letter to Lilia Rosa Dominguez

My dearest Granny,

How I will miss you.  How I will miss this new woman-to-woman friendship that we worked on over this last year though letters.  How I will miss your insistence on beauty.  Beauty of the body, beauty of the surroundings, beauty of the soul.  Who else will remind me to dye my hair for my husband, or to wear a little makeup to cover up the blemishes?  Who else will celebrate my newfound Frenchy love for skirts and scarves, or laugh at my efforts to speak Spancaise?  Who else will I turn to for an example of strength? 

For you were strong to the end.  Your body may have belied your strength, but your innate ability to make the best of a new situation, to ask yourself to find the positives, that never left you.  How many homes did you live in, how many countries?  How many times did you need to acclimate to a new language, a new culture, new friends?  It takes a very strong person to do that.  And my sense is that everywhere you went people were taken in by your charms.  By your attention to the details, by your love of laughter and adventure. 

As one who was taken in by your charms from pretty much the day I was born, I can honestly say that you amaze me.  For someone for whom chatting amiably took up a large portion of her time to lose her voice in the last years of her life, that takes strength to persevere.  For someone for whom a life of travel and activity took up so much of her time to lose her  freedom of movement, that too takes strength to endure.  For someone for whom the catholic church was such a source of support  to lose her ability to attend mass with her community, that, too, takes strength to carry on. 

Granny, I love you, I honor you, I respect you.  And most of all I am glad that you have finally laid down your strength.  There are times to carry on and, sadly for those of us left behind, times to lay down one’s burden and move into the next stage.  For I picture you now,  once again, with Coco.  And with your parents and brother and sister.  And with all of those whom you have loved over the ninety beautiful years of your life.  And for that, although I feel your loss immensely, still I am grateful.  Blessings and thanks to you for everything you have given me.  My Granny.

Love,

Lara

Who am I, really? Or, who am I? Really?!

My children are now all in school, Noah for the mornings, the others for the full day.  This was the time that I had told myself it was time to think about employment again. 

Well, alright, really I had told myself that LAST year was the time to figure things out.  A whole year away from my regular life, what more could a woman ask for when she needs to make big life decisions?  Unfortunately for the life plans, that didn’t quite work out the way I had planned. 

So when we returned to Canada, I allowed myself to start dreaming the crazier dreams.  I had heard an article on CBC’s Tapestries that talked about that antsy feeling people get mid-career and mid-life.  It really inspired me to be more observant as to what gives me pleasure in my daily life.  What are the things that feed my soul? 

I have jumped through a number of ideas, some more “out there” than others, but none of which are a total shock to either myself, or those who know me closely.  These have included holistic health healing, creative food planning, a knitting artist, a farm advocate, and many more.  And my latest incarnation, a librarian. 

With each of these so-called sparks, I tried them on for size.  Chatting with a friend or family member, even just casual conversation with my kids, I discussed something about each of these that let me feel how excited any given topic could get me.  And in dropping these hints, I was also checking to guage others’ reactions.  Did people look at me like I was off of my rocker?  Did they get excited, too, because they could imagine it happening? 

The problem with this strategy is that it does not bring me any step closer to employment.  It allows me to explore my dreams, my curiosities, but requires no amount of commitment.  But… (trumpets blaring) one of these casual conversations has led to something more concrete!

I had spoken with a librarian friend of mine about two months ago, just asking what one might do if one had an interest in libraries.  Out of the blue, she contacted me and said that there were two job openings for pages in her library.  Did I want her to pick me up and application? 

So for the last week I have been exploring my past, and my future, on paper.  On a job application, to be specific.  Reminding myself of who I have been;  a day care worker, a tutor, a teacher.  An adult literacy volunteer, a peer counselor and, yes, a librarian.  Reflecting on which of my life skills might be most appropriate to highlight for a library page position.  And wondering, is this REALLY is my next step?  I can only find out by trying. 

I have to admit to a healthy dose of excitement and adrenalin coursing through my body each time I have stepped in the specific  library, wondering if I might get the chance to work there.  And thinking about how the time commitment is fairly minimal, which is fine for me, for my family, for trying the library on for size. 

I am still not convinced that this is THE answer.  There is a level of “regular job” to a library position that I am not sure is what I am looking for.  Part of me wants to be totally outside of regular channels, to just carve some weird niche position for myself, that only I can inhabit in the world.  But my self-promotion habits are not very high on the Richter scale and I suspect that my niche would be so small as to be practically invisible. 

So for the time being, I am waiting.  I have created my own, updated CV, humbly realizing that I am now 12 years out of the work force.  All of my previous principals, supervisors, etc. have moved on, so none of my “references” are checkable.  My statement of purpose describes creating a stable, caring and supportive environment for my family.  Does applying for this job take that away?  Can my family handle a slightly less stable environment, albeit still just as caring and supportive?  Will my level of support for my children be diminished by my time away? 

So, I feel like I am at a juncture, trying to puzzle out who am I right now, and who do I want to be when I grow up.  My every day is spent spinning through moments of dizzy excitement and then plummeting despair depending on whether I am focussed on the leaving, or the starting.  It is times like this when I wish my mom could still hold my hand, take me across the street to the schoolyard, and then kiss me on the head and tell me to have a good day.  Because whom among us really wants to leave the happy comfort of our homes?  It is in the leaving that we grow the most, but in the waving of the hand that we feel the most sorrow. 

 

Why I love walking to school with my son

Every day we get out.  Whatever the weather, through our neighbourhood, into the great outdoors.

Every day brings new insights.  About goings-on with our neighbours, about the beauty of a morning moment, about what our mood for day brings.

Every day allows us to witness change.  A few more leaves off of the trees, the baby now turned into a toddler, the next stage of a house reno. 

Every day brings connection with friends. How are they feeling, what is going on today, or even just a shared giggle on the go. 

And every day brings movement.  Sometimes fast while we run behind schedule, sometimes an amble, especially on a Friday, sometimes winding as we aim for every puddle. 

All of these and more bring me joy each day.  It is nice to connect, even just via a smile, with people of all ages and phases of life.  The older population, caring for their yards on an almost daily basis. The parents of older children who do a quick drop-off and turn around to head off to work.  The parents of younger children who stay to chat.  The women chatting and walking for exercise, the dirty jeep that pulls out promptly as the bus pulls up.  The other students who leave a few minutes before we meet up with our friends. 

My day feels like it has structure through these walks.  I feel like I know who lives around me, and have a small story crafted  for most homes we walk by.  A small interaction to file away, a deeper friendship to smile about as I walk past.  I can only imagine and hope that the same goes for my son.  On the way to school we tend to visit with our fellow walkers, on the way back we tend to chat about the morning and about the things we notice as we go past. 

The biggest advantage, though, is that I find that my children tend to open up more as they move around.  There is something about walking and moving that fosters a loosening of their tongues as well, and I find that some of our best questions and discussions come while we are walking back and forth.  The questions about spirituality, birth and death, the whys of injustice.  And sometimes it is just the sheer joy of being a human, moving in the way our bodies were meant to do, in the great outdoors. 

Riding on the Bus

Sitting on the bus returning to school after a field trip a girl in the opposite seat posed a question to me: “Have you ever met someone who was a premature baby?”  Never having been asked that question before, I wasn’t quite sure where she was going with the discussion.  “Yes…” I answered slowly.  And then she jumped into a long story about how she was a premature baby and she was only 2 ½ pounds when she was born and had to spend several months in the NICU and her mom almost died and … My internal jaw dropped at how casually she was sharing her story. 

But I had spent the day with Micah’s class.  The class is a class of gifted students, with all sorts of students with “multiple exceptionalities.”  That means kids with other learning issues going on as well, from kids with ADHD, kids on the autistic spectrum, etc.  Spending the day with Micah’s class obviously points to spending a day with Micah’s teacher, for whom I have more respect each time I spend time with her. 

Mrs. Graydon exudes acceptance.  She has students of many different backgrounds, many different abilities, many different approaches to life.  She made a point at many times during the day just to wander around and check in with each of the students to touch base with their level of engagement.  She also has an amazing ability to allow students the space to choose to participate, while at the same time making very clear the expectations for the activity.  And each student, in his or her own way and time, came to participate and grow from the experience.  One of the biggest pieces in Mrs. Graydon’s curriculum is helping the students learn to and want to take risks. 

So, when this grade four girl began to share her story with me, I simply continued to chat.  She clearly wanted to engage with me, and this was on her mind.  Stories about premature babies are not my usual beginning topic of conversation with children, nor with “strangers” but, by accepting this girl’s desire to converse, it set the ground for all of the children around her to speak openly.  Even though this girl was in the other class, when the students got off the bus they each made a point to find out my name and say goodbye to me, and then even came up to me again in the hallways as Micah and I were gathering his belongings to go home. 

It was such an opening experience, to watch all of the students in Micah’s class throughout the day, as they explored, played and learned, each in his or her own manner.  And to continue that on the bus in this unexpected, yet totally heartfelt way.  It points to the importance of listening to each person, and to beginning from where each person is ready to begin.  I feel so lucky to have been the only parent on the trip, and to have had the opportunity to have my eyes and heart opened again to the excitement of kids in an engaged environment. 

A New Blog For Me!

Now that we've been back in Toronto for three months, it seemed appropriate to start a new blog, so that I can continue to reflect, write and share with our friends.  If you are a Toronto friend you might even see yourself from time to time!  This blog will probably be more introspective, less family-photo oriented, but hopefully will still provide a glimpse into what is going on for us. And for those of you not from Toronto, TO stands for Toronto, Ontario.  But I really liked the idea of one mother in two as the start of some random statistic!

So, read, enjoy, and let me know what you think!