Higher Powers

Last Friday, Dawn and I went to TO to see Ghost Stories.  It was good and funny and we had a good time.  I jumped a couple of times and some stuff freaked me out.  All was as it should be.

After the show, because neither of us had eaten we went to a pub beside the theatre.  We had a beer and some yummy pub food. 

We were chatting about nothing in particular.  I am not sure how we got on the topic, but we started talking about God and higher powers.

God has been on my mind alot lately.  Particularily since Kit died.  So maybe the conversation was just a natural progression from my thoughts of late.

Dawn's opinion is, of course, her own and I won't post it here.  I don't think she is particularily private about her thoughts, and probably doesn't even care but still...those are her own to share.  Suffice it to say, she is very, very angry, and God/Entity/Higher Power is the recipient of alot of that anger.  A question of faith is a natural by-product of losing your dad.

However the conversation got me thinking again about my thoughts and beliefs.  I have always believed in God.  I used to go to Sunday School as a kid, then stopped, then started again.  I was confirmed in a Lutheran Church, but then they kicked me out so I got married non-denominationally.  Neither of my kids are baptised but I am godmother to 2 wonderful kids-my nephew Roan and my good friend, Jen's daughter Emily. 

So, what do I believe?  Well, I believe in God but not church.  I know, that sounds like a cliche.  But I really, really have trouble wrapping my head around it.  I understand that most of the Catholic doctrine was written (and re-written) by human men, afraid of change, and hungry for power.  These men ruled nations and armies and wrote rules that would keep the men in those nations under their control.  They ruled through fear and the threat of eternal damnation.  The fact that you could "buy" your way out of a sin by purchasing an indulgence tell me that at the heart of most religion there is money.

Now I do believe that some of the men and women called to serve the Lord do truly believe, in their hearts and souls that they are serving a higher purpose.  That they are here to do good on Earth and pave the way for as many as possible to be saved, and move into Heaven in the afterlife. 

I just find it hard to believe that if someone eats pork they might go to hell.  *shrugs* Call me blasphemous, if you must.

I do believe though.  I believe in fate, in a grand design.  I believe in free will, but I also believe that we are directed to major checkpoints along the way.  They may be grand decisions, like who to marry, whether to have children or not.  Most, I believe, are small and it is only in hindsight that we can see their real relevance.  Do I take this job, or that job?
Do I have that extra beer, even though I know I have to drive home?
Do I 'fess up, or do I lie?

Most of it, we probably decide unconsiously.  We make the decision and live with the consequences.  We makes our bed, we lies in it.

Anyway...God.  I believe in Heaven.  I believe in Hell.  I hope I go to Heaven.  I hope the people that I love are all there.  I don't want to believe that when we die, we are finished.  I know what's-his-name, you know, the smart one in the wheelchair.  Can't remember his name.  Anyway, I know he believes we are like computers.  When we are done, we are done.  Power source is gone, out go the lights. 

But I believe in miracles.  I believe in the soul.  And how can those exist if God doesn't? 

But I still question. 
Why did God make Sebastian the way he is? 
Why does God let genocide happen?
Why does God let grown men rape little babies?
Why does God take people that are good, and leave assholes behind?

I guess I also believe that God is too fucking busy to worry about the little shit.  He is like a mother.  He is runing around, getting stuff together.  He has basically told us "Sort it out between you selves.  I don't have time to deal with that."  And we just keep fucking it up, because we are inherently selfish and dumb. 

So, anyway, I have gone off on some tangents here huh? :)

I think about going back to church sometimes.  Just in case.  I wonder, if I prayed long enough and hard enough, would God help me?  Would he hear?  Would I have peace in my soul?  There is something so comforting about handing your troubles over to someone else...to believe that there is someone else out there that will take care of you, and help you.  That is looking out for you.  I dunno....

I miss church on Christmas Eve.  That was always a magical service.  Candles and carols and the Christmas Story.  I used to be able to recite it off by heart.  That and the Apostles Creed.  I probably still could, if someone got me started.

So, I believe.  I do.  I still lie and cheat and I have stolen before.  I covet and take the Lord's name in vain.  I worship false idols.  But I believe.  And I try to do right.  I teach my kids to pray and we do, pretty much every night.  I tell them about Jesus at Christmas and Easter.  They each have a children's book of Bible Stories.  I prayed for Kit, and my Grandma and Grandpa.  I still do.  I talk to them, and ask them for help.  I talk to God and ask him too.

Anyway, that's what I believe. 

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "iNgrained belief".

A work in progress

It's been a month since we finished our backlog work and met the deadline for our year end at work.  A month.  I can't believe it.  And I am still tired.

I know there are alot of other things at play here, but I think at least part of my fatigue is carry over from all that work.  It really hasn't slowed up much.  I still have more on my plate than I can handle.  I don't really work overtime (says she that was up until 1230 last night, writing training material) and I have been taking time off.  But I still feel overwhelmed.  I am starting to wonder if this is going to be a perpetual state of being for me.

I feel guilty when I am not doing something.  Anything.  But I can't keep doing things, I am too frigging tired.  It is a vicious circle.

I know I haven't been taking care of myself.  I feel it.  I feel like crap most days.  I look horrible.  My skin is awful, I have more zits now that I have had in the last 2 decades.  I hate my clothes, my hair and my eyebrows look like Brooke Shields from the Blue Lagoon days. (Tangent- I would love to see that movie again, I wonder if it is on DVD???  Hmmmm)

My horoscope on Facebook today was :

Your Daily Horoscope You may find that your subconscious mind is playing tricks on you today, especially where your self-image is concerned. You are likely to be a bit overly self-conscious right now. Relax, and let things flow. You will brighten up when you cut yourself some slack. Not that I particularily believe that an autogenerated function on a computer can tell the future and predict my present, but it was a little freaky. Yesterday, Sawyer and I went out to play.  Not being able to not do something, I pulled out the lawn mower and cut the back yard (I had done the front yard earlier in the day.) Then she and I were swinging and she was sliding.  Then she was jumping in the trampoline. I had to sit back and watch her.  She is amazing.  Here is this roly poly little girl- crazy red hair all over the place, in her yellow shirt, purple pants and a pink tutu over top.  She is jumping with all her might, with her Woody doll in her hands.  Her head is back and she holds Woody up to the sky as she jumps, because he is flying and so is she.  She jumps and jumps and laughs. And I sit and watch and smile.  I don't remember being that free.  I don't remember being that unself concious.  I suppose I was, at one time in my life, but I have no recollection of it.  And I realize, I don't smile enough.  Or laugh enough.  I don't relax- really, really relax- enough.  I don't have fun enough.  I have this constant weight of guilt on my shoulders- guilt about work, about the family, about money, and bills, and photographs.  About friends and enemies.  About school and therapy and medication.  About autism, potty training.  About books unread and things unsaid.  Is that what being a grown up is? Yesterday, I had a talk with Geoff about something long overdue.  It was hard to have, and he was great and listened well.  I don't know if he understands how hard some things are to say, out loud.  I think he does, because he doesn't say them either. And no, we aren't splitting up, or anything like that. :)  All is well. So, with all this on my mind, I am going to try and work on me and home today.  Clean a little, play a little.  Maybe take a nap.  Plan an attack.  Balance a budget.  Alot on my plate for today, like always.  But, I guess it helps to have hope, and I have some.  A little.  It will have to do. Rosie N. Grey The N stands for "not wanting to grow up."

Naturally Super Supernatural

 So, last year, in October, my girls and I travelled to Chicago to see our boys, Jared, Jensen and Misha.  We discovered the joys of "little John" and Synerjizzum.  We had a great 3 days, so fun and enjoyable.

So, my good news is that we are doing it again this year.  The best part?  We don't have a 10 hour drive to get there.  Our boys are coming to us, and the show is in Toronto this year.  

We were thinking of bringing Cracked Lens in as a vendor, but unless I have someone to run the booth full time, that isn't going to happen.  

Anyway, Dawn and I are booked.  Val, who went with us last year, is going to go to, with a new convert, Shannon.  Should be fun.  I am looking forward to it already.  

Rosie N. Grey

The N stands for Nerd.  Part II. 

White Trash

So, for some unknown reason, I decided to watch "The Real L Word" on demand.  It was ok, and I got a little addicted, only because I had to know what happened to these crazy lesbians. 

Anyway, 9 episodes later, inspiration struck.  The one girl, Whitney (who classifies herself as a hard femme, or soft butch, but has dreds and tattoos and is quite a player) had a "white trash" party.  They had awesomely horrible t-shirts, drank Tang and jello shots, and had an inflatable pool for creamed corn/lube wrestling.  She also ended up fucking some girl with a strap on while the party was going on, but that is not really what inspired me.

I want to have a white trash party.  I have put the call out to some of my friends, to see if they are up for it.  I think they will be.  So, here is what I envision:

- spray cheese on crackers and hamburgers on white bread (not buns)

- beer in the can, wine in the box

- All Skynrd, all the time.  But let's mix in some Hank Williams, Rush, ACDC and oh, so many others.

- trucker caps and mullets

- daisy dukes and cellulite

- high topped adias.  On the ladies.

- boys in jogging pants

Oh, I can't wait.  If you are reading this, you are totally invited.  I expect you to come prepared.  Knock out your front teeth, bring your cousins (especially the one you have a crush on) and your Jeff Foxworthy tapes.  It's gonna be a White Trash Party.

Rosie N. Grey

The N stands for "nouveau trash."

'Crackers

I love fireworks.  There is something about them, they make me think of being a kid.  I have wonderful memories of fireworks, watching with my parents, down by the Falls, on a blanket. I remember it being warm, but cooler by the water.  There were bugs, and the grass was scratchy on my legs. And then they started.  I remember that it seemed like they were close enough to touch, that it was a blanket of light over the entire sky.  I remember leaning back on my dad, my neck hurting from craning it so far back for so long.


Kidlets at the Virgil Stampede



I remember being at Canada's Wonderland, one of the first year's that it was open.  They would (and maybe still do) set off fireworks from the mountain.  I remember being physically exhausted, sunburnt and body sore from a long day on the rides. But watching those fireworks-  I had a grin so big, my face hurt.  I loved standing and leaning on my parents, watching those amazing colours bloom and feeling the bangs in the pit of my stomach.

I remember being a teenager, and going to the Virgil Stampede with my best friends at the time, Jen, Christa, Carrie, and the rest of the gang.  I went on the Scrambler, and they started setting of the fireworks.  I watched the fireworks as I was tossed back and forth by the  big machine.  I could smell the vinegar and fries, hear the 70s rock, and watch this amazing light display.  I think I might have even been sitting with a boy, which just made everything more heightened and amazing.  It was so movie perfect, it could have been written by John Hughes.

Together



Daddy and Sawyer, excited about what's coming



And now, I introduce my kids to the world of fireworks.  Geoff is take 'em or leave 'em, so they tend to get left more often than not.  Our first couple of attempts at fireworks weren't great.  About 6 years ago, we took Sebastian to see the Virgil fireworks.  I had actually worked Victoria Day, so Geoff came with Sebastian to pick me up.  For some reason, Geoff thought far enough ahead to bring a sweatshirt for me, but left Sebastian in a pair of pyjamas that were shorts.  So, Sebastian ended up dressed in my sweatshirt, and I froze.  Then Geoff, while helping Sebastian walk around, dropped him in a small ditch of rainwater.  So, now he is soaked and crying.  Needless to say, we left early, because it was so horrible.  I remember finally reaching the car, and turning to watch the lights in the sky.  For a long time, that was our last attempt at fireworks. Some years, it would be rainy and cold, so we wouldn't even consider it.  Other times, I would ask, and Geoff would say yes, and then forget.  He tends to forget things pretty easily, particularily when they aren't things that he is into.



Last year though, we finally made it work.  We had a nice sunny day, I packed weather appropriate things for the kids, we had a blanket to sit on, and all the stars aligned.  I think the kids ended up falling asleep, but I got to see the fireworks.

Tonight, the kids and I watched again.  Our neighbours behind us light them off every year.  Not a great show, but good enough.  About 9 o'clock, Sebastian, Sawyer and I all bundled off into the back yard.  We climbed up on the trampoline with a warm fuzzy blanket.  Sebastian leaned back against me, just like I did with my dad.  Sawyer laid back, with her hands under her head and watched the "stars".  She even tried to catch some in her hands.  The dog, suddenly scared, curled up behind us, pushing in as close as he could, shaking and trembling and whining.  Both kids would jump with the big bangs.  Sawyer thought the high pitched squealy ones were airplanes.  We clapped when it was a particularily good one, and mumbled and grumbled about the time it took in between.  Geoff came home a little before 10, and joined us. 

I love fireworks.

Rosie N. Grey

The N stands for "now, summer begins."

Ghost Stories

I am going to TO tomorrow with Dawn to see Ghost Stories.  We were supposed to go last month, but it was actually the night before we lost Kit.  Obviously, we didn't go. 

There was a special last Friday, which was Friday the 13th.  Tickets were $13.  So we picked up 2 for this Friday, and are going to try and do it again.

Val went the last time, with a couple of her friends.  She said it was good, but not as scary as she hoped.  I hope I like it, and it is worth it.  I guess we will see. 

It will be nice to get out for a bit.  I went to the movies tonight with Geoff, to see Thor (which was pretty good!), so this will be 2 nights in a row for me.  I can see the summer already ramping up to be a busy one.  Last year, I was so crazy busy all summer, I had no time to do anything. Don't get me wrong, I had a great time.  I think this year, though, I want to have family time, and time with the kids.  I know alot of the people I hang around with either don't have kids at all, or their kids are older.  So, they don't really understand.  It will be up to me, to make sure I balance the fun, grown up times with fun family times.  Sawyer is so hilarious, and Sebastian is really coming into his own.  I don't want to miss a thing. 

Anyway, looking forward to the play tomorrow.  Wish me luck!

Rosie N. Grey
The N statnds for "new adventures."

let the sunshine in

It has been a week of dreary days.  Rain, rain, rain.

Sebastian was supposed to be in the Special Olympics on Monday.  I even took the day off of work, so that I could go and cheer him on.  Of course, it poured rain.  I stayed home instead, and did practically nothing. 

The rest of the week, it was just dull and dreary and cold.  Raining constantly.  A couple of rumbles of thunder, which sounded promising, but really amounted to nothing.  Sawyer did ask if the sound was monsters, to which I replied "No, it's thunder."  She thought for a few moments and then asked "Is it scary?"  I told her no, thunder isn't scary, it's fun.  She smiled and agreed.  God, I love that kid.

My new desk at work actually has a view of the outside world.  I have windows.  :)  But this week, it didn't help much.  The gloominess really gets me down. 

But today, for a little while, the sun shone through. 

It is amazing how much better I felt, just having the sun on my back as I worked.  I could see the yellow light from the corner of my eye.  I started to feel almost manic, I was deliriously happy about the sun.  Like I wanted to use all my energy and emotions for that limited timeframe when it was bright and sunny. 

It helped too, that one of my favorite people in the world, Teresa, came by to visit and chat today.  She just makes me happy.  She is one of those people that I am always a little in awe of, and that I am amazed I am friends with.  We have been friends almost from the minute that we met- locked in a closet for a 2 hour Direct Energy conference call will do that to two people.  She is up-beat and positive.  She swears like a trooper and makes me laugh all the time.  I just love her to death.  She is my bingo partner (even though she doesn't do her fair share and win! :) and my partner in crime.  Anything I can think up, if Teresa has had a few beers, she will do it. 

"Hey Teresa, go take that guy's stupid hat and wear it around the bar!"

"Hey Teresa, go take a picture with that moron with the neon glasses and the glow sticks!"

"Hey Teresa, go make friends with the band!"

"Hey Teresa, go pick a fight with that guy in the sandwich shop about Elvis being better than the Beatles!"

Yeah, she is up for pretty much anything.  She is one of my very best friends, and I don't know what I would do without her.

So, between the sun and Teresa, today ended up a decent day.  :)  Oh, and I got to go to the movies too.  So, good day.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "no more rainy days."

Red Faced

Grr.  Today, my debit card was declined.  I hate that.  Especially when the money is in the bank.

I had to get new brakes on the car, front and back.  Big bucks.  But the mechanic told me approximately how much it would be, so before I went to go pick it up, I checked and DOUBLE checked the bank balance to make sure that I could cover it.  Green light.  Full speed ahead.

My dad comes to get me and Sawyer and we go get the car.  My cousin, Rodger, is the service manager, and is a sweetheart.  He talked to me about Geoff's dad, and we chatted.  The card machine hummed and buzzed and kicked out a decline code.  Hmmm.  Weird.  Try it again.

Declined.  Again.

So, at this point, my face is on fire.  I can't help it.  I blush when I am embarrassed.  I have NO idea why this is happening.  But, to say anything, make me look guity, or like I am making excuses.  Don't get me wrong.  I have been there.  I have been declined for the right reasons (that being, there was no money in my account.)  I did my time in the poor lane. 
But today, there is money in there, I just can't get it.

I give Rodger my credit card.  I just forgot, that in a fit of responsibility that I lowered the limit on my card to $1000.  And I have a $100 on it.  So that got declined as well. 

At this point, Rodger takes mercy on me, and tells me to come in at the end of the week and pay.  My dad, who, of course, is there for allllll  of this, jumps up and offers to pay.  I tell him no, and drag him and Sawyer out of the office.  I just want to get home.  My face is burning and I am berating myself the entire way home.  There is a pit in my stomach and I want to throw up.  I hate this feeling.  HATE it. 

Geoff and I went through a time, right around when Sebastian was born, where we were poor.  Dirt poor.  Where you are making a choice between groceries and gas.  The feeling, walking up to the cash register, and not knowing if it was going to go through.  If I spent one dollar more than I should have, everything would have crumbled down.  Mumbling excuses on why it was not going through- forgot the pin, must have had a bill come out, wrong card, blah, blah, blah.

I still get that pit in my stomach to this day.  I worked really hard, and scraped and clawed my way out of that hole we were in. We were doing pretty well, certainly not rich, but a little more comfortable.  But that feeling, that anxiety, never went away.

It doesn't help that I figured out the reason I was declined was the bank's fault.  For some reason, the bank set a $100 limit on my card.  About 2 years ago.  I can't put more than $100 on my debit card on any given day.  It makes grocery shopping a bitch.  It makes my life miserable.  But I figure if anyone ever gets a hold of my card, I won't lose more than a hundred bucks.

So, anyway.  I had a super embarrassing day.  It sucked.  It still sucks.  I am still embarrassed.  And now everyone knows about it, so if it happens again, and I get red faced, just ride the wave with me.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "kick in the Nuts".

Adventures in Sawyer Land



An 80's throwback

 My daughter, Sawyer is 2.  She is a handful.  She is energetic, and smart and headstrong.  She is, as my friend Val puts it, a "spitfire".  The things that she does makes me laugh, and I want to remember them.  Here are some of the stories of "Adventures in Sawyer Land."

Story #1

A couple of weeks ago, my mom and I were in my kitchen talking.  Sawyer was running around, playing and making a mess.  I don't recall that my mother and I were being exceptionally loud, but soon we became aware of Sawyer yelling, over and over again, from the living room.

"QUIET!  I said, QUIET, MOMMY!  QUIET!!"

Since, as I said, we weren't actually being loud, we ignored her and kept talking.  She kept yelling.  Except now, she's moved 3 feet in front of me, and is yelling in my face.  I stopped talking to my mom, and tried to explain rationally and sanely to a 2 year old that 1) I am not being loud, 2) It is ok for Mommy and Grammie to talk, and 3) it isn't polite for little girls to tell their mommys to be quiet. 

This rationale, sane conversation soon degenerated into her in one room and me in another, yelling back and forth.

(her) QUIET!

(me) NO, YOU be QUIET!

(her) I SAID, QUIET!

(me) AND I SAID, YOU BE QUIET!

This continues for a minute or so.  Then, suddently, she very purposefully stomps out of the living room, arms crossed in front of her.  Over she stomps and WHACK, WHACK, WHACK.

She spanked me.

She steps back, looks me in the face with a severe frown, shakes her little finger and says, in a low ominous voice, " I told you.  Quiet."

Story #2

Always a lady, she exhibits quiet and demure behavior at all times.



The day of Kit's funeral, I was rushing around, trying to get the kids dressed and ready, do my hair, and make sure everything was together.  Sawyer had had toast with jam for breakfast and so, of course, she was covered in it from ear to ear.

I went to her room, with a wet facecloth.  She is playing nicely, dressed in her pretty, bright dress and tights.

"Sawyer beanie, I want you to sit down, so that I can wash your face."

Without looking up, Sawyer responds.... "And I want you to get out of my room."

I was already moving into the room, getting ready to sit on the floor behind her.  It stopped me in my tracks, because I really wasn't sure that I had heard what I thought I heard.  So, I ask her. 
"Sawyer, what did you just say?"

Now, she looks up.  "I. Said. OUT!"

The last word is shouted.  I literally have no words.  My mouth might be hanging open at this point.  I ask her again.  One last time.  In the future, I am hoping that she will learn that this is the point to shut up, say she's sorry and take her lumps.  But for now, she's 2.  She doesn't know any better.

"What did you say, Sawyer?"
"Out.  Out of my room."

Geoff is in my bedroom, getting ready.  What he hears at this point is:

"SIT THE $%&* DOWN!  TODAY IS NOT THE DAY!"

Sawyer looks at me, eyes wide.  That teetering point, between shock and crying and anger and yelling.  She picked option 3.

"Ok Mommy." And plunked her butt down.

An artist.  She works in many mediums.

Story #3

This week, I wasn't feeling great.  Stomach upset, general queasiness, you get the picture.  On Wednesday, I worked from home, 'cause I just couldn't face getting dressed, feeling as horrible as I did.  I stayed in my pjs all day, didn't shower, didn't even brush my teeth, since I couldn't handle anything hitting the back of my tongue.

On Thursday, I had no choice, I had to go to work.  I got dressed, did my hair and got my toothbrush out.  As I bring the toothbrush to my mouth, I catch a weird smell.  Not bad, or gross, just different.  Now, I don't normally smell my toothpaste, and I thought that because of my stomach troubles, maybe my sense of smell was a little off.  I started to brush my teeth.

It was like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.  I was foaming at the mouth like a rabig dog.  Bubbles were floating out of my mouth.

I had a sudden flashback to the day before.  Something about Sawyer, a soap pump and the bathroom sink.  I am pretty sure that Sawyer tried to clean it all up with my toothbrush. 



Lucky, luck me.

Rosie N. Grey

The N stands for "Never stops".  And by that I mean the fun.

I've got the blues

This Saturday, I am volunteering at the Bluesaganza fundraising event for Autism Ontario.  I have been involved in the planning stages, gathering the prizes, planning the games and everything else.  It is all culminating this Saturday.

I am super nervous.  I have been doing fundraising for many years now, and for the most part, I have been very successful at it.  But this is new, and it isn't all on my shoulders, so I am a bit nervous.

I have a bunch of people who have bought tickets and are coming out to support, which is so wonderful.  I am crazily grateful. 

I hope all goes well.  I know these things usually work out in the end, and everything has a way of working out.  So, I will just work hard, do my best and have fun.  Hope you will be there too!

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "need you there!"

Mother's Day

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.  I spent this morning trying to tidy the house a bit, so that it isn't a mess when it's "my" day tomorrow.  I have asked Geoff not to buy me anything, but the best gift in the world would be a vaccumed house anyway. :) 

Today is a nice sunny day.  Beautiful.  A little cool, but that is how I like it.  I drove around a bit today, running errands.  I had the window down, listening to Mumford and Sons.  It was lovely.

We are going to see my mom tomorrow and do dinner with them.  We have been trying to get a hold of Geoff's mom, to find out if she wants to do dinner tonight, or lunch tomorrow or anything at all.

I like Mother's day, but it isn't a big deal.  I normally ask to be able to sleep in a bit, to have a hot bath at some point, and either lunch or dinner.  I like the house to be neat.  Other than that, I am good.  I think I am pretty low maintenance.

Since it is Mother's Day, I should blog about my mom.  I have been wracking my mind, trying to remember my earliest memory of my mother.  I really don't know.  I can't pinpoint one.

I do remember her perfume.  In particular when something big was happening, like my surgeries, she always wore her perfume.  I remember waking up after one of my surgeries, and before I ever even opened my eyes, I could smell her perfume and I knew she was there. 

I remember that my mother always worked.  My dad would be laid off, or on strike or something, but my mom always worked.  Non stop.  When she was at the nursing home near us, we drop the car off for her to drive home at night, and we would walk home.  Sometimes we would go in, and drop off the keys or to tell her that it was there.  I hated the smell in there.  But it was always weird and interesting to see my mom in her work clothes, doing her thing.

I remember going up north with my grandma, grandpa and aunt.  My mom and dad came up about 3 or 4 days after, for just a day.  I remember seeing my mom walking up the driveway.  I felt a rush of love and happiness just seeing her.  It is the quintessential childhood feeling.  Mom.  My mom.  Just thrilled to see her.  I am pretty sure we were supposed to stay a couple of days longer after their visit, but I am certain that I left with them.  Homesick starts with missing Mommy.

My mother has taught me alot.  From her I learned hard work, and dedication.  I got my love of reading from her.  I have my coping skills from her.  She is unshakeable in a crisis.  While I might be devestated in the beginning by something, after the initial wave passes, I buckle down and get to coping and moving on.  And that is because of her.

When I was in Grade 6 (I think), the school statted talking about putting me in a special program for gifted kids.  It really wasn't a question that I would go, it was just assumed.  I sat down with my mom one day, before the planning meeting and told her that I didn't want to do it.  I didn't want to go to a new school and lose my friends and be a big nerd.  So, even though in her heart of hearts I am sure she didn't agree with me, my mom went into that meeting to fight the fight for me.  And when she told them that I had decided that I wasn't doing it, she made me feel like she had my back.  I appreciated it so much. 

When I went away to college, my mother wrote me a letter every week that I was gone.  They were "mom" letters, as she called them, just about the goings-on around the house, my dad and my brother.  But it was the only mail I ever really got, so I really, REALLY appreciated it.  For those of you out there a bit younger, this was before email was big, and letters were actually mailed.  It was really old school.  :)

My mom supports pretty much anything I do.  She constantly comes up with new ideas for Cracked Lens.  She is the one that watches the kids when we go on shoots, or to shows.  She is involved with everything to do with Sebastian and his diets and his therapies.  Every time I say " I had this idea..."  or  " I read an article about.....", I know, before I even ask, that she will be onboard. 

She has had hard times.  Her parents, my grandparents, are both gone.  Her childhood wasn't great.  She really doesn't have any good memories of it, or at least none that she really wants to share.  Most of the stories of her childhood make me sad, so we rarely talk about it.   She isn't close with her brother and sister, and that makes me sad too.  But she has good friends, and she has us.  And I think for her, that is more than enough. 

My mom likes the colour purple, and she likes tulips.  She drinks earl grey tea.  She makes me turkey crepes for my birthday every year.  She likes old movies, like Arsenic and Old Lace, and Jimmy Stewart movies.  She listens to Meatloaf and CCR when she cleans the house.  She is a super cautious driver and is convinced that the cops will pull her over if she is even 5 km over the limit.  My kids call her Grammie.    She watches horror movie and reads mystery and horror books constantly.

I am sure through the rest of the night, I will be remembering tons more about my mom.  But for now, I am going to sign off, and wish her and everyone else a very Happy Mother's Day. Love you!

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "Number 1 Mom!"

so tired

I can barely stay awake.  It's only 10:13.  I will be asleep by 10:30.  Just wanted to document my day first. 

Monday was my 2am-10am shift.  Then had a 2 hour fundraising meeting with AO.  Thnen back home for sleep, except I had a call that I had to dial in for.  Blech.  I didn't end up going to bed until about 11pm.

Tuesday- more work, then after work, home.  I can't remember what I did, so it must have been pretty exciting.

Wednesday- went to Holly's for cake and ice cream for Gage's birhday.  Watch kiddie fight club.  Highly enertaining.

Today, up at 5 for the Radiothon for the kids at the NPCC.  Good deal, had a cheep, yummy brekki, and saw lots of people from Sebastian's days there.  Into work for the day.  Then home and a hike with the dog and the kids in the quarry near work. 

Good days.  Good night.  Love you...

Rosie N. Grey
the n stands for "night!"

Rosie N. Grey

Someone asked me the other day why I call myself Rosie N Grey on this blog.  The Rosie is pretty obvious- it's my daughter's middle name, and it was my Grandma's name.  They are and were strong influences in my life- obviously in different ways.
I also have the Rosie the Riveter tattoo on my leg.  I love the imagery of that, women being called out of the kitchens and out of their homes to step up and keep a frigging country running.  And they did it.  Women of the 30s and 40s were strong and powerful- amazing.  There is a cord of iron running through many of them, that I respect and admire and can only hope to one day live up to.

But the driving force for the name is from a song, by The Lowest of the Low.  One of the best friends of my life, Tony, introduced me to them.  I CANNOT listen to them, and this song in particular without thinking of him.

Rosie and Grey.  That's me.  Happy, sad.  Confused and driven.  Clear and fuzzy.  I can't listen to this song without crying and smiling at the same time.

Enoy it.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for "name game".

Fuck you London, good night!!

This weekend, Geoff and I ventured to the great city of London, ON for a horror show for our photos.  The show was called Shock Stock.  It is the first year for the show, but I was uber excited.  The last show we did was a comic show and it was horrible.   There is very little cross over from comics to horror, so we aren't going to do more comic shows. 
But this show was perfect.  It was straight up horror.  They had the ladies from the Evil Dead there, plus some b-movie, 70's sexploitation horror films there (Ilsa- She-wolf of the SS, anyone!?)  I thought this was going to be the real test of our photos- a smaller show, where we wouldn't get lost in the shuffle, straight horror, no judgement.  Good times.

If only people had shown up.

In an article prior to the show, the 2 guys that organized it said that they were expecting about 1,500 people.   Small, but ok.

We were lucky if there were 200 people that went through.  See, the organizers sold out the Evil Dead screening that was taking place on Saturday night.  They (wrongly) assumed that everyone that was going to the movie was going to go to the show too.

Yeah, they were wrong. 

Friday, we didn't sell a single thing. We talked to the other vendors, and got to browse around.  I bought a cool  bracelet that looks like barbed wire.  We met an awesome couple, he makes latex masks and Jason hockey masks.  We met an author and others.  We got to browse the fetish gear set up across from us, and Geoff wondered, ad nauseum, what a flogger was.  'Cause apparently you could buy one there.

We smuggled in some beer and I had a couple of drinks.  Everyone else smuggled in beer, didn't bother to hide it and had more than a few drinks.  We ended the night with the hope that Saturday was going to be busier, and a good day.

Saturday, the show started at 10am.  We have very little set up once we are in, so we got there about 10 to 10.  We took over the empty table beside us, so we re-arranged our pictures and put out the frames, which is something we don't often do, since we rarely have the space.  All the re-arranging took some time, and I finally asked Geoff what time it was, hoping that it wasn't too late after the show opening, so that we could maximize our selling time.  Geoff told me it was 11:30.  An hour and a half into the show and there was still no one there.

It did pick up a little.  We had one of our uber fans show up (I think it was Chris, and not Liam. :)  We had two lovely ladies buy 3 framed prints off us.  We sold more to the vendors, and one crazy,awesome kid that grew up in Niagara and asked me to write the directions to the location of Respect, so that he could show it to his Dad.

But by about 2 in the afternoon, I was depressed.  I had been so hopeful for this show, and the fact that it was a big fat failure was just completely disheartening to me.  I started talking about trying to get out of the hotel reservation for that night.  The mask maker was also pissed.  He was sporting a double table, which meant his vendor fee was twice mine, and he wasn't selling anything either.  His girlfriend wanted our big, foam backed Workshop print, but he couldn't swing it, when he was losing so much money.  I understood. 

By the end of the night, Geoff and I had had enough.  I was very angry and upset, and we just packed up in silence.  The organizers approached the mask maker, who was doing the same thing, and the girlfriend gave them an earful.  It really isn't their fault, they probably could have promoted better, or picked a weekend when university was still in session, but you can't make people come.  I feel bad for them, because if they decide to do it again next year, they are going to have a hell of a time getting vendors, at least any of the ones that were there this year.

Geoff and I decided tha we weren't going back on Sunday.  We were going home early.

Geoff and I went to a bar last night, Molly Blooms, for dinner and drinks.  Geoff had tried to get me to talk all day about Cracked Lens and where we can go.  Funny.  I have tried to talk to him a bunch of times about it, but he really never talks back.  He listens and nods in appropriate places.  But mostly he "sebastian"'s me, and changes the subject as soon as I finish.  He acts like he just remembered something, but I know that it means that he was thnking of other things the whole time I was talking.  I just try to remember- it isn't his business.  It's mine.  I am the horror lover, not him.  His passion is elsewhere.  I really try not to get mad or hurt, when he just isn't interested.  Because, really, why should he be????

Anyway, he kept trying to get me to talk.  But the whole time, I am thinking- I don't think I want to do this anymore.  I have tried.  It ain't workin'. 

During dinner, we talked some more.  We made some plans, and thought some stuff through.  I don't know if there will be follow through on anything.  I am committed to Fan Expo, but that's the last one for the year.  I am not committing to anymore, as of right now.  I reserve the right to change my mind about that.  We will see.

I am pretty disheartened about the whole thing.  Between what work has been like lately, Sebstian, Geoff's dad, and everything else, I have no time.  I don't make time.  I am hoping things change.  I really wanted this to become a viable option for work.  I want to take my 8, 9, 10 hour work day, and dedicae my time to this.  I don't know though.  I might be totally off base.  I am questioning myself. 

But I did reach out to Holly and Eric tonight to help with a shoot.  Maybe there is hope after all.

Rosie N. Grey
The N stands for no good for nuthin'.