On Your Holiday
11/19/2004 03:12 p.m.
Happy Thanksgiving to all my dear friend in the U.S.
Keep safe and well and enjoy the turkey and trimmings, or ham if that's the case. Be with your loved ones and stop routine for a bit to hug and smile and laugh, and of course, eat. And give thanks to whoever you believe is responsible, for our miracles.

Maureen.

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For all Cancer Patients and their Supporters
11/17/2004 01:58 p.m.
A few friends on here have been wondering how I am, health-wise, and it touched me deeply. I don’t really know why they’re thinking of that but it’s sweet.

Thanks Chris Piccuolo and Glen Currier and the others. Maybe it’s because of my Dressed Up the Same poem, re my regular mammogram check. I don’t know. Or perhaps they’re psychic, because it’s true that in the fall, September to be precise, my oncologist (lymphologist) expressed concerns about my lymphoma showing signs of returning and wanted to do a biopsy. There was an enlargement in the abdomen, showing on my June cat scan, and some enlarged nodes under the armpit. Hey, it’s not glamorous or romantic, such findings, but worth sharing since so many fight lymphoma. But I felt well, and he didn’t push the biopsy at the time, instead decided on another cat scan in a few months, and closer checks, every two months instead of six now. Six month checks are standard for my well-check-ups but when there’s a suspicion, they tighten these up and also the cat scans. If the enlargement was worse, he’d have to start doing something about it. It’s very rare, he says, for my type of lymphoma to return after six years, but he’d have to keep an eye on things closely.

I was to wait from Sept to Nov not knowing, and with a son’s wedding coming up in May plus job interviews I like to try sometimes, I didn’t want to wait that long for results he’d have sooner. I must say he was very understanding and made an exception and let me know soon after he did, that there were no further changes, (although it would have been great if the enlargement had gone down, and it didn’t) and they can’t be sure nothing’s growing yet, and will keep monitoring. But it is possible it's just scar tissue from my illness six years ago, or something else, and the fact that it didn't increase is a great sign right now. He didn't talk about the armpits ones, but after feeling more places than ever, even under and around my face, jaw, etc, said everything seemed good.

I heard once of a terrible case of lymphoma of the face, in the states, and a woman who spent a fortune fighting that one.

He’s not my original lymphologist who got me through so splendidly, a Chinese-Canadian doctor whose wife is also an oncologist, but as I’ve gotten to know my current one, over the past few years, and especially after this kindness of sparing me and my family a long period of wondering (though to be honest, I don’t dwell on these things as I always felt so fortunate for any days post-cancer, and also felt cancer cheated me of enough time and energy, and I don’t give it much grace to take my time and spirit away) I really am happy with him.

But I did have to make the request. I write this having seen first-hand, and with my brother-in-law and read a lot of other articles about it, because cancer and potential cancer patients must remember to speak up and remind the medical world (who work so valiantly and hard and in the face of huge numbers) about the human element and need for information and choices along the way. We need care for that too. But it falls upon the patient and the families often to push, for less waiting for feedback, as well as for many of the matters in dealing with the disease, ie understanding that patients get fogged up post-chemo mentally a bit, (no-one had told me that when I went through it) and need as much help as possible as their families grow weary and stressed, re logistical things like prescriptions, appointments, balancing and remembering everything. A poet friend once told me, God gave you a tongue, use it! And you have to, speak up for yourself or have someone do it, don't be shy, as a patient, or too intimidated by the world of medics. Remind yourselves, and inadvertently them, that they wanted to be in this business because they care about people's well-being, and that means emotional too.

While I was waiting yesterday to see my lymphologist, a woman in a wheelchair was brought in by her husband to wait for her appointment. When the volunteer treated her so kindly, (it seems little things but not to us when we’re so weak) by not making her try to get up on her frail ankles to get weighed, as she’d been weighed that morning and remembered the numbers) the smile of gratitude on her thin aged-looked but obviously pretty and not old face, was so touching to me. I heard her whisper to her husband “she’s nice, isn’t she?”
She was only 96 lbs, and they were trying to figure it out in kilograms as that’s what the doctors like it in.

I remember being so relieved at times if I didn’t have to try to walk across the cancer centre waiting room or stand waiting while they processed my health card at the desk. I remember not wanting to leave my wheelchair, and one time, at my weakest, collapsing on the floor in their washroom alone, while there for a blood transfusion.

Living ghosts, is what we feel like when we’re that ill. Look like too.

I wanted to tell the patient, hey, as terrible as you feel, as hopeless as it may seem, don’t think it’s game over. I was there, I felt like you, and sometimes it works out. But I didn’t get a chance, they called me in, and of course some people who’ve looked to me as inspiration and believed they’d survive, are now doubting this more and more, and it makes me feel so weird. As my minister would say, the story isn’t written yet, we don’t have the ending, we don’t know.
But I know he’d say hope is always worthwhile.

Anyway, I waited in my blue hospital gown over 30 minutes in the examining room, wondered if somehow they’d forgotten me and started getting up and down from the table and
rustling magazines, to tell them I was there, as I’ve not had that long a wait in ages. You freeze in those gowns in those rooms! Then I thought, should I open that connecting door to the doctors’ section, and stick just my head out, while gowned, and ask if they forgot me? How do I get myself into these things, I asked as I swung my feet against the base of the table to announce I was there, not mad, but bored silly and wanting to be acknowledged. But eventually he came in and apologized. I know they have huge demands on their skills and time, and I’m a patient patient, usually, but was almost sure an error was made.

The good news is he’s moving me to every three months, checking, and a cat scan only in the spring, so I guess we’re in sound shape for Christmas and the wedding. I told him I felt great,
and when he asked if I was too tired to do my housework I wondered if he’d seen the state of my place. Oh, I have energy, I told him, but it seems to go to other things.

So as far as I know, I’m healthy. Never taking it for granted, never forgetting that each new day I’m not wrapped up in hospital life and gowns and appointments or therapies, or struggling to walk or breathe, is indeed a bonus blessing.

And I hope all who work with or know cancer patients, remember how priceless a moment of understanding and kindness, of sparing them that extra walk to get weighed, when their ankles are so thin and weak and the energy dissipated, is. And even a smile or a moment of empathy expressed over parking grief for the caregiver, or long waits, soothes so much.

Now to read about the Governor General’s Awards again, and to get into my cubby hole room and ready my Christmas paper and decorations.


I am currently Boisterous

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My Nephew, the Skateboarder
11/15/2004 05:54 p.m.
My brother’s twenty-one year-old son is well-known on the skateboard circuit, is sponsored for trips for magazines and stars in videos and appears in publications on newsstands, for the sponsors. He lives on his boards like many of us live on our poetry pages and screens. The landings are tougher, sometimes, as I almost saw in one video that even captured his fall which resulted in a concussion, but I couldn’t watch when it showed that part and his head bleeding.

Of course he mostly has the successful feats on video, and he is amazing at this. Perhaps among the five top best in Canada I think. They’re not only masters of the precarious but artfully accomplished sport, he and his colleagues, but know the curves and processes of professional video production and performance, and the magazine industry to some degree, which takes them as far away as Miami and as close as downtown Ottawa.

He also chooses the music for his video clips, The House of the Rising Sun his selection for his Florida one.

Indoors and outdoors, over large series of concrete steps, and through the aisles of stores (with permission) they skate and jump, and fool around with the setting, but it’s all performance. And risk! Sometimes unhelmeted, unpadded, (not for the sponsors' videos)and most often making dramatic feats look smooth and natural as walking.

It’s hard for an aunt to watch, let alone his dad who showed them for us at his place last night. Don seems to be weathering it well, and his wife Debbie, though they get their phone calls that mean injuries again! It just comes with the territory. I hadn't yet looked seriously into the role of skateboarder that Trent has adopted, probably as it’s not something I’d be too comfortable with as parent or aunt, or advocate. But I have to admit he is very talented, hard-working, courageous and follows his passion, which has been prevalent for many years. And gains money, a name, and an education of a type, from the process.

Still, we all say our prayers even on taped demonstrations that are history now, or hold our breaths for the painful bloopers that ended up in calls from the hospital. He’s into snowboarding too, in the winter, which to me seems a little softer a landing, I don’t know.

Hopefully his joints and body parts and head won’t pay him back later in life. While as I say, I can’t put myself down as an advocate, I am very proud of his guts and talent. He could also be a model for magazines standing still, with his blond and blue-eyed good looks, but that isn’t something he’s interested in.

I know if I google his name, his prowess and reputation as a boarder shows up in many areas of this industry. He and his board mates (is that what they’re called) have had interesting encounters and adventures with the border officials to the States when they drive down in the van for a promotion.

I hope to write a poem about it when I learn more of the jargon, or perhaps after I interview him.
When he’s standing still long enough, and in town long enough! He’s a real sweetie, and I probably will never be able to watch in full those tries that didn’t make it, it goes against family nature. Or my nature to watch anyone crashing on their heads!

Keeping well, safe and healthy gets hard enough as we age, without looking for trouble. To ask why he does it would be like asking Evil Knieval,(is that how one spells that name) I guess - this lad's always liked to try the more risky angles, and divert from the traditional more "bookish" endeavours. But he is very bright and makes his own money, and has worked hard for years. Plus he's got a great, soft heart.
I am currently Freaky

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Back to Reality
11/14/2004 12:08 a.m.
There’s nothing like being back home two minutes, after a relaxing but not inexpensive two night get away to the Laurentians, at the lovely Manoir de Ste. Sauver, and being brought back to reality by plumbing problems! Having re-found some sense of rejuvenation, restoration, peace, and lightness,(at a time when really one shouldn’t have gone away, with a close family member in the hospital yet again with very serious problems, but we knew we really needed to), only to make our quick bathroom stops in our own washroom and encounter the first problem of back to life as home owners. I won’t say who, but you can guess, tried to flush in the main floor washroom, and the flusher stuck and refused to work. Then a constant running and hissing sound continued as a harbinger of ill welcome and nothing like my relaxation pond sounds, nor the soft piped-in music of old colonial times up and down the red-carpeted hallway with the gorgeous colonial and New England style sea scenes and Renoirs in gold-looking frames at the Manoir.

$100 and a plumbing job later, while we’re eating the supper we were back to cooking and serving for ourselves, and we know we’re back down to earth again. Oh well, we didn’t let the process destroy our recent memory of ambience and carefree living.

Getting a little spoiled for a couple of days is super and yet we knew it wouldn’t be the stuff of our reality, nor should it be. The grindstone and the ups and down of everyday life are the ingredients for character, aren’t they? And to tell the truth, after a few buffet breakfasts with the package deal, I was growing uncomfortable at the idea of so much food at our disposal, and I told my husband as we enjoyed the varieties of fruit, sausage, breads, cereals, that I hoped like many restaurants in hotels, that this one also provides to soup kitchens and homeless people.

I didn’t want to put a damper on my husband's use of hard-earned and hard-saved funds to treat us this weekend, and I know we have to let guilt of all kinds slide a bit off our shoulders when we take a lovely vacation, but we reminded ourselves of our charity commitments waiting at home and were gratified that we have involved ourselves in such projects and some others with the church and United Way (the latter an organization in which my husband is always helping out).

Some of the best parts of the holiday were, as always for me, when I go to Quebec, the sightings of the crosses on the mountains, the silver-spired churches, the myriad displays of twinkling white lights at night, and also, watching a man in the hotel work steadily by the fireplace as he put the large Christmas tree together, with lights going on section by section, as he built them from the box of branches. Quietly and calmly putting together the tree, so that everytime we returned from our outings, another stretch of tree was ready, til at last at the end of the day it was complete. The roaring fire was welcoming as the weather was sunny both days but very cold, especially Thursday night, with the winds. The next two days weren’t hit with those strong winds, and were nippy and frosty but bright and beautiful.

The Laurentians to me are as gorgeous as many places I’ve visited in Europe, and the people were courteous, bilingual, (though we preferred to use our French as much as possible, we could always get spoken to in English) and there was a warm, convivial and boisterous spirit in most of the hotel guests and staff. Of course, it’s a resort town, a resort manoir, though it’s used for business conferences too, and the pace and attitude are reflecting the letting go atmosphere of a get away.

On Friday night two singers, a man and woman, sang English songs with French accents, popular tunes and oldies, and had great voices and guitar skills, but there were only a few at the bar at the time, listening. I enjoyed catching a bit of their first set as I warmed up by the fire, while my hubby took a well-deserved nap.

On the mountain sides there were already a narrow stream of skiers, in the strips that had artificial snow already done, and there was a frozen-still appearance of mist over the hills, that resulted from the snow making machines.

I know in a month or less, the place will be bustling with skiers and the mountain all white, but it was something to see at this stage too.
By the second day I was convinced there was good fudge to be had in this town, and we searched til we found it. Irish cream fudge even! And speciality candy that made for some great gifts to bring home, all beautifully gift-wrapped. The stop at the Cadbury store was amazing, felt like Paradise, but we reserved our purchases to Cadbury mugs, for gifts, as we didn't really want a lot of candy. We've still got tons of Hallowe'en candy to avoid at home. But some family members are getting fudge treats soon.

On Thursday evening after reading some of Larry's Party by Carol Shields, I caught the Giller Awards on television and was happy for Alice Munro’s win, but very impressed with the glimpses and inviting samples given of the other nominees' works. I added quite a few ideas to my book dream wish list, having heard the other nominees read from theirs too.

Though I had hoped world news wouldn’t prevail heavily during the break up there, the California murder trial of Scott Peterson, the Arafat funereal and political coverage, plus a terrible fire tragedy in Saint. Catherine’s Ontario, wherein a wife and a couple’s seven children died in a house fire, dominated the channels and of course were oppressive, though important, stories across the networks. There was plenty to pray about and still is obviously.

My sister and her husband still enduring terrible ordeals with his bone cancer, and new complications, I had given her the number to call if she wanted to and indeed by Saturday night she did and we had a long chat. I think she wanted to ease my sense of being torn about going away at the time, though the battle has been long and on-going and there is never a good time for going away, it seems, so they wanted us to do so without feeling badly. Tomorrow we’ll see them, at a family birthday for my mom, 86 on Monday, and we’ll have quite the reunion I’m sure. Plus a birthday party for my husband’s 90 year old aunt, Theresa, a nun, who is very special to us too.

It’s great to be home again and touching base with our son and daughter too, though we haven’t been gone long. Wisdom teeth came out on Wednesday for our future daughter-in-law, so we also wanted to make sure she was fine before taking off.

Well, I’m a little tired in a good, refreshed way, and going to take a walk, then cuddle up with my calming pond with a new little washstand-type jug and dish I found in Sainte Sauveur, blue pottery with white winter scenes on it, that matches the pond beautifully, and was inexpensive,
and my pile of second-hand books I bought with a gift certificate for my tanka award last year and never had cashed in before today.

Mostly Canadian poetry and short story collections, but also The Scarlett Letter! I’ve seen the movie, but never read the book yet and can’t wait.

At least the toilet’s flushing now, and staying quiet in between, but a $100 later?
I’d better win the Giller someday! But if I do, and before that anyway, I'll probably be volunteering at the soup kitchens.
I am currently Content
I am listening to a bus rolling past

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Something beautiful
11/09/2004 03:28 p.m.
I have something beautiful going on in my life. Something that will remain constant but ever-growing. Something that makes rising in the morning worthwhile as it should be. Something rejuvenating, restorative, hopeful, and unconditionally loyal.

I am both excited by it and soothed and understood by it.
If you can't imagine what it is, I'd rather not say. Some beautiful things are better left untouched.
I am currently Cheerful
I am listening to men working on our garage roof

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Change, Time, and Straws of Gold
11/05/2004 05:21 p.m.
Good morning all. On this blustery Winnie-the-Poohish kind of day, in Ottawa, in a bustling, busy stretch of writing life, I have been reposing (composing, maybe composting?) my brain whenever I get a chance, with a treasure of a book, by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler, Copyright 2000 (even though she's now passed away,their next one is coming out soon. This is one of the facts I love most about writing, that we're still performing when we're gone, and still talking, which is great news for me!)

Unlike most of her books, before the collaborations with David, this one deals with life in a more general subject approach, not primarily death, but the latter does have the strong experiential influence of her work with that process couched throughout the chapters. She had such humour and resilience that it doesn not oppress or seem gloomy, just matter-of-fact, courageous and spiritual.

There are chapters on Forgiveness, Anger, Love, Loss, etc. but it's the chapter on Time, I'm escaping to right now, for guidance, as I try to imagine how to juggle all my projects in life that are especially pressing in the next few weeks, (reminds me of when my husband worked in the pizza shop and we delivered pizzas together, and we had lulls, then a "rushes" of demand). But I haven't had a lull for quite a while, and I am trying to be better at managing time and organizing, balance, etc. all the more lately. I guess I shouldn't spend too much time right now, reading about time, see how crazy I can be? Focus, girl! But really, it can help!

Anyhoo, I loved this reference in that chapter. She is addressing change, before she gets in depth into time, and quotes Ronnie Kaye, author of Spinning Straw into Gold (Isn't that a gorgeous title?) - it starts out like a line I've always recalled from the Sound of Music movie, but then adds a new twist (you wouldn't hear in the movie).

"In life when one door closes, another door always opens...but the hallways are a bitch."

She goes on to help us with the process of negotiating to accepting change.

Anyway, back to the book for a bit, then more final edits and organizing for a contest and a chapbook, with deadlines close to each other, and both imminent, and a pantoum (my first) is being tackled. Thanks Bruce Niedt, I'm looking at your example on here, among others, of the latter style. There are some definitely dramatically different formats of these, and I'm not clear enough yet on the last stanza process. But I'm supposed to end up where I began, so what does that say about change and hallways? When it works out, I'll post it on here. If I'm not insane by then. Villanelles and other structures I have enjoyed, so I should with more time and quiet focus, handle this one fine.

Let's hope it won't be a Royal "B". as I gather the straw (rake the leaves, (the lines) as in my theme) and pile my stones upon stones together (the words). (also a theme). Ahh, craft and was it compells us to do on a Milne type of day. At least it's indoor work!

I am currently Creative
I am listening to the computer hum

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Chickens and Slopes
11/03/2004 03:05 p.m.
Sometimes a little chicken can be soup for the soul, bringing the laughter of silliness and the pleasure of our idiosyncratic indulgences between friends, back. A nice stress and tension release indeed.

When I was studying some Economics the other day, (from Economics, Canada in the Global Environment, by Parkin and Bade) about world trade agreements, free trade, etc. I found the subject going down quite smoothly as it relates to human experience easily.

One of the benefits (or purposes)to eliminating tariff barriers between two countries, is that
it cuts down friction between them.

Another (probably obvious but good to see spelled out) economics fact was from looking at line graphs, and the slope. “In a positive (direct) relationship - variables move together in the same direction: upward sloping.

In a negative (inverse) relationship - variables move in opposite directions: downward sloping.

A straight line, linear relationship, has constant slope.

Slope of a relationship is change in value of variable on y-axis divided by change in value of variable on x-axis.

Relationships with a maximum/minimum :
- Relationship slopes upward, reaches a maximum (zero slope) and then slopes downward.
- Relationship slopes downward, reaches a minimum (zero slope), and then slopes upward.

Unrelated (independent) variables - one variable changes while the other remains constant; graph is vertical or horizontal straight line.

The latter is also of course referred to in many books on human relationships. These concrete facts and images given in a no-nonsense fashion as in mathematics, seem to simplify the problems and the successes of relationships clearly.

After all this, re-reading a poem, with its graphics, after seeing a bright yellow chicken and a Col. Sanders look-a-like and the fun of all the discussion about that, reminded me once again how incredibly too seriously we take life sometimes and need to laugh at ourselves more.

I may have digressed from the linear in this treatise, but hey, it worked for me.
I am currently Crafty
I am listening to Majic l00

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Giller Prize '04
11/02/2004 07:09 p.m.
Does anyone know who won this year? I believe the results were yersterday.
I am currently Crafty

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Variety Packed Days
10/31/2004 03:38 p.m.
These have been very full days recently. Rich in friendship and family. Last Thursday night my neighborhood girlfriends who’ve been a blessing to me for years, since our children were small, and I treated ourselves to going to see “Shall We Dance.” It was well worth seeing, entertaining, funny, relaxing. A little sad for me in places because I’m well familiar with the dance studio life, since my mom was an award-winning ball room dancer in her 70's and 80's, and still has the gorgeous dresses etc. and loved it so, but can’t do it anymore. Still, she reaps the awards of that fitness as it helps her now with balance, agility etc. at 86 and her doctor is amazed at her health.

She wants to see it on video, and watched Richard Gere on Biography and enjoyed that immensely.

Last evening my husband and I were guests, with several other of his work friends, at a co-workers’, an annual get-together where his beautiful wife who loves to try all the culinary arts, on us, and takes frequent cooking courses etc. and is becoming a connoisseur of things like kosher salt, and other varieties of salt, etc. puts on a delicious and aesthetic dinner party. We all sit back and chat and laugh, and catch up on the non-office parts of their lives, plus a little of office life. And travel experiences. But mostly we got into fun debates about fruits and vegetables, what things are fruit vs. vegetable. I think of a cucumber as vegetable but Carmen got out her book to prove it’s considered at least in the Larousse gastro....something encyclopedia, a fruit, because it has flowers. We went through many, the tomato, the green pepper, etc. and also looked at language, old French, many diversive topics.

Carmen has the gift of decorating touches, cooking, etc. but also is very well-versed and bright in politics and all aspects of life. Another couple I’d not met before, are from Taiwan but thus also very exposed to Japanese, which proved interesting as I’m trying for a job involving Japanese diplomacy (for which I’m studying a bit of Economics before Tuesday’s appointment).

On Friday I caught the main library here in Ottawa’s Canada Council Grant reading of Anne Michaels, author of Fugitive Pieces, and several poetry books and she read from her latest work-in-progress about Egypt and the taking down of the ancient temples, and the Aswan damn, coincidentally as I’d just researched parts of this for my recent poem about Isis. (Ode to Isis on the Night of the Eclipse...) Michaels is amazingly devoted to her projects, her years of painstaking historical and geographical research, and a family woman who doesn’t give very many readings. But she signed our books and talked with us after her reading, (introduced by Gary Geddes, who used to give Concordia University courses on the poet’s novel, since he admired how she, Ondaatje, and several others write their novels from a poetic influence, having been poets first.

He is very warm-spirited and passionate, and also our Writer-in--Residence at University of Ottawa until winter this year. Since I’m working on the novels as well, and was mainly a poet first, I hope to gather up some of my manuscript and go see him for discussion while he’s in that post.

So it’s very busy, and the undercurrent of our lives here in the family is my brother-in-law and his wife, my sister, as they fight the horrors of his advanced multiple myeloma, (bone cancer) and the complications, sudden let-downs, then new attempts, and yet fostered by their and our faith in God, and prayers for the doctors’ guidance under God. Everyone goes through trials at one time or another that are tremendously oppressive and daunting, no-one corners the market on this for sure. The key is to have friends and loved ones who listen empathatically, and for you to be one of those types of friends to them, and open focus to others' needs and challenges, pains and fears, as well, in a reciprocal, unself-centred manner. It's the best way for everyone to get through and be strengthened by their best relationships. Those that are equally reciprocated and devoted. That let slide for the necessary moments their own stresses, to be there for the other's and also it's healthier to not focus on our own so much. Rare, perhaps, though I hope not too rare, such friendships or loves. I'm blessed with this, particularly with my sister, my girlfriends, on this site and in town, but also family members, and some other friends, and with faith, and our minister, as well. A very key ingredient that tops my list of requirements to get me through, and hopefully I warrant all the help from above I get.
Anyway, back to my Economics text I guess, plus pumpkin set-up and all that fun stuff.
I laughed while in my cubby hole room for the annual dig-out of decorations and Hallowe’en stuff, all of a sudden I heard Xmas music coming from my son’s train set he’s left here, the kind that goes around a Christmas Tree. I guess I knocked it into a different position as I brushed against it, and set it off. A little while later my daughter, carving the pumpkin, called out, Mom, something’s playing again in the cubby hole.

Earlier I had been working in my bedroom closet looking for clothes to discard to charity, as it’s groaning, that pole that holds my clothes, and afterward shut the sliding door and was on the bed reading and listening to the wind and rain. Suddenly the door started shaking and large noises were sounding from inside, and I thought wow, it must be a strong wind. But then it slid open a bit and out popped Penny Lane, our large cat. I didn’t know she’d even gone in there earlier, she’s so quiet.

Not ghosts but a few fun, strange experiences to remind me to lighten up and enjoy the season.




I am currently Bemused

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Yes, We do Get Weary and Frightened
10/27/2004 01:21 p.m.
This morning’s paper brought me to tears, and for some reason, I haven’t been able to cry for a long time.
The wife, and mom of five girls, who went missing from her home near Ottawa five days ago, after leaving last Thursday morning to pick up milk at the store, and for whom her daughters and husband had been searching ever since, posting their homemade bulletins with her photo on them in the Manotick areas and south Ottawa, drove into their driveway yesterday and returned to their lives. Her life.

Ending her mysterious "going missing" sojourn, which was untypical for her, the family had all said when interviewed during the tense traumatic wait. Not knowing if she'd been abducted or murdered, or what could have happened to her. The youngest daughter is only ten. The others are young women. Her husband was feeling a little unwell the morning she left, but there was nothing unusual or evidently dramatic about the day, as far as any of them knew, until she failed to return.

So little of the story was given publicly last night after the reunion. Which was good, I think, as she was reportedly embarrassed by all the commotion and strain and heartbreak, out and out fear, her leaving had caused.

The reasons for the disappearance are not far off what I’d been imagining when I first learned of it.

She's my age, exactly (51) and ironically, obviously loves the same kind of topography, solace and happy memories from some of the same scenic areas as myself, and she’d driven her van to her favourite places when she and the family had happy memories, including my own cherished spot, Bon Echo Provincial Park. She slept in the van, in doughnut store parking lots at night. Ate granola bars from her dashboard (that she'd kept there for the girls when hungry in the car).

It doesn’t matter that she is pretty, but she is. In the photo today her husband has his arms around her, the girls are beaming, and the caption repeats her ten year-old’s headline verdict “MOM, YOU'RE GROUNDED".”

When trying to gain permission to post the flyer in a convenience store in Manotick, one of the young ladies could not express herself in words without crying, to explain what they were trying to do.

I’d guessed accurately, (it turns out) and commented to my daughter, that the prompt for the woman might have been an extreme reaction to stress, and this fall has indeed been very stressful for many (though all seasons are, fall seems to hit hard and we'd just had a similar case last week, of a woman going missing, then she returned. It is often a depressing and exhausting for some). As I discussed the story with Valerie (our daughter, 23 yrs old) yesterday and asked how she would react to me gone mysteriously missing suddenly, for five days, her quick supportive answer was wonderful. I don't know why I even felt the need to ask. It touched me so, her answer and earnestness. Why do we need to hear these things vocalized? Are we insecure that we're loved? But we do need to hear it, spelled out sometimes!!! What motivated the woman's drastic action I don’t believe can be summed up as quickly and easily as in the quotes in the paper, nor how this changes and affects the family unit and even herself and the community. All of us, really. Her reasons reflect the symptoms of so many in the area right now - financial stress, job loss for her husband in the technology trade (I’ve several friends whose lives and relationships have lately been dramatically wounded by this), dread of losing their house, and a fear (that she hadn't shared with anyone yet)of a new possible serious medical problem in herself, added to the mix.

Sometimes sudden or gradual stresses just overtake us and send us into a need for release or escape however strangely it takes form. She described herself as going into a "zombie" state, and drove as far as Niagara Falls for part of the sojourn.

I sat at my patio table this morning with my coffee, and the worker next door dragging a ladder over to climb up to the roof and make more noise, and about half-way through the story, the tears I’ve been needing to cry for a while just came. For this family, this woman, for all of us who are just trying to deal with life and how frightening just coping can be sometimes, and for the relief that the story wasn’t a tragedy, afterall, was it? Or was it? That she'd felt so isolated in her insecurities is tragic but real, to me.

Not everyone can afford to go to therapy, even if they can find a therapist they trust and find useful, nor do some lean to that. Or to other avenues, like church, etc., that may help ease the isolation.
I don't know.

Her daughters are telling each other never to take mom for granted if they ever did, or to let her know that they don’t more overtly. I wondered what her husband said.

She said herself, on the approach back home she did not know what reaction to expect. Would she be greeted, she wondered? That was a heavy line to read. And so ironic, considering the lengths of the search and the trauma at home. How little we sometimes "hear" or "see" the real love we need to know about, no matter what the reason for this failure, is a tragedy too.

And that she is not alone in the stressing, and it of course is not just women who suffering this kind of agony, when the various factors that seem to be thrown at us all build us to this feeling of overwhelming doom. But there is something about it being a woman, “the heart of the family” she was later described as. Maybe what hurts and frightens us so much is that we women think of ourselves and try to be the rock for the family, the balance and the shoulder, of all the worry, the grief, the responsibility, the staying strong in the gales. And when the mom in a panic takes off without word inexplicably and without warning, for a lengthy period, it is a huge shock and a terrifying shaking of that stability role. Let alone, the not knowing if she left voluntarily, or was abducted.

But the story to me shows, that we have to remember parents, and indeed, our spouses or live-in partners, are just people too, separate people, complex, and human with their fears and frailties. (Men too of course, fathers go through this and have huge stresses and try to hold onto the role of strong providers, towers, etc. So many are struggling right now with the financial pressures, health, etc.)

The greatest question I am left with was, what turned her around on the road far away, in Cobden, Ontario or further, (she was last sighted there by searchers) and made her go home? What was the trigger that the moment of running away or just breaking away for a time, to regain mental strength and believe that they could make it, was over?

Another question is, how did she summon the courage to do it, to drive into the laneway to home, quietly and prepare to deal with the questions and the attention, the confusion, and hopefully not, but perhaps in days to come from the public eye and others, the judgements?

The family assures that they are so happy to have her home, safe and well, that there isn’t any of that going on, and also it is sounding like they are tighter than ever.

I love the down-to-earth no-nonsense attitude of the youngest one, who to paraphrase responded to mom’s feeling of embarrassment for all the fuss caused as is then you shouldn’t have gone. But it wasn’t said in anger, just a natural consequence kind of statement like she’d been watching Dr. Phil a lot or something.

I think we’d be naive to think that this episode is just all wrapped up, and that is the pain too, with these issues. The woman has real causes for fear and concern, we all do, some more than others, and the road can look very bleak in our own backyards, and the temptation to follow a path off into the distance, to seek escape or answers or just “lose it” for an indefinite period of time, is there!

Strong, tight neighbourhoods and community relationships can help. Outreach programs at the church, the strong rural and urban women’s committees, etc. and spiritual support, can be very vital in these kinds of cases. I’ve seen this recently in my sister’s community where similar problems have occurred. And in my own.

Excuse the roughness of this draft but as I said I’m reacting to the newsstory and hopefully will bring the story into a poem one day. But right now I’m just reacting as a fellow woman, mother, human, and I’m so glad if everything brightens or from reading this someone can offer them suppport.

I could not, however, miss the irony and the reality that on the same day, on the same front page of the paper, was a story of a woman of thirty-four, who met a worse ending. Living in ill fortune, with little literacy and with mental illness history, who people found weird as she liked to stop people everywhere just to talk, and keep talking, was just found murdered, in her own apartment.


*information and paraphrasing based on the Ottawa Citizen newspaper this morning and credit for the story to that publication. I hope there are no inaccuracies, and apologize in advance to the family if there are, or if there were in the newspaper, as can happen.
I am currently Bothered
I am listening to hammering

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