Chicken Bones and her Biggest Sister

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A prairie January nighttime drive was not what Chicken Bones wanted to be a part of. She was squashed in the back seat of the icy car. The plastic frost shields on the passenger windows were cracked and useless. She could see nothing. It was after supper, so it was pitch black out anyway. She pouted and whined because she had to go all the way to Teulon to watch her biggest sister, Thora give a speech in an oratorical contest. (Chicken Bones thought it should be called an ora-Thora-cal contest.) It felt like a drive to eternity, but Chicken Bones and her family finally made it to the school gym where the contest was being held. (The trip took forty-five minutes.) Chicken Bones squirmed on the slippery metal chair while Thora gave a talk about something very grown up. Chicken Bones didn’t really understand what Thora was talking about but she was impressed with Thora’s brave voice and stylish sling-back shoes. She tried to listen and behave herself. And in the end, Thora won the oratorical contest. (She almost always won everything.) Chicken Bones was excited about Thora’s trophy because it was shiny and gold with a heavy marble base and it looked very important. Chicken Bones wondered if she would ever get up on a stage and give a speech and win a trophy like her biggest sister. Chicken Bones was in awe of Thora.


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A hot dry Saskatchewan evening offered Chicken Bones a little forbidden excitement. She was visiting her cousins at their cabin. There were six cousins, but Chicken Bones just played with the youngest two, Charles and Bobby. The older cousins had better things to do. The older cousins had a teen dance to go to at the recreation hall. They took Thora to the dance because she was a new girl and many of the boys thought she was pretty cute. (Chicken Bones thought she was beautiful.) After the teenagers left for the dance, Charles and Bobby told Chicken Bones that they could all sneak out and watch the dance through a crack in the door. Little kids were not allowed at the dance, so away they snuck. Bobby, Charles and Chicken Bones giggled and pushed and stubbed their toes as they ran through the dark on the dusty gravel road. They saw the lights from the hall and could hear music. The closer they got, the sillier they acted. When Chicken Bones finally got to peer through the crack, she saw Thora dancing in a different kind of way. As “Louis Louis” and “Hanky Panky” and “Red Rubber Ball” blasted from the speakers, Thora held her arms straight out from her sides, tilted her head a little, shuffled her feet, and shrugged her shoulders up and down to the beat. (Chicken Bones was mesmerized.) All the cousins and their friends danced with Thora. As Chicken Bones nervously scurried home with Bobby and Charles, she felt proud to have such a popular and coordinated sister. She wondered if she could ever be admired the way that Thora was.



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Chicken Bones was much much younger than Thora. So when Chicken Bones was drawing stick people on the chalkboard in the basement, Thora was already learning to sew in Home. Ec. classes. She made a perfect black and white checked gingham apron for herself. There was a tiny bit of fabric left so she created a little gingham fish for Chicken Bones. It was stuffed with bits of old sponge and had two black buttons for eyes. Chicken Bones liked it a lot and usually slept with it at night. This was important because Chicken Bones was often scared at night and had nightmares about lions under the stairs and dead soldiers under the bed. (A little cuddly toy usually helped Chicken Bones feel better.) One night, Chicken Bones was VERY SCARED. She was crying a lot. Her dad came into her room and told her that the little fish was a magic fish and that it would always keep her safe. Chicken Bones was so happy to hear this news. From then on, she clutched her magic fish in her hand and she was always safe. Chicken Bones didn’t know how Thora sewed a magic fish, but it worked. Chicken Bones hoped that she could create magic like Thora one day. Chicken Bones was very grateful to have Thora as her biggest sister.


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Chicken Bones and Thora grew up. Chicken Bones became a college instructor and she was happy that she had learned how to stand up in front of people and talk and not be nervous. She learned this from Thora. (But she never got a trophy.) Thora became a landscape architect and she makes magic still, with plants and flowers and trees. (Sometimes they help protect people with shelter and shade.) For several years, Chicken Bones took many kinds of dancing lessons such as ballet and jazz and contemporary and highland but she never quite displayed Thora’s coordination (or popularity).

Chicken Bones loved Thora anyways.

She loves her to this day.


August 2010

(Happy Birthday today, Thora!)




©Conni Cartlidge, 2010

Moms of Sons: A Love Letter

We were moms of sons. They were little boys who had stolen our hearts. As we struggled with divorce, custody, child support, remarriage and blended families, they laughed and loved us, and we, them. In July 1989, they played on the monkey bars – your little guy in his miniature tuxedo and mine in white pants and sandals and candy striped shirt. (What was I thinking?) They had no cares, for we fought to protect them. We did not want them to suffer from adult hurts and worries.

We were moms of sons. They were boys growing, still tied up in our heart strings. Skating on the creek, tobogganing, bonfires, jamming, strange hairstyles (why did I continue to give him mullets?), neon clothes, big brother status. They began to understand life outside of their small worlds. We held them close, while hesitantly letting them explore on their own.

We were moms of sons. They were young men securely embedded in our spirits. They created their own friendships, relationships, work experiences and fun. They remembered each other, but followed different paths. They experienced their own loves and heartbreaks. We tried to help them through the rough times (you & your son and a pot of tea; my boy & I having lunch together at a vegan restaurant of his choice), but we could no longer protect them from the roller coaster ride of adulthood.

His death shocked my son and me. We talked on the phone for a long time. We remembered fun times together. I told him how much I loved him. (Do you think our sons can ever really comprehend that?) I thought about my own battles with addiction (so cunning and baffling) and depression. I cried and cried. And I thought about the crushing sadness you must be experiencing. My heart goes out to you. I don’t know what else I can say.

We are moms of sons. No matter where our boys are, they live within us.

Love,
Conni

September 2008






©Conni Cartlidge, 2008

Fascination with Sad

When I was little I wanted to read the sad parts. Matthew’s death in Anne of Green Gables, Charlotte’s demise in Charlotte’s Web and the “final flight” of the young heroine in The Birds’ Christmas Carol all held me spellbound. I would read them over and over again till I felt a little sick, and then let go to the tears. I would have a real good bawl. Then I would put the books away till I needed them again. I was fascinated with sad.

I guess you could say that my childhood was pretty much carefree and fun. I did well in school. I had lots of friends at my birthday parties. My mom made delicious brownie cake. My dad took us on amazing vacations every summer. My sisters passed down their clothes to me (and these of course were the height of style and coolness because they had worn them). I had a comfortable house to live in with a variety of pets and toys. Yeah, pretty much the classic middle-class life.

So why was I sneaking down to the basement to read the saddest chapters I could find? ‘Cause I needed some of the sad and bad. I needed to cry. I wanted the heartache and frustration and fury. I still do. I don’t want to be Little Miss Sunshine or Pollyanna ‘cause that would blind me to the negative. And then I wouldn’t try to change or grow or advocate or support or care. If I live in a bubble, I will burst. If I read the sad stuff, I will stop and be still. I will cry. I will think. I will be provoked. I will try to make a difference. And I will have tears that are sad and happy because I have learned something.

I wish for you, too just a little bit of sadness mixed with sensitivity and love.

December 2007

“When it gets dark enough, you can see the stars.”
Charles A Beard






©Conni Cartlidge, 2007