I learned a new word last week: prorogue. Made me think of professional, proactive, pros & cons, rogue elephants, mischievous rogues…but what it turned out to mean was the ending of a legislative assembly. The current prorogation (yes, another new word for me!) was different because the Governor General had to step in and call it. The parliamentary boys behaving badly were sent for a time out, a cool down, a chance to think about what they had done. Sounded like a good idea to me. So I prorogued myself. I stopped and took some time to think about what I did this past year. And this is what I remembered:
* Quietly savouring the cold January day that marked my 20th birthday in AA, and gratefully acknowledging the strong women and patient husband who have stood by me all these years.
* Joe leading Mary and I on a springtime hike through the bush and witnessing dozens of baby turtles swimming and bobbing and playing in the deep waters of a deserted gravel pit. The sight was worth every wood tick we later picked off of ourselves.
* Singing along to Amy Winehouse, too loudly and enthusiastically, on the summer road trip out east, and then suffering the humiliation of said singing being posted on Facebook. Thank you dear daughter.
* Bonding with my daughter-in-(common) law, Morgan, as she painstakingly, and only a little painfully, tattoos a maple seed on to my right wrist. A small symbol of my children – sometimes messy, but able to thrive and grow no matter where they fly or land.
* Listening to my sons jam together; Ari on banjo and Joe on guitar, and vice versa.
* Waking up at 2:00 am in a Toronto hotel room to the sounds of quiet sobbing as Brent, Joe and I feel the emptiness of Mary’s absence. Subsequently, the tears have turned to laughter as we watch her stand up routines at YukYuk’s, via youtube.
* Working with Brent to prepare our home for monthly house concerts with some Folk Festival favourites. The scrounged ping pong table stage is a great addition to the performance. Even our friends at the back of the room can enjoy the show!
* Sharing the heartbreaking grief of a young man’s death and trying to find the words to console his mother – the most difficult letter I have ever written for the saddest experience she has ever known.
* Riding my bike alongside my Dad on his 80th birthday during the Terry Fox run.
* Making rollepolser with Mom and remembering Grandma Pedersen as we work together. Was it an accident that Mom poked me with the sewing needle when we wondered aloud if we were making it according to Grandma’s standards?
* Anticipating full rooms in a partially empty nest during the holidays!
So my prorogation has been a success. I have taken time to think. My experiences have had nothing to do with economics or political parties. They are about a strong coalition of family and friends. To the politicians, I say, “Be thankful you have been prorogued. Think carefully about your actions. Try to solve your problems in new ways. Play nice. We’re counting on you.”
(Originally written in December 2008)
©Conni Cartlidge, 2008
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Clothes: A Story About Mom
The clothes that we wore, the way we were dressed, the outfits we put together, have always been reflections of you.One of my earliest memories of you is something you wore – the brown quilted skirt. What I remember best about it is using it for dress-up clothes in our pretend play, but I always knew it was yours and it was special and quite unique. Over the years, you tried many different styles…long hair, short hair (always red!), cat’s eye glasses, ‘cat-in-the-hat’ hats, cowboy boots and shirts, pedal pushers, jeans, pant suits, swim suits, polyester gowns, tennis shorts, tennis skirts, tennis shoes, running shoes, cameos, copper jewelry, and Hudson’s Bay & Linda Lundstrom jackets. We watched you change over the years, yet there was always a basic, consistent style that was you. You accepted the way you looked with little or no make-up, hair dyes, flashy jewels, high heels or gaudy colours. You were a great role model for us. You cared about how you looked but in a down to earth, comfortable sort of way.
When we were little, you were careful with the way we looked, too. Matching outfits purchased for Thora and Nancy would be gently cared for so that they could eventually become matching outfits for Nancy and me, and finally I would grow into the original Thora dress and wear it solo. How did you ever get those little cherry dresses and plaid sailor dresses to last so long? You performed the same miracle with our tights, carefully darning the toes until they could be darned no more. At that point, the feet of the tights would be removed, the legs hemmed, an elastic stitched on to hook under our arches, and
coordinating knee socks slipped over to keep our otherwise bare toes warm. You had already discovered the layered look!
On the first day of school, we always had a new ensemble for the obligatory photograph. New dresses and jumpers were often purchased during our summer travels, while new shoes were found at Edward’s on Manitoba Avenue. The lives of these outfits were also prolonged with careful use: dresses, jumpers and blouses were worn for two days in a row, with clean underwear daily! All items were set out by you the night before. What a great feeling it was to go to bed every night knowing that you had carefully prepared every detail for us.
We were always told (by you) that you could not sew and we accepted that because… you could knit the most amazing sweaters, hats, scarves and Barbie clothes in the world! There was always a warm siwash to wrap up in or a spectacular Mary Maxim sweater to keep out the cold. You knit for us throughout our lives and now you create for our children, too. We all appreciated the Aussie sweaters you made for us down under. How DID you knit in that sweltering heat??
While you tried out different looks over the years, you also tolerated our experiments in fashion! Pixie cuts, platform shoes, stretchies, mini midi & maxi skirts, hot pants, polyester, crushed velvet, bubble blouses, India cotton shirts, hippie plaid shirts with ripped & faded jeans, jean skirts, perms, afros, shags, blue mascara, black mascara, green mascara, green nail polish, halter tops, Joe Cocker shirts, smock tops, fake fur, real fur, pierced ears, clogs and earth shoes. You endured all of these, letting us express ourselves as we chose. Your example makes it easier for me to watch my own son dye his hair black or wear a necktie with a t-shirt!
Amazingly, I think we all ended up having pretty good taste in clothes! Shopping trips to Tergesen’s sure help! There have always been many ways that you showed us how much you loved us. Clothes may seem superficial, but the time you took with ours was filled with acceptance and care; a reflection of your love for us.
Thanks Mom.
(This was originally written about ten years ago and is being posted now to honour my Mom on her 80th birthday on October 19, 2010.)
©Conni Cartlidge, 2000
Monday, September 13, 2010
Invasion of the (healthy) Body Snatchers: How the Government and the School System Tried to Control My Family
He came home with a thick, orange information package. I cringed as I began the daunting task of deciphering its instructions. The provincial government and the local school division had teamed up to enforce a healthy lifestyle on my son. It was full of "musts" and "must nots" and narrow definitions of health. Daily activity was to be approved, monitored, measured and recorded, and include cardio workouts that were at least twenty minutes (otherwise it doesn't count) and increased his heart rate but were not part of paid work but were enjoyable. Huh? Risk management strategies had to be studied, point by point. (Did you know that walking has thirty-one risk factors?)
I stopped cringing and I started writing to his teacher....
Dear Ms. G.,
I have received and reviewed the Phys. Ed. 30/40 Out of Class Information Package that my son brought home last week. I have discussed the requirements with him and have told him that this year I choose to not lie. I will not sign forms that include inaccurate or exaggerated activities. Instead, I will present a number of activities that he participates in that promote physical fitness, discovery of individual interests and an enduring active lifestyle as proposed by the Healthy Kids, Healthy Futures Task Force Report.
My son's activities include:
Daily walks with our dog
These walks may be brisk twenty minute hikes or leisurely ninety minute strolls down backroads, through the bush, across creeks, wherever he & the dog feel like going. These walks promote his physical development as well as his affective development as he takes the time to care for our pet and enjoy nature. He is aware of the risks ie. poison ivy, bears, etc. and takes appropriate precautions using his common sense.
Regular bike rides
These rides occur 1 - 2 times per week, usually down backroads or around the gravel pits. They may also occur in town where he enjoys the company of friends or his grandparents. Physical and affective development are enhanced and risk factors are recognized.
Skating, shoveling, snow sculpting and tobogganing
These winter activities happen on a regular basis in our yard and on our creek. My son skates with family and friends and helps to keep the creek clear for this activity. He also works with his Dad to build a toboggan slide in the yard. As well, he helps to keep the driveways clear for our cars and for the school bus. Physical, affective and cognitive development are promoted, especially as he helps with problem-solving....how can we make the slide higher? longer? faster? The risks are what make this exciting!
Yard work as needed
Cutting grass and raking leaves are completed at home, for free and at two privates homes in town, where the residents are no longer able to do it for themselves. He is paid for this additional work, but he also enjoys it. He gets a physical workout and he feels happy about helping.
Volunteer work
Volunteering weekly at the local food bank involves loading and unloading the food bank truck. The shift is generally 3 - 5 hours. It is hard physical labour. But it is the affective development that is truly strengthened as my son learns about helping in the community. Risk factors? Without any help, others may go hungry.
Part time job
Working at the local general store every Saturday and Sunday for 7 - 8 hours (per day) involves physical skills such as hauling propane tanks, stocking shelves, cleaning floors, etc. Cognitive skills include money transactions, sorting mail, filling out licensing applications, etc. Affective skills include friendly customer service, responsibility, honesty, trust. It is paid work. I don’t quite understand how that negates its value in my son's healthy lifestyle.
Organized sports
These are not promoted in our home as we value cooperation over competition, and artistic creativity over physical prowess. In spite of this, my son has always enjoyed soccer, and continues to play tennis on an occasional basis with his grandfather or his friends. The biggest risk is that his grandfather might still win the game!
I hope this letter serves as proof that we are encouraging our child's healthy development in all areas. If you would like to discuss my concerns, I would be happy to meet with you or members of the Phys. Ed. department.
I feel it is very important to model honesty and integrity as I try to raise my son to be a good person.
Sincerely yours,
Conni C.
(I am happy to report, my letter was accepted and my son's "alternate" activities were approved. Whew!)
©Conni Cartlidge, 2010
I stopped cringing and I started writing to his teacher....
Dear Ms. G.,
I have received and reviewed the Phys. Ed. 30/40 Out of Class Information Package that my son brought home last week. I have discussed the requirements with him and have told him that this year I choose to not lie. I will not sign forms that include inaccurate or exaggerated activities. Instead, I will present a number of activities that he participates in that promote physical fitness, discovery of individual interests and an enduring active lifestyle as proposed by the Healthy Kids, Healthy Futures Task Force Report.
My son's activities include:
Daily walks with our dog
These walks may be brisk twenty minute hikes or leisurely ninety minute strolls down backroads, through the bush, across creeks, wherever he & the dog feel like going. These walks promote his physical development as well as his affective development as he takes the time to care for our pet and enjoy nature. He is aware of the risks ie. poison ivy, bears, etc. and takes appropriate precautions using his common sense.
Regular bike rides
These rides occur 1 - 2 times per week, usually down backroads or around the gravel pits. They may also occur in town where he enjoys the company of friends or his grandparents. Physical and affective development are enhanced and risk factors are recognized.
Skating, shoveling, snow sculpting and tobogganing
These winter activities happen on a regular basis in our yard and on our creek. My son skates with family and friends and helps to keep the creek clear for this activity. He also works with his Dad to build a toboggan slide in the yard. As well, he helps to keep the driveways clear for our cars and for the school bus. Physical, affective and cognitive development are promoted, especially as he helps with problem-solving....how can we make the slide higher? longer? faster? The risks are what make this exciting!
Yard work as needed
Cutting grass and raking leaves are completed at home, for free and at two privates homes in town, where the residents are no longer able to do it for themselves. He is paid for this additional work, but he also enjoys it. He gets a physical workout and he feels happy about helping.
Volunteer work
Volunteering weekly at the local food bank involves loading and unloading the food bank truck. The shift is generally 3 - 5 hours. It is hard physical labour. But it is the affective development that is truly strengthened as my son learns about helping in the community. Risk factors? Without any help, others may go hungry.
Part time job
Working at the local general store every Saturday and Sunday for 7 - 8 hours (per day) involves physical skills such as hauling propane tanks, stocking shelves, cleaning floors, etc. Cognitive skills include money transactions, sorting mail, filling out licensing applications, etc. Affective skills include friendly customer service, responsibility, honesty, trust. It is paid work. I don’t quite understand how that negates its value in my son's healthy lifestyle.
Organized sports
These are not promoted in our home as we value cooperation over competition, and artistic creativity over physical prowess. In spite of this, my son has always enjoyed soccer, and continues to play tennis on an occasional basis with his grandfather or his friends. The biggest risk is that his grandfather might still win the game!
I hope this letter serves as proof that we are encouraging our child's healthy development in all areas. If you would like to discuss my concerns, I would be happy to meet with you or members of the Phys. Ed. department.
I feel it is very important to model honesty and integrity as I try to raise my son to be a good person.
Sincerely yours,
Conni C.
(I am happy to report, my letter was accepted and my son's "alternate" activities were approved. Whew!)
©Conni Cartlidge, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Being Brave
(Originally presented to a group of students as they graduated from high school.)
I was a Teacher Assistant in your Grade Four class and your Grade Five class. I was thrilled to have this job because it was close to home, it meant working with ten and eleven year old kids (one of my favourite age groups) and especially, I got to work with Kurtis, the son of my old school-age friend, Maureen. I never expected that I would learn how to be brave during those years, but that is what you taught me! Here is how it happened….
When I was three years old, I walked off the end of a dock in Petersfield. As I felt myself sinking into the depths of Netley Creek, I hoped that someone at the family gathering had noticed my predicament. Luckily, my Dad dove in and scooped me out and I was okay… except for the fact that I then had to wear my sister’s underwear at the party while my clothes dried out! So I was not only scared, but humiliated too! Thus began my great dislike of water.
As a seven year old, I tried to take swimming lessons at Selkirk Park, but the bottom was muddy and disgusting and I cried and whined throughout the first level of classes and I never went back. So now water was gross to me, as well as scary and embarrassing.
As a scrawny little ten year old, I would watch my teenage sisters splash & dive in all kinds of lakes and rivers on family camping trips, while I timidly shivered at the water’s edge. I was just so puny that my skin would turn to goose bumps at the thought of jumping into that deep, yucky and very cold water. I had definitely decided that swimming was not for me!
So imagine my dismay when I discovered that I would be going to swimming lessons with all of you several times a week for several weeks! My dream job had suddenly become a nightmare!... But I had to do my job and I had to be there for Kurtis. And so we began our lessons.
As I ventured out on to the pool deck that first day, Kurtis found me very quickly and stood very close and I realized that he was scared, too. As we gingerly waded into the shallow end, Kurtis jumped up and wrapped his arms and legs around me so tight I could hardly breathe and I knew that he was terrified in this gigantic pool, and that I could not be. I had to be my strong father and my knowledgable swimming teachers and my confident sisters all in one. I looked at all the rest of you laughing and diving and floating and not drowning and I had to learn by your example. And my dad and my teachers and my siblings and you helped me to be brave for Kurtis and for me. So with the help of milk jugs and flutter boards, we learned how to swim. Though we never left the shallow end, Kurtis and I learned how to have fun in the water, especially when we could join in on relay races and games with all of you. And I no longer felt embarrassed or scared. I felt strong and brave.
Most of you have probably long forgotten your elementary school swimming lessons, but it was a turning point for me. Helen Keller said,"We could never learn to be brave…if there were only joy in the world." I learned to be brave through this scary swimming experience and I learned it from you. As you graduate from high school, remember that you taught me how to be brave.
Be brave in your choices. Be brave in your lives. Congratulations to all of you.
©Conni Cartlidge, 2010
I was a Teacher Assistant in your Grade Four class and your Grade Five class. I was thrilled to have this job because it was close to home, it meant working with ten and eleven year old kids (one of my favourite age groups) and especially, I got to work with Kurtis, the son of my old school-age friend, Maureen. I never expected that I would learn how to be brave during those years, but that is what you taught me! Here is how it happened….
When I was three years old, I walked off the end of a dock in Petersfield. As I felt myself sinking into the depths of Netley Creek, I hoped that someone at the family gathering had noticed my predicament. Luckily, my Dad dove in and scooped me out and I was okay… except for the fact that I then had to wear my sister’s underwear at the party while my clothes dried out! So I was not only scared, but humiliated too! Thus began my great dislike of water.
As a seven year old, I tried to take swimming lessons at Selkirk Park, but the bottom was muddy and disgusting and I cried and whined throughout the first level of classes and I never went back. So now water was gross to me, as well as scary and embarrassing.
As a scrawny little ten year old, I would watch my teenage sisters splash & dive in all kinds of lakes and rivers on family camping trips, while I timidly shivered at the water’s edge. I was just so puny that my skin would turn to goose bumps at the thought of jumping into that deep, yucky and very cold water. I had definitely decided that swimming was not for me!
So imagine my dismay when I discovered that I would be going to swimming lessons with all of you several times a week for several weeks! My dream job had suddenly become a nightmare!... But I had to do my job and I had to be there for Kurtis. And so we began our lessons.
As I ventured out on to the pool deck that first day, Kurtis found me very quickly and stood very close and I realized that he was scared, too. As we gingerly waded into the shallow end, Kurtis jumped up and wrapped his arms and legs around me so tight I could hardly breathe and I knew that he was terrified in this gigantic pool, and that I could not be. I had to be my strong father and my knowledgable swimming teachers and my confident sisters all in one. I looked at all the rest of you laughing and diving and floating and not drowning and I had to learn by your example. And my dad and my teachers and my siblings and you helped me to be brave for Kurtis and for me. So with the help of milk jugs and flutter boards, we learned how to swim. Though we never left the shallow end, Kurtis and I learned how to have fun in the water, especially when we could join in on relay races and games with all of you. And I no longer felt embarrassed or scared. I felt strong and brave.
Most of you have probably long forgotten your elementary school swimming lessons, but it was a turning point for me. Helen Keller said,"We could never learn to be brave…if there were only joy in the world." I learned to be brave through this scary swimming experience and I learned it from you. As you graduate from high school, remember that you taught me how to be brave.
Be brave in your choices. Be brave in your lives. Congratulations to all of you.
©Conni Cartlidge, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Chicken Bones and her Biggest Sister
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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
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.
2
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.
3
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.
4
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
Friday, August 6, 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
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
Monday, August 2, 2010
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
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
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