Flowers and Tea in the Winter Mountains

26 Feb 2013 2 Comments

by Suelinhess in Faith, Friendship, Lent, Roman Catholic, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

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During the past week, our house has been bustling with the arrival of our oldest daughter, visiting from university, and the departure of our youngest daughter on a French exchange program to Quebec.  Sitting down to write has been a luxury I couldn’t afford, so the words have been filling me to overflowing, inside.  A few days ago, while shopping in Safeway, those words had nowhere else to go, so they started spilling out of my ears.  In the floral section. Luckily, I carry a little notebook for just such occasions, and I caught them before they were lost (something Hashimoto’s has taught me – write it down or lose it forever).
 
Driving to Safeway takes an hour, so I usually take my time, wandering the aisles to make sure we have everything we need before making the long journey home.  At the end of the produce section, I found myself surrounded by flowers.  As I ventured further into the arrangements and noticed all the tulips and lilies,  my heart lifted with the realization that Spring was around the corner.  Living so far north, this is the time of year when it feels as if Winter will go on forever.  So I indulged myself by wandering around the flower section, picking up the heavy glass vases, picturing the long-stemmed blooms I could arrange, and where I would place them in my apartment.  I gently stroked the glossy leaves of the orchid plants, reminiscing about my house in Hawaii, filled with all varieties of those beauties that my husband would bring home to me every few weeks. Large baskets filled with luscious ferns, hung from iron hooks, green tendrils tickling my ears as I brushed by.   All around, the damp smell of healthy plants in rich soil made me feel homesick for something I couldn’t place my finger on…
 
Then I found wide pots filled with assorted bulbs; crocuses, tulips, and hyacinths.   They were slightly over-bloomed, the hyacinth stem drooping with the weight of the heavy blossom clusters. But I knew they would smell heavenly, so I leaned in and nestled my face amongst the petals.  A deep inhale of the heavy perfume…and I found myself in Bedfordshire, England, with my best friend, Connie.  We were taking one of our days off from working in the AAFES Base Exchange store on RAF Chicksands, and enjoying a day visiting garden centers.  Our lives as Air Force wives would have been very boring, if it weren’t for the small miracle of meeting each other.  When I interviewed her for a job in the Shoppette, I remember thinking how nice it would be to have such a fun friend.  She was just a young girl like me- barely 20 or 21, freshly returned from her honeymoon with her high school sweetheart, but smart as a whip, feisty, and quick to smile.  She had long, chestnut brown hair, that fell in wild waves of corkscrew curls, and startling blue eyes that never ever missed a thing.  It’s funny how appearances fooled me into thinking, “high school cheerleader, popular crowd – maybe not interested in being friends with an oboe-playing band geek who liked to read cookbooks for fun and prune roses for kicks.”  Lo and behold, both Connie AND her husband Dan had been band geeks, they loved to cook, and had the same goofy sense of humor I thought I was alone in possessing.  Our husbands worked crazy schedules on base; 3 days of day shifts (7am-3pm), 3 days of mid shifts (3pm-11pm), 3 days of swing shifts (11pm-7am), then 3 days off.  In the beginning, Connie had to wait for base housing, and she and Dan lived in a spider-infested townhouse in a village called Sandy, about 30 minutes from RAF Chicksands.  To escape the dark rooms filled with spiders, we would explore garden centers on our days off from the BX, where we both had transferred to work.  The garden centers were enchanted places where you could wander greenhouses filled to the rafters with plants of all varieties and sizes.  They also had gift shops stocked with gardening books and beautiful pottery to drool over.  But best of all, every garden center had a cozy little area where customers could enjoy high tea.  Some teas were fancy, with scones and clotted cream, and some just offered small sandwiches and strong, sweet, milky black tea from chipped teapots with knitted tea-cozies.  It didn’t matter what the weather was like outside (usually chilly and mostly wet), because inside we were warm in the greenhouse, surrounded by bright flowers and the pleasant muted clinking of our china cups in their saucers.  I  remember that we were always too poor to buy many things (our husbands were brand-new enlisted airmen – we would have had more income on Welfare), but we always had a few pounds to buy a pot of tea and maybe share a sandwich or some sausage rolls.  And wandering the garden centers, paging through the books and looking at, touching, and smelling the flowers were always free.  
 
Connie and Dan eventually secured base housing, and were given a unit just a few hundred yards behind my house.  With our husbands’ shifts keeping them in permanent sleep deprivation, Connie and I had to occupy ourselves with few resources. Living on the economy was very expensive, and simple things like going out to dinner or the movies weren’t luxuries we could all afford very often.  So we learned how to cross-stitch.  And we learned how to cook.  To this day, Connie’s Spaghetti Carbonara is the best sauce I have ever had.  Pancetta, red wine, beef,  sauteed onions, garlic and carrots, all married together for hours, then finished by pureeing and stirring in silky cream.  I could drink the whole pot of sauce if I didn’t have to share it… I tried to convince her that we could open a restaurant and only serve her spaghetti and my beef stroganoff and get RICH!  She would laugh and flap her oven mitts at my foolishness, but to this day, I know people would pay good money for our food – if only they could taste it first.  
 
Once in a while, if our husbands’ off days and swing shifts would coincide,  we would splurge and take the train to London. The 4 of us visited Madame Toussad’s Wax Museum, dallied in Harrod’s, and stood at the gates of Buckingham Palace.  I remember always having a difficult time breathing in those places, not quite believing I was actually travelling in a city that was older than my native country.
 
Every Saturday at 6:45pm or Sunday at 9:45am, Connie would say, “Okay, I’m running to Mass – I’ll be back in about an hour.”  Whether she was at my house or I was at hers, she went.  Her husband and I, both baptized but never raised by families to practice our faith, would wheedle and whine to keep her from going, but she would just smile and say, “I gotta go!  I’ll be right back!”  There was no Bible thumping or preaching – she went because she wanted to go.  My father is Agnostic (in my opinion, a very pretentious way of saying, “I dunno”) and my mother was just paranoid.  She was baptized as a baby (some Missionary must have convinced someone in her family, but never followed through with the rest of the faith lessons) but it meant nothing, as not one of them attended Mass or even discussed any faith in the household.  She also believed in Taoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism, among other things.  Basically, it felt like my mother wanted all bases covered, in case she died and one of the faiths was actually true, so she had all of us children baptized at birth.  In any case, both parents were too lazy to physically bring us to churches to explore faiths, so they always told us, “You decide what you want to believe in when you grow up.”  I went to an Episcopal boarding school one year.  It was my first time in a church, and I was enthralled by the architecture, the acoustics (I sang in the school choir), and the hushed air when the minister spoke.  The hymns were my favorite part, though, which made me think that perhaps I wasn’t feeling the message I was meant to receive from the Episcopalians. So I asked Connie, “Why do you go to church?”  At first, she laughed and told me that when she was little, her mother would get tired of the kids whining about going to Mass on Sundays and would yell, “Get up and come to Mass, or you’re all going to Hell!”  Then I said, “Why do you keep going now?  You could sleep in, or we could keep watching that show on tv, or we could all have a glass of wine – why do you feel you have to go to Mass, now that you’re grown up and Mom doesn’t need to nag you?”  She grew still as she thought about it, a little crease forming between her eyebrows.  Then she said, “Well, I think I go to say thank you.  God gives me every day of my life – every minute of every day.  And I have a really good life.  I’m healthy and happy, and I have a wonderful husband and a good job.  For all those days in my life, I think it isn’t too much for God to ask me to go to Mass for just one hour. An hour is such a small amount of time to say thank-you for everything He gives.”
 
For weeks, Connie’s words rattled about in my head.  Finally, I worked up the courage to ask her if I could come with her one time, to see what Mass was like.  She agreed and said I was totally welcome, but there was a little rule that I wouldn’t be allowed to partake of Communion because I wasn’t a fully initiated member of the church.  I thought, “that’s okay.  I’m just curious.”  Following her to Saturday night Mass was curious, indeed.  Upon entering the small wooden, multipurpose chapel on base, Connie dipped her fingers in a little basin of water (Holy Water, she explained), and genuflected with her dampened fingers; gently touched forehead, then sternum, then left shoulder, then right. I imitated her, the water leaving a cooling spot on my forehead. There were only a few other people there, so the carpeted chapel was very quiet. We slid into the wooden pews, and Connie pulled out the padded kneeling bench by our feet, and knelt.  She bowed her head and became very still.  I looked around at others doing the same, looked up on the alter to the large crucifix, studied Jesus’ bowed head.  And the pianist asked us to open our Catholic Book of Worship (hymnals) to a certain number, and we began to sing.  The music was meh.  But then there were readings from the bible.  2, to be exact.  It was a bit difficult to understand, because I was slightly nervous from all the rising and the sitting, and the responses to prompts that I was a stranger to.  Then the priest began his homily.  I figured out that after a reading from the Gospel, the priest does a homily to explain the Gospel in layman’s terms.  I could never have prepared myself for Father Ryan, though.  Here was a spritely little man in his mid-fifties, glasses on his nose, talking about how great the Rolling Stones are…what?!  He had us laughing and answering questions, and next thing I knew, I felt a “click.”  I started tagging along after Connie to every weekly Mass.  Eventually, perhaps feeling left behind, her husband joined us. Not once did Connie nag us, not once did she preach.  She just lived her faith, and we lifted ourselves to reach the level she seemed to glow from. The rhythm of prayer and response, song, and readings, began to feel comfortable and easy.  Every week, we all gave each other a sign of Peace during Mass, by shaking hands after the Lord’s Prayer, and wishing each other, “Peace be with you.”  And every time that happened, I felt the peace wash over me and I felt strong and refreshed, ready for a new start to a new week.  Dan and I went through the RCIA program and were both given our First Communion and were Confirmed on Holy Saturday Night before Easter that year.  
 
Within one month of each other, Connie and I found ourselves expecting our first babies.  Soon after, however, our husbands were reassigned to the U.S.  Connie moved to Maryland, and I moved to the armpit of Texas: San Angelo.  The best part of living in San Angelo (the ONLY part) was that my daughter was born there.  The rest is a blur.  Connie’s baby boy was born 11/12/92, and my daughter was born on 12/13/92.  She made me the Godmother, and I made her and Dan the Godparents.  She and Dan came for a visit when the kids were 3 months old – we celebrated Easter together and for a few days it felt like no time had passed.  Luckily, it turns out we have that kind of friendship, because 17 years went by before we saw each other again.  We tried to keep in touch, but life gets busy with jobs and kids, divorce, and moving.  Years later, I found myself in Colorado for a high school reunion, and Connie and Dan drove to my hotel to bring me to their new home.  Connie’s hair was blond, Dan’s was all salt and pepper, and mine was falling out, but as soon as we started talking, we were in our 20’s again, laughing and joking and comparing kids. Their son and my daughter, although raised apart since they were 3 months old, have turned into mirror images of each other.  We alternate between wanting to hug them and wanting to strangle them.  Connie confides in me that she has had ups and downs with her son, as I have had with my daughter, but through it all, she maintains an inner peace I wish I could find.  She gets angry like a normal person, but she bears no resentment, like I do. For her, forgive and forget go hand-in-hand.  That’s something I need to work on…  They also got on a plane and flew out to Canada to visit me a couple of years ago.  It’s so strange and wonderful to me, each time we are reunited, to find that nothing has changed.  Connie is still the kind of person that I strive to be.  She is patient and kind, she is forgiving and loving.  As I age, I realize how important it is to surround myself with people that I look up to; people who teach by example.  But there are very few people I meet that inspire me to be a better person, while making me laugh and appreciate life at the same time. I’m sure I am describing every Best Friend in the world, but this is different, because this is my Best Friend.  Since I get more discerning as I age, I find myself choosing to be alone, rather than have shallow friendships. If it weren’t for Facebook and FaceTime, linking me to the friends I have held on to, and to my Best Friend, I think I might go crazy in this winterscape called Jasper.  I mentioned the Girl Scout organization on Facebook, a couple of weeks before Lent, praising it for its liberal views, and the next thing I know, a huge box arrives in the mail from Connie, full of Girl Scout Cookies (and other goodies).  All it was missing was a big pot of steaming tea, strong, sweet, and milky hot.  And Connie.  And a warm greenhouse full of flowering plants…
 
I blink, look down, and find myself holding a little pot of deep purple african violets.  The dark green leaves are impossibly soft, covered in velvet that begs to be touched.  I look up, and I’m in the flower section of the Hinton Safeway, thousands of miles away from England.  Connie and I both live in the Rocky Mountains now – she’s on the Colorado side, I’m on the Canadian side.  There are just a few really big hills between us.  I brought the little plant home and placed it on my kitchen table.  It keeps me company while I abstain from Facebook during Lent, it’s cheerful purple petals reminding me that Easter is around the corner.  It stands in for the garden centres in my memories, while I raise a cup of strong, sweet, milky black tea towards the snow-covered mountains, to my best friend on the other side.  Cheers, Connie!
 

An Ode to my Precioussssssss

25 Feb 2013 2 Comments

by Suelinhess in Birthdays, computers, Family, Uncategorized Tags: , ,

I have survived turning 45.  Normally, age is not an issue for me.  The days leading up to the grand event did not portend impending doom, or even anything that mattered.  Growing up in my family, birthdays for children were of no consequence.  Actually, anything having to do with children was considered of no consequence.  My father used to think he was so witty, saying “Children are cabbages.  They’re not worth speaking to until they are educated and old enough to carry a reasonably intelligent conversation.” Such lovely sentiments that no level of brain-fog can erase from my aging brain, unfortunately.  On the plus side, the family I have been lucky enough to choose for myself, believes in Love and more Love, and my husband and I pull off some amazing family birthday celebrations.  That said, I still have a difficult time getting excited while anticipating my own birthday; I focus on our family tradition of the Birthday Boy or Girl giving a gift to each member of the family.  It makes for a very fun round of opening gifts at the breakfast table. And the rest of my birthday energy is spent preparing for the others’ birthdays during the year.  

So the days leading up to my big day were uneventful – only peppered by my silly husband grabbing my face in his hands and declaring, “I can’t BELIEVE you are going to be 45!!!  45!!!  So Old!!!” several times a day.  He’s two years younger than me, so he likes to think of me as a cougar.  Puh-leeze.  Between the face-grabbing and his jumping up and down with glee over some secret surprise, it was hard to ignore the looming date.  My oldest daughter, Emmy, was also home from university.  She must have been in on the secret too, because they would occasionally make eye contact, then giggle and clap their hands. Silly people.  

All I wanted for my birthday was something so enormously extravagant that I knew we couldn’t afford it. It was something so over-the-top I couldn’t even mention it out loud. Since I am a practical person, if I want something I know I can’t have, I try to put it out of my mind. Why think about it, if it isn’t going to happen, right?  Window shopping?  I hate it.  Why go into a store to look at stuff if you don’t have the money to buy it?  Some women love diamonds, some love shoes.  I like those things, but I LURVE technology.  Nothing puts a gleam in my eye like reading about processor speeds and RAM…sigh.  Over the years, I have been slowly seduced to the Dark Side by Apple.  It started with my first iPod Shuffle, and led to my iPad and my iPhone5.  Occasionally, I would surf the Apple Store site and illicitly drool over the Mac Books, closing the windows if someone were to walk by—feeling like I’d been surfing for porn.  But instead of splurging on big tech toys, we decided to help our children with university, and I had to settle for my old Dell laptop, keys sticky from my husband’s honey-bread mishap and his spilled latte.  First World problems, right?  Just close that window and move on, Sue. If asked what I wanted for my birthday, I replied, “plants!”

6:30am on the morning of February 22nd (yes, we get up for birthday celebrations BEFORE breakfast on school days) and I am gently kissed awake.  I open my eyes to the family singing Happy Birthday in the dark.  Quietly, my little boy puts his hands on my eyes and leads me through the dark to the kitchen, where pink and red streamers float from every surface, with pink and red hearts dangling all around.  The dining table is covered with gifts on one end, and our traditional German birthday candle ring on the other.  The birthday candle ring is a wooden circle, with holes to hold candles and little wooden pixies with felt clothes and hats (we call them our mannschgerl).  Instead of the number of candles needed to celebrate my birthday, the family made the smart move to light a “4” and a “5” candle.  More singing, and a very strong cup of espresso, had me sitting very happily for a few minutes, while my husband made me breakfast.  Then, the gifting began.

This was the year of scarves for me.  I am not a very fashionable person, but my good friend, my daughter,  and my big sister have unwittingly put an end to that!  I now have silk scarves, pashmina shawls, and floaty concoctions to drape for every occasion.  Look out, Jasper, I am changing the dress code… 

In between my lovely gifts, I handed out tickets to my family’s favorite hockey team’s game in Calgary, some love cups (the only kind of coffee cups we like in this house), and a iPad Mini to my oldest daughter (another addition from the cult of Apple).  I smiled because they smiled, and my heart grew bigger and bigger.

Then my husband made me cry by giving me a coffee cup that he had decorated himself.  A homemade love cup.  On it, he’d painted hearts and a love poem.  That was that, I thought.  The perfect ending to my perfect birthday.  I should have noticed the children holding their breath…and my husband’s suppressed smile.

Opening the wrapper on the box they handed me, I saw the words, “MacBook Pro.” No.  That couldn’t be right.  Blinkblinkblink.  The box still read “MacBook Pro.”  I thought maybe a pair of shoes wrapped up in MacBook Pro box?  A HaHa gift?  Lifting the top of the box, I saw the glow of brushed aluminum, and the apple…that yummy yummy apple…Christmas in February!!!!  

I am still in awe.  The touch pad, alone, is a wonder.  The retina display should come with a choir of angels that sings “Hallelujah!” every time I open the laptop.  This is all very bad.  I think Tolkien was mistaken.  Gollum wasn’t corrupted by a stinking ring.  He was given a 15″ MacBook Pro with Retina Display on his 45th birthday.  And soon he forgot about his Love.   He forgot to make dinners and pick up kids from school.  And he shriveled up and moved into the underground caves of the dwarves.  I’ll make sure to leave my forwarding address to his spare room…jussst don’t give it to that filthy Bagginsesssssss.  What.  Did you think Ode to my Preciousss was about my husband?  What husband?  All I can see issss my Precioussss with the 2.7 GHz processor and the lurvely retina dissssplay…

Two visitors taking a shortcut to my back yard, over the lake-turned-ice-skating-rink.

17 Feb 2013 2 Comments

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Waiting for Mr. Tumnus

16 Feb 2013 Leave a comment

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Snowhuddled and Dreaming of Another Place

16 Feb 2013 4 Comments

by Suelinhess in foie gras, Food, Marriage, Montreal, Travel, Uncategorized, Winter

3pm in Jasper, Alberta, and the snow has been pounding down since dawn.  It brings to mind the beginning of a lovely memory of my 15th wedding anniversary.  I’m going to let you read my diary…just this once. But remember that this is my diary and if you object to controversial subjects such as the Godlike quality of foie gras and sex in hotel rooms, may I suggest searching for a blog to read in the gardening section?

 

“April 14, 2011

Banff, Alberta

Started out at 4:30 this morning.  The furry German  arranged a friend to stay with the children, instructed me to pack a bag, and announced, “Happy Early Anniversary!” as he hustled me into the car.  Drove 2 treacherous hours through slush and blinding snow, and arrived at the airport with just enough time to whisk through the baggage tagging and boarded the plane.  Needn’t have rushed, because my BadWeatherShit Magnet kicked into overdrive.  The snow storm shut down the main runway at the airport in Calgary, forcing us to wait in the plane for an hour.  It was stuffy and hot, and all I could think of was that we didn’t give out medical powers-of-attorney or make our will in case we died on this trip.  Then the furry guy announces, “We are spending a romantic weekend in Montreal, and we will dine in your dream restaurant.”  All worries and thoughts of piddly things like Death and children are instantly replaced with fantasies of Au Pied de Cochon. 

Landed in Montreal at 2pm and messed up the first step of our romantic adventure.  I wanted to be welcomed to Montreal with a French kiss (get it?) but Markus forgot our agreement, and gave me a quick peck when I asked for a kiss.  Hmph!  The rest of the trip HAS to be better!

Hopped on the Express Bus 747 and rode through the city to Fairmont The Queen Elizabeth.  This is the hotel where John Lennon had his “Give Peace a Chance” Love-In.  Rode the elevator to the 19th floor and checked into Fairmont Gold.  On the elevator door, there is a sign that reads “Fairmont” and under it “Or.”  I asked my husband, “Or what?” and he replied, “Or is the French word for Gold.”  Well, duh. 

The room is beeyootiful, and we decided that after we put away our clothes, we would need to christen all the furniture.  Never finished putting away the clothes…then it was time to get ready for our 6pm dinner reservation at Au Pied de Cochon.  How does one dress for an orgy of the palate? 

At 5:15 we called the kids to bid them adieu – after all, we were heading for Heaven on a 6pm reservation, right?  10 minute taxi ride, and we arrived at the temple…a place so renowned it doesn’t even need to advertise the name of the restaurant on the door.  And we entered the pearly gates…

The bustling atmosphere was exactly as we imagined.  Every server and helper smiled, “Bonsoir!” We were seated at a table across from the open kitchen – perfect view of the frenzy.  First up, we sipped a Riesling – not too sweet; perfect for the incoming fois gras…L’amuse bouche was a dice-sized breaded cube of deep fried, liquid fois gras.  Liquid “Or”  hahaha.  Then we moved on to codfish fritters dipped in homemade mayonnaise.  They were just teasers…the entrance of the fois gras appetizers deserved a standing ovation.  I had the fois gras poutine.  Mein Mann had the terrine.  Better than sex.  Well, almost…husband has some stepping up to do…

Anything after that was just overkill.  I had the Duck in a Can – the flavors were divine.  Marinaded duck breast, fois gras, savory cabbage, pressure-cooked in a sealed can, served on a bed of celeriac puree on croutons.  If I could have borne parting with the fois gras already consumed, I would have tickled my throat with a feather as the Romans did, just to be able to finish my entrée, sigh.  As it stood, I had to leave some on my plate.  A sin.  The furry man’s eyes were rolling back into his head while savoring his beef tartar.  It was so perfectly seasoned, he only needed some bread to crunch with it, and he was set for the evening.  We both filled to bursting.  Best money ever spent on dinner.  EVER.

After dinner, we desperately needed some fresh air and a walk.  It was important to shake that food down to our toes, or it might come back up, we were so full.  So we consulted our map, and set out to walk back to the hotel.  The evening was clear and cool, with a brisk breeze blowing all the clouds away from the shining moon.  A lovely romantic way to end an evening.  But after a dozen blocks, we thought maybe we would try the subway – after all, that was an adventure we hadn’t yet tried.  After a couple of turnarounds in neighborhoods that were positively picture-book, we found an entrance to the Metro.  The underground was busy with people rushing to and fro.  We wandered about, consulted maps, and asked the ticket clerk for some direction.  He set us back on track, and two trains later, we were in the underground tunnel that led straight to the elevators that took us to the Fairmont Or Floor.  Or or Bust!  We poured ourselves some much needed Bailey’s in the Or Floor Lounge, my Lovie filled a small plate with sweets, and we locked ourselves in our little room. 

And so, Day 1 is ended, and we go to sleep with shivery memories of bites of heaven, and we will snuggle and be romantic and…ok I’ll be honest – he is watching a San Jose Sharks hockey game.  It wouldn’t be fair to let him treat me to the most romantic anniversary gift ever, without giving a little bit of joy in return, right?  Bonne Nuit!”

Ch-Ch-Ch Changes

15 Feb 2013 4 Comments

by Suelinhess in Childhood Memories, Family, Moving, teenagers, Uncategorized Tags: ,

My oldest daughter, Emily, is coming home for her Reading Week (like Spring Break) from university, TODAY!  She has grown from a giggly little silly girl, through her awkward years, into a woman who works for her goals and makes her own happiness. We blinked, and she grew up.  She always had the most difficult time moving when she was younger; she took our relocations much harder than the younger two.  I remember feeling similar as a teenager, moving all over the world with my family, but never as heartbroken as Emmy would get.  I crawled inside her teenage heart, a little while back, and wrote this from her point of view.  You might think I exaggerate, but I don’t write fiction:

Snow.  Just say the word and instant images spring to mind.  Christmas, sleigh rides, and snowball fights, right?  To someone accustomed to snowy winters, these things might be taken for granted.  To a girl like me, born in Texas and raised in Hawaii, snow and the way of life that accompanies it, were alien concepts. Snow was nothing that felt like home; only sunny days and warm breezes meant home.  That is, until 4 years ago, at age 16, I came home from my school in Kona, Hawaii, to discover that my dad was being transferred to Banff, Alberta.  In my mind, we were moving to the North Pole, and my life was over.  As far as I was concerned, snow was cold, so snow was bad.  And the sun – my glorious sunshine – what was I going to do without it?! Goodbye sunny beaches and hello to snowshoes and grizzly bears.

Looking back, I realize how completely horrible I was to my family during the preparations for the move.  Even on the flight from Kona to Vancouver, I cried the entire way.  After all, every friend I had in the world was being left behind, and I was heading to a country full of strangers; cold strangers.  Every attempt by my parents, brother, and sister to cheer me up with novelty of living in a national park, learning new sports and activities, and chances to make new friends, was met with my cold shoulder (I thought that was highly appropriate, since we were moving to the tundra).  My mom just hugged me and said, “You’ll see.  You have no idea how magical snow is.  It will change you forever.”  Then we landed in Vancouver International Airport and were met with the biggest snowstorm that had hit Vancouver in 30 years (according to the news).  All flights were cancelled and the airport was shut down.  For 3 hours, the 5 of us sat up against a wall, on 10 pieces of luggage, while my dad called around to find a hotel room that wasn’t already taken by the thousands of other stranded travelers in the airport.  My little brother, Simon,  and sister, Hanna were getting antsy, I hated the world and thought this was a very perfect way for dratted Canada to welcome me, and my poor mom was stuck between telling the kids to settle down, and wiping my tears.  In between my sniffles, I heard Simon gasp and loudly whisper, “That lady is picking her nose!  Look!”  Sure enough, a very dignified lady was digging away, and right next to her was a child doing the same.  After much shushing from my mom, with instructions for us to stop giggling and to find another activity, she offered us the video camera for us to keep a video diary of our journey to Canada.  She thought we would be interviewing each other and doing something wholesome and constructive.  We thought differently.  We set out and discovered 8 people in the surrounding area who were publically picking their noses. Then we put together a mock documentary about nose picking and the types of people who like to do that in airports.  We entertained ourselves with this until it was time to pack ourselves into 2 taxis and drive to the Fairmont Waterfront Hotel.  Outside the taxi windows, the snow floated down; giant, fat, fluffy flakes, falling out of the sky.  When the taxis came to a stop in front of the hotel, we all tumbled out and just stood there, with our smiling faces held up to the sky.  My mom said, “Open your mouths!  Catch the snowflakes on your tongue!” and I did.  And I felt the first moment of happiness come to me.  But when I opened my eyes and saw the cloud-filled sky, I remembered that my sunshine was gone. With my returned bad mood, I grumbled my way into the hotel.  The next 3 days were filled with frantic calls to the airlines, little kids worried that Santa wouldn’t know we were there if we were stuck in Vancouver over Christmas, and  me complaining about how cold I was.  But on our 2nd day, we took a break.  The snowplows in the city just couldn’t cover all the streets, so there weren’t any cars.  We pushed our way through snow that was 2 feet deep, to an area on the waterfront where we were the only 5 people in a pristine world of hushed white softness.  We rolled in it.  We made snow angels.  We pushed and heaved and together made an enormous snowman.  There was an epic snowball fight and we ended the afternoon by trudging back to the hotel, freezing cold, but laughing and all holding hands.  Along the way, my parents asked us, “what do you think, will Canada be a good new home for us?”  The little ones yelled, “YES!” but I let go of their hands and stopped laughing.

3 days later, we finally made it to Banff.  The trees lining the street leading to the hotel were twinkling with white lights, and out of the swirling cloud of snow loomed the most beautiful castle:  the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel.  We checked into our rooms, and discovered that my dad’s secretaries had put up a fully decorated, REAL Christmas tree, with gifts underneath.  The room was filled with the pungent smell of pine mixed with piping hot cocoa and whipped cream.  Among the presents under the tree were 3 toboggans, labeled for each of us kids. The next day my dad took us out behind the hotel to the sledding hill. I was in an awful mood, being so cold I could barely think, but during our first run down the hill my mood instantly uplifted. The 20 second glide down was just the break I needed from thinking about all the sad parts of moving. I didn’t have to think about anything except the thrill of feeling just a little bit out of control. Trekking up the hill for another run warmed me up to the point that I was actually sweating. I never knew that could be possible! That was my first activity in snow that I actually enjoyed. Later, in the hotel lobby, sipping on yet more hot chocolate, my parents looked at me and asked, “Is this so bad?  Could we make it our home?”  Feeling disloyal to Hawaii, I shook my head and walked to the elevators.

A few days after that, our family explored the hotel property and peeked in at the 100 year old cabin where we would live.  Nestled in the woods, Earnscliffe Cottage was the summer home of Lady Agnes MacDonald, wife of Canada’s first prime minister.  This information went right over the head of my little brother.  He just started squealing, “MAMA!  We are moving to the Little House in the Big Woods! There will be bears and wolves and coyotes and elk and moose and foxes and more animals than we ever had in Hawaii!” Then he and Hanna toppled over and started making snow angels.  My parents looked at me and asked, “How is this?  Do you think we could make it our home?”  I immediately wiped the smile off of my face, shook my head and headed back to the hotel.

In Hawaii, I always took my showers in the morning and headed out the door with my long hair dripping wet.  The balmy breezes and the sunshine would dry it for me.  In Canada, my parents suggested I either shower at night or use a hair dryer in the morning.  Stubbornly, I refused, and one morning went outside, my head held defiantly high, my hair dripping down.  The outside temperature was -30◦.  My little brother had a great time breaking off what he called my “haircicles.”  How on earth could my parents imagine we could ever make this our new home?!

School started.  I hated it.  The girls were mean and the boys were ugly.  The entire high school was the size of my graduating class back in Hawaii.  During Social Studies, disparaging remarks were made about the gun culture in the USA and the fast food, etc, lumping all Americans in with the crazy ones.  I was constantly battling to defend my country, and butted heads with everyone.  Finally, my mom sat me down during the 2nd week of school.  She told me that, as a diplomat’s daughter, she learned a very valuable lesson growing up an American in a foreign country.  If you’re the new kid, close your mouth, put a smile on your face, and remember that you are a guest in that country.  It isn’t polite for a guest to criticize her host, and it is rude to only talk about where you came from, instead of being interested in where you are NOW.  And then she dropped the bombshell; the Rule.  The Rule was:  I had exactly 6 months to indulge in feeling sorry for myself in my new home.  They wouldn’t scold or lose their patience with my moping for 6 months.  But on the first day of the 7th month, I was required to pull myself out of mourning and join Life, whether I liked it or not.  I ranted and raged – 6 months was not enough time for me to get over my horrible situation – there was no way I could do it.  My mom said, “You’ll be surprised, honey.  It will take less time than you think.  Give it a chance.  You have Facebook to keep your old friends while you make new ones.  You also have the 4 best friends that you will ever have in your life right here with you now.  Us.  Remember that your family is your best friend – the one constant we take with us wherever we move.  We can make this our home as long as we’re together.” 

It ended up only taking 1 month. I didn’t notice the time flying by as I learned how to ski, snowboard, and ice-skate.  I stopped saying negative things, and friends surrounded me.  Every night at dinner, my family has a little tradition called Worst and Best. Each person takes a turn and first says the worst thing about their day, then for a happy ending, says the best thing about their day.  In the beginning, I could never think of a best thing, so I would cop out with saying something like, “well, I’m still alive.”  In time, it became increasingly difficult to find any worst things to say.  Then, one night after dinner, we took the dogs for a walk in the gently falling spring snow.  We all stopped under one of the black iron street lamps that was glowing in a small circle of snow-laden pine trees, the snowflakes piling up on our eyelashes as we puffed out soft clouds of breath.  My mom exclaimed, “I’ve been trying to put my finger on why it always feels so familiar, like I’ve been here before…I finally figured it out!  We’ve come through the wardrobe and we are living in Narnia!”  As the whole family laughed, I looked around the warm circle of love that we made in the forest, and I said, “Ask me.  Ask me now.”  My parents knew exactly what I meant, and they said, “Can we make this our home?”  And I replied, “My home is where my heart is, and my family is my heart.  So we are home now.”  Last month, we received our permanent residency in Canada, and one day I hope to be a dual citizen. We’ll never again have the hot Hawaiian sun on our faces, but the sun shining on the snow over here is the same sun – just a little further North.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flummoxed

15 Feb 2013 4 Comments

by Suelinhess in Healing, Love, Marriage, Uncategorized, Valentine's Day Tags: , , ,

Happy Valentine’s Day.  For those of you who don’t have a Valentine sweetheart to give you lovin’ today, I have plenty to share.  Something crazy happened this year, and I am completely flummoxed.  Flummoxed, you say?  Yes, flummoxed.  I need a new F-word, and today it will be flummoxed.

I’ve been married for 17 years this May 1st, and for most of those years I’d dream about big romantic days with my husband, only to get a Hallmark card, and during one rocky patch-nothing.  I tried the bitch approach (hey, that’s not a swear word – it’s not directed at you…) and would whine out loud about the lack of romance in my life.  If I started bitching a week before a big event, I might get flowers delivered out of guilt.  Guilt flowers don’t give as much pleasure as I’d thought.  Then we hit the rocky patch.  I was pretty desperate to save 10 years of marriage, so I researched how to make someone love you.  Yes, I actually googled that.  I also googled how to save a marriage, how to be a nicer person, and how to not lose your mind when your husband decides to leave you.  Don’t judge.  I lived on an island with limited resources.  The Internet actually gave some very good advice.  One of the most important things I learned, that I still use today, is this:  Be the person you want your loved one to be.  In other words, if you want a hug, give hugs.  If you want romance, be romantic.  If you want kindness, be kind.  Be an example (without preaching about it) by living it.  It doesn’t work magic overnight, and it does need to go hand in hand with good conversations where you both talk about hopes and dreams and likes and dislikes (focus on likes). It also involved me deciding to end my high expectations.  Actually, I decided to end all expectations.  So there were some birthdays, Christmases, and Valentine’s Days where I would send HIM flowers and love letters.  And I might not get anything.  But each day we would talk and each week we had a date, and all along we agreed to keep trying.  Anyway, the marriage went from rock bottom to a hesitant work-in-progress, to daring to be happy now, 6 years later.  Which brings me to my flummoxing news.

I woke up this morning to an alarm clock ringing at 5:30.  My husband whispered, “go back to sleep – I’m going for a run with the dogs.”  Before the sentence was finished I was snoring.  Next thing I know, I’m being kissed awake by a furry man holding a breakfast tray with the aroma of truffles floating from it.  A school day morning breakfast in bed – scrambled eggs with black truffles, a latte in a love cup (we collect mugs with hearts on them-yeah yeah call me corny), and a LOVE LETTER.  Not just any love letter.  He had taken the time to scrabble around in the kids’ art supplies to find colored construction paper, and had cut out little paper hearts that he glued to the letter.  I stopped saying, “I’ll love you forever” when the rocky time happened, even though he is adament that this time around is for good, but he humors me by telling me that he’ll love me until next week.  And I guarantee that I love him right now with all my heart.  And the love letter told me that he will love me with all his heart until next Valentine’s Day.  Now that is something. 

So I floated through the making of school lunches and sent everyone on their way, feeling very loved and special.  At 9, I sat down in my pajamas to do a bit of writing, and I got a text from the furry man.  He told me to brush my teeth.  How rude!  But laughing, I walked to my bathroom to get it over with.  On my mirror was a small homemade poster covered with colorful little folded paper hearts.  “7am,” 12pm,” “1pm,” “3pm”, “5pm”, “6:30pm”, “7pm”, 8:30pm”, “10pm.”  Inside each heart was written (in the same order) “Breakfast in Bed,” Manicure,” Lunch with Me?”, “Pick up Stinkers,” “Get Pretty,” Dinner,” “Want some foie gras?”, “Some cheese for dessert?” and finally, “?”

So now I am flummoxed.  Completely flummoxed.  In one fell swoop, my husband has given several years worth of valentines surprises to me.  And all I have to give him is a lousy coffee cup with a heart on it.  And the woman who normally has so much to say that her father once told her she has diarrhea of the mouth is at a loss for words.  I can’t even pen a poetic love letter to bring tears to his eyes.  I stumbled through a pathetic attempt and it fell dreadfullly short.  I think it might be time for me to play the naked card.  And maybe I can glue little cutout construction paper hearts all over my body…Flummox Me! 

Lenten Lentils, LaLaLa

14 Feb 2013 4 Comments

by Suelinhess in Faith, Family, Lent, Moving, Roman Catholic, Uncategorized Tags: , ,

So far, resolutions are still surviving, although there are signs of rebellion everywhere.  My family was really big on making Lenten promises – my husband decided to discipline his potty mouth, younger daughter had a laundry list of promises (including running outside for 30 minutes everyday and no gaming/social media/texting for fun), and my son gave up gaming and vowed to run outside every day for 30 minutes.  Well.  Yesterday was Ash Wednesday – Day #1.  First thing in the morning, as the children are thundering around upstairs, and my husband is waiting impatiently downstairs to drive them to school, he yells, “What the F**K is going on?!”  sigh.  And the kiddies come home from school, full of excuses as to why they are too tired to go out and suck in some fresh air.  FINE.  I will be perfect and do everything I promised, right? HA.

Well, I gave up my favorite thing in the world (besides the actual people I love), Facebook.  So to prevent temptation, I deleted the apps from my phone and my ipad, after changing the notification settings so I don’t get any emails telling me what I’m missing.  But then I found myself checking my phone every hour yesterday…only to find the app missing, boo.  So then I would do something lame like open up CNN or check my email.  And I wandered aimlessly for much of the day.  Withdrawal is not so fun.

I also made a quiet promise to myself that I would give this Godforsaken town a 2nd chance by doing something new every day.  Yesterday was supposed to be my day to visit the town museum.  I went.  Twice.  Both times it was closed for some unexplained reason. Attendant in the bathroom? Who knows.  And because I also promised myself I would not swear anymore, I was forced to sound ridiculous by saying out loud, “Tsk. Tsk.”  That’s it.  “Tsk. Tsk.”  And you KNOW what I really wanted to do was yell what my husband yelled up the stairs this morning.  sigh.  So I went to pick up my son from the elementary school, and he jumps into the car and exclaims, “MAMA, can we make Valentines cards for tomorrow?!  Homemade!  With like, chocolate Kisses stuck inside?!”  I haven’t done arts and crafts with the kids since we moved away from Hawaii, 4 years ago.  After all, my youngest is in 6th grade now, and tying them down to the kitchen table is like trying to wash a cat.  Possible, but not so fun.  So I thought, “why not?”  it was something new for us in Canada, I could rationalize.  Luckily, I’m a pack rat so our art supplies were in great abundance.  We bought some chocolate covered caramels wrapped in gold at the grocery store, and cut out the prettiest valentines out of contruction paper on the kitchen table.  Simon wrote out and decorated all of them, and carefully taped a candy inside each one. It was the best hour I had all day. 

So then we all bundled up and went to Ash Wednesday Mass at 7pm.  There was good news and bad news.  The good news was that our Nigerian priest from last year (who was a lovely man but whose English was incomprehensible) had been replaced with a sweet little Indian man with a very understandable sing-song accent.  The kids perked up to be able to understand the homily, and his enthusiasm brought smiles to our faces.  The bad news was that the choir still consisted of a lead singer with a microphone, and her warbling backups (3 little old ladies who loved trilling vibratto off-tuned harmony…very loudly).  My mother never taught me this, but I learned it from my friends with manners:  if you have nothing nice to say, do not say anything at all.  Well, I am trying to follow that advice with my spoken word (my written word is out-of-bounds…anything goes), so I was verrrry verrrry quiet during Mass.  We all held hands, I whispered explanations to my youngest son during the readings, and before we knew it, we were released into the cold night air.  Surprisingly, both the children, my husband, and I felt glad that we attended.  When we returned home, I found 6 emails in my inbox – all personal, from my big sister and friends – and I didn’t have to think about Facebook while I read them. My big sister, who is a proud Birkie-Lovin’ Pagan, called me a Lentil, and I am still laughing. It’s the new me: Lentil Sue. I might give you gas, but I am good for you!

Heavens to Murgatroyd, She’s Talking Religion…

30 Jan 2013 2 Comments

by Suelinhess in Faith, Lent, Roman Catholic, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , ,

It is rapidly approaching that time of year for me to temporarily put down the excess in my life – the things I think I NEED when in reality they are things that I just desperately WANT – and to use that time to do the best I can to explore and improve my Faith. For Lent (beginning on Ash Wednesday, February 13th), I will be giving up my daily touchstone: Facebook. For those of you who use FB as a business contact list, or a place to play online games, this might seem like a trivial sacrifice; something akin to giving up chocolate. For me, I will be giving up the small window of joy I receive when I can see a friend, or a sister, or a cousin, from across the world, post a photo of themselves or their child, or post an update to their day as they are maybe waking up and I am going to bed. I will be giving up that warm feeling when my family and friends comment, laugh, or commiserate about my day. Living, as I have for the last year, in such an isolated place, Facebook has become my main link to my small extended family living in Australia, Germany, Hawaii, Florida, and Taiwan, and the only way to get all my busy friends who live in dozens of other countries, to come to one virtual meeting place to visit. It is truly the only thing that I love so much (other than my family), that I will miss keenly. Honestly, I’ve been living without wine for weeks now, have lived without coffee/caffeine before, and have given up different food groups with no problem. Facebook is my one connection to every single one of my friends and family who do not live in Jasper (pretty much the rest of the world). And while I crave that human connection, leaving it for 40 days will give me clarity and focus. I will email, text, call, write letters, and make a renewed effort to write my blog.

Easter will be on March 31st. I have been a shitty Christian for most of the year, and I need to contemplate why that is, and what I can do about it. It’s not so cool or popular to admit that I am grateful for the love that has come into my life and that I truly believe much of my good fortune came from God answering the only two wishes I ever wished in my whole life. Wish #1 was prayed on every first star I saw, every night from when I was a sad, unwanted 13 years old until I was 25: “Please Lord, give me a family that will love me as much as I love them.” It began to come true when Emily was born, through my meeting Markus, continued with the arrival of Hanna, and was finally complete upon the birth of Simon. Wish #2 began 19 years ago, and is still whispered up to the first star every night, including tonight: “Dear Lord, please watch over my family, and keep us safe and happy, and in love, and healthy, and kind to eachother, and having fun every day.” And as my prayers are answered, I think it’s only appropriate for me to say Thank You and return some of that love.

So, on February 13th, I will delete the Facebook app from my computer and phone, and I will ask that you email or snailmail or just go on enjoying your life for the remainder of the 40 days until Easter. I will also be enjoying my time away, living life and being present and prepared to listen to any messages to my soul.

Whoever your God is, or whatever you choose to believe, I wish you Peace. And here, help yourself to a slice of love. I have plenty to share.

Bra Burning

05 Jul 2012 7 Comments

by Suelinhess in Uncategorized

Hello, my name is Sue and I am a Blog Virgin.  Jumping on the blog bandwagon at age 44 puts me at a slight disadvantage, but I will drag my cavegirl self into the modern world one widget at a time.  And what the hell is a widget, anyway?

I feel horribly awkward posting my thoughts for strangers, but I’m hoping for mercy.  Blogging feels something like walking around in public without a bra.  I feel all dangly and awkward, thinking all eyes are on me and strangers are thinking “Disgusting!” “What the hell was she thinking!” When the reality probably is that only one or two people will notice, and they might think, “hmm, she needs support” but will go about their business.

Just the process of contemplating a blog was so exhausting, that I almost gave up before I began.  The simply free way of just signing up on wordpress.com was waaay too easy for me.  I thought, “what if I love it and get good at it and my career just takes off?!” so I went all out and hired this hosting service called outstandingsetup.com.  Nervously signed up, paid through the nose, and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  24 hours later, I receive an email from “Arthur” my very enthusiastic setter-upper-man (he likes exclamation marks).  He asks me what my domain name should be, and would I please choose from 100 templates for a page theme?  Domain name?  I haven’t mentioned that I don’t enjoy being overwhelmed with too many choices, have I?  Butter gives me a hard time in the dairy section of the grocery store.  Butter is butter, right?  Wrong.  There’s salted or unsalted.  And wouldn’t you know, there are several dairy farms that offer both varieties.  Prices are the same, so how to choose?  And don’t get me started on MILK.  So domain names?!  Many of my friends call me Suzy Cream Cheese, but that name was taken.  I know Hess.com was taken by the Hess oil company because my stinking little sister bought the domain decades ago and sold it to them for $50k after they threatened to sue for it.  Mama Bear?  taken.  Screw it, I decided to go wild and crazy and use my actual full name.  I know, contain your excitement, I’m an animal.

The collection of themes they offered me were so boring that I decided to read other people’s blogs while the list was loading.  And that’s when I came across flipping WordPress.com and the hundreds of great FREE choices for page themes.  After all that trouble, I felt compelled to sign up for a free account, and here I am.  Now I just have to email Arthur and break up with him.  I hope he doesn’t cry.

I think I will remain faceless for a few days, see if my voice can give you a better picture of me than my skin can.  Having survived the whole Blog Birthing Process, I need a moment to rest now.  Brace yourselves, though.  I shall return!

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