Another Day, Another Anniversary

10 years ago today, I met the fella that I would eventually marry. It was my first shift at a new job and as I walked down the hallway to the office, I saw him squatting at the end as if to say ‘Here I am.’ His hair was draped over his eyes like a curtain and when he looked up at me, the curtain falling away, I began to stammer stuff about how I hated wearing boots because they made my feet itch. The first sparks of romance.

Throughout that first shift, I was backstage and he was in the lighting booth, we bantered and flirted (shamelessly on my part) over the head set. Already well practiced in the art of the sarcastic comeback, I recall firing back some statements that made first him and then our supervisor take off the headsets. Our supervisor, in the booth with J, turned to him and said “What a BITCH. She’ll fit in here just fine.”

At that time, I was a smoker and when the first break occurred, J and I went outside to indulge our habits. The wee lass who was also on the shift and was also flirting with J, not shamelessly, more pitifully, wasn’t a smoker. Too bad, so sad. Anyway, J and I began to talk and it turned out that one of my close friends used to date his sister. I saw J’s face close down as the mental calculations were being made. “That would make you…27?” he asked. “yup, how old are you?” “23.” I could feel the disappointment crashing around him. The funny thing was that I had very recently turned down the advances of a guy who too was 23 citing that I was not prepared to play the role of Mrs. Robinson. One may surmise that the BITCH moniker is well earned. I do have my moments.

After the shift, J asked me if I’d like a ride home. Once in his car, he asked where I lived. I exclaimed that he should take me out for beer instead. That said, with the sultry tones of the Violent Femmes blaring through the speakers, we took off. The car, according to J, was ‘shared’ between his mother and himself. We drove around from bank machine to bank machine. Finally, we stopped at a pub where J asked me to wait at the door as he had to talk to some folks. He went up to a booth and, during the ensuing conversation, complete with some heads popping up and turning to look at me and a few thumbs up, one of the fellas handed J a $20. J returned to me saying that the pitcher would be on him.

We talked. And talked. When the pitcher was finished, we went to my apartment and talked some more. At that time, my apartment was filled with my brother’s things. He had taken a trip around the world and I was left ‘babysitting’ his bookshelves, lined with bound classics and medical texts and a fantastic stereo system. I had Boddington’s Ale in the fridge and vodka in the freezer. Upon closer inspection, one would notice that I didn’t have much else in there but the odd condiment, but, to J, that meant that I spent most of my time eating out. He thought I was wealthy and he had met up with a potential ‘sugar mama.’ This illusion would last one evening at least.

That first night we talked until close to dawn. I remember asking J a question that made him cry. I remember singing songs and reading poetry by candle light. I remember feeling that he suited the stuff in the apartment that was mine. I remember wondering where, if anywhere, this would lead. That first night, we didn’t kiss. We hugged at one point which felt most strange by its not feeling strange at all. J went home and asked if we could meet up the next night after his shift. He would call me at 7pm.

The next night, at 7pm, J called. We went out. Two weeks later, he moved in. Two and a half years after that we got married. Our twins were born two years after that.

It’s hard to believe that we have known each other for 10 years. There have been great times and horrible times and all manner of times in between. Such is Life. Today could go either way. Like most days. J still hides behind curtains. I’m still a BITCH. Somehow, we muddle through.

Catching Up. Visually

Here is A. He was told to wait patiently while his daddy and I talked afterwhich his daddy would take him to Home Depot. After a bit of grown-up talking, we looked up and saw A sitting like this. Quiet. Sincere. Just waiting. Nearly broke my heart.

These are the wee ones on their first day of senior kindergarten. No, the flower isn't coming out of his head. It was our attempt at growing giant sunflowers. Turns out that they don't grow all that large without a lot of sun. And water. Who'd a thunk it?





This is the first day of Ukrainian Dance class.

This is my Girl!

Jungle Gym

Daddy's Girl

Here's S with her hat which came all the way from Nepal on the shoulders of a crazed woman.

Halloween. The moon and a star.

Dude

She Loves the Snow Too!


Today We are 5!

So this has been my life for the past few months. My real life. Whenever I start to wonder where the creativity is going in the world, and whether or not their is hope for the future, I am heartened by these two folk who honour me daily by sharing their secrets, showing me their treasures, telling me stories, making me pieces of art and, most of all, by allowing me to be their mom.

Where the Log Roller Learned to Step Lightly

Recently finished Richard's 'The Friends of Meager Fortune.' At times, cheeky and self referential. Also, a poignant description of a lost way of life. The Shanty Boys. The original Teamsters. Lumber barons. Log Rollers. Men who literally danced upon the water. The mythology surrounding these men fascinates me. Songs first heard on ships and then passed on to the forests with a few phrase changes speak of heroic deeds against impossible odds. The work was hard but much less romantic.

I see a similar mentality in the technical theatre world. Groups of guys and gals working in the trenches in order to help create something larger then themselves for which they will be given little if any credit. So they create a mythology for themselves. Riggers pit against audiophiles and electricians all looking down at the lowly box pusher. These folks are the last? of the independents. Working when called to complete the impossible in record time then off to the next gig. Freelancers. Bosses are short term. Loyalty is important...for as long as the run. Many a beer is drunk while stories over 20years old are told as if they happened yesterday to/about people well-known. The oral tradition continues.

Although new technologies are moving in on theatres world wide, there are those who hold on to the old ways-craft- much like the characters Richard's describes. Unions too are becoming more common. The Teamsters are cited as being partially to blame for the end of the lumber industry as it was once known. Are technical unions doing the same to theatre? Is it inevitable? Where will this type of industry be found once more?

My thoughts are scattered. I'm going to have to think about this some more. And sing me some shanty boy songs!

Getting Older

My children are now 5 years old! I'm amazed. They are wonderful, outspoken, intelligent, kind, a bit weird and fascinating people who challenge and are challenged by the world each day. It's a true pleasure to be a part of their world and I am humbled by the realization that they are an integral part of my life.

I am now back to work after a wonderful holiday. Work is slow. This suits me fine. It'll soon turn the corner and be crazy busy again.

I have a pain in my neck. Just before Christmas I slept funny (S had a nightmare and came to snuggle). The kink progressed until I couldn't really move it without painful effort. I finally called for a physio appointment. They can see me tomorrow. My neck is also finally starting to feel better. It's still rather stiff and a bit sore though so I'd like to make sure that I didn't damage it in anyway. Screw plastic surgery! Age spots and wrinkles don't suck. Sore joints do!!

On the kids' birthday I realized something. Not only do I have my own birthdays to help keep track of my ticking mortality clock. I have these two gaffers as well. Their birthdays seem to come around more often then mine as well. Funny how life works sometimes.

Time to sit back and whinge about my neck (same thing as taking time to smell the roses you know...)