My Favourite Photo of 2011

I can’t count the number of times I’ve said “Have a Happy New Year” to folks I’ve seen during the holiday season.  Was 2011 “happy” for you?  Despite the heartache of coping with the passing of one of my sweet little Yorkies, I can say with confidence that I made some “happy” in 2011. 

If you have to stretch your brain to come up with some happy times from the past year that’s ok too.  I’ve found that one of the best ways to take your “happy times inventory” is to look back at your photos. 

Maybe you don’t take pics but chances are someone you know does and you’re likely in some of those photos.  Check out Facebook.  You’re bound to find yourself in one of your friends’ pics on FB.

Revel in the good times!  Dig deep if you have to BUT COME UP WITH SOMETHING THAT MADE YOU SMILE IN 2011! 

All the very best in 2012 and start making some happy right now!

“Dear George, remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings, Love Clarence.”

I have a wonderful life!  Thank you for being a part of my life in person or online. 

Merry Christmas and All the Very Best in 2012!

~~ Kathryn ~~

“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.” — Luke 2:14

Congratulations, Darren! You write beautifully and I’m humbled by your honesty and candor.  Thank you so much Darren and please remember God is only one prayer away. 

As a young child, Darren was full of happiness and joy.  He adored his mom and his dad was the kind of dad that every kid envied.  A close knit family, they did everything together.  Life was really good until a devastating illness came crashing in and a sudden tragic accident obliterated Darren’s world forever.

Count Your Blessings
By Darren Conners

Life was full of thrilling events as a kid growing up in Oshawa Ontario. We went everywhere as a family; you name it we did it.  My father was an outdoorsman and would always take my brother and I to his hunting camp to fish and ride the snowmobiles. My dad “Kim Conners” was a plumber and used his hands quite frequently until he developed Lou Gehrig’s disease (ALS – Amotrophic Lateral Sclerosis), when I was 6 years old.  My brother and I did not really know what was happening to him. We thought that it would go away in a short time.

Not knowing the full extent of this horrible disease, we lived our daily lives as if it was normal. We saw him using the hallway walls to stabilize his walk, as he would shake in pain from all the cramps. His voice was fading and became so slurred it was hard to grasp the words. It was tough for us boys because we wanted to talk to our daddy. Within a month, he was using a walker and was hardly speaking at all.

Not knowing that this was a terminal disease we still lived our lives as if we were a normal family. I do not know why my mom never told us he was going to die; maybe she did not want to scare us. His disease started to permeate through his whole body. He was suffering a loss and deterioration of all his muscles. All he could do was cry there in agony, as his death seemed near.

I remember looking at his hands in fear because they crippled from all the muscle loss. He would signal me over to light one of his cigarettes because his hands were too weak to use the lighter. He looked so frail that if he were to drop to ground his bones would break. He needed help lifting his hands to the steering wheel of his truck and his three-wheel scooter as well as turning over the ignition. They soon took his license away.

I even took on the job of showering my father because my mom was not always there. This is when I started to believe that this was not a temporary illness, but a progressive disease. Watching this disease slowly destroy my dad began to affect me emotionally. No more harmony just sorrow.

I remember sitting on my dad’s lap driving his scooter to the century home video to rent family movies. These are fond memories. Subsequently, he was placed in an electric wheel chair where it was too difficult for me to drive so we had to get our movies another way. His disease grew progressively worse, and he moved into the hospital. This scared my brother and me. We would be crying to mommy asking her why daddy is not

home. When we visited him, he was just lying there in his bed watching TV in despair, but so happy to see his two boys. His disease ate 50 pounds of muscle by the time he entered the hospital.

On new years of 2001, my mother took my brother and I to her sisters for the Christmas holidays. We went to the Sydenham ski hills for a personal new years party because my aunt was good friends with the owner. The next mourning on New Year’s Day my mom woke me up and asked me if I wanted to go back with her to the ski hill.  I said, “No I am too tired mommy”.   She said “okay” and would be back in one hour.

It was not until about 9:00 o’clock at night when my grandparents walked through the door with my aunt and uncle, and without my mom. They brought us down stairs and told us your mother has died.  I can remember the screaming still to this day, my brother and I falling into our grandparent’s arms weeping inconsolably.  She died from a freak accident, while going down the ski hill on a tube; she hit a parked snowmobile at the bottom of the hill and died on impact.

I used to blame myself for her death telling myself that if I had just gotten up and went with her she might still be alive.  However, I still thank God for taking her without pain.  I wept for months; the re-occurring image of my mother in that coffin drove me out of my mind.  I can still remember kissing my mother on her cold lips as I said my goodbyes.

 My dad ended up moving out of the Hospital and back into our home. He hired three caregivers from the Philippines to work around the clock. We communicate with him by going through the alphabet as he raises his eyebrow to a certain letter. When I was sixteen years old, he was fully immobilized and placed on life support. He lost all the muscles in his jaw and had no way of eating, so now a feeding machine does the work, as he sits there in starvation looking at all the tasty food on the commercials.

He has more medication than anyone I have ever seen. His lungs will fill up with phlegm so bad that he can drown if it is not suctioned out in time. He needs a machine to go down into his lungs from his trachea to suction it out. Watching his eyes bulge red as it went down his throat made me quiver. I became very depressed from these calamities and withdrew into depression. He is on a breathing machine and who knows how much longer he may have left to live.  Every Christmas my brother and I ask ourselves will he get to see another. 

My dad is my hero because he has battled for survival 17 years to this day without cutting his plug or going insane mentally. I am now 22 years of age and my brother 20. My dad is 54, and is going on 18 years of triumph over this agonizing disease.

To learn more about how you can help families living with Lou Gehrig’s Disease visit ALS Ontario.

Heaven has come to Byron on a divine cloud of chocolate.  Last Saturday, Chocolate Makers Matthew Scanlan and Kristen Heidt shared their decadent chocolate creations at the opening of their new Forrat’s Chocolates & Lounge, a classy cabaret of chocolate haute couture.

You’ll find yourself sinking into one of the soft leather couches with a mug of satiny smooth hot chocolate topped with fluffy whipped cream laced with a bit of Bailey’s.  Or relaxing by the cozy fireplace admiring the spicy candy-apple red walls in the inviting lounge area of this chic chocolate boutique. 

 Now, add seven menopausal women to the ambience…

And watch the fondue fly!

Tiago, a dashing young chocolate maker teased us with warm bowls of silky dark, milk and white melted chocolate so we could wrap our array of fruits, pretzels, ginger, rice krispy squares and brownies in a velvety blanket of exquisite chocolate.  Kristen added her own tasteful touch to the mix.  “Potato chips add a nice salty contrast.  You can dip almost anything in chocolate.”   

No sooner had we put down our fancy fondue forks dripping with warm chocolate, when we had a toast to “good friends forever” with a shot of incredibly smooth and sinful Chocolate Cloud 9, Matthew’s amazing secret combination of chocolate and a mystery liquid.  ABSOLUTELY TO DIE FOR!  

Celebrating the opening of Forrat’s Chocolates & Lounge was well worth the additional five pounds I’ve added to each hip!  Thank you to our gracious hosts, Matthew and Kristen for a Halloween night full of fondue fun and treats! 

To visit Forrat’s Chocolates & Lounge go to 1304 Commissioner’s Road West in Byron (in the little strip mall across from the library) or for info call 519-204-7904.  Free parking.

All houses wherein men have lived and died
Are haunted houses. Through the open doors
The harmless phantoms on their errands glide,
With feet that make no sound upon the floor.
From Haunted Houses

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Successful Toronto business woman Karyn Climans, owner of Tail Wags Helmet Covers, whose writing and business savvy I admire, posted this heartwrenching yet inspiring true story on her blog last week.  Karyn thanks for sharing this thought provoking story — life can literally change on a dime. 

Life is Precious

You never know what’s going to happen one day to the next. Life is certainly unpredictable!

Several weeks ago, I heard about a Toronto single mom of 3 young sons, Tracy Dort-Kyne, who was in a severe cycling accident that left her completely paralyzed from the neck down. One minute she’s training for the Centurion Road Race and the next minute she’s lying in a hospital bed completely dependent on others. I didn’t realize at the time I’ve met this woman several times. In fact, I’ve taken her fitness classes (she was a fitness instructor at the club I belonged to previously). A beautiful and super fit mom … it could have been any one of us. Here’s the link to the web site set up to raise awareness and hopefully funds to support Tracy and her children:

http://www.tracydortkyne.com/

Riding home from Collingwood today, I heard on the radio about a 27 year old man who suffered a massive heart attack and died 5 miles before the end of the Toronto Marathon.

My dad used to count the days until his retirement. He never made it because he was killed in a car accident while overseas on business.

This blog is not meant to be depressing. All I’m hoping to do is remind every one of us that life is precious. It’s normal to get fed up with the day-to-day “stuff” but, in the bigger scheme of life, these issues are meaningless.

My first response when I arrived back home was to give my husband a big hug. I also picked up the phone and called my sons who are both away at university. I desperately wanted to hear their voices. I am so grateful my sons are happy and enjoying life at university. Of course, it’s a lot of hard work but they feel challenged (in a good way) and determined to succeed. I am also thrilled to be doing a job I LOVE and find satisfying. Far more than previous jobs I’ve held, I am 100% certain the business I am running, Tail Wags Helmet Covers, is making a difference in the world of helmet safety.

How about you? What are you grateful for and what would you like to change? Life is too short and unpredictable to waste any time doing something you hate!

Thanks again, Karyn for sharing this post.  I’m counting my blessings and keeping Tracy in my thoughts and prayers.

I am a middle child.  And like Andrea Horwath, the second oldest of four siblings “wedged into the backseat of the family’s Ford LTD” I too travelled the busy streets of Hamilton and Stoney Creek in my father’s Ford with my three siblings.  In fact, my dad’s Ford LTD was as bright a blue as a clear sky on a summer’s day!

As leader of Ontario’s NDP in a crucial political race for the Ontario Premier’s position, Ms. Horwath brings with her “steeltown” tenacity and as a middle child, “Middles just might be the best poised to succeed in life,” suggests new research by Catherine Salmon and Katrin Schumann in their new book, The Secret Power of Middle Children.

Should we take into consideration a candidate’s birth order when we mark our ballots on October 6th?  “Middleborns like Pierre Elliott Trudeau, Martin Luther King Jr. and the Dalai Lama are trailblazers and justice seekers with a drive and passion that set them apart from their attention-absorbing siblings,” says Ms. Salmon, a psychology teacher and researcher at the University of Redlands in California.  Ms. Horwath is certainly amongst good company.

As a fellow justice seeker, Ms. Horwath graduated from McMaster University, worked in literacy training, legal advocacy and community organization.  She paid her own way through school waiting tables in Hamilton bars and restaurants, a natural at connecting with people.  Middleborns seem to be more sociable and “are attuned to other peoples’ perspectives and motivations,” observes Ms. Salmon.  Does that translate to an open minded candidate that’s willing to listen and consider more than one perspective — other than their own?

Naturally a candidate’s political platform and how she can better our lives, the people she represents, are first and foremost.  But Ontarians have been governed for 8 years by an eldest child (Dalton McGuinty) with the leader of the opposition party running in this election who is also an eldest child (Tim Hudak).  Maybe it’s time we became more creative in making our decision before going to the polls this Thursday. 

The middle child gets my vote.

Sources:

• news.NationalPost.com, “Are middle children the best poised to succeed?”
• swo.ctv.ca, “Profile: Dalton McGuinty – Liberal”
• TheGlobeandMail.com, “For NDP Leader Andrea Horwath, it’s all about connecting”

I closed my eyes tight and thought back to the first time I saw a black woman. 

Wildwood, New Jersey.  1965.  We pulled up to the motel in my Dad’s shiny black Chevy.

“Look at all the balconies,” my older sister gasped.  “Do we get one?”

“Yep.  We sure do.”  Dad handed my mother the camera and headed towards the trunk.

“For Heaven’s sake, Earl! I don’t have any hands left!”

“Why don’t you take the girls inside, honey?”  Dad swung a big black overstuffed suitcase onto the hot asphalt.

“Be careful with that.  My Mom lent it to us don’t forget.”

Taking my hand Mom and I hurried to the Motel Office where my sister stood holding the screen door wide open.

“Don’t keep the door open like that.  You’re letting the flies in!”  Mother smiled quickly at the clerk behind the counter. “We’re just waiting for my husband.  He’s parking the car.”

The clerk smiled politely and went back to her work.

“Here we are,” Dad said coming through the door dropping suitcases at our feet.  “Reservation for Purmal, please.”

The clerk handed Dad a key on a big brown key ring with the number 210 written in gold.

“Straight up the stairs and to your right,” the clerk told Dad.

“Hey, do we get a balcony?”

“Shhh,” your Dad’s busy.

“Yep, with a chair!”  Dad ruffled my sister’s hair.

Mom took my hand again and we each grabbed our suitcases.  Mine matched my mom’s only smaller. 

“Careful on those stairs,” Mom waved to my sister. 

I guess because I’m two years younger I had to hold my mother’s hand all the time.  Either that or she liked me best I reasoned in my four-year-old mind.

Mom squeezed past Dad into the bathroom.  “We’ll need more towels, Earl.”

“This one’s mine!” My sister bounced on the bed closest to the window, tipping Dad’s suitcase onto the floor.

“Hey watch the suitcases!”  Dad bent over and picked up his Old Spice shaving kit from under the bed.  “You’re sharing with your sister.”

“Awww, Mom!” 

Before she could answer, we barely heard the quiet knock on our motel door.

“Maid Service.”

Mom opened the door and the heat of the day rushed into our air conditioned room. 

My mouth dropped. 

“Thank you very much, Miss.”  Mom took the stack of clean white towels. 

The woman standing in the doorway in the crisp white uniform was made of chocolate.

Mom closed the door and carefully placed the fresh towels on the chrome rack in the bathroom.  

I had to know.

“Mom, why didn’t she melt?  Is she chocolate all over?” 

“What?”  Dad stopped putting his neatly folded shirts in the dresser drawer.

“The maid?” Mom smiled.  “She’s not made of chocolate, honey.  She just has a better tan than us and yes she’s “chocolate” all over.”

Shaking his head, Dad went back to his unpacking and Mom hung our blouses up in the narrow closet with no door.

Up early the next morning, I could not wait to see her!  She came in and laughed with my sister and I and let us help her take  the pillowcases off and stuff them into the big white Santa sack.  Dad took a picture of the three of us squeezed into the round orange wicker chair with skinny wire legs right on our balcony! 

On our last day, Dad left a thank you note with some money in an envelope with her name on it on top of the TV and Mom put an unopened bag of Humbug candies on the dresser.

46 Years Later…

Opening my eyes, people are carefully manoeuvring their way down the steep theatre stairs.

“Come on, let’s go.”  My husband starts down the stairs.  “Are you coming?”

“In a minute.  I’m picking up our garbage.”

He signals down the corridor at the bottom of the stairs.  “Going to the washroom,” he whispers. 

I nod.

I think about the movie we’ve just seen, “The Help.”  I am sickened at the way some of the white Southern “society” bigots treated these amazing women in the early 1960’s.  In fact they treated their furniture better.  Yet the “help” changed their children’s dirty diapers, wiped away their tears, held them when they were scared, but most of all LOVED and raised them as if they were their own. 

Racism is learned.  We aren’t born with the “racism gene.”  I thank God everyday for my parents who taught me on that warm July day in 1965 that skin colour is just that — skin colour.  We’re all the same inside and outside except that some of us look like wonderful milk chocolate because we have a better tan.