Not Back Till Lunch

We drifted lazily along in the river listening to Max’s instructions.

“Dig in!” he shouted and we would paddle like mad men (and women).

“Back paddle!” he screamed and flailing like drunken windmills, we would desperately try to keep up to his pace and reverse our paddling order.

“Hard left” and “Hard right” had my reeling head pounding, but the adrenalin was beginning to kick in. Max’s big beautiful smile and hearty laugh made it seem like we would be alright. Until he looked us in the eye and told us what to do when we fell out of the raft. That was when and not if. The quaky feeling in my stomach returned as he spoke.

“If someone falls out of the boat right beside it, try to grab them and pull them back in. The best way is to push the person down, so that they will  pop back up and into the boat. If you fall out of the boat, but are still close we will throw you a line. Try to catch it the first time. There won’t be time for a second. If you miss it, one of the kayakers will try to get over to you to guide you through the rapid. Don’t try to climb onto their kayak. There is no point in both of you subsequently needing to be rescued. Just hold on for the ride. If no one is close enough, keep your head up. It might seem like a long time, but you will pop back up in the water. Just ride the rapid and we will pick you up at the end of it.”

He laughed, but was deadly serious. My nervous laugh was squashed by the announcement that we were nearing the first rapid of the day. Max quickly explained what direction we would try to maneuver through this rapid, detailing holes, chutes and eddies that we would try to skirt. Before actually seeing the rapid, it meant nothing to me. Our little raft full of eight people seemed to speed up and suddenly we were wet and going wild. Max’s screamed directions fell on mute ears as the wall of water crashed into us. We hit the water like it was a bucking bronco and Marjorie disappeared over the side from where she had sat beside me. I desperately tried to push my paddle into the onslaught of water that threatened to flip our craft and caught site of Max quickly throwing a line out to our escaped paddler, to no avail. We smashed right, left then straight through  a sheet curved like glass, before being swallowed by waves again. Spluttering and bracing into the boat we shot out the far end of the rapid and slowed. We made it! Well, all minus one. My heart was pounding out of my chest and I felt more alive than I had ever been. It had been a crazy onslaught, but we did it. I was instantly addicted and needed more. It was so wicked cool that I could not contain the energy that flew out of me. How far to the next rapid?  How many rapids were there? Were they all that intense, or was that just a tester and they would get bigger from there? Oh, but first, to find our missing companion.

As we back pedaled towards another boat  with a kayak nearby, we heard tell that poor Marjorie had not been saved until travelling much of the rapid solo. Our line was shot out in vain and the kayaker only reached her in time to travel the last chute with her. She had been picked up by another raft, before we could get to her. When we finally paddled over to where she was, I felt badly for my new friend. Marjorie sat lifeless and glassy. She could not speak for several minutes. She was physically fine, but gone for all intents and purposes. When she finally spoke, she stammered out the details of rushing waves sucking her under, popping up only to be sucked under again. Not knowing where she was or where to turn for safety. She was terrified and it was very plain to see. I felt for her, but it was not quite enough to quell my new-found excitement. Marjorie was given options of coming back into our boat or getting into another boat where all you had to do was hold on as a central guide steered the raft through the rapids with large oars. She stared glassily at us and our raft. She could not speak. Slowly, she shook her head. Poor Marjorie was not back until lunchtime. 

BNL

   I am going to go way back here. Long, long ago in a lifetime mostly forgotten I was a young girl out with friends for an evening of music and fun. I was in Richmond Hill at the Mill Pond and a new local band was playing at the weekly free concerts that regularly played adult contemporary, blues, classical or whatever else they thought might interest the masses. I did not attend any of those other concerts, but this particular one featured a band by the name of Bare Naked Ladies. They would gain fame, fortune and even questionable notoriety for their band's title from local levels of government in the years to come. On this particular night, I reveled in their whimsy, energy and overall spunky fun that they exhibited on stage. That was almost twenty years ago, if I recollect, as I remember spying a girl from high school that I recognized, but had not befriended just yet. We have since had many adventures together, including a trip across the continent last summer and most recently our trip to Toronto. We have even seen BNL together  at other concerts (Molson Amphitheater God knows when - my 20s?). Always lots of fun and energy. Always a good night out.

   So anyways, last night I had the pleasure of seeing the Ladies again. I have had many transformations of me since seeing them the first time so many years ago, but to be fair, so have they. I was interested to see how they would sound and look with the recent departure of Steven Page from the band. I have had a chance to listen to their recent album All in Good Time and have enjoyed it. "You Run Away" is the first single as their reincarnation  of a four-piece band and it is heartfelt. I am touched. It seems to be the catharsis for some of the growing pains they have gone through. They have had a very difficult period of time thrown at them on many levels, but you get the feel that they will survive, altered, but still moving forward. 

   For myself, the concert was enjoyable. I got to go out for that rare evening away from children. A good friend and I set the mood with dinner  and drinks, then scurried down the street to collect our tickets. We slid into our seats with Joel Plaskett singing away on stage accompanied by Peter Elkas. He won a Juno last night, so was in fine spirit. He left the stage to applause and after a brief intermission the Ladies emerged. They played songs old and new with a style that seems to be emerging to find its new face. While I pined for the old-familiar bounce that used to be a mainstay of their sets, I realized that the days of Steven Page were done. His vocals were missed, as some notes were just not on, but the crowd seemed to enjoy the show none-the-less. During "Pinch Me" underwear littered the stage to the joy of many. Laughter filled the JLC and smiles reigned supreme. As we left, we reflected that they were still a great and fun-loving band, but that the years to come would probably see a transformation of their music and energy. Keep on rocking Ladies! You do yourself proud.

  

Saturday Segment

   I am off to the Studio Tour, but thought I would post a quick hello. I have heard tell that there were visitors yesterday and a few pieces were even sold! Yippee! Way to go Acme. I kind of feel like I might show up there and just be in the way or background art, but I must show my solidarity. I may not be a huge part of Acme Animal, but I do give them some of my hours. It is all good. The girls get to play with their girlfriend up at Kidscape too, so I cannot deny them an afternoon of fun (Thank you David!). That will be topped off by a special treat for me. This evening I get to go out for dinner, then continue on to a concert. Babysitter is arranged and I am excited already. Bare Naked Ladies here I come!

Artist Hour

   I have been busy in the kitchen this morning. Cookies were the objective, so a'rolling we did go. Shortbread is the result and they are yummy (Some broke! I had to try them!). And how do you keep two little kids away from such deliciousness that they had a hand in? Exactly. And yes, there are still some to share with visitors. 

   "Visitors?", you ask.

   Yup, visitors. For these cookies are not exclusively for us to enjoy. Oh no, they are for the studio tour this weekend. My part in the preparation for this weekend's London Artists Studio Tour is small, but I  lend my hand where I can. I am quite excited and happy to do so as well. If all goes well, perhaps Acme Animal will make a few dollars. I am going to plug away here, for this is where I work. Lucky me, I get to spend what days the ladies let me painting, listening to CBC and joining in the running commentary about life in general. It really is a dream job (well, minus the pay that is - just bugging ladies!). So perhaps if you are in the London area this weekend, you can come check out the tour. I will be playing artiste on Saturday, but the tour runs Fri-Sun. We create whimsical metallic animal pieces, but there are several artists on the tour and painting, sculpture, woodworking, printmaking and  stained glass are among the beautiful creations to be found. So come on out and  see what London has to offer amongst its creative set. If you haven't guessed already, the links here go to the tours home page and their Facebook page. From either of the links, you can get a listing of where all the artists are located. It is a self-guided tour, so buckle up and enjoy. Hope to see you there!

Revisited Memories

I was on Facebook yesterday and noted a status update from an old friend of mine. She was "looking to the sky", which I immediately knew meant that she was remembering the passing of her aunt. Her aunt died from cancer a year ago; the third in a string of cancer deaths in her family. It reminded me of a post I had written around that time regarding cancer and how to deal with its ramifications. My history makes me an expert of sorts in the field. I thought I would repost this in Joy's memory and also in Brad's.

Saying Goodbye

I talked to a friend this morning to catch up on things. She recently had a double mastectomy, due to a disconcertingly high risk factor for developing breast and/or ovarian cancer. Her Grandmother and Mother both died from Ovarian cancer and her Aunt (her Mother's sister) sounds like she is finally losing the battle to cancer herself. With her Aunt slowly winding out her last few days/weeks at home the family is preparing for her death. My friend has two young daughters, the oldest one being very close to her Great-Aunt. My conversation touched on what to say and how to explain death to young children. She wanted to know how I explained Brad's final illness and death to my girls.

T was 2 1/2 years old when her father died from cancer. She knew her father was sick and may have understood he was getting sicker. In his last month of life he suffered from extreme headaches that were extremely debilitating. I often had to tell her to play quietly because Daddy wasn't feeling well and his head hurt. She drew into herself in her Daddy's last month, I am sure not really knowing exactly what was going on, but knowing that it was something serious. Where television had never held any interest for her, it suddenly drew her in. No surprise when Daddy napped often and Mommy withdrew and cried a lot more. TV was a happy place where everyone was having fun. At our house everyone was serious. Even with doctors trying to be nice, I suspect she sensed how much angst the doctors caused for her adults. She did not have a lot of warmth for them, despite the smiles they offered her.

Brad was hospitalized in his last few days. He essentially had a stroke, and seizures at the end left him in a coma. I was terrified and desperate, and not sure what to do. We had been seeing a social worker at the hospital and she helped to give me ideas of how to handle this final turn of events with the girls. R was only 10 months old at the time, so was intellectually beyond being able to comprehend what was going on. I tried to have familiar caregivers surround her and tend to her needs. When Brad was stabilized, I took T to the hospital so that she could see her Daddy. I explained that Daddy was very, very sick and that the tubes coming out of him were to help him breathe and give him medicine. Essentially I described Daddy as alive and sleeping, but very sick. I told her that if she wanted to touch him or hug him she could. It was a bit much for her and she was not comfortable with that. She did not want to touch him and did not really say anything. We had brought her favourite bunny on the suggestion of the social worker and I gave it to Daddy. I told T it was so that Daddy would know that she had been there and would have a piece of her to hold onto. She was okay with that, but we left fairly quickly.

The next morning Brad died before anyone could come and visit him. I believe that he decided it was time and did not want anyone to uncomfortably hover over him fretting, worrying and not knowing what to say. His parents were there moments after he died and I arrived shortly thereafter. My Mother and Father got the girls fed and dressed, then brought them to the hospital. The social worker and Brad's palliative doctor took me aside and counselled me on what to say to T. The tubes were removed from Brad before we brought the girls in, so as to lessen fears and stresses. R was brought in and shown Daddy and told he had died. T came in and I held her as I explained that Daddy had died. That meant that he couldn't breathe anymore or eat. He could not drink, walk or move his body. The medicine that the doctor's had given him had stopped working and Daddy's body couldn't fight off his sickness any more. Daddy loved us all, but he was gone and not coming back. It was some of the hardest words that I have ever had to wrench from my lips and I wanted to vomit for saying them. The truth was as hard for me to understand, as for her to hear and comprehend. Reality is not pretty or kind in situations such as this. The mixed blessing of it all was that grief does not touch children the same way that it affects adults. That being said they are affected by the grief process and even R felt the vast changes that were going on in her world. Children may not be able to understand all of the complicated emotions that adults grapple with, but they see the people in their world being affected by it and feel sadness in their own way. Time brings the reality of their loss into a reality that they can absorb slowly. It can take many years for children to fully understand and come to grips with such a significant loss. My own experience of losing my Father at the age of five has taught me this.

My conversation this morning brought me back to my not distant loss. While sad to delve into, it is my reality and will always form a part of my world. The glimmer that made the conversation more dear was the recognition from my friend that my words may help her when it comes time to tell her daughter about a loved one's loss. My story is painful, but my story can help others. I am not alone in my pain and neither should anyone else be.