lessons learned at my father's side

It’s Friday the 13th. To some people, the superstitious kind, it’s a bad day.

What if I told you that I do not, ever, walk under a ladder? You could assume that it’s some quaint superstition. But if you asked me, I would tell you: I’m safety-minded. It was my job for nearly a decade. I don’t walk under ladders because I know something could fall on me (at the very least, the ladder could).

My dad was superstitious, so was my mom but to a lesser degree. Some of the superstitions he believed in just plain made me giggle. I’d tease him about it and he didn’t mind.



Dad had a thing about black cats (he also wouldn’t walk under a ladder and it WAS because of superstition). Now, it seems harmless enough, right? Yeah. Except one day, when Mom and Dad came home to what had been their first apartment. An event occurred that would become part of family lore.

Mom was pregnant (with me). So pregnant that she probably would have blocked a parking spot by the curb if she stood on the edge of it facing the street.

What do they find as they’re about to pull into the parking area of the apartment complex?

A black cat.
Sitting on a white car (this apparently makes it worse).
In dad’s way.
Staring at him.

Yeah… guess what happened next? My father stopped the car and just sat there. Dad couldn’t back up and park elsewhere. There was no place to turn (Montreal streets can be really narrow when there are cars parked on either side) and if he went forward, he would have to cross the cat’s eye line or something and risk the cat getting up and crossing his path (oh the horror). He turned to my mother and told her either he would leave the car right there where it was (and risk a ticket), or she would have to drive it in herself.
There was no negotiating.

Mom, couldn’t believe it. She tried to “talk some sense into him”… but nope. He stood firm. And then he got out of the car.

So, with all the grace that only the very pregnant woman can muster, Mom got herself out of the passenger side, waddled around the car over to the driver’s side and fiddled with the steering wheel to try and get enough clearance so that she might be able to wedge herself in there and drive the car in.

Mom almost got stuck. She was not happy. I can’t tell you how many times my mother recited this story, always rolling her eyes… and shooting looks at dad who just sat and crossed his arms. Mom almost injured herself in the groin when she tried to get out from behind the steering wheel sideways.
Everyone that heard this story chided my dad a little for putting the superstition first. Fortunately, it didn’t end badly.


One day, when I was older and wiser (well, as wise as a 6 year old can be)… I looked up at my dad and the following conversation took place:

“Um, Daddy?” said I, sitting on the floor and looking at the Saturday Comics section of the Montreal Gazette.
“Yes, Ann?”, he was reading the paper in his armchair.
“You know that story about the black cat and the car that Mom always tells?” (By the time I was six, I knew this story by heart.)
Dad sighed.
“Yes”, he answered, not looking up from behind the paper.
“It’s because black cats are bad luck, right?”
“Right”, Dad was a really patient man. He would always let me ask as many questions as I felt compelled to and he’d always answer me as best he could.
“Mom says that’s a silly stuperstition. Are stuperstitions real?”
“I believe so.” he answered, without correcting my pronunciation of the word as I was also known to say “pasghetti”. I think he figured I’d work it out in time.
“But Daddy, if they’re real, why did you let Mommy drive the car? Did she end up with bad luck?”
Apparently my mother had never brought this point up.
Dad lowered his paper, smiled at me and after a moment, the answer came to him and he said, “I let your mother make up her own mind. She’s old enough.”

Best answer he ever gave me.

It was a teaching moment. I had challenged him, not out of spite because as far as I was concerned, my Daddy hung the moon and there was nothing he couldn't do. I just needed to figure things out for myself and Daddy let me.

I still think the superstition is silly. But every time I see a black cat, I think of my dad... and I smile.

Teasing Daddy

Dancing in heaven

I want to thank you all for the kind words of encouragement and support you have given me.

Daddy is finally reunited with his beloved Jacqueline and this makes me smile through the many tears I have shed and have yet to shed. He died peacefully in his sleep early this morning.



I know his hand will guide mine when I plant flowers in his garden this year. The roses I'll buy for him on Father's Day.

I love you, Daddy.

I know you're dancing with Mom to your song now...

Frank Sinatra - Strangers in the night

I love you more than mah luggage...

I know I should say something about today. About Mom. About this anniversary, losing her to cancer two years ago.

I've written and re-written this post many times.

All I can think of is a scene from Steel Magnolias... It's not the same situation, this is not a mother losing a daughter, but something Sally Field says stays in my mind.

There is poetry and grace in that as my mother was there when I made my way into the world, I was there when she left it. It was one of my life's greatest gifts.

Life goes on...

Showing you... precious time

Today is day 4 in Robert's "Show me" Photography Challenge. He asked us to share something of sentimental value and asked if we would tell everyone a little bit about what makes it so special.

And I knew...

For those of you who didn't know me then, I feel like a bit of backstory is necessary.

My mother died of cancer on January 14th, 2007. She fought so hard. I watched her body wither but I could still see a mischievous twinkle in her eyes until the last days. Endless days that still seemed to have gone by so fast. Never knowing how much time was left. Hoping her pain would be taken from her, but knowing it would also mean she would be taken away from me. I still miss her, some days it's paralyzing.

Mom lived a full life. She loved without reservation, sometimes it felt like too much.... But part of that comes from being an only child.

Mom and Dad would have celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary this past August 31st. So much time, a lifetime.. yet, not quite enough...


I've kept many of her things, but this is one of my favourites and most treasured. Some day, it will be my daughter's...

I posted this poem in September 2006 and so much time has flown by since then...

My Mother's Watch

I wear my mother's watch.

"It's slow" she said, showing me the watch on her wrist.
"I'll get it fixed Mom" I answered.
I took the watch off her thin and fragile arm and put it on mine.

My mother's watch... so beautiful and delicate. White gold and diamonds... fragile yet made of strong metal. Precious stones, hard yet beautiful. The wristband feels so tight...

I wear my mother's watch.

I wish time would slow down. I wish it could stop.
But as I put her watch against my ear, I hear the ticking, regular and even.

When I wear her watch, it keeps time.
I wear my mother's watch.
I wait and count the minutes... the hours...
I wait.
I wear my mother's watch..

Robert, thank you again for the opportunity to share this memory with you.

And to you, dear reader, don't forget to visit Robert and all the other wonderful participants in the "Show Me" challenge... and thank you for taking the time to read, look and listen.

Ruby Tuesday - carrying on the little things...

I've decided that I like photograph themed blog thingies!

On Tuesdays, The Teach hosts a fun photo concept... you can post any picture of your own, as long as it has some red to it. So here goes... my foray into the fabulous world of Ruby Tuesday!



When I was little, in the first years of grade school, I went through a period of time where I'd go home for lunch by bus. I would sit cross-legged at the coffee table in the living room (it's still pretty much in the same spot today) and Mom would bring me a hot bowl of soup and a sammich (usually a grilled-cheese sammich - YUM!). I'd enjoy my feast while watching cartoons - like The Flintstones!... Life was good!

As I got older, I ate lunch at school more and more. Mom had started working again and I liked the packed lunch thing. It was cool... I nver knew what surprise would be in there.

One thing about Mom was, there was often, (but not always because then it wouldn't be "special" anymore) a little note from her written on my napkin (Mom made sure I never had an excuse to wipe my face or hands on my clothing - wise woman).

I remembered that this morning as I packed Chicklet's lunch for Summer Day Camp.

So...



You know, there's nothing like sticking red wax that smells like cheese on your nose to make you feel like a kid again.

While I'm remembering stuff...

I've always loved this song... takes me back. Reminds me that I have a lovely Valpolicella waiting for me. YUM!

"There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want." (Calvin and Hobbes)

I’m trying to figure out what the summer will be like for Chicklet this year. As a single mom, it’s a challenge keeping her busy, supervised and safe.

Before entering kindergarten, she’d spend her weekdays in daycare. When she started school, we found some activities for her, and Mom covered the rest. Chicklet spent a good deal of time with my mother and she used to love running errands with her (which almost always included visiting the dollar store at the mall).

Finding ways to keep kids busy wasn’t a problem when I was a kid. I’d run out the door in the morning to go play and I’d come home for lunch… which usually consisted of a bowl of soup and a sandwich while sitting in front of the TV watching The Flintstones.

After lunch, I’d run back out and play until it was time for dinner. Afterwards, I’d go back out again and the signal to come home was when the street lights came on…

We lived outside hunting butterflies, making believe we were princesses, playing in the park and competing to see who could swing the highest and jump off the swing and land the furthest…

Now, I’m looking into sleep-away camps and day camps…

I had a great time going to sleep-away camp… shooting arrows… canoeing… swimming… poison ivy… wait, no… that was Joe Spivy. The camp I went to as a kid is still running… hmmmmm

'Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.'
--Erma Bombeck