Strawberry Fields Forever

Summer Vacation is finally here! We started off the holidays with an afternoon in the strawberry fields. 

The minis and I had a fun time finding and picking the delicious bulbous fruit.

 We got three large baskets in our enthusiasm.

 After paying for our labour (ouch), we brought them home ... and then I realized we were going to have to do something with them. 

To start off, we made an angel food cake. Only a few errant fingers made it into the batter, and of those, hardly any were dirty, so I would classify it as an overall success. We also whipped up a batch of strawberry rhubarb jam, which ended up being heavy on the strawberries and light on the rhubarb... Since we didn’t have any rhubarb.

And yes, Panda, I will bring you some.

Taking a Stand on Gay Marriage

What does it mean to be gay? Simply put, it means you aren't straight. It's personal, it's private, it's perfectly acceptable and frankly it's none of anyone else's damn business. Sexual orientation is just one of the many factors that make up an individual, making them who they are. It is unfair to allow it to define a person.

More importantly, beyond the physical, love is love. And it is beautiful. If you are lucky enough to find another soul to love and who loves and cherishes you, you should hold on to them. And we should all take a moment to appreciate and acknowledge how wonderful that is. 

Social media is having a hayday with the legalization of Gay marriage in the United States. It seems to have divided global citizens into three categories. Some are staunchly supporting the ruling while others are vehemently opposing it. Still others seem to have adopted the “I don’t care” philosophy. (These people are probably actually in the “opposing” category but are afraid to admit it, so they hide behind an apathetic attitude.) I mean, imagine if someone were to suddenly start saying he was indifferent to women’s rights. Who cares if women can’t safely walk down the street? Imagine the outrage. People would shout "Everyone is equal"."Women can’t help being born women". "They have the right to live freely". And they would be right. Except those rights and freedoms aren’t selective. They apply to all, regardless of skin colour, gender or sexual orientation. 

I’m not gay. But does the ruling on gay marriage matter to me? Of course it does. I would never want one of my own children to have to suffer discrimination based on sexual orientation. Equality is essential. I have close friends and dear family that are part of the LGBT community. I celebrate this victory with them. 

Some might argue that gay marriage has been legal in Canada for a decade - the U.S. is clearly behind and long overdue. While it is true that our country has taken a progressive stand on equality, American politics matter to us. On a global scale, the Americans are, unfortunately, leaders... and very influential. Global citizens are doubtlessly rejoicing in anticipation of the impending equality consequences that the Supreme Court ruling by Justice Kennedy will have. 

While they are certainly late to join the party, I'm just glad they showed up. Judging by the reaction in Turkey, the world still has a long way to go in acceptance and we probably won't get there in my lifetime - but it's progress. 

As mind boggling as it is that we need to fight for everyone's right to love, it is the unfortunate truth.  So yes, gay marriage matters to me. Equality matters to me. Lesbian, Gay, Bi-sexual or Transgender; Love is love and it is beautiful. If more people embrace this philosophy, my children will have the good fortune to grow up in a happier world.

Lawnmower

Being single means doing things that the other half used to do. While there isn’t a whole lot that I didn’t do in my past relationship, it now falls on me to do it ALL. Paying the bills, mowing the lawn, taking out the garbage and gardening about sums up my list of new responsibilities. Some of these have turned out to be easier than others.

Take mowing the lawn for instance. A simple task. Start the machine. Push it up and down the yard. Done. Well, that is all fine and good when the machine works. Let me set the scene for you. I was mowing the lawn for about the third time. The kids were with their father, it was warm out but I was enjoying the exercise. I noticed that the mower was responding in weird ways to my turns, but what do I know about machines? This could be perfectly normal. I was halfway through the backyard, when I turned the mower to go around a tree. The handle turned with me...the mower did not. The handle had completely disconnected itself from the mower, which continued to purr along happily. I released the safety bar and gave silent thanks that a safety bar even existed. Hmm, what to do? I crouched down to see where the handle attaches to the mowing part. Aha! I spotted the problem immediately! The screw had come out and gotten lost along the way. Well, being the resourceful independent woman that I am, I went into the house and grabbed my sour cream container of screws, nails and unidentifiable bits and brought them out the mower. “I can fix this” I thought. I was confident. I did in fact find a screw that would work, it was the right size but had a weird threading thing going on. I grabbed it, hopped in the van and headed to the hardware store.

Once I located the “never before visited” aisle of screws and such, I compared sizes and found exactly what I needed. I brought it to the cash and cheekily placed it on the counter. My squared shoulders surely said thing like: “Yeah, I buy screws. Cause I fix stuff. I’m handy like that.” “What size is this” asks the cashier innocently and Pfffffffffffff. Just like that, the air is popped out of my balloon. I fished around in my pocket and produced my faulty screw. “Um, the same size as this one?” Probably not the answer she was looking for but it was all I had. She giggled a bit, likely seeing right through my handyman facade and charged me $.30 for my screw. Humbled, I grabbed it and returned home to get to work. Screwdriver in hand, I reattached the handle to the mower. I gave it a good tug and a shake, just to be sure. Satisfied, I returned my tools into the house. (I’ve heard that handymen always keep their tools organized so that they know where to find them - makes sense) I came back into the yard, started up the machine and resumed mowing my lawn like every responsible homeowner should.

Three steps later, the wheels fell off. Not one, but both back wheels were suddenly and inexplicably no longer attached. Once again, the mower continued to hum. Once again, I released the safety bar. The newfound handyman in me made me bend down to take a look at the source of the problem. The stressed out, frazzled insane person in me wanted to scream obscenities, kick and possibly lay on the ground in full-blown tantrum fashion. In the end, I tried to drag the thing back into the garage. When that proved to be too difficult, I threw my hands in the air and walked away, leaving it in the yard. I resolved to get a flower to plant in the top of it and convert it into a shabby chic planter. To do list for tomorrow? Lawnmower shopping.

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This story has a happy ending. That night, I went out for dinner with one of my besties and lamented the curse of the lawnmower. Being the good friend that she is, she concurred that lawnmowers were likely the spawn of the devil. When we returned from dinner, lo and behold, there sat my lawnmower in my driveway. Wheels attached. In my mind, it sparkled and I’m pretty sure it had a huge red bow on it. My incredible neighbour had noticed the deplorable state of my lawnmower, sitting desolately in my yard and had taken it upon himself to repair it. Not only did he repair it, but he finished mowing my lawn for me. Kindness really does exist. I thanked him of course, but I’m not sure he will ever really understand just how much that act of kindness meant to me.

Accomodations

The day after leaving, I found a place to rent. I was that lucky. It was a sweet little house with all the space we needed and a large backyard. The catch was that it was for sale. It could be sold out from under us at any time. The uncertainty sucked but it seemed a less and less likely scenario as time passed and we started to settle in.  In the fall, my landlord and I had a chat. He seemed content with me living there and with no prospective buyers, he was going to be taking the house off the market. What a relief. A constant, stable home for at least the winter as I waited to get the equity out of the marital home. I immediately broke down the fifty boxes I had held onto over the summer. With an enormous sense of satisfaction, I put them out with the recycling the next morning.

That afternoon, I wished I hadn't. A call from my landlord had me reeling. He had received and accepted an offer on the home. This despite the fact that there hadn't been any showings all summer. To say I was shocked was an understatement. I kept thinking about all those damned boxes I had just put to the curb. I had sixty days to find a new place to live. My landlord wasn't unkind, it was business. He felt badly, of this I'm sure. But not badly enough to turn down making money. He offered to help me find a new place to live, no doubt hoping that I would chose one of the other properties he had for rent around town. Properties that weren't for sale, I might add.

He provided me with the names and numbers of other people around town with places to rent. I called them all. I contacted a realtor and I went to see every single home for sale in the area.  I visited over twenty potential places to live.

In the end, I chose the first one that I went to see. A three bedroom apartment in the top half of a house. The house was in a country setting just two doors down from my daycare provider. The landlord himself would be occupying the basement. He promised to look after snow removal and yard work. Both things that were stressing me out. The rent was reasonable, and he would pay the heating costs. Who knew what kind of winter weather we were in for? It was a good deal. On top of that, the house was nice, spacious and open concept with lots of natural light. I could see us happy there. Icing on the cake? He was cute, this new landlord of mine. Cute and young. His flexibility, accommodating attitude and considerate nature told me that he would make a good landlord. Maybe even a friend.

Thirty days after being evicted, I moved to my new home. Sixteen people showed up to help me move. SIXTEEN people. I was overwhelmed with the generosity of my friends. We were packed and moved by noon. I was unpacked and organized by dinner the next day. It was amazing.

Six months later, we are still happily living in that apartment. The equity from the marital home is nowhere in sight, and we could be here for a while. Truthfully, I am no longer in a rush to move. I hope to someday buy or build a house of my very own. But for now, I am happy where I am. And that landlord? Definitely a friend...and more.

The Decision

You only live once. Corny expression. We’ve all heard it a million times. But for some reason, when spoken at the right time by the right person, it takes on deeper meaning. My father uttered these words to me and the force of them nearly shattered my eardrums. I sat stunned, sitting at a picnic table, watching my children play, and thinking “My God. He’s right. Do I want my one shot to be like this?” The simple answer was no. I was deeply unhappy. I shared a home with a man I had come to despise. I feared for the safety of my children. I felt trapped. But while I felt that life had slammed the door shut on me for years, my father opened a window. “We can help” he said. And help they did.

In a matter of weeks, we were out. It was a stressful few weeks, full of nausea, heart palpitations and sleepless nights. But we made it. I’m not stupid. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. But I never in a million years expected it to be THIS hard.

We were out, we were free and we were homeless. The decision to leave had been made. The follow through would be full of new decisions. Ones that had to be made quickly but that would have lasting consequences.

Carpe Diem indeed!

The expression takes on new meaning when your world goes topsy turvy. The last few months have been a journey for me. While some things have stayed the same, most things have changed. Change is good, and in this case, it was necessary.

I used to blog about my adventures, and I called it “Adventures in Mamaland”. The changes from the last few months have led me to a fresh start, and I thought I should extend that start to my blogging. Hence the new title, new blog. Carpe Diem.

My life now is one of a single mother of two beautiful and strong willed children. I thought it might be helpful, therapeutic even to write about my adventures as I transition and make major changes in my life. What changes? I have moved to a new home. I have learned the true meaning of the word independence. I am now solely responsible for the running of the household and the care of the wee ones. I have started to rediscover ME. (I had gotten a bit lost along the way) I have a new someone special in my life who showers me with kindness and makes me happy. All of these changes are still a work in progress. It has been an adventure in and of itself to get where I am today. An adventure that would not have been possible without the love and support of my friends and family.

While this likely all sounds very serious and solemn, for now let me tell you that I haven’t been this happy in a long time and I write all this with a Mona Lisa smile on my face. I haven’t felt this free or content in a decade. And a decade is a long time. It has been a rough road and it isn’t over, but it is worth it.

**The author reserves the right to embellish and humorize her stories at will. After all, that’s what writing’s for.