in the darkness....

I was thinking today, about a good friend I had in high school. She was adopted. I don't know why I started thinking about her really. We lost touch years ago. She undertook her latter high school years in a boarding school in the big city, and while we tried to maintain contact over that time, life took over, as it does. She moved, I moved, her parents moved and my parents moved....she could live in the next street for all I know. Nevertheless, we were good friends at the time. Her parents owned and ran a local motel, and I was invited regularly to stay over at her place; we were even allowed to stay in a motel room if one was vacant.

The motel was close to the local swimming pool. One summer we spent practically ever day at the pool (a fact you might find surprising if you had read the story, two posts back). This friend even invited me to stay with her at her Aunt's place in another town, over the winter break. Her Aunt owned a corner deli and we spent most of the week working in it, which was a huge novelty (for me anyway).

We did a lot together, this friend and I. I remember one night, creeping out from one of the motel rooms we were staying in and walking to the all night truck stop (roadhouse/diner/servo) for hot chips; scrambling over neighbourhood fences and into foreign backyards, then walking back through the local cemetery eating hot chips from a wrap of butcher paper, while trying to make out the inscriptions etched into the old leering Gothic style monuments. This friend was there for me during a difficult time in my life. She was funny and crazy; a risk taker and a bit unpredictable...a welcomed distraction, and just what I needed at the time.

Despite all this, I realised it was quite difficult to get to know this particular friend. There was somewhat of a wall that she placed around her that forbid one from really getting to know her. Humour was her best defense; whenever things go a bit intense or serious, whenever the deeper or the tougher question were raised, she expertly sidelined all and any expectations of a genuine or heartfelt response. Never did I learn her hearts crush, while we were at school together, although she told me of the her crush in her new school, he being at a safe, unlocatable and unidentifiable distance - a mere abstraction to me, a fictional character in a novel or a cartoon upon which to wonder and imagine, but never know.

One night however, when laying in our respective twin beds in the motel, darkness draped upon all forms, our voices rising up in the night, unencumbered by the intimidation and bounds of body language suggestions, my friend started talking about her adopted older sister and how, when her sister became upset with my friend, she would tell her that she wished she "had never chosen her" at the hospital/orphanage. I asked my friend when she had been told she was adopted and while wrapped in the safe shroud of night, she told me that she had always known. Her mother was unable to have children, and her birth story was that her parents took her older sister to choose a sibling, and her sister was said to have proudly chosen the prettiest baby in the establishment. My friend seemed happy to recount this story to me. It was a comfort to her; it made her feel loved and wanted, like she belonged for she was chosen.

On the back of this discussion; seizing the moment and perhaps being both rather insensitive and a little daft of age, I then asked my friend if she ever thought about her birth mother. "No", came the abrupt reply, a reply tinged with disappointment and hurt, "and I will never look for her. She gave me up. My parents are the only parents I know. They are the ones who love me. I never think about my birth family." And with that I felt a door close. Silence descended like a rock in a still pond - hard and fast, fanning ripples the only sign that something had occurred...I heard her muffled sobs in the darkness, and it broke my heart to think that I had brought this pain to the surface, for it seemed apparent that this was something that she had often mulled over in the private corners of her inner being. We never spoke of it again, and she seemed happy with that, but the conversation stuck with me, as has the memory of her quiet stifled tears and I have wondered about her and where she is today and whether there really is some part of her that seeks, and longs.

*Photo by Olivier Follmi - "A Tear of Coldness at 4200 Meters, Ladak".

wining, dining and SOME were pining

So, what HAVE I been doing all week?

Ok, I did manage to post once, albeit an overly depressing poem, which, if you must know, was in no way a reflection of the week I had been having. A poem needn't be about me, nor anyone I have seen in the past five years even. It may be an observation or even based on a memory. So never mind chaps, all is well over at The Brave; I seem to be better at tapping in to the depressing aspects of my feeble mind...YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Like I said in a previous blog - my best friend came to visit me last week, and indeed Lauraine, "to have a best friend" truly IS one of "the greatest things in the world". We had so much fun. And laugh! Oh how we laughed. Much of what was exchanged is unrepeatable, both through choice and perhaps censorship laws, but never mind, we had fun.

I don't have many friends in this universe, but those who consider me so....well, I wouldn't trade them for anything. But a best friend, now that is someone special. A best friend can not be announced, such a friendship is established over time and through trials.

One's best friend is someone with whom you can be yourself 100%; someone you can entrust with your deepest fears and secrets, your pains and emotions and your wacko ideas. One can tell, ask or share anything with a best friend, and know that there might be laughter (sometimes unwelcome), perhaps tears, sometimes worry and occasionally frustration and even momentary lapses of anger accompanying that which is divulged... but there is never judgement.

I have missed all my friends from Australia so very much, but to have my best friend visit me in my new land, to see how my children have grown since we last saw each other; where life has taken me and the new life our family has built, and for her to know what I am referring to when I talk about the local landscape, well that is pretty special, and I thank her for going out of her way to visit my family and I.

My best friend currently resides in the sweltering centre of outback Australia, but is US born, with most of her immediate family living in Washington State. This week, after a wonderful time showing her some local Canadian sights, I had the privilege of driving my friend back to her Mum's house in the US.

It was a bit surreal that we were in Canada and the US together, which also caused some major eyebrow knitting at the border. One of the immigration guys just couldn't seem to wrap his head around the idea that the American was the resident of Australia, but the Australian was the resident of Canada and....WHAT THE HELL WERE WE DOING HERE TOGETHER ANYWAY?

We were asked how we knew each other, where we met, did we have men in our lives. Now people, do these questions sound relevant to national security? At no point were we asked if we were hauling drugs over the border, in possession of guns or harboring a family of illegals in the trunk. So, judging by the mirthful faces among the observing male US immigration personnel, it appears it is far more amusing, and important, to take bets on whether the two 30-something women travelling men-less, are lesbians, as opposed to devious evil-doers plotting to take-over the world. Anyway.....

I spent the night at the home of my friend's Mum and Step-Dad. I have met them before and they are always so very nice to me - wonderful people really, and very talented, the both of them. My friends Mum is a fabulous quilter and seamstress and her cooking is so good. I certainly didn't knock back some of her cookies to take on the drive back to Canada - Boy were they good!

And you should see J's woodwork - stunning! He made his lovely wife a gorgeous heart shaped candy box for valentines day - how sweet is that! He also makes beautifully sculptured jewellery boxes, in all kinds of interesting woods....I really appreciate that kind of thing, as my Dad is also into wood work. He also made the heart shaped basket pictured here. It collapses flat, so you can use it for setting down hot dishes and the like. He told me he had seen one once and simply "worked out" how to make one like it, in his own style. It was such a cool piece, and I was lucky enough that my friend bought me this one - (there better have been an exchange of money). Some people have all the talent - sheesh!

The other wonderful thing that happened on the trip was my meeting, for the first time, a friend of my best friend's family. I guess I met her first through blogger. Kathleen is just as lovely in person as she is over the Internet - if not, lovelier. I remember the first time I read her blog and commenting that it would be so great to be part of her family, since they sounded so dear to her, and for a moment yesterday, she made me feel that I was. It was so great to meet her and I hope to see her warm and cheerful face again.

It started to snow just as I was preparing to say my goodbyes to everyone. My desert dwelling friend stood huddled and shivering in PJ's and an overcoat, with a shower of glittering diamonds falling about her and tiny, glistening stars in her hair, "let this be your last image of me", she said. And with that befitting image frozen in mind, I hugged her, stepped into my car and left; chased all the way back to Canada by a clenched fist of black sky.

After a week of chatting with a much loved friend, meeting and catching up with great people, driving around like a tourist, shopping, wining and dining...I guess it is back to reality for me. Man I sure needed that! No wonder I feel SOOOOO much better.

social butterfly

I had a bit of a social weekend.
I did have three social occasions in the mix, but a sick child meant the cancellation of one. Never mind, we can always re-schedule.
I went to a friend's house for a lovely lunch on Friday. I chatted with my friend as the kids played, it was so nice to do that. We discussed needs and pains, and we vowed that we would support each other in our apparent isolation as full-time migrant mothers, and gift each other with some unprompted, unannounced "time out". We both agreed that it is so hard to ask for help, and overcome that guilty feeling that we are burdening someone else with what should entirely be our own responsibility.
So, I would like to kick it off soon, to show my commitment to what we had discussed. I think one of us just has to bite the proverbial bullet and make the first deposit into the "favour bank" or it may never happen.
The evening was spent entertaining a fellow Aussie who was in town for a couple of nights only.
He and Ashley had worked together in Australia, although I had never had the pleasure of meeting him prior to Friday; not that he hadn't already made his impression on me...which was annoying, basically. He is a bit of a ditherer, who panics about all aspects of decision making and responsibility. He is the kind of person who will ring at 6am with a burning - can't wait until a civilized hour - question. The itch, that is his query or point of contention, must simply be relieved then and there, and any consideration for other peoples lives or their need for sleep, must seem inconsequential in relation to the discomfort his worry must be causing him. For it could be the wee small hours of the morning, the middle of the night, minutes after Ashley's plane has touched the tarmac after weeks of working along side this bloke, Christmas day lunch, Sunday church, your best friends wedding...who cares - everything else palls in comparison to his apparent emergency! ...sigh.
This bloke resides in a different state, which is why I hadn't had the pleasure of meeting him before, but I had picked up the phone to his abrupt demand to speak with Ashley - pronto..."Ashley there"! There would be no hello, no small talk...BLOODY RUDE and I hoped he could feel the agitation in my reply as I bit down on my own tongue to prevent me from spitting at him, "How about a HELLO and a PLEASE shit-for-brains?" But Ashley would always try to sooth this guys pains like a mother hen tending to her chicks, so I figured if he could put up with this guys constant and often needless and over-exaggerated panic attacks, then the least I could do was be civil and pass the phone over quietly. So when, last week, I was informed that this guy was in town and would be coming over for dinner. I was a bit blazae - "Oh HIM.... I suppose".
I actually love entertaining. I hate cooking as a general day to day rule. But I do enjoy making a bit effort when the need arises and make something special. I enjoy more, the talk and discussion after the meal...so beware all who dare venture over for a couple of nights in February...I expect CONVERSATION....and chocolate! That was a JOKE.
Anyway, I met the guy. He didn't look ANYTHING like the man I had conjured up in my mind. He was polite and didn't talk obsessively about work, like I had been warned that he would do. He had done some house renos of his own, so he was interested to see and hear what we had achieved. He wanted to hear what life is like over here in Canada, since he is contemplating taking a job over here. He was also fascinated by the snow and wanted to see photos of what it was like after last months deluge. Like us, he had never experienced snow. He even confessed that he needs to pull on a sweater when the mercury plummets to a foul 17 degrees...that IS Celsius people (North American eye rolls permitted).
Well, at the completion of the night I must say, I enjoyed myself. Perhaps I was just happy to hear a familiar accent, or perhaps it was the joy of having someone over, and discussing life matters with another human being. Regardless, I had a good time and if ever he is in town, he is welcome to visit us again - anytime. As for the bleary eyed rummage in the dark for the phone, well that is another matter entirely!