bit of a challenge. But I took my first photography workshop at Woozles children's bookstore when I was 8 years old (I still have the pictures I shot too!), so I thought this would be a good idea. And job number six, writing my cookbook. Yet I feel like I'm forgetting something...oh yes! It is 7 jobs! I recently listed with a casting agency, and got called to work as an extra on the cable show "G-Spot" less than a week after I signed up! Hollywood (Bollywood?) awaits...And then there are the poledancing classes I've been taking, definitely not work, but cuts into my time.

So, busy as a bee. No time for laundry, toilet brushes, sock darning...

Still here...

It may appear as though I had abondoned this site, but I assure all that this is not the case. Rather, I have been so busy, I haven't found a moment to keep in touch (or to keep up with the dishes, laundry, general housework...). Classes have ended for the year (hooray!), but I have yet to finish my last two assignments - hopefully by the end of this week it will all become a distant, fading memory...

The past year has been a particularly challenging one. It had been 8 years since I last graduated university, and my currrent MSc program in community health and epidemiology has been a real change from my previous areas of study. I like a challenge, but many things made it hard that I wasn't expecting. Although the course work is both intersting and demanding, the most difficult part of adjusting to school life again was coming back as a 'mature' student. The majority of students I went to school with everyday are a posse of bright-tailed, bushy-eyed young 'uns that both individually and collectively seem to be lacking in two areas I find important in fellow humans: a sense of humour and a sense of irony. They also are rather self-absorbed and lacking in plain old-fashioned manners. Now I have lived all over the world, and come into contact with a wide variety of people in my time, making friends from all sorts of backgrounds and ages, both younger and older. I completely fail to comprehend why I don't seem to get along with anyone in my program, but I have decided, after much agonizing and self-punishment in the matter, that I don't give a shit, and who needs 'em. Now that I have completed 6 out of eight courses, this isn't much of an issue anymore. It doesn't help that I have had difficulties with members of faculty as well, and am in the process of filing a grievance against one of my profs. Yes, I'm sure I am well loved in the halls...but here's the thing: I let too many people push me around in my undergraduate degree, and even my last master's program, and I'm not having it anymore. I am here to stand up for myself (so deal with it!).

Surprisingly, the being a mom part wasn't the biggest challenge, but then I have the best kid in the world! She does wish I had more time to spend with her, but she's so easygoing and independent that she isn't too hard to work around. I do try to take 'quality activity' breaks with her as often as I can even when I'm in the middle of writing papers, etc. Hopefully by the end of this week my last assignments will be done, and I can finally relax (this term has really been hell), and take more time to spoil my little one. We start with a trip to our new favourite place on Saturday, the Spryfield Lions Wave Pool (www.halifax.ca/Recreation/williamspry.html). We went 2 weekends ago for the first time, and had the best family outing I can remember for ages, probably since last summer. And the flyer came in the mail that Jellystone Park (www.campjellystone.com), also known as Yogi Bear Camp in our house, will be open in a couple of weeks - Naomi's favourite place last summer. I believe we will have to become members this year.

But before we can camp with Yogi, we will be off to Europe! Mid-May will see us fly across the ocean to visit Michael's mum and family, and of course our friends. It was a very spontaneous decision, but we need a break from our lives here so badly, especially now that Nepal has to be put off - that was what we had been focusing on since September, our Great Escape. It is a big disappointment that we can't get there just yet. A trip to Northern Ireland is not quite as exotic, but it has been 4 years since we were there, when Naomi was just 4 months old. There will be lots of great things to do, like go to the Zoo, Belfast Castle, the Botanic Gardens near my old office at Queen's University. We also plan to take a trip up north to Portrush and Giant's Causeway, where I have only been once, and without my camera! I am very excited, as I will be able to see a lot of old friends. My darling Susan has had TWO babies since I was last there (Natasha aged 21 months, and a very special welcome to Marcus John Joseph, born 13 days ago, 8 lbs, 8 ozs),and Sister Sarah has taken her vows in her Cistercian order at St. Mary's Abbey, County Waterford, where I will also be visiting. Sarah is one of several friends I missed on my last visit, making it 8 years since I've seen her. That will be a very special visit, and I am especially happy to be going down south to see her, while my other girlfriend has said she can travel from the South to Belfast to coincide with our visit. Hopefully I'll catch everyone from my days at Queen's on this visit.