Both of my parents worked full time. I would go to the neighbours and wait for Commander Tom to come on. I was up before the TV, the screen had those funny colours and weird noise still playing when my babysitter would put it on. I was up before her kids. Most of my early age babysitters were like that. TV on, wait for it to start broadcasting, most of them went back to bed.

I think my first three years, my mom was home. In my minds eye, I see her ironing and I had all the chairs lined up as some form of transportation. I remember Seasame Street and The Price is right. I think right around the time she started working, my dad was on strike. I remember him teaching me to make the number 3.

When I turned thirteen, I was a bad kid. A secret bad kid. I was home by streetlights forever. I was a latchkey kid, I locked up when I left for school, did whatever afterschool until my parents got home from work. No cellphones, so they had a set time to call, so as long as I was around for those, I was good.

I found the note cleaning my furnace room. I used to collect spider glass, well I called it that. It is finely blown glass, the creator would make tiny decorations made out of this stuff, it was so intricate! One of my pieces, I think it was the girl holding an umbrella, fell and busted. It was toast and mom cleaned it up. I came home to this note and my restored piece, she glued it and it was perfect. My teenage self was taken aback. I existed in the same space with my folks, pretty usual disconnect between parent and child. I didn’t have or want time for them. They worked, they loved me but had each other. I look at the note and recall it so perfectly. It was a turning point for me. It was a sign she cared.

Yesterday my son and I went for a drive. A drive in our family has been a constant and the path is pretty worn. Worn into our mememories, our history, like our favourite pair of sneakers.

It was Remembrance day and I recounted our families involvement with the war. It wasn’t the first time the stories have been told and we joked about that. I told the stories on purpose with purpose. My kids are in thier 20’s and 30’s and are the only link between my parent’s generation and the ones currently being born. If we don’t share those personal stories, if we don’t recognize the importance of Remembrance Day, it becomes just another thing that happened a long time ago.

I have family that have done Tours of Duty in the Gulf war as well. We pondered the use of the word “Tour” seems a poor choice. A tour makes you think of something enjoyable, but I suppose adding the, “of Duty” you realize the severity.

Both of my Great Grandfathers served in WWII. One of them lied to enlist, he was 15, he was a machine gun runner and he survived Normandy. Remembering War times is not only about those that served, all people that lived during that time were impacted. All Veterans deserve our utmost respect for thier sacrifices to keep us safe.

Winter is a little over a month away, but I feel it. My bones ache, my mind gets grumpy, I wanna sleep. Right now it’s good, Christmas and kids make the first part easy. By February, I’m done.

I wonder how this year will be? It has been a great fall! Our previous winter wasn’t too bad. Maybe it will be like that again. I like cooking when the air gets chilly again. I like hunkering down under a blanket. I love hiking with no sweat!

I always think I am adapting, but one day of minus twenty five, reality punch! I don’t think it is the temperature that gets me, I can stay inside. I think it is the trapped feeling, I don’t like driving in winter. We gotta work, we gotta eat, Doctor Appt. …ever notice how all the specialist want to see you in the dead of winter?!

I don’t like spending days a TV zombie, I will have to implement some new coping skills. Healthy ones, productive ones to get me through. I love to read, but I get into a book, I don’t like to come back until it’s done. I think this is what Momma was saying about retirement. Guess I need new hobbies!

There are a lot of things in life that stop you in your tracks. We accept our harsh realities everyday. We can fake it till we make it. Our thoughts can become so big we can’t even look at them. We take a peek and they are overwhelming. Larger than life, beyond our understanding. Yes we all have fears, but there are big things people are dealing with or perhaps not dealing with, and you have no idea what they are.

Illness, survival, loss, grief. You can not tell people how to feel. You can not tell people to just move on. You can listen, without bias, without fixing. You can help them brainstorm, and comfort them. You can let them have thier feelings, scream, cry, whatever they want.

I just learned of a new place that you can go and wreck stuff. A room you go in and just smash things. I think we all need a room like that. I like renovating, my favourite part is ripping it down. Empty the room and tear the room down, all the walls, floors, trim. We have to learn to do this to ourselves too. Tear down the barriers that seperate us from our truths. Let your feelings out, do the ugly cry, talk with the squeeky voice. Tear out all the things, the brick walls that keep us from being stunted in our lives. Say the things we hold onto, let that shit go, get it off your chest. You don’t have to be mean, be real, find you!

October is fire safety month, it comes, it goes, it is important. In schools we have fire drills, we have a leaflet that goes home and I hope many pay attention. In our home we have fire alarms with batteries, annoying as they may be. I know sometimes the oven smokes after cooking bacon, or the soup gets on the burner and then we have to listen to the blaring sound. Don’t take the batteries out, please.

We have a chemical fire extinguisher in the kitchen, our fire escape plan has been discussed, now and earlier when the kids were small. It’s a five minute talk. How to get out and where to meet.

I have had 2 little kitchen fires, one was a wax smelly thing that sat on the table that you plug in. Burnt my fingers tossing it into the sink. Another time grease spilt on the burner in the oven and hubby covered it with a big cookie sheet. Sounds simple, could of been worse.

My husband has been in two fires, that is the force behind our plan. In his childhood home, a relative put a towel on a radiator, their house burnt to the ground, only the cast iron tub remained. They were rescued, it was the middle of the night. The other fire was his ghetto blaster caught fire at the plug, while he slept. His father smelt smoke and openned the door, the oxygen fueled the fire and his bed caught on fire with him in it. He was able to get out, and they tossed the matress out the window to thankfully prevent any spread.

Many kids are falling asleep with their electronics plugged in as they use them till they go to sleep. A five minute talk people, not to cause fear, but to educate..

Some dates make me feel old. It fascinates me, prices of yesteryear compared to current day! In my geneology stash there are articles, with advertisements on the side, of house prices in the early 1900’s. A single family homes in Toronto being offered for around $3000.00 There are old letters in there taking about wages and monthly rent. It always pulls me in, I look at one thing, which leads me to another. Letter writing was the only way a lot of our ancestors kept in touch.

Grammie’s letters were always about the day to day and the condition of the kids. Illness, ailments, and what changes were being made to the home. It is a real sneak peak into the past. My own birth notice in the paper, charges for wedding flowers, a notice from the hospital on the expectation at the hospital after you give birth. Life has changed so much!

Society as a whole is different, family dynamics, economy, work ethic and even basic needs vs wants. I was talking the other day about 9/11, and I realized my Grandkids were not even born when all that happened, even my youngest would of only been six. I mean the Backstreet boys are all in their forties! The things from our past that follow us through to the future age with us, but it still catches me off guard. Even my own reflection, while window shopping has given me a double take!

Never argue with a three year old, you will not win. The best way to communicate with a toddler is choice. Do you want to go to bed in your dinosaur jammies or the hockey ones? It takes going to bed off the bargaining table and gives them options. They think they are controlling the situation. If you are asking them a yes or no question…. probably going to get what they want. They will choose whatever makes life harder!

Rushing around trying to get everyone out the door can be very exhausting. Anything with tots can be! So state the non negotiable and sweeten it with choice. Time for lunch, do you want your sandwich in squares or triangles? We are going to the grocery store, do you want you bring a stuffy or a book? Of course this isn’t always effective, but this approach helps.

If you are good at it, you can use it on spouses too! Seriously though, being stubborn, I know if things are presented to me in a certain way, I am more apt to do them. Think of it as a life hack. Once you are old enough to reason, the debates are on. This just helps choose the battles.

California Dreaming by the Beach Boys, Momma loved them. I think I know every song! Momma would crank them on and we would clean the house. She could do every dance, Bristol stomp, Mashed Potatoe, the Twist. She and Dad would Jive dance. It is funny how old memories just pop into your head. Music triggers that for me all the time.

Music can be therapy, it takes us places, sympathizes with us, uplifts us. When no one else can be around, music can. I often wonder what would happen if hospitals and senior homes and people suffering with Dementia were able to listen to their genre of music throughout the day. Specific for them, significant to them if it would bring them more peace and happiness.

Of course music played on elevators and when you are placed on hold should not be on the playlist. They are kinda onto something, helping you relax. Now when I hear it, it doesn’t evoke that at all anymore.

Teens typically go through the music stage, I did, my kids did, and we shouldn’t give it up! When life gets stale and repetitive, when you are feeling low, put on some music. I had forgotten what it can do, I found my records the other day, and yes I still have a record player. Music from growing up, teen years, young adult life, I went back there for a while and it was beautiful!

Sometimes the noise in my head is deafening. The needle gets stuck on the record player. Repeat. Climbing uphill constantly, draining! I don’t even know where the stamina comes from. I always aim for some magical silver lining. Something on the horizon, over the next crest, just beyond reach. Is that hope? Is it survival? I create a new scenario in my head to solve problems. I don’t give up, I come so close to throwing in the towel, but I never do. Baby steps, baby bites, I can get so distracted by the big picture I won’t look at.

I never count stairs when I climb them, I don’t want to know how many are there. That’s weird! The step that matters, is the one I am on. I seriously do not know how many steps are on my staircase. I have never counted stairs beyond 3 with my kids. We have counted plenty of things but never the stairs. I can walk through my entire house in the pitch dark, and I do not count the stairs.

There are so many quirky nonsensical things about me. Volume numbers on the TV, I have to look at my keys twice before I close a door and lock it. I have a ritual I have to perform before I go to bed, checking things. It is a little OCD, I have let a lot of little things go that used to drive me crazy. Things being paralell, straight lines, my pillow position, time. It goes through phases, changes with age, eases! It’s a bit of a control thing, when life gets messy and chaotic, it can get a little worse. The static gets louder and I feel forever tense. I think age gives us time to dig deep into ourselves and see these things we didn’t really pay attention to. Or maybe it is wisdom that comes with age, that we can recognize we are odd. Realistically I know I am not the only one, well maybe the stairs thing…

Facebook has unlocked a rare look into everyone’s thoughts. People can be very transparent with their feelings. This has enabled the world to feel justified to pooh pooh on and judge each other. Not exactly setting people up to thrive or flourish. Social media is a public forum, people gave up the newspaper to read peoples dirt and roll around in it. On the same token people are getting all offended when others disagree on public statements. It really is quite a never ending circle.

Drama is infinite! In a last email from my father, he sent me a lessons in life column he had sent to him. One of the statements was, “it is none of your business what other people think of you.” I mean really why do you care? If you are your best self and strive to be better everyday, if you are always trying to be a better version of yourself, that is all you can do. If not, well that is on you and you will be called on it. No one is perfect, no one is absolutely right, no one is without faults. You do not know everthing. No matter what you know, you are not in someone else’s shoes. You have not partaken in their journey. Your beliefs are yours, whether they are right or wrong.

Assumptions do not solve world mysteries. Tone can not be detected in the written word. Mood can not be noted on a faceless note or post. You can play Ring around the Rosie all day with words. You want to ask..ask. You need to know..talk. Please talk, more people need to talk, without the screen, talk.