Dear Canadian Nature....

I know a man whose school could never teach him patriotism, but who acquired that virtue when he felt in his bones the vastness of his land, and the greatness of those who founded it. - Pierre Elliott Trudeau (FromExhaustion and Fulfillment: The Ascetic in a Canoe, 1944; also cited in  Pierre Elliott Trudeau: Why He Paddled by Jamie Benidickson, pp. 54-59, from Kanawa, Fall 2001.)

 Dear Canadian Nature,
You are an essential part of what makes Canada "Canada".  You are also spectacular and breath-taking. Everyone says so.  I think that to be Canadian, we must experience you and your wildness.  To be a Canadian is to have a connection to the land, to nature, to the Great Canadian Wilderness.  You are part of our national imagination!

So, on the eve of Canada Day, I thought I would reach out and say hi.  I would like to get to know you better.  Lots of people I know are camping this weekend or are up at their cottages.  But I am more of an urbanite.  Still, I am the daughter of a farmer and I love the farm.  I adore animals.  So I really do want to get to know you better.  Any recommendations about how I can do this?

Yours truly,
TM

P.S.  Do you prefer Canadian Nature or Canadian Wilderness? 

Dear TM,
Thank you for your kind words.  I am rather glorious, aren't I?  I shouldn't boast, though.  It is not very Canadian at all.  So, I'll just say, "what, these mountains?  Oh, they're nothing, really.  Just the result of plate tectonic activity from millions of years ago.  Who wants to see stuff from the Precambrian era, anyway?"
 
Anyhoo, about your questions, first, I can tell that you must be from Ontario.  Upper and Lower Canadians have "cottages".    Westerners have cabins.   Easterners have shacks that I routinely destroy in my fits of climatic rage.  Ontario is nice.  Have you see my Great Lakes?  Perhaps you could take a hike somewhere so that we can get better acquainted.

Also, you can call me "Great Canadian Wilderness".

Yours in gloriousness,
Great Canadian Wilderness

Dear Great Canadian Wilderness,
You are correct!  I live in Toronto and so, I have seen Lake Ontario.  My family used to vacation on Georgian Bay, so I also have seen Lake Huron.  I've also seen Lake Michigan, but it doesn't count because it is in the U.S..

In terms of this hike-thing, how "hike-y" are we talking here?  Can we stay on a paved pathway?  I would also be okay with a wood walkway and maybe gravel, as long as the grass, weeds, and bushes don't leak too much onto the pathway.  I don't like to touch that stuff.  I have a distinct memory of standing in a patch of weeds as a four year old and being too terrified to move because of the all the pokey plants around me.  My Dad had to come to rescue me.  So if we could avoid close encounters with pokey plants and branches, I would appreciate that.

Yours truly,
TM

Dear TM,
Do you know what's cute?  You guys call the uplands "mountains".  You know, the Blue Mountains? They're not mountains.  I also think it is cute that Toronto is considered to be "central Ontario" even though it is not geographically the centre of Ontario.  Then again, it does not bode well for your ability to read a map and navigate, now does it?  How will you find your way around Canada if you can't even properly locate central Ontario in the centre of Ontario?  But I digress.

Your experience on a farm should have tipped me off that you might have difficulty coping with me.  Farms are contained nature: the land and animals are domesticated; there are fences; you work the land; you have a sense of ownership.  But I cannot be owned.  I cannot be contained.  I am the True North Strong and Free!

I don't think that our relationship is going to work out.  Sorry.

Yours in gloriousness,
The True North Strong And Free

Dear True North,
I know that there will be challenges in our relationship.  Take for example the fact that I am allergic to most of what you have to offer: grass, trees, plants, animals...And then there is my long-abiding fear of pokey weeds and plants.  Also, I don't like to get my hands very dirty.

Part of this is your fault, you know.  Why do you have so many insects?!  Seriously!  The mosquitoes and black flies just descend on me and eat me alive.  Then I swell up.  It's not pleasant.  And don't even get me started on your lack of proper bathroom facilities.  Plus, you play tricks on me while I am using the facilities you do provide.  I'm outside, peeing in the great outdoors and then the wind blows and rustles the bushes.  I thought there was a bear!  I was mid-stream when I turned and looked for the "bear".  Peed all over my shorts, undies, shoes and socks.  Only there wasn't a bear.  Just the wind and some bushes.  Ha ha.  Funny trick.  Now I have a phobia of peeing outside.

Still, I am willing, as a Canadian, to try.  I am willing to make an effort to meet you half-way.  So, True North, what do you say?

Yours truly,
TM

Dear Pee-Pee Pants,
Okay, you have to admit that the "rustle the bushes" thing is funny!  It's not my fault that you jumped to the irrational conclusion that it was a bear.  You were in Halton Hills, for crying out loud! "Camping" in a farmer's field! I should add, for context, you were "camping" in a field to celebrate the end of high school with a friend and a bottle of vodka.  There is a take-away lesson, though.  Never turn mid-stream, even if you think there is a bear.

Look, kid, we might not be cut out for each other.  But if you want to come for a visit, I suppose that would be all right.  I'm not promising to be civil in terms of the weather or the geography.  I can't change my nature.

[See what I did there: can't change my nature.  I'm nature.  My sense of humour is as vast as the Canadian Prairies, only not as flat.]

So come on by sometime.  We'll do a hike or something.  Bring a change of underwear, just in case.

Yours in gloriousness, I remain
The True North Strong And Free

Follow the adventures of Pee Pee Pants, er, TM and The True North on this blog! 

What's Up, Doc?

There is no time like the present to begin to blog again.  I think I will start off with an easy task: providing a snapshot of the past nine to ten months.  So what have I been doing for the past months?  Well...

I learned how to row and I competed in a few regattas.
(***Regatta is a fancy word for "races".  Rowers use a lot of fancy words.)  It was fun, although I question my club's choice of jersey.  Horizontal stripes?  Really?

Our very first regatta!

I took up rowing primarily because I can no longer run due to a foot injury. The learning curve is extremely steep.  But it is a reasonably fun activity, and you do get a good tan.

FYI, when I say "row", I mean rowing, not dragon boating.  Remember the Winkelvoss twins in The Social Network?  They rowed.  That's what I do, except without the creating of social networks and subsequent suing and so forth.

Note the medals around our necks.

I taught.  And taught.  And then I taught some more.

I continue to teach at two different universities.  It is exhausting.  It is wonderful. 

Here is my favourite student quote from this past year:

Student, in an essay on the American de-segregation case Brown v. Board of Education, consistently cited the case as "Brown v. Bored of Education".  

Freudian slip?  I hope that I was not responsible for this error.

I had terrific classes this year.  What terrific students!  What a blessing to teach these intelligent and energetic people!

I got a new (to me) car.
In January, some guy totaled my car.  The car was parked on the street, minding its own business.  This chap drove into My Pretty (my car's name) at a high speed.  Apparently, he perceived my car to be a thoroughfare.  The result was vehicular carnage.

You cannot see the full extent of the damage here because of the snow.  The front end was badly damaged.

But no one was hurt.  And I am supposed to take solace in that.  "It's just a thing," said some stranger who witnessed the demise of My Pretty.

"It's just chattel," I remind myself.

But it was my chattel, my thing, My Pretty.

Farewell, My Pretty.  You served me well.  You deserved better than this.

***Please observe a moment of silence for My Pretty.  Thank you.***

With the demise of My Pretty, I found myself in the market for a new (used) car.  I fancied a pick up truck.  I remember the truck my Dad bought me so long ago: a 1986 Sierra Classic quarter-ton.  What a beautiful truck!  The body of that truck was so beautiful that the dog was not allowed to ride in the truck bed, but was required to ride in the cab with me lest her nails scratch the paint.  Oh, how I have missed driving a big ol' pick up truck!

Me, Rex, and our truck.

But as much as I would have loved to get a pick up, at a certain point, reality caught up with me.  My life has changed.  There are kids in my life now.  I can't drive around in a pick up truck.  I need a back seat.

So I settled for a 2011 Mazda 3 Sport Hatch.  The car only had 12,300KM and was in pristine condition.  I have named this car "Fly Boy".  I hope we have many adventures together.

But sometimes, at night, I miss my beloved '99 Jetta.  My Pretty: gone, but not forgotten.

The kids.

Did I mention that I got some kids?

No, seriously.  I did.

And no, not "kids" as in baby goats.

This is not my kid.

Perhaps the best, but also the most tragic, part of the past 10 months involves the kids.  My sister, Barb, and her husband, James, had two children.  Barb passed away on June 30, 2013.  Sadly, James unexpectedly passed away on April 20, 2014.  He had been in the hospital for a few months at that point.  We thought he was on the road to recovery, but things turned very quickly when he contracted a virus.

James and I putting on our skates for some pond hockey.  

And so there are two kids, J. (aged 18) and R. (aged 15).  And I am helping to raise them.  I am now part of an unconventional, modern family.  The kids are in the care of me and L. and K.; L is the cousin of J and R, and K is her husband.  So we have three adults, two of whom are married to each other.  We have three kids: J. and R., and baby W.  Baby W belongs to L and K.  He is an unusually tall six month year old.  I like him, and I'm pretty sure he likes me, too.  He calls me "Aunt T".  Well, when he can talk, that is what he will call me.  Or maybe he can call me "Aunt Dr T".  Heh heh.

Baby W, who is very tall and has a taste for giraffes.

Life has brought us together for the time being, and we consider ourselves a family.  Sure, a modern, odd-ball type of family, but a family all the same.  I guess what we really mean is that we are committed to working together to give the kids as stable and as healthy and as loving an environment as possible.

I never really wanted kids, but now I have two teenagers on my hands.  Having the kids, well, it was unforeseen and, to be honest, two years ago, I would have said "No way!"  But something changed, and now having these two kids is the most important thing and the best thing in my life.  Yes, the best thing.  As in, I like it.  I like them, even though there are times when I think "WTF?!"  I'm sure they think the same thing about me sometimes (or a lot).

I wish that the circumstances were different for them, that they would have two parents or even one parent who was alive and there for them.  But they don't, and I am here and L and K are here.  It is tragic that the kids have lost their parents.  We are in mourning and we are in shock.  But do not think for a minute that I am "sacrificing" anything by taking on a central role in the lives of the kids.  Do not think that I am doing anything noble.  The truth is that having the kids in my life is one of the best things to happen to me.  So there is beauty amid the ashes.

I am going to write a lot more about all of the above.  So I hope that you'll stay with me.  Oh, I have had adventures!  Care to know about those adventures?  Want to hear the exciting story about how the police caught the rascal who hit my car?  Would you like to know what my awesome TRN 425 seminar gave me as a parting gift?  Want to read about how I am learning to decode teenager communications?

Are you desperate to know what de poesen have been up to?

Dave dreams of world domination.

I hope so.  Please stay tuned...

And life goes on...

It is time for me to breathe new life into this blog.  I haven't updated it for a long time.  I have had a very busy and eventful 10 months or so.  I'll tell you all about it shortly.


For now, to anyone who is still reading this blog and to those who may stumble upon it, be advised: Dr T is back.


Govern yourselves accordingly.

Grieving

As I indicated in my last post, my sister Barb passed away at the end of June.  It's been a difficult summer.  This grieving process has been much different than other experiences I have had with grief.

I've lost many loved ones.  My Dad passed away when I was 13.  My grandparents are long gone.  I've lost aunts and uncles, including some aunts with whom I had a particularly close relationship.  Their deaths brought heavy and terrible sadness.  I still miss them.  My faith gives me great hope, but it does not mean that these deaths do not make me sad.

Grieving for my lost sister, though, has been qualitatively different.  For a while, I felt shell-shocked.  Even though her death was not unexpected, I could not believe that my sister -- the sister who sat across from the family dinner table from me for years and years -- had died.  It would catch me by surprise and take my breath away.  My sister. 

Parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts -- at some level, you expect them to die. Hopefully not too soon.  But it is the natural ordering of things.  The older generation gives way to the younger generation.  Their deaths cause pain, sometimes intense pain.  Their deaths change you, especially if you lose a parent at a young age.  Your heart will ache. 

My heart aches now.  At the same time, I have this nagging feeling like I've lost something very profound but I cannot quite articulate what it is and I think I may have taken it for granted for a long time.  A colleague wrote to me that losing a sibling is like losing a limb.  Exactly.  Losing a sibling is like losing your arm or your leg.  A piece of yourself is ripped away and you wonder if you will ever feel complete again.  There is this void, this vacuum.  Once, I was part of four kids; now there are three of us.  How can we go so simply from four to three?  One of us is missing. 

Our family has gaps in it, but gaps at the level of my generation.  Not the older generation, which, although painful, is comprehensible.  But this is my generation.  This is my sibling, with whom I share a very unique history.  There were four people in this entire world that share exactly the same DNA input as a result of the marriage of Art Miedema and Agnes Huisman.  Now there are three.  And everything feels out of balance as a result.

I simply cannot imagine what it must be like for my mother.  I feel for her.  I grieve for her, too.  How much can one person bear?

As for me, I feel a constant vague sense of loss, an ache that is almost always present.  This ache is punctuated by intense feelings of grief that come at unexpected moments.  And always the sense that I've lost something, that I'm missing something, that I've misplaced something even.  My brain is still struggling to grapple with the idea that my sister is gone, that I have one less sibling.  But when this thought crosses my mind, I don't experience shock anymore.  Even worse, I experience resignation.  Yes, my sister died.  I have lost a sister.  I'm getting used to the idea, and that is hard, too.

I've been surprised at how often my thoughts go to her.  I'll read something and think, "Oh Barb will love this."  Or I make a mental note to tell her about some experience I've just had.  I did not realize how often my mind records things to pass along to her until now.  It's the jolt of realizing that I cannot pass along these stories that has awakened me to how often I think of her each day. 

My sister and I were separated by nine years, so we didn't have that sisterly bond of growing up side by side, playing together, sharing each other clothes and so on.  She was older, so the experience was more of her telling me what to do, me driving her crazy, and her taking me out on adventures.  Our day to day lives were very different, and have been different for most of our lives.  Yet there is -- was -- a strong subconscious bond there and a desire to share experiences, stories, and jokes.  

My sister's death has also forced me to examine my own life.  It was a stark reminder of my own mortality.  What choices have I made?  Am I content with those choices?  Where I am going?  Do I really believe all the faith stuff that I claim brings comfort right now?  And if I really do believe all that stuff, what are the implications for my own life?  When I die, will God say to me, "Well done, my good and faithful servant?"  My mind has been occupied, both consciously and unconsciously, with these thoughts.

And then there is the loneliness.  Not many people my age have lost a sibling.  Not many people know what it is like.  My siblings and I haven't talked too much about our experience.  Maybe the wound is too fresh.  But I have questions and I wish I could ask someone who has walked this road.  Sometimes I can talk to my mom, who has lost three siblings.  We have had some great conversations -- honest, open talks -- that make me love my mom that much more.  Still, it would be great to talk to a peer.  Maybe this blog post is partially about filling the need to talk about this grieving process.

People think they know what it is like to lose a sibling.  They think that all losses are alike.  They don't realize how different the grieving process can be, depending on the context.

I'm grateful to those of my friends who are quietly walking alongside of me.  I can say (and have said) to them, "my heart is sad today", and they understand.  They don't fill the space up with empty words and syrupy sentiment.  They don't try to make it better and they don't try to find silver-linings.  They just acknowledge the loss and pain and they walk with me.  They are a blessing.

I don't know how long the grieving process will last.  I certainly have not been all "sack cloth and ashes" since my sister died.  I have good days, even great ones. Still I haven't felt myself for a very long time.  Sometimes I can escape for a while.  The vague sense of something being amiss is almost always present, though.  Mostly, I remind myself that grieving is a natural, healing process.  So I let myself feel what I feel because that is the only way to move forward.  Henri Nouwen counseled that one should stay with her pain, meaning, don't avoid it.  Just feel it and process it.  It could take a while.

It should take a while.  I've lost a piece of myself.

In Memorium: My Sister, Barb Clark

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
 
I've been thinking about John Donne's words a lot lately.  They echo in my heart late at night and early in the morning.  Death, be not proud... They are there when I lie awake, thinking about everything that has happened, the great loss our family has experienced, the pain of it all.

On Sunday, June 30, 2013, my sister, Barb, passed away.  She had cancer.  She long outlived her doctors' prognoses for her, but at great expense, for she suffered a great deal.  She fought long and hard.  She wanted to live for her family, for her husband and children.  But she had primary peritoneal cancer (PPC) and was diagnosed at stage IV; this diagnosis is a death sentence.

 Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Barb determined that she would simply have to beat the odds.  And she did.  The average life span of a person with stage IV PPC is about 12 months.  Barb lived four years and three months.  In March 2012, Barb's doctor told her that there were no more treatment options for her and that she might live another six months.  Barb lived another 15 months.  Barb did not go gently into that good night.  She raged against the dying of the light. 

But do not think for a moment that Barb fought so hard because she was scared.  No!  Emphatically, no!  Soon after her initial diagnosis, the words of Question and Answer 1 of the Heidelberg Catechism (which we had all memorized at some point during Catechism classes) became very important and dear to Barb:

 Q.1 What is your only comfort in life and in death?
  A. That I am not my own,
       but belong --
       body and soul,
       in life and in death --
       to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ...

 Barb held onto to this most basic tenet of our faith: whether we live or die, we belong to Jesus, and so things will be all right.  Of course, "all right" does not mean "not painful" or "not hard".  Barb suffered a great deal and her death was not at all an easy one.  It was terrible and painful.  But Barb was never afraid.  She suffered physically and, emotionally, as she mourned that she would not see her children grow up, but she experienced no dread, no fear. 

I am proud of how my sister lived and how she died.  She ran her race with great strength, perseverance, and raw courage.  She chose to fight so that she could be there for her husband and her children.  Cancer took her life, but it did not win its battle with Barb.  It never stripped her of her dignity, her character, her faith, her love for friends and family.  In the end, cancer got the consolation prize: it ended Barb's days on earth but it could not take her Life.

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

Yes, death's days are numbered.  Barb's fearlessness in death affirmed our faith and our hope in Jesus Christ as the Resurrection and the Life.  Barb is now Home.  She has joined that great cloud of witnesses that cheer us on in our own races.  And one day...one day, our family will be together again, laughing and celebrating at the Lamb's great feast.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more...

'Til then, my dear sister, 'til then.

30 Reasons Why I Love, Adore, and Respect my Mom

My mother is bad-ass.

She would not like that I used "ass" on my blog.  But she really is bad-ass.

It's almost Mother's Day, so I am going to share 30 reasons why I love, adore, and respect my mom.  There are more than 30 reasons, so these are really the top 30 reasons.  And she deserves to be honoured every day, not just on Mother's Day.  With these caveats in mind, let me introduce you to my mom.

Me and my Mom.

My Mom's name is Agnes.  Well, it is actually Aagje.  But when her family immigrated to Canada and she started school, her teacher could not say her name.  No one outside of the Dutch community could.  So my Mom chose a new name, Agnes.  She told me that a girl that she knew back in the Netherlands had that name, and she liked it.  So she launched a preemptive strike and arbitrarily re-named herself, which was better than the alternative of having the school teacher do it for her, as was the case with her sister, my Aunt Theresa (for whom I am named).  Aunt Theresa's name was Trinje.  I'm sort of grateful that the teacher re-named her Theresa or I would have been saddled with the name Trinje.

Here are 30 awesome things about my Mom.

1.  She lives her faith.  She walks the talk.  And she made sure that we knew her faith -- our faith -- too.  Her relationship with Christ shines through in all she does, and it is her most precious gift to me.

2. She is a smart critical thinker.  She reads.  She listens.  She thinks.  And then she tells you her opinion.

Mom doing her homework for Coffee Break at church.

3.  She is funny, sometimes even intentionally so.  She has a great sense of humour.  I love that about her.

4.  She is wise.  When I am willing to listen, she actually has excellent advice.

5.  She always made the best cakes for birthdays.  No store bought stuff in our home when I was growing up.  (We were poor Dutch immigrants; we didn't buy cake.)  One year, she drew a Smurf on my cake in blue and white icing.  It was awesome.

My first birthday cake.

 6.  She is pretty.  She has beautiful hazel eyes.

Mom, shortly before marrying my Dad.  Oma told her to buy a new dress before the wedding since she might not be able to afford a new one for a long time once becoming the wife of a poor farmer.  This is the dress she bought.

Mom, Dad (Hank), and my nephew Danny.  After many years, Mom's still got it.

7.  She has an enormous talent for languages.  She can read and write in three languages (English, Dutch, and Frisian).  I think she could have learned more if she had had the opportunity.

8.  She is cuddly.

Mom with my niece Alyssa.

9.  She has a michevious streak.  When I discovered the photo below and showed it to her, she immediately said, "Oh, I was smoking just for the fun of it.  It was just a joke."  Ironically, she had written these exact words on the back of the photograph: "Just for the fun of it."  She would do that, you know.  Pose with a cigarette, just for a joke.  (She definitely was not and is not a smoker.)

Mom, smoking "just for the fun of it"

Like mother, Like daughter.  Except I'm smoking a cigar.

10.  She and my Dad held hands when they sat together.  In a stoic community where affection was not always shown, this is special.

Mom and Dad.

 11.  She (and Dad) named me after her sister, Theresa.  So I was named after one of the most beautiful, lovely and graceful ladies in history.

Mom (L) and Aunt Theresa (R), the early years

Mom (L) and Aunt Theresa (R), the latter years.  Don't they look awesome in those saucy hats?

12.  Mom makes the best pancakes, soup, chocolate chip cookies, pork chops and grilled potatoes I have had.  But she cannot cook vegetables without boiling them to death.

13.  Mom was horrified when she learned that I planned to keep my family name when I get married rather than taking my husband's name.  She said, "What are you, some kind of feminist?"  This was not a compliment.  The funny thing is that Mom is a feminist, albeit a Christian Reformed feminist.  She is a strong, thinking woman.  So if I am a feminist, I blame her.

Feminist or not, Mom took off her shoes in this wedding picture because she did not want to appear taller than my Dad in their wedding photo.  She once commented, "But it wrinkled my dress.  Phooey."  I'm not sure if this observation makes her more or less of a feminist.

 14.  Mom is a very creative person and a gifted photographer.  She could have easily been a professional writer or photographer.  I'm pretty sure that I inherited my creative side from her.

A beautiful photo that Mom snapped of my cat, Wiley.  To be fair, Wiley did accommodate her by posing.

Mom calls this photo, "Energy on the Prairies"

Mom sees things that others do not.  She took this photo, which she calls "Shadows".

15.  Mom has had a lot of grief and heart ache in her life, but she has carried it all with strength, grace, and dignity.  She would say, "Well, that just comes from God.  God gave me the strength."  This gives you a good idea about how my Mom has dealt with the adversity in her life.  And she is not bitter about anything that she has endured.

Mom has consistently chosen joy in the circumstances of her life.

16.  After my Dad died, my Mom continued to invite my Pake (Dad's dad) to our home for holidays like Thanksgiving and Easter.  She maintained a close relationship with Pake even after she remarried.  Because of her, I had a lot of regular contact with him -- an important connection to my Dad.

Pake, sitting on our porch.

17.  Mom has a good sense of adventure.  Whether it is walking in our national parks or riding a camel in Israel, Mom is up for the challenge.

Mom and my nephew Danny in Waterton National Park.

Mom and the infamous camel ride.  In a dress!  Go Mom!

 18.  Mom brought home the biggest souvenir EVER from Israel: my second Dad, Hank.  They met in 1989, three years after my Dad (Art) passed away.  They married in 1990.  And you know what?  They really did live happily ever after.

Mom and Dad (Hank), April 21, 1990.

Mom and Dad celebrating one of many anniversaries.

19.  Mom had the courage to start a new life with Hank.  She had the courage to move from Ontario to Alberta, to go from city back to the country, and to join a new community far from everyone she knew and loved.  I love that she had the faith, strength, and courage to take this risk.  I love that she found love again with such a wonderful and honourable man.  I love that she embraced her new life and put down new roots.  I love that she became part of the local community.

It turns out that farm life suits my Mom.

 20. Mom keeps a big garden where she grows potatoes, carrots, strawberries, rhubarb, beans, and other stuff.  She works in the garden even though some of the plants give her rashes and even though she is engaged in an ongoing battle with the birds for the berries.  If I am visiting in the summer when there are berries to be had, she lets me have the biggest, sweetest ones even though I have steadfastly refused over the years to provide any assistance in the garden.  (I don't like to touch the dirt or the plants.  They are icky.  She humours me in this regard.)

21.  She wears goofy hats that she has had for decades.  Seriously.  Decades.

The hat Mom is wearing in this photo is circa 1980.  Please, woman, buy a new hat.

 22.  Mom has the gift of hospitality.  People have always been welcome in our home.  Plus, she goes out and visits people.  A lot of people.  She brings them little treats.  She writes letters to people and sends cards.  She is thoughtful.

23.  Mom is sensitive to people and she is generous.  When Mom and Dad took us to Holland in 1980, we met with another family there who had a son, Robby, who was a bit younger than me.  We spent a day or two together.  At one point, we went into a candy shop.  Mom bought all of us kids, including Robby, a bag of candy -- our own bag, which we did not have to share.  I remember thinking that my Mom was the most kind and generous mom ever.  I still think that.

One year, I had trouble planning my birthday party because I did not want to leave anyone out.  Mom accommodated the situation by letting me have two parties so that I could invite everyone.  Another year, she let me invite my entire class to my party.  I think she understood that I did not like to leave people out.  I think she understood that because she herself did not like leaving people out. 

24.  One time, Mom ironed my PJs because she knows that I love the feeling of freshly ironed clothing.

25.  Mom exemplifies the best in what a citizen should be.  She is informed about political issues, she votes, and she writes letters.  Lots of them.  To politicians, to radio show hosts, to companies, and so on.  She lives in the public square.  And once she scored us a case of cookies after she wrote to a company to complain that she had bought a package of their cookies only to discover that they were all broken.

26.  Mom made good on my Dad's promise to let me go to Holland when I was 16.  Keep in mind that I did not go with her.  I went with my cousin, Brenda, and our Aunt Cathy, my Dad's unmarried younger sister.  If you know our Aunt Cathy, you can understand why Mom might have been a bit leery about the whole idea.  But she still let me go...and has tolerated my gallivanting around on trips around the world ever since then.  Well, we all know where I got my sense of adventure...

Brenda and I exploring our roots in Holland.

Seriously, she and my Aunt Greta let this motley band of travelers go to Holland alone for four weeks.

Years later...I still have the travel bug.

 27.  When I became a runner, Mom and Dad got interested in the sport.  They followed my progress and tracked me on race days.  It doesn't matter how old you are, you still want your Mom and Dad to cheer for you.

I'm grinning because I am on my way to breaking 2hours in the Half-Marathon.

28.  My mom ordered lots of copies of my kindergarten photo (and passed them around to family members) even though my kindergarten photo looked like this:


29.  Mom has grand-cats.  Specifically, Wiley (now sadly departed), Winston, and Dave in my family. My Christmas parcels always include presents for the cats.  She brings them toys when she comes to visit.  Her letters include a "PS. Give the poesen a scratch behind the ears for us".  And once, she left a message on my voicemail that ended as follows:

Well, Dad and I are just thinking about you and the cats, of course.  We wanted to say hi to you all and we love you and the cats.  Well.  We love you...but the cats.  We like the cats...but you know...

 It cracked me up.  It's okay to say that you love your grandcats, Mom.  They certainly love you.

And for the record, my parents have photos of the grandcats in their office and on their refrigerator.  Plus, they never bug me about giving them grandchildren (or about getting married, for that matter).  My parents understand that the cats are a part of our family, and they treat the cats that way.

Wiley (L) and Winston (R)

Dave.  This photo is on my parents' fridge.

30.  Occasionally, my Mom indulges my theory that one of my siblings was switched out at birth and is not really related to us at all. 

Is this Maggie or merely a baby posing as Maggie?

31.  Bonus...Mom has supported my studies over the long-term, even when undergrad led to law school which led to graduate school.  Even when I'm sure she wondered if I would ever finish school and if I was crazy for leaving my good Bay Street firm.  She stood behind me.  She was 100% in my corner.  You know why?  Because she gets who I am and she understood that I had to keep going back to school.

Undergraduate convocation.

Call to the bar.

Celebration at my firm for my call to the bar.

SJD (doctoral degree) convocation

The bottom line is that she gets me.  So when I visit, she has my favourite things in the house.  She picks out just the right card for my birthday.  And sometimes she sends me some cookies "voor de aardheid".  Sure, sometimes she calls me by the names of every other sibling until she finally gets to my name.  But that is okay. Because she knows who I am.

LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!

International Migratory Bird Day

In honour of International Migratory Bird Day (yes, this really is a thing), I present to you a photo.  I call this photo "I know why the caged bird sings", in honour of the poem by Maya Angelou.

"I know why the caged bird sings"

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings

Maya Angelou

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.