Somewhere over the rainbow ...

I have watched it countless times ... I have a collection of memorabilia, books, and collectibles about it ... I have multiple copies of it on VHS, dvd, and blu-ray ... I know it almost by heart ... and I LOVE this movie.

But until last night, I had never seen it way it was produced to see - ON THE BIG SCREEN!!

Thanks to a special "Classic Movie" screening in Owen Sound I can finally say I've seen The Wizard of Oz on the big screen the way it meant to be seen.

It may not be a glitzy or glamorous as the latest CGI driven offerings from Hollywood, but this simple story of a journey through a strange and wondrous land full of memorable characters, and timeless scenes is and remains one of my favourite films, and I thoroughly enjoyed seeing it on the Big Screen for the first time.

... Just had to share this ...

Nothing Runs Like a Deere ... especially down memory lane!!!

When Scott died in February 2011, one of the first things I did was brought the John Deere 110 (vintage 1960) into the security of the shop out at the bush ... while to many it is just an old tractor, to me it is a strong connection to my past ... one that goes back to the first weeks that mom and dad and their newborn son called their new house on Devon St home.

Dad bought the John Deere in 1961, and for the next seven years used it regularly and almost incessantly.

I remember hearing from neighbours ALL over the neighbourhood how Dad would spend HOURS out with the tractor blowing driveways in the winter time, and mowing lawns in the summer.

He took the neighbourhood kids for rides in the dumpster trailer, and one glorious afternoon our long time neighbour and friend Laverne Baumbach had tears rolling down his cheeks from laughter as he recounted the night he and Dad and an assortment of neighbourhood men used the 110 and the trailer for a rather inebriated journey meandering from house to house ... while Dad drove the tractor, the men passed a bottle or three around the trailer while each took a turn being the one running alongside the trailer making sure the tire (which was lacking a simple cotter pin) didn't fall off.

As Laverne described it, one of them would run alongside, or stagger ... banging on the tire to make sure it stayed on the axle while the others roared with laughter and enjoyed the silliness of the adventure.

Today, there is one survivor of that night, and a few months ago at Laverne's service he and I talked about it and with a sly grin he said "I can neither confirm or deny those details ..." he then added with the same grin, "but it WOULD be fun to take a spin in the old 110 for old time sake sometime!!" It's a request I'll try to honour in the coming weeks!!

For now though the old 110 has taken up residency in my garage alongside its newer, sleaker and much more comfortable cousin ... but there is something special about the 110.

It was Dad's. He loved that tractor, and for 50 years it has been part of our family. A few years back Scott had it cleaned and repainted (not exactly John Deere Green, but close enough) and new decals were applied, then for several years it sat in a lean-to under a tarp. Today, thanks to a local mechanic and John Deere enthusiast, the 110 again runs like a Deere.

I had it out for a quick spin around the yard and up and down the sidewalk tonight ... and I can only say - It felt GREAT!!! The last time I drove it was almost 30 years ago when I used it to mow the lawn at mom's.

Like riding a bicycle, you never forget!!!

But for me, the best and the strongest memory is associated with the photo below ... sometime in the spring or early summer of 1968, mom pulled out her instamatic camera and snapped a picture of her boys. I am sitting on Dad's knee and a smiling Scott stands beside Dad who is sitting on the 110.

For the last 25 years this picture has been one of the four pictures I had of dad, that I cherished ... in 2005 when the arson fire ripped through Minnedosa United Church I feared I would lose that picture, which was sitting in my office ... today, every time I look at the 110, I think of that sunny afternoon and how much love Dad had for his family ... the 110 might just be an old tractor, but it carries far more memories that the dumpster trailer could ever manage to carry. And every time it starts and I pull it out of the garage I'll think of those wonderful memories and carry them with me, smiling and laughing at the continuation of a story began one day at a John Deere dealer when Dad was handed the keys for the first time!!

tickety, tick, tickety, tick, tickety, tick ...braak ... DING!!!

In the age of smart phones, lap tops and tablets, this old beast is positively ancient ... yet, in its day, this old Remington Travel-Rite was as modern and cutting edge as the latest offering from Apple, or any other gadget manufacturer. I can't say for certain how old it is, but I do know it has typed many a page in its long and storied life ...

This antique began its life when it was purchased by my dad who had absolutely atrocious handwriting (a trait his son and grandson have inherited!!!). Dad used it for just about everything. The tiny little circular piece of paper on the dial of the rotary phone in the kitchen still has the emergency numbers carefully typed out on this beast ... on the door of the broom closet was the paper list of contact phone numbers for family friend - it was also carefully typed ... all through the house were neatly typed slips of paper that ranged from love notes to my mom, through to formal letters to various companies and agencies. Then in time, the typewriter fell into my hands and I used it through my high school days and into university until it was replaced by a Smith Corona electric typewriter/word processor that I've mused about previously. (An interesting aside is that I purchased my Smith Corona at the same time CandyGirlFlies from "I Can Fly Just Not Up" bought her's - I still have mine!!!)

As for the Remington, I hefted it in and out of my car regularly taking it to and from Hamilton for papers and assignments at McMaster, before retiring it to the corner of my bedroom sometime in the early 1990's ... it sat in that corner until this winter when I finally brought it home and put it downstairs ... it may not be valuable but it has many good memories associated with it.

One of the stories that is connected to this old Remington also made an appearance in a newspaper story when a presiding judge asked the investigating officer for the notes he made the night of the incident in the patrol car.

Constable Sam Ankenmann produced a sheaf of neatly typewritten pages and handed them to the judge.

The judge again asked for the notes that the officer had made the night of the incident.

Dad, no doubt with a grin on his face, answered the judge by saying that those WERE the notes he made the night of the incident while on scene in the patrol car.

The judge wanted to know how, and dad explained that he carried a portable typewriter with him and made his notes on it in the car. According to the article in the paper, the judge then called for a recess in the proceedings and directed Dad to produce the typewriter and prove the seemingly spurious claim of typing while on scene.

I can, if I close my eyes picture Dad walking out to the patrol car and hefting the Remington into the Court and with a twinkle in his eye begin to type for the judge ... the article (which I found in Mom's stuff and dutifully tucked away to keep it safe, but can't find right now) notes that the judge was both shocked and impressed by Dad's use of the typewriter.

I may never type another page on the old Remington, but like the other handful of touchstone items I have from Dad, it will be a cherished heirloom BECAUSE of the close and wonderful connection that it has with Dad. Then again, maybe what I need to do is take the old Remington out to the Bush and let the locale and the typewriter motivate my reflections and my thoughts and perhaps that elusive story I've been toying with will finally come into being ... one just never knows!

 I realized yesterday talking with Beetle about the typewriter, that it likely was in the car with him the night of his accident, though it shows little evidence of any damage - and I will likely never know for certain - I only know that on the green Bakelite keys, Dad typed all manner of documents, letters, and notes - most of which are lost, but all of which were part of his life and legacy ... the few that remain, like the typewriter are fragments of a life lived with love, laughter and a wonderful joie de vie!!

It may not be fancy, but this little typewriter was my Dad's and I think of him every time I see it !!!

The nostalgia of sounds and smells ...

He ALWAYS had the best matchbox and hot wheels cars tucked away in his dresser. They sat in the middle drawer, on the right hand side in a (now) ancient Hot Wheels carrying case, and in the original cardboard sleeves ... and I was ALWAYS desperate to play with them.

It was an ongoing battle for most of my childhood: I would sneak in and 'borrow' the tiny toy cars and he would take them back then smack me around for my misdemeanours ... I was never thwarted for long though. I would be back trying again and again and again ...

As I got older I would sneak into Scott's room and carefully and quietly open the drawer to pull out the cars I wanted and one ear was always listening for a car door, or the rattle of the front door lest I get caught pilfering his drawer ...

Today, the dresser sits in my bed room at the foot of the bed, far from its original home, and even though the sounds of the handles being lifted and let go, and the pull of the drawers still makes me listen for a car door, or the front door (it's instinctive now!!!), I know (sadly) that I no longer have a big brother to fear finding me taking his stuff ... but there is a strange comfort in the familiar sounds the handles make when you open the drawer, and the woody smell that still permeates the dresser ... and even though the cars are tucked away in the basement, I still open the middle drawer on the right side expecting to see the familiar orange carrying case (I've thought about putting it back just because ...).

As I use the dresser, I think of Scott and all the memories - good, bad and in between - that are part of the journey we had together ... I think about him and how much I miss him ... I think about him and how much he influenced me whether he realized it or not ...

This week has been a series of nostalgic moments ... making strawberry pie for Beetle, tidying up afghans and quilts and tucking them in the old cedar chest, moving and sorting a few boxes, and just surveying the assortment of stuff that has come home from Mom's ... over and over the sounds and the scents have triggered deep memories of childhood, growing up in Stratford, hanging out at home, and just being part of the family circle that was Mom, Scott and I ... they have been good memories that brought a smile to my face, and a tear or two to my eyes ... but memories that brought comfort and a reminder that even though they are are gone, they are still very much part of my heart and soul ...

It is funny how powerful a memory can be when triggered by a sound or a scent ... I feel it everytime I open the middle drawer on the dresser ... I wait to hear his voice from the kitchen: "What the hell are you doing in my dresser??" ... and even though it would mean a beating, I would love to hear it one more time just for old time's sake!!!!

The simple joys of gardening ...

I've reflected on gardening around here a few times ... it is and has been one of the stress relieving hobbies I whole-heartily embrace each year, though last year was a bit of a loss with all the stresses that were too much a part of the unfolding of my life ...

This year though, I have been able to be a little more focused and A LOT more intentional in getting my gardens in and established and tended.

The picture above is the tiny veggie patch. It started last year with the inground portion that was dedicated to a few spindly tomato plants, some potatoes, and a few other assorted veggies ... I don't remember it producing much in the way of edible produce - the squash plant that self seeded itself in the compost bin out back was much more successful!!

This year as I prepared the veggie patch, I decided to use the old steps I had removed from the back porch last year, and I banged together a small raised bed to plant alongside the existing veggie patch. My ultimate goal is to keep expanding the veggie, perennial and flower patches in my front yard so that instead of boring and relatively useless grass, I will have a proper English Cottage Garden that requires minimal tending, and produces a wide array of bloom, berries, fruits, vegetables and herbs ... I've started, and I'll keep plugging away at it year by year, season by season ...

For now though, I enjoy having to go out a couple of times a day to water the various plots and patches, and to watch the growth of the new spouts pushing up through the ground past the weeds (did I mention I am terrible at weeding??), and creating a lush covering of new growth. It is simultaneously relaxing and rewarding.

This morning as I watered the veggie patch and noted the growth, even from yesterday I found myself plucking radish greens (and even a tiny plump radish root!!!) and tender chard and nibbling as the water sprinkled over the plants and soil ... I took some time and ACTUALLY weeded between the rows, taking note of the beet, carrot, and spinach that was beginning to sprout.

Then I spent a lazy and leisurely afternoon in the shade of my back deck reading the book "Trauma Farm" by Canadian writer Brian Bett, about his hobby farm on BC's Salt Spring Island. As I read Bett's words I found myself thinking about my humble little garden and how I could expand it to include some of the lovely heritage breeds of veggies and fruit that are being lost to our Industrial Monoculture ... then I thought about how lovely it was growing up in a neighbourhood with fruit trees and gardens to raid, and with access to vast farm gardens tended by my extended family ... There simply is NOTHING comparable to fresh produce picked and eaten while standing in the middle of a garden!!

I thought about our neighbour Mr Baumbach and his spindly pear tree that we used to raid while waiting for the bus ... the hard green pears were good - but the ripe yellow ones were better!!! I remember the year the last kid took a bus from the stop at the end of Mr Baumbach's drive way, he commented on how many pears that tree had produced, and he wondered what he was doing differently after so many years of getting only one or two pears ...

I laughed, and he did too, as I put the finger of blame firmly on the kids who had for the last decade or so used his driveway as our bus stop ... "We changed," I said, "and so YOU get ALL the pears this year instead of us stealing them!!"

Such are the memories of gardens and orchards and producing fruit and veggies in your own backyard ... I cherish the mental picture of Noahkila in our backyard in Bella Coola stuffing his pudgy toddler cheeks with fresh cherries from the Queen Anne Tree that stood outside the dining room window (he ONE enjoyed fruit) and I will forever smile as I picture Ms H. and Beetle stripping their Grandma Beach's raspberry bushes of the thick ripe berries.

That is WHY we garden, and enjoying the bounty of the harvest surreptitiously makes the whole process much more enjoyable ... I look forward to continuing with my seasonal nibbles, and in the coming weeks, months and years, I look forward to continuing to expand my gardens so the palate of flavours, colours, scents and experiences can continue to grow!!

Not a day goes by ...

Not a day goes by that doesn't have me wondering what kind of a man my father would have been had he not perished in an On Duty accident while serving with the Ontario Provincial Police 44 years ago this morning.

Dad would be 84 this fall ... and I have no doubt he would have been a thoroughly involved and entertaining and supportive grandfather to his grand kids. And I wonder if there would have been more than just my three ... I have always wondered if Scott's life would have taken a very different trajectory than it did, and I'd like to think he would have married, had children and been the wonderful father, and friend that lingered deep within his warm and caring heart ... Scottie would have in time made a rockin' Grandfather too!!

Not a day goes by that doesn't have me wondering what life would have been like had that horrible accident never happened ... I have no doubt many things would have turned out very differently.

Alas, one can not undo the past, and one could easily become caught up in the swirl of the 'woulda, shoulda, coulda's' that leave you living too much in the frets of the past, and not enough in the potential of the present.

Forty Four years ago today, my father OPP Constable #3000 Samuel E. Ankenmann died in an accident just outside of Stratford at the 'Little Lakes curves' while on duty with the OPP.

Forty Four years ago today, we lost a big piece of our family, and I don't think we ever really recovered.

Forty Four years ago today, our life as a family changed, and from what I have learned in the last year and a half since Mom's death, she went through hell just to ensure that Scott and I had some level of support following Dad's death. She had to fight hard for every penny the various levels of Government, the assorted agencies and ultimately the OPP gave us. And at the end of the day it was truly pennies that they gave us.

Our support was limited and meagre. The burden of raising her boys fell entirely on mom's shoulders. There was no golden pension, no support for our post-secondary schooling, and beyond the annual visit from the detachment commander, the invitation to the annual memorial service and a lovely plaque that now sits in my dining room, there was little else offered to mom in the way of support.

The most insulting letter I read in the last year was the letter from the Ontario Government that acknowledges the forwarding of a cheque for a little over $2200 to mom a year after Dad's death. The letter ends with the emphatic statement that the powers that be had determined the enclosed amount was all we were entitled to.

Dad's life was determined to be worth 20 weeks of his salary and not a penny more.

Today I wonder what life might have been like for Scott and I and for Mom, if we were given the kind of support offered to the families of fallen officers who die in the line of duty today.

Today I wonder how differently our lives might have been if Mom had been given support and assistance instead of being forgotten and shuffled aside after Dad's death ... personally, I believe my father's life was worth more than a meagre $2200 ... but 44 years ago today, that's the price they placed on his sacrifice.

Today I wonder ... and I weep for what might have been ...

My DAD, remains a hero in life not death!!

If only ...

I did a bit of redecorating in the living room today ... I hauled the oil lamps that Mom and Dad long ago coverted into electric lights up from the basement. The lamp graced Mom's living room for years ... the dangling glass ornaments were endlessly fascinating to me when I was a kid, and I remember carefully removing them from the lamp and playing with them on the floor ... I don't remember what my inevitable punishment was, I only remember Mom coming into the living room and gasping "OH MY GOD!!!"

My best guess, based on experience was that I got a spanking ... that was pretty much status quo ... and I got quite a few over the years!

Today though as I unpacked the delicate glass lamps and set them out in the living room, I was awash in memories ... more of Mom's house has moved and been incorporated into our house, and with the bits and pieces and furniture comes a host of memories and recollections ... but what I realized today is how much has been lost along the way.

One of the lamps has a loose bulb in the base, and for the life of me, I can't figure out how to get in there to tighten or replace the bulb. I poked around for awhile trying to reveal the secret ... I was even tempted to say "Open Sesame!" But instead I offered the prayer - "Isabell, it would have been helpful for your to show us the secret ..."

Alas, over and over I find myself trying to remember snippets of the many stories associated with furniture, collectibles and other items that have come out of Mom's house. The brown wooden rocking chair belonged to SOMEONE in our extended family tree, but no one can recall which of our long ago ancestors once sat in the ancient chair ... it came from Chesley, but the rest of the story was in Mom's memory and may be gone for ever ... fortunately, along the way some snippets have been preserved and have revealed other bits and pieces of my history.

My one regret is that I didn't listen a little better when Mom was running through her litany of memories and stories. I had heard some of the stories SO MANY TIMES, that I stopped listening and just wanted Mom to get to the end so we could talk about something else, or I could go and do ANYTHING else. Today, I really would love to sit at the kitchen table and ask her about the rocking chair, the lamps, the photos, or any number of other items I've gathered and moved and pondered ... Like the many boxes and bins that crowd my basement and porches, Mom's stories crowded her memory and overwhelmed the rest of us ...

I guess the task ahead is for us to reclaim the tatters of Mom's old memories and use them to inform the memories and the stories that will be part of our future as a family ... the objects and furniture will be the touchstones that Noahkila, Ms H, and Beetle use to remember Grandma Izzy, Uncle Scott, the stories of Grandpa Sam, Terrific Grandma and the other members of the family who helped create the clan we are now proudly part of ... today, two beautiful antique lamps remind us that life is to be lived forward, but the touchstones remind us of where we've come from.

Happy Birthday Mom

Happy Birthday Mom ... today she would be turning ___.

(Does anyone seriously think I could or would publically acknowledge how old Izzy would be?? ... Not likely. It was something she never talked about, and I'm not about to change it now !!!)

It's been 14 months since her earthly journey came to an end, and we still miss her.

I know wherever Mom is now, she's with Dad and Scott and the circle of love remains strong.

So, Happy "29th" Birthday Mom !!

(and I won't even say how many times she celebrated her '29th' Birthday !!!)

If I knew THEN, what I know NOW !!!

I remember the first time I watched the movie Monsters Inc ... I howled with laughter at the character of Roz, who rain the Scare Floor.

Roz was the SPITTING image of my memories of our grade 7 homeroom teacher in Stratford. Right down to the glasses and the voice, it was Mrs. E!!!

Mrs E. was an interesting teacher. She was tough as nails, but she cared about her students. She might have been 5 foot 2 on a good day, but ALL of us where scared of her. She could and would stare you down in a heart beat, but could also embrace you with laughter when you weren't straying to the darkside of her temperament.

What I remember most about Mrs E, aside from her periodic tobacco induced coughing fits that necessitated the opening of the huge sash windows in our old school classroom, was her dedication to teaching me better penmanship.

She tried for almost two years to teach me better penmanship ... she failed !!!

In exasperation she FINALLY gave up 3/4s of the way through my grade 8 year.

Her exact words were, "You're hopeless. You're writing is terrible ..."

In the ensuing conversation I said that I wouldn't need to have good penmanship because "one day we would be doing ALL of our writing and work on small portable computer devices that we carry with us."

Her reply - standing in the hall of the school not far from the office - was a shrieked, "You're f----ng, crazy if you believe that!!"

She then tossed the workbook I'd been struggling with at me and stormed away.

To put this in context, I graduated from High School in 1986 ... I graduated from University in 1990 ... I bought my first PC in 1992 ... Mrs E and I had our confrontation almost ten years earlier ... the era of personal computers hadn't even begun when I made the grandiose claim!

Oh, if I only knew then what I know now !!!

The day I started working on my first lap top (by my and Noahkila's count the other night, I'm on my sixth lap top since 1998 or so), I thought of Mrs E, and wondered if she remembered the exchange we had.

I think of Mrs E. every single time I use my iphone or ipad. The Steve Jobs inspired technology is what I dreamt of that day in the hallway of Juliet School ... if only I had known where things would develop.

Today I thought of Mrs E. after reading a post by my long time friend, fellow blogger, and newly minted teacher, who was reflecting on her experiences in Stratford. Our teachers have an impact on us both good and bad, and sometimes it takes decades to realize how profound that impact may have been !!!

(to read candygirlflies' posting click here)

Reflection on the year that has been ...

It was a year ago that Scott called first thing in the morning and said "Mom's coming home ..." I headed off to Stratford and with the help of our Aunt and cousins, Scott and I got home and settled back where she wanted to be ... we got her bed made, laundry taken care of and her meds readied ... She wasn't happy, but she was home ...

Less than two weeks later Scott would again phone first thing in the morning to tell me Mom was gone ... she had slipped away in her sleep that morning ...

Three weeks after that I made a late night drive after being called by one of his friends who said, "We haven't heard from Scottie since Monday ... and the snow at the house isn't shovelled ... something's wrong ..."

Wrong indeed.

In a little over a month I moved from the wonder of having a Christmas at home in Ontario for the first in over 20 years, to the profound sadness of standing in the funeral chapel twice in three weeks to say good bye to my Mother and my only sibling ... in days my family dwindled ...

Looking back, I still struggle to put into words the wash of feelings that continue to ebb and flow through my being ... some days are relatively easy to move through and are punctuated with joy and laughter ... other days drag on with the burdens of memory and sadness ... overarching all of it is a sense of relief that the physical suffering both Mom and Scott endured in recent years has come to an end, and whatever lies beyond this life is a place free of sadness, sorrow and the things that burdened them.

Words can not describe how much I miss them ... I still want to pick up the phone and call Mom to tell her what the kids have been up to, or to ask her a question about something ... and as I clear through the things from the house I wish I could ask her about the history of this item or that one ... and then there are the pictures, the cards, the new paper clippings and the countless other mementoes Mom put aside for a reason ... WHAT REASON??? Many of them are a mystery to me ... and in that moment I want to ask her ...

It's been a hard year ... but it's been a rewarding year in that through my cleaning and sorting of Mom and Scott's stuff, I've learned a lot about both of them and the challenges they faced in their lives ... I've learned how much Mom and Dad loved each other (the notes and cards exchanged by them in their marriage are legion) ... I've learned how hard it was for Mom to get ANYTHING from the OPP and the various levels of Government following Dad's death on duty ... and I've learned how incredibly difficult Scott's battle for adequate compensation was following his truck accident in the early 90's ... admittedly, he didn't help himself at times, but having read through the documentation of his physical injuries I can't help but wonder if he sustained for more injuries to his person than just the aches and pains of his bones and joints ... given the dent I remember seeing in the ROOF of the truck after the accident I think it's a given that he took a debilitating WHACK on the head too ...

As I read through the bits and pieces of their lives, I'm thankful that they were and will continue to be part of my life, I'm thankful that my kids got to know them both better in the six months after our move to Ontario, and I am very thankful that they are no longer burdened by the many hassles and aggravations that were so much a part of the last couple of decades of their lives.

I miss them ... but I take solace that they are at peace ...

This Christmas I approached the season with some hesitation and reluctance ... I knew that it would be a tough time emotionally, but I was looking forward to gathering with my extended family for a good reason. Our Boxing Day gathering, along with the traditional phone calls from those family members in the diaspora, brought a soothing balm to my soul ... I may have lost Mom and Scott, and then in the subsequent weeks Mr Baumbach Indigo and my friend and Mentor Rev. Don ... but I still have a strong circle of family and friends who have blessed me with strength and care through the last few months ...

Looking back, it's been a tough year, but a good year ...

Scottie

Scott Edwin Ankenmann
November 20th 1961
to
February 3rd 2011
A brother,
an uncle,
a nephew,
a cousin,
a friend,
a pain in the ass (sometimes),
and
one helluva guy.
Love him or hate him,
you never forgot him.

Rest in Peace Scott,
and Happy Birthday wherever you are!!

Miss you bro !!!

The 50th that should have been ...

Happy Birthday Big Brother ... today you would be turning 50, and my plan was to take you out for dinner, a few drinks, and just a helluva good time.

But life is what happens when we're busy making other plans.

As it turned out, you never made it to the big 5-0, and we'll never get to crack that 1947 bottle of Crown Royal to toast Mom and Dad and Mr Baumbach and Uncle Drake, and ALL the beloved people who helped make us into the men we are and were ... one day I'll crack that bottle and raise it in a toast to you and to all you meant to me as my big brother.

To say that I miss you would be an understatement.

There is not a day that goes by that I don't think of you and your damned grin.

And when a tear pools in the corner of my eye I hear you ... I hear your voice saying "Oh my gawd ... 'pfffft' ... just give your head a shake." Then you laugh ...

I miss your laugh.
I miss your teasing.
I miss you ...

So, with a heavy heart I wish you a Happy Birthday any way. You may not be here to enjoy it, but I will remember you.

Peace.

It hit like a wave ...

Today I spent some time at Mom's sifting and sorting ... I went through accumulated piles of newspaper clippings, cards, notes, photographs and other assorted items that have been tucked away over the last 40 years ... it was a process I have done a dozen times since Mom and Scott died ... some days it goes well, and other days it crashes in on me and I have to retreat ...

Today went well ... I even had an unexpected visit from a high school friend ... with laughter tinged with a few tears we got caught up and marveled at how quickly two and a half decades had passes, and how easy it is to resume our friendship where it left off ... as she left, I returned to the task smiling at the strange twists and turns life frequently takes.

I kept sorting and sifting, then decided that the errands I had decided to do while in Stratford should be done while I still had the 'oomph' to face people ... When I got back I couldn't bring myself to do any more work ... I can almost point to the precise moment when the wave crashed over me and robbed me of the ability to muddle my way through ...

I was left staggering around like a wet survivor of a tropical storm, a tsunami or a hurricane ... I felt overwhelmed and alone ... I didn't know where to turn, or what to do next ... I felt lost ... SO, I sat in a chair in the living room and listened ...

I listened to the hum of the house that for 43 plus years has been home ...

I listened to the whisper of memories that has for almost 50 years been my family story and our history ...

I listened to the echo of laughter and tears that have marked every step of our journey ...

I listened to the voices of mom and Scott that I dearly miss, but that I hear within every time I close my eyes ...

I listened to the hum of conversation around the kitchen table that often lulled me to sleep while mom visited quietly with family and friends in the evening ...

I listened to the voices of extended family and the many friends who filled the now quiet walls of our house with laughter, conversation, and a myriad of memories that give me the courage I need to face what lies ahead ...

I sat and a second wave washed over me ... this one was comfortable and familiar and helped me shake the chill of the first wave ... as it ebbed away I had a vision of what I need to do to get Mom's house cleaned out, and our home packed up and moved ... there are things that need to come home, things that need to go to other family and friends, things that need to go out to the Bush, and there are things that need to be passed on to others through sales, auctions and donations ... as I sat I knew it was possible despite the feelings of being overwhelmed I get when I move from room to room in the house that is empty of people but far from empty of stuff ... the stuff has intimidate and scared me ... some days I feel there is too much, and I would be better off to lock the door and just leave it for some day in the distant future ...

But today, I know for the first time that it is not only possible, it is necessary to my healing ...

I will always carry a void in my life left by Mom and Scott, and the others I've loved and lost ... but with each step forward, this scar brings strength and helps me continue on my journey ...

Anyone Else Remember the DeniMachine Give Away?

The process of going through Scotty's stuff continues ... today I unearthed a box that was jammed with a wide variety of items tucked in amongst the other stuff was a pile of advertisements for the Coca-Cola, Levi's, Ford DenimMachine!!! (He even has a full page newspaper ad saved !!)

I remember one of the DeniMachines visiting the Stratford Fall Fair (or it might have been the Western Fair in London) - the interior was done in Blue Denim (aka: Levi's) and it was a thing of beauty.

I was only nine or so when it was being promoted, and Scott would have been 15 turning 16 that fall - so he was smack in the demographic Coke was aiming for. I'm sure he would have given up his first car (a 69 Javelin) had he won one of these beauties. I'd love to know how many entries he filled out that summer and sent it in.

Today though, as I stood in Mom's kitchen looking at the DeniMachine promotion materials I remembered Scott finding a DemiMachine in an AutoTrader once a few years ago and he mused about buying it and restoring it ... today I was reminded once again that a simple piece of paper can bring so many memories ...

Boxes of memories ...

Every time I open a draw in his room, or clean up something from the shelves, closet or floor, I can clearly hear Scott's voice: "what the hell do you think you're doing?" rattling me AND the assorted items spread across his bed, his dresser and the various other surfaces ... I can't enter his room without a guttural connection to the years of fearing him finding me poking around through is treasures.

There were the absolutely beautiful Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars in his dresser, the cool stuffies in the closet, and the other odds and ends that he had tucked away here and there ... as a kid I spent many a terror filled hour poking around and exploring in my Big Brother's room, all the while KNOWING that if I was caught a beating would be the inevitable outcome.

It's funny ... even today, I still feel a shudder of fear as I enter his room and sort through things ... I know he's passed from this mortal coil, but the lesson was drummed into me well ... "LEAVE MY STUFF ALONE !!!" along with an accompanying beating, some curse words and a few other acts of brotherly 'love' taught me well !!

Yet, here I am, having to sift through the assorted odds and ends that Scott has left as a legacy ... yesterday I tackled his closet.

I sorted through his clothes, tossing the old worn out tee-shirts, bagging up the usable ones that hold no interest for me, and folding those that I can either use, or just want to keep because they speak to my soul ... along the way I found bits of paper tucked into his pockets, a few stale pieces of gum, and the odd item that left me shaking my head ... I've come to realize that my brother was in many ways an enigma ...

On the exterior there was a rough and crusty curmudgeon who prided himself for being a real S.O.B. when necessary, but inside was a soft, warm and very sensitive heart that broke easily, and that he protected fiercely ... Scott was unbelievably sentimental. I got a hint of that early in the cleaning up at Mom's when I said that I wanted Mom's binder cook book full of her hand written recipes.

"No way," he replied with a look of disbelief at my request, "I want it ..."

"For what?" I asked.

"To keep and use," he said with a sad grin on his face, "I plan on cooking more and want to use Mom's recipes ..."

I couldn't argue, nor did I feel inclined. "Okay," I said, "but I want to borrow it sometime to copy it ..."

We agreed, and I watched him carry the funky yellow and orange binder into his room, where a few short days later I retrieved it and gently carried it home ...

Scott was a sentimental old fool ... pictures, cards, notes, and mementos of trips and happenings fill the space in his room. Over and over, I have had the pleasure of sorting through his accumulated piles and laughing at the strange selection of things that he had saved ... I've wept at the pictures of family, friends, vehicles and pets that he has lovingly tucked away in a safe place ... and I've shaken my head in bewilderment at how incredibly tender a soul he possessed.

Finding the box of his childhood stuffies carefully tucked in the back of his closet alongside Dad's guitar, and a variety of other "childish" things stopped me short yesterday as I cleaned and sorted ... as I opened the box I was flooded with a tsunami of memories that took me back to my childhood ... as each stuffie emerged from the box I remembered borrowing them, Scott retrieving them, and the ensuing fights as I questioned his rigid YOU CAN`T PLAY WITH THEM attitude over his toys ...

Scott was not so much a hoarder as a curator over a dizzying collection of artifacts and treasures that had meaning to him ... he preserved carefully things that reminded him of past events and helped him garner the strength he needed to face the challenges before him. One could easily dismiss his room as cluttered and full of junk, but slowly, like any good archaeological dig, peeling back the layers reveals a beautiful, loving, artistic and creative soul, that cherished life, yearned for love, and with a cock-eyed grin and a snarky: "give your head a shake" approached life on his terms, protecting the curly headed boy that lingered deep within ...

In the last six months, as I've sorted through my brother's things I've learned more and more about him, and with each day I've come to miss him more and more, and appreciate him even more ... Scott was an amazing person ...

I wish I could have learned that simple truth before we said 'good bye' ...

I love you bro ... and I'll take good care of your stuff!!!

Lessons from Uncovered Treasures ...

It's not valuable. Just a card with two old one dollar bills tucked inside. And to be honest, I don't remember even giving it to Mom. But for some reason Mom tucked it into one of her dresser drawers and there is sat for 30 years or more until I discovered it yesterday as I was cleaning out more stuff ...

When Mom died and Scott and I began the initial cleaning we KNEW it would be a long and exhausting process. Mom was a pack rat and saved everything. The inventory of saved treasures includes bulletins from confirmations and baptisms of our cousins, invitations to weddings, showers and other family events, stacks and stacks of photos, thank you notes, news paper clippings, and a countless other bits and pieces of our lives and the lives of our circle of friends and family.

Along the way the task was complicated by Scott's unexpected and untimely passing ... but as I've carefully sifted through the assorted detritus in Mom's house I've laughed, smiled, wept, and shaken my head in bemusement ... I've learned quite a lot about my brother, my mother, my father, and my family ... I've read heart breaking notes and letters sent to mom after Dad died, leaving her to raise 'her boys' alone, and I've learned just how hard her struggle was to pick up the pieces following his death in uniform.

Over and over, I marvel at how uncaring, insensitive and unbelievably thoughtless the various social agencies were in response to her requests for help after Dad's death - a death that was 'celebrated' at the time and since as a "sacrifice for the people of Ontario." His death was a sacrifice, but the burden borne by my family was un-necessarily heavy because no one in places of power and influence saw the need to help a family who had suffered an unimaginable loss ... fortunately, the lesson was eventually learned and families like that of Constable Styles in York Region will NEVER experience what Mom went through ... but reading the many, many, many letters she received in the years after Dad's death makes me appreciate how far they've come ... I wish Mom could have benefitted a little more along the way.

And more sadly perhaps, is the repeat that Scott experienced following his accident in the early 1990's. No one who knew Scott before and after the accident can honestly say it didn't profoundly and negatively effect him ... his physical body was wrecked ... his spirit was broken ... and his emotions were ravished ... reading the many submissions he made seeking help and assistance, and the steadfast refusal of almost everyone to accept his plaintive claims is heart breaking. I know my brother carried a lot of anger - some of it came from losing Dad so young - some of it came from the limitations the accident brought to him - and some of it came from the incredible pain he carried day in and day out ... reading his accounts of what the accident did to him is hard ... far harder than I realized, because my big brother held far more pain inside himself then he EVER let on.

And yet, over and over he was told that he was faking his injuries and pain, he was told it was 'all in his head', and he was told that his claims were without substance ... for well over a decade, he fought for someone to honour his claim and give him help so he could have some quality of life ...

Today, looking back over everything I've been through in the last 7 months, and reflecting on what I've learned about my family from sorting and reading through the many letters, notes and documents that have been tucked away and preserved by both Mom and Scott, I can honestly breath a sigh of relief that the burdens they both carried for so long have been taken from them ... but with my relief comes more than just a twinge of sorrow at what they had to endure, and how much they had to fight just to have ANYONE recognize the hurt and pain they carried.

Today, I have a deeper respect for my Mom and my brother Scott for all they endured, but more importantly, I can in faith, breath a sigh of relief that today they are in a place where that burden is well and truly GONE ... For over 42 years, Mom shouldered a burden of grief that should never have been her's to bear alone ... and along the way, she protected and cherished her beloved "boys", and I am a better person for her presence and love in my life, my one regret is that she never had the chance to enjoy freedom from that burden in this life ...

Thanks Mom ... I love you more and more every day !!
I miss you, and I will never forget you, AND I am proud to remain "your boy"!!

Trying ...

I've wanted to blog ... I've been trying to blog ... but over the last couple of months I've honestly struggled with what I could offer here ...

I don't want this blog to become an introspective and maudlin place full of sad postings about how I'm feeling and how much I miss my Mom and my brother, and grieve thier passing ... and so, I often forego coming here and posting anything ... I'm still grieving and still struggling, and that shouldn't surprise anyone. Afterall, I've often counselled families in grieve with the teaching drawn from our Jewish brothers and sisters, that it takes a year to feel somewhat normal.

In the many resources I've read over the last two decades on death and grief, I've read over and over how the Jewish customs of mourning last for over a year, with requirements to honour and respect the breadth of feelings that accompany the mourner. I get it in a real way today ...

Overall, I'm doing okay ... most days I can do what needs to be done, and face the world ... but some days I feel more like crawling into bed and letting the world pass me by.

There is seldom a day that goes by wherein I don't think of Mom, Scott, Mr Baumbach, Indigo, and how much I miss each of them ... it's been a hard year thus far ... but I also trust AND BELIEVE that it will get better. Such is the promise of the Resurrection!

Frequently I find myself lapsing into silence ... preferring to just stand present in the moment and let both the past and the future go ... instead of experiencing the acuteness of missing my family, I find myself surrounded by thoughts and memories of the journeys we've shared, and the happenings that marked our lives together, and in spite of my sorrow I can smile and remember ...

As one of my favourite funeral readings reminds us: memory is a powerful thing ... those we remember are never really gone, their presence is still felt among us ...

Most of my days lately are taken up trying to keep up with work, life, and family ... and scattered throughout the day are memories and their powerful recollection of lost loved ones who are gone, but not really forgotten ...

As Forrest Gump would say (for the moment) "that's all I have to say about that!"

Dayenu!

Reminders ...

Today I was clearing away stuff from my desk when I found a note sent a couple of years ago from Indigo Sweetwater ... it brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye ... it was a reminder of wonderful friend, and the profound and lasting impact she has had on the world, her family and the broad circle of folks privileged to call her FRIEND.

Haven't been blogging lately ...

It has been a long winter and spring ... losing mom, then my brother, and having to deal with all that their deaths have entailed have left me exhausted ... trying to keep working while balancing my grief journey, supporting my kids and trying to just keep up has left me a couple of miles past exhausted ...

I've only just begun reading again after a six plus month hiatus ...

I wish I could offer some profound bit of wisdom, but right now I find myself moving through the day taking each step as it comes, and facing whatever the day might bring ... I'm tired ... I know it's not much of an excuse, but it's the main reason I haven't been blogging ... I've been thinking about life, the universe and everything, but when I finally get time to sit down at a keyboard, I end up playing a couple of facebook games, checking my emails, seeing what's new in the world, then I'm done ...

I want to blog ... but ...

In time it will come ... I've been reading the latest Reginald Bibby, the latest by Tim Huff, and some other material on the current state of the church ... I've been thinking about how to better utilize online resources for the work and ministry of the Church ... but mostly, I've been moving through my days one step at a time.

This past weekend we gathered in Lingelbach Cemetery to lay to rest Mom and Scott beside Dad ... Scott was cremated and his urn was placed in Mom's arms and together they were placed beside Dad ... it was a hard day emotionally, but it was a good way to say our good byes. The gathering of friends and family out at the Bush helped to celebrate the lives of both Mom and Scott in a wonderful and relaxed way ... I could picture Scott standing on the balcony of the shop, a bottle of Crystal in hand, smiling as everyone shared stories ... and Mom was sitting by the front door of the shop in the lawn chair she long ago claimed as "mine", claiming one last time the role of elder statesman for the Elliot clan, as they gathered with almost everyone there for the first time in 20 years ... if the First People of Bella Coola are to be believed (and there is no reason to doubt them), in the warm shadows ALL around lurked the spirits of my Grandparents, my uncles, and my, cousins who have gone ahead of us to the Spirit World.

As Uma once told me over tea - "they are only as far away as the next breath and as close as the wind on our cheeks."

They might be gone ... but they are not forgotten ...

Found Treasures ...

One of the hardest things I've had to do lately is the process of sorting and cleaning at mom's ... with almost fifty years of accumulated mementos, treasures and trash ... it is a long process that had barely began when Scott died suddenly, and that has been complicated by his passing ... Every time I step in the door, I not only have to wrestle with the memories and legacy of Mom, I now feel Scott's presence too, and have to deal with things that for 40 years were off limits ...

Every time I pick up something in Scott's room, I hear his voice in my ear: "what the hell are you doing?" ... then I feel a wave of guilt that I'm touching my big brothers stuff, and sooner or later I'm gonna get pounded for it ... old patterns die hard, and for the first twenty years of my life the cat and mouse game of touching, borrowing and retrieving one another's possessions usually resulted in me getting a 'brotherly beatin' ... one Scott would maintain I deserved.

The last few visits to Mom's has been harder because my sorting is now reaching back into my childhood and Scott's ... I'm find the toys and mementos from our childhood ... a drawer of matchbox and hot wheels cars that I dared to 'borrow' now sits forlorn with Scott's absence ... the stuffed animals that were once filled with life through our play recalls Scott, Mom and their creator Grandma Ankenmann ... the drawings and cards we gave one another recall a simpler time when life glowed with love and seemingly limitless potential ... over and over I find myself revisiting a time and place before the stormy perils of adulthood broke over us and battered us and our lives ... a simpler time when Mom's word was law (backed up by the wooden spoon on top of the fridge) and Scott was my big brother who and would readily pound me for infractions perceived and sometimes real, and yet filled me with respect and awe ...

Over and over I find myself recalling the many moments that helped forge me into the man I am today ... some good ... some not so good ... but all of them cherished recollections that are part of my heritage and history and my present reality ...

Today I had to pause when I discovered tucked in the back of a closet my baby shoes, my first little red slippers, and a card from the Ladies Group at the now defunct Lingelbach United Church (or as it was called then Lingelbach EUB Church) celebrating my safe arrival, along with a Centennial Dollar Bill ... over and over I find myself smiling with tears in my eyes at the many treasures I keep uncovering in my personal archeological dig ... mom's house is full of memories and mementos ... and each time I make the drive and spend a few hours exploring them, I reconnect with my past and reacquaint myself with my family story ... and as hard as it is, it is good!

mom would insist that we should just get along ...