Farewell to a friend

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My eulogy for my dear friend Karen Heiber.

We’re all gathered here today because of a dear common friend: the amazing Karen Heiber. In a way, you could see this as the final stop on her farewell tour. And in her very organized way, this is her show!

After having had the privilege of being her friend and bearing witness to and sharing — albeit from afar — in the struggle of her cancer journey, I’ve been thinking a lot about the nature of friendship, and how you don’t always know when meeting someone for the first time what types of intense experiences you will share with them as a friendship develops, or what impact they will have on your life.

I have met many of my friends through my work at this university, and we have gone on many journeys together. My friend Sandy is your volunteer bartender today. When I met her on my first day of work here I didn’t think “Oh, here is the woman who will be the labour coach for two of my childbirths and provide support and counsel during some of my life’s hardest moments.”

But that is indeed what happened.

And when I met Karen as I interviewed her to replace me for my third maternity leave, I didn’t think “Oh, here is a person with whom I will share some crazy fun times and laughter, whose quirky sense of humour will make her a joy to be friends with, who will come to my rescue during some intense life challenges, and who will teach me about generosity, resilience, and compassion as she makes her final journey a community event shared by those she loves the world over, via the power of social media.”

But that is indeed what happened.

I couldn’t tell you precisely what my other two maternity leave replacements are up to today, but Karen and I, along with Mike and Daryl, struck up a friendship that endured.

So I guess in a way we can thank my son Miles, who is turning 11 next Friday, for bringing us together and bringing Karen and Mike to Chilliwack.

Karen and Mike had two stints in Chilliwack. They stayed here from 2003 through 2006 as she worked my mat leave and then another year at UFV and Mike used his writing talent and hometown boy insider knowledge to do some excellent journalistic work for the Chilliwack Times. Then they lit out for Toronto for a dose of big city life. They came back to the Wack for a second time, during which Karen honed her entrepreneurial talents through a brief career as the Lash Lady. I served as a guinea pig in this eyelash-enhancing entrepreneurial endeavour. Then the lure of work and family in Saskatchewan sent them eastward again in 2010.

While we weren’t that far apart in age — she was five years older — we did lead very different lives during the times she lived in Chilliwack. I enjoyed Karen’s camaraderie at work and knew that she and Mike would be cool people to hang with, but for much of the decade I was juggling the competing priorities of working and raising three kids, two of them with significant health challenges.

She was sometimes in awe of how intense that juggling act would be, and I would summarize it to her thus: “you just have to effing do it.” Except I wouldn’t say effing. I would use the real swear word.

But we managed to squeeze in time for some fun together. On several occasions she created multi-course gourmet dinners for Daryl and I. Such a treat! A nice break from the kids and an honour to have someone work so hard to make great food on our behalf. Then they would come over and experience the mayhem of a three-kid, three-cat, one-dog household and be particularly charmed by the roguish hospitality of Miles. Mike usually went down to defeat in Wii boxing and Wii fencing against his four-year-old nemesis. Miles would then declare triumphantly ‘I winning, I winning!’ Mike suffered as Miles dangled a dirty sock in front of his nose and taunted him with the phrase ‘Mell it! Mell it!’

We all went to see Lucinda Williams together in Vancouver, and dined out on a few occasions.

And Karen did know how to have fun! There was that wacky sense of humour, combined with a rebel edge. And while I respected and supported her eventual decision to embrace sobriety, there was nobody more fun to have a few drinks with.

On the last night of her UFV contract, we drank our way through the martini menu and wine list at Bravo, the local bistro. At a goodbye lunch a few days before, she enjoyed a few cocktails and a few smokes on the patio before heading back to the office to work into the night to meet her last deadlines.

In addition to her witty side, her fun side, her quirky side, her rebel side, and her generous side, Karen had a compassionate side.

When Miles was a toddler he fell heavily into the grips of asthma and was hospitalized four times in six months, with numerous other emergency visits thrown in.

It was about this time nine years ago — exactly nine years ago tomorrow, to be precise — when I was trying to finish off a 24-page community report due to go into the local papers as a supplement, when Miles started to go downhill rapidly again, just days before his second birthday. Knowing and dreading the fact that I was headed to the hospital for a few days, I made a frantic Hail Mary phone call to Karen supplemented by an email detailing the myriad last-minute task that needed attending to for the community report. Karen stayed and worked day and night and weekend to get my stuff done in addition to her own and met my (now our) important deadline. Unsung hero, baby!

Then she came and visited me in said hospital/baby jail and brought me food. It’s hard to leave a toddler behind metal crib bars to go to the cafeteria and visitors are so very welcome.

Late in her tenure in Chilliwack Karen discovered Hicks Lake, northeast of Harrison, and began camping there with her man and her mum and her dog. My favourite kind of camping is when you can just drop in on friends who are doing the actual camping, and join them for a lake swim, dinner, and a campfire, and we did so on a few occasions.

By the time 2010 came around things were getting slightly less hectic in my household and I was better able to embrace the idea of adult friendships and childless outings.

So I was sad when they decided to pull up stakes once again and head to Saskatoon. I have a bit of an abandonment complex, and have said goodbye to a few too many people in my life for my liking, so I didn’t expect to have much to do with Karen in the future, what with all the long-distance logistics!

But through the power of social media, we were able to keep in touch pretty well. And when her life was profoundly changed and truncated via the cancer diagnosis and the rapid realization that it wasn’t just a little problem that would be dealt with easily, she used social media to reach out to, stay in touch with, and embrace her friends all over the world.

She LIKED with a vengeance on Facebook. She ‘liked’ it when I posted a funny story, an anecdote about my kids, a cute cat photo, or a vent about life’s challenges. She chimed in on debates about social issues. She was lavish with her praise for friends and family, and shared her favourite causes, especially those involving animal rescue.

When Daryl posted in early April about the frustrations of finding soccer coaches for spring soccer she told him how wonderful he was and scolded the community, telling them that they should step up — this from her bedside in Arizona!

On my birthday, four days before she died, she posted:

"Happy birthday, loved one. You are an amazing woman!"

She also used Facebook as a way of sharing and recording her cancer journey — I won’t say battle, because she had to concede defeat pretty quickly and just devised tricks to keep the beast at bay for as long as possible. She was funny, and frank, and raw, and graphic.

Now it was her turn to say: “You just have to effin’ do it.” Except she didn’t say effin. She used the whole swear word.

Some people were lucky enough to visit her during her final year, and I was one of them. Karen and Mike and I spent a nice weekend in Phoenix together. Even though she was almost immobile, she arranged outings for Mike and I, and the three of us went out on the town to a comedy club where she immensely enjoyed shocking the crude comics who tried to start a spiel about our little threesome. “So you’re here with your ex and your friend,” said the comic. “What’s that all about?” The previous victim had fought the comedian off by saying “I’m researching a cure for cancer.” Karen then took great delight in making the comedian’s jaw drop by replying “I HAVE cancer.” Then he said, "Oh wow, but you're going to beat it right?" "No," she replied. "It's incurable." The room went silent. No picking on Karen after that answer! But they did giver her star treatment and a t-shirt!

Later on she was talking about perhaps going to a drive-in movie and asked Mike if he would take her. They had been separated for some time, so when she said, “we could make out!” he hesitated a moment. She then plaintively said with a grin, “C’mon Mike, I’m DYING!” Playing the cancer card to her advantage again!

We also spent some quiet contemplative time together that weekend. She lived another 12 months, but we knew we probably wouldn’t see each other again. We certainly kept in touch though.

She was funny and warm and compassionate to the end.

Shortly after Karen’s death, I posted this on Facebook: My 102-year-old friend is teaching me how to grow very old gracefully while remaining extremely engaged with loved ones and community and retaining a sense of humour, vivaciousness, and a lust for life. My dear and recently departed 52-year-old friend, Karen Heiber, taught me that it's possible to do the same while facing a shortened life span.

As I end my remembrance of her, I want to share her final Facebook post, one day before her death:

“Hugs and lots of love to my Facebook family. I cannot express enough how much all of your support has meant to me during this incredibly challenging and painful past year and half. Wishing you all love, happiness and health. Forever and ever.”

We are all better people for having known Karen.  We loved her, and we will miss her. Forever and ever.

Thank you

Cheam from McElwee, Rosedale

Cheam from McElwee, Rosedale, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

I live in a beautiful place!

Lunch with the nonagenarian

So my friend Jean is a very special woman. Famous around these parts and beyond for being a feminist and social activist for decades before either of those terms were invented. Known for rabble-rousing and getting things done. The self-published author of an autobiography that drained her savings account but that she had printed because she had a story to tell about determination, suffering, grit, and survival, and was compelled to share it in print (this was at the age of 92 or so). Honorary degree holder from the University of the Fraser Valley.

We share the same birthday week. This week I turned "halfway to 90" and she's hitting 99 on Thursday. I got to know Jean when she was 89 because she phoned the university demanding to know what we were going to do to mark Person's Day, the day honoring when the Supreme Court of Canada recognized that women were persons under the law in the 1920s. Jean is so old that she actually met some of the Famous Five activists that brought the person's case forward (or at least she talks about them like she did). One of her proudest honours was receiving the federal Person's Day medal from the governor general in 1990 for her activist work.

So back in 2001 I was a busy working mum but I figured, "hey, I can invest some time in this friendship because Jean's pretty cool, and she's almost 90, and she won't likely be around much longer anyway, and I could learn a lot from her."

Ten years later, here we still are, meeting regularly for lunch, going as dates to university functions and the theatre. She's become a treasured elder in our family, and loves nothing more than being invited to share dinner around our table. (Did I mention she loves food in all forms and has a robust appetite?)

Our relationship has evolved so that I'll correct her when she's wrong or chide her for claiming to have reached a new age two or three months before her actual birthday.

I've watched her move from her own mobile home to an old folks home in Langley. She then used a Chilliwack newspaper I casually brought by to plot her "prison break" from that home and find herself an apartment back in Chilliwack again. (My apologies to her family: I had no idea she was going to use the Chilliwack Times that way!) I've then followed her to her current old folks home in Chilliwack, where she remains a rabble rouser, advocating for seniors' rights, better food, and more reasonable rates. She sometimes feels trapped in a corporate environment in this chain-owned living arrangement.

I was very proud to help her stage a reading of her autobiography in 2005, recruiting my seven- and 10-year-old daughters, and women of every age decade up to 70, to read parts in her voice. She flirts with my husband, engages my kids in lengthy and detailed conversations, and remembers the names of all my cats. We're both famous for our sharp memories, which makes our conversations all the more lively.

Anyway, with my busy work schedule and her busy social life we've been having a hard time getting together recently. I'll be working at the other campus, or unable to take breaks, and then call her when I'm available, but she'll be busy shopping, or going to the doctor, or off to another luncheon engagement.

This week was a key one to get together, but the only time I had free was 11 am this morning. I arranged to pick her up for a "lunchy brunch" and drove to the old folks home, a couple minutes late as usual, and was somewhat alarmed that she wasn't waiting at the door for me.

I buzzed her, but there was no answer. I went upstairs, found her door unlocked, and called in, but she didn't call back. I opened the door and went in, thinking things were probably okay, but what if they weren't? I held my concern at bay, because I don't tend to worry until there's actually something to worry about!

I turned the corner in her tiny apartment and found her busy in the kitchen.

"Oh, you're here! Sit down. Lunch is almost ready! Didn't you get my message? I'm cooking for you today! The baked potatoes are almost ready!"

Now Jean has cooked for me before, and loves to make her own soup, but I'd gotten past expecting such treatment now that she's one year shy of 100.

But since it was my birthday week as well as hers, she wanted to make today about me. She'd made her own soup again. "Almost vegetarian! Just a little bone in there with the most delicious marrow! Lots of spices too!"

And she insisted on opening a bottle of very good wine that someone had got her. Now a glass of wine at 11:20 am on a workday goes against just about all my rules, but who's going to argue with the nonagenarian?

We talked local news, provincial politics (she likes Adrian Dix, I'm more a Mike Farnworth fan), and she crowed a bit (as she is wont to) about the birthday letters she received from the governor general, the lieutenant governor, the premier, and an MP. I had the odd honour of bringing the letter signed by Canadian prime minister Stephen Harper up to her room -- as an old socialist he's not her favourite politician!

Jean is almost blind and quite deaf, so things weren't quite perfect. She almost scooped the soup out onto my baked potato before I pointed out that we didn't have bowls. And I had to remind her that we needed knives and forks.

But I was touched beyond words that my old, old, old, friend had taken the time and effort to turn "our" birthday lunch into a special treat for me.

Happy birthday, Jean. It's been quite a decade knowing you!

A series of interesting coincidences

The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom
Movie review and musing



So those of you who know me well know that I was adopted and have a long and convoluted semi-reunion story that I can share parts of if you have the time and inclination to hear it.

As it's not my story alone to tell, I won't go into great detail here, except to note that April 9 was the 19th anniversary of me finding out key information about my birth family, including "who my mother was". (Those of you who know me well will also know that I have an uncanny knack for remembering and commemorating dates.)

Now I could go all technical and use phrases like birth mother, natural mother, adoptive parents, etc, but in my mind when I say mum and dad I mean the people who raised me from infancy with love and generosity of spirit, and when I say mother, at least in this little story, I mean the woman who grew me and birthed me and made the very hard decision to give me up. (Having had some experience with her, I know that this was a very difficult and very brave decision for her to make.)

The 19 years since the pivotal day when suddenly I had all this information about my family of origin (and found my mother in the pages of a magazine in the UFV library, of all things -- long story but what a way for a media person to get such info) have involved may peaks and valleys in terms of trying to come to know the people to whom I am linked by blood. I am blessed to have met my half-brother and sister several times, and to be in "e-contact" today. My mother and I have not met, but I am still very grateful for her willingness to share some information and tolerate, and even indirectly encourage, her children meeting one another.

But what I want to write about today is how I just "happened" to read the movie pages of the Vancouver Sun carefully on Friday, and became intrigued by the review of a brand new Canadian indie film entitled The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom. Once I read that it was about an 11-year-old girl growing up in the '70s who finds out she's adopted, decides Dolly Parton is her mother, and sets off on a cross-border bicycle quest, I knew that I "had" to see this movie, but it's not the type of movie that makes its way to Chilliwack in any hurry.

Then I realized that I would be going to Vancouver that day for an overnighter, taking Molly and her friends in for a birthday treat. I figured the timing wouldn't work out, but then I saw that there was a 4:15 show, and only five minutes walk from the condo where we would be staying. Now ever since two of my kids have acquired chronic health problems they don't deserve, I've had a really hard time with any concept of fate or destiny, but something seemed to be making the universe align for me on this one.

The teens and I had a nice few hours eating and shopping on Commercial Drive, and arrived downtown "just in time" for me to catch the movie (no way was I going to try to talk them out of Robson Street shopping to see it with me).

I walked into the darkened theatre and within minutes was taken back to a very '70s milieu: macrame on the walls, avocado appliances, a mother with a fear of new-fangled digital clocks, and a girl with a banana-seat bicycle.

Unlike my parents, who were honest from day one about where I came from, the protagonist in the movie (Elizabeth) uncovers what has been a dark secret, as her mother has been telling her a false "birth story" (labour and all) for 11 years.

How she comes to decide that Dolly Parton is her mother is a tad convoluted, but what the movie really captures is her determination to KNOW that which has been withheld, but which she senses. Also, the Berlin Wall-sized barrier erected between adoptees and their birth families.

As they were for many special-interest groups (civil rights, feminism, gay rights) the seventies were a time of nascent activism for adoptees. The wall didn't crumble without a lot of effort, agitation, story-sharing, letter-writing, petition-generating, campaigning, lobbying, and paradigm-shifting.

These days we have open adoptions, mechanisms for reunions when the child comes of age, birth mothers choosing their baby's famiy, and TV reunion shows. In those days we had sealed records, new birth certificates "erasing" original ones, and the promise from government that those records would "never" be opened. Part of me even respects that approach, as the deal that both sets of parents made upon adoption is that it would be permanent, and that the child would be re-cast "as if" born to the adoptive family.

But we humans are a curious bunch. Adoptees (not all, but many) feel a strong need to know where they came from and who they look like (I had never met a birth relative until I had Molly). Birth mothers yearn for the child they left in the hospital and want to know what became of them. Even adoptive parents wonder about the quirks of the little human who was handed to them and where they got those characteristics so unlike their own. And when the adoptee has children of his or her own, they hand on the genes of the birth family: there's no fooling nature!

And the adoptees do fantasize. I never pegged Dolly Parton as my mother, but in my teens I did wonder if Jim Morrison passed through my birth mother's town in the sixties (have you seen my hair?). And I thought Joni Mitchell would be a pretty cool mum too (little did I know that she was keeping her own secret of giving away a baby) but we look nothing alike. We wonder if our parents were poets, or writers, or artists, and assume they must have been way cooler than the ones we got.

For the first half of my life I thought I would never know anything about my birth family. Those doors were CLOSED by society and government. But all that seventies-style agitation and lobbying paid off, and very slowly, the doors started to open. The BC provincial government decided to open the records in 1992, and I was among the first in line.

For all the complications and joys that have arisen from knowing who my birth family was for 19 years ("to the day" on the day I watched the movie April 9), and the realization that we can't completely "know" one another, I realize I've now internalized, even slightly taken for granted, that I "know" who they are. And I'm grateful for that, and the generosity they've shown in letting me into their lives to varying degrees.

Watching The Year Dolly Parton Was My Mom brought me back to a time when it seemed like we would never know one another -- adoptees and birth families. Before there was email or Facebook, and the 'Information Wanted' section of the newspaper (title sounds quaint now) would carry little ads on the adoptees' birthdays, from birth mothers and adoptees, searching for their "other".

And the concluding scene, where little Elizabeth stands up before a crowd at an adoptee rally, proudly wearing her "bastards are beautiful" t-shirt with her parents cheering her on, made me thankful that some people (including myself) did choose to make a fuss back then. And that others (including my mum and dad) chose to support them.

April is a big month for me: I was born on the 17th, placed with my family on the 29th, my husband was born on the 30th (the very next day after I was placed with my family), I 'found' my mother on the 9th, and gave birth to my first daughter on the 6th. In the midst of all these milestones, it was nice to sit in a darkened theatre and ruminate on the meaning of it all, thanks to a little gem of a movie.

Look out Chilliwack! Here comes the Rockers' Soccer League!

That looks painful! Did I do that?, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

(Actually, she was fine.)

Back for its fourth season! Expanding to 12 teams this year! Over-30 women of Chilliwack out for soccer fun!

http://www.bclocalnews.com/fraser_valley/hopestandard/sports/118674694.html

Mt Cheam and Fraser

Mt Cheam and Fraser, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Antidote for a too-rainy Sunday: post photo from last Sunday's picture-perfect sunny winter Agassiz photo shoot.

Fraser River at Agassiz

Fraser River at Agassiz, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Some photos are just too intensely gorgeous not to share in every medium.

Cheam and Barn. Chapman Road, East Chilliwack

Cheam and Barn. Chapman Road, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

When it's nice out around here in winter, it's breathtakingly nice! I'd seen this barn and how nicely it was framed by Cheam on one of my walks, and decided to do a drive by while out on a sunny Sunday photo shoot. Taken from the driver's seat.

Jingle Bells in the Ped Ward -- A Christmas story

Went to my son’s Christmas concert the other night. Our eleventh at this little school in so many years. Sometimes it’s a full-blown concert; sometimes it’s just an all-school sing-a-long. But hearing all those little voices singing in the darkened but festive gym always tugs at my heartstrings, as it brings to mind the Christmastime I spent with my toddler son in the old, dingy MSA Hospital pediatric ward.

It was December 13, 2004, and for the fourth time in three months, we had presented ourselves at the emergency ward because our 18-month-old toddler was struggling to breathe due to yet another asthma attack. Once again we were rushed to MSA from Chilliwack by ambulance, and brought into the subdued darkened hallways of the creepy night-time pediatric ward.

I was taking an unwelcome crash course in resilience, forced as all mothers are to be there for my child through adverse times. By now, after spending Halloween and our high school reunion weekend in hospital with Miles, Daryl and I were getting somewhat despondent, wondering if these frequent hospitalizations would ever end (they did).

It was well into night-time when we entered the dark ward, and I once again tried to settle my son, who refused the ‘baby jail’ crib with metal bars and insisted on sleeping on top of me on the single narrow cot. I didn’t see the other mothers, but I heard them: each singing a soothing song to her child, and all in the language of their homeland. I can’t recall all their ethnicities any more, just that the universal mother’s lullaby was being sung in several different tongues.

This time Miles was also diagnosed with RSV virus, which meant we were quarantined in a four-bed ward with other sick little ones, unable to stroll the hallways or check out the common room. Miles was once again tethered at the nose to oxygen by a long cord that gave him a bit of mobility, and his striped hospital pajama sleeves were taped shut to prevent him from tearing the cords out.

The next morning, two of the mother-child pairs left, leaving Miles and I alone with our kitty-corner neighbours, a young mother who was a recent immigrant from India, incarcerated in the ped ward with her four-month old son. At first we ignored each other behind the curtains, each focused on the care of her own sick little boy. But boredom and proximity drew us together as the hours and days passed by, and eventually she started to pepper me with questions about baby care, fitness, and Canadian culture.

It was a nice bonding experience as we talked each other through our confinement. The most comical part of this was teaching her Jingle Bells and trying to explain the lyrics to her. She’d heard me singing it to Miles and really wanted to know what it was all about.

And I found myself having to analyze the word to a song that we all sing without a thought at this time of year. “Dashing – it’s kind of like running. A sleigh – you get pulled on it... through the snow… by a horse… well, I’ve never actually been in a one-horse open sleigh, but it sounds fun. Bells on bobtail ring… well, you put these bells on the horse’s tail… I guess you bob the tail first. Bobbing, it’s kind of like a haircut… anyway, the bells ring, that’s why they sing Jingle Bells!”

Through our cross-cultural communion we got each other through the boredom and despair of quarantine at Christmastime.

Later that day Miles was sprung from baby jail again, feeling much better. That night we attended his sister’s school Christmas sing-along at the same school he goes to now. The suddenly robust toddler ran around the perimeter of the darkened gym with his little friend Megan, and I was relieved to be a million miles away from the dark hospital ward as we all enthusiastically belted out Jingle Bells together -- a song I’ve never been able to hear since without being taken back to the pediatric ward at Christmastime.

How they see us -- Part 2

Wrestle time!, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Dad got off a little easier than mum in the profile written by Miles for Father's Day this year:

My dad is ?.:# years old.
(If uncertain, use random typography instead of guessing -- it's more fun)

He lives in Chilliwack.
(Got that right.)

He likes to play New! Super Mario Bros

He also likes to play computer
(Sounds like Miles is profiling himself again)

I like to 'rascli' with my dad.
(A very creative attempt at spelling wrestle.)

My dad likes to eat ribs.

He likes to go to his ofifs.
(And sometimes his office.)

My dad is a very awesome man.
(The highest form of praise.)

I know my Dad loves me because he drives my friends.
(This after impressing them with our 'cool twuck' at his birthday party.)

My dad is special to me because he: bought me a thing that I wanted.
(And the egocentrism creeps in again!)

How they see us

So the boy, aged almost 7 at the time, filled out profiles of his mum for Mother's Day and his Dad for Father's Day this year. Been hanging on to these little views of ourselves from our progeny because they're quite revealing! Although Miles certainly isn't paying too close attention to his mum's likes and dislikes. My favourite thing is definitely NOT watching dad watch hockey games.

(The above photo, one of my faves, is from when he was 3 and much less concerned with being cool or funny.)

About my Mum
By Miles

(Spelling corrected because the editor in me can't help it.)

What is something your mum always says to you?
Hurry up.

What makes mum happy?
Dad watching hockey.
Um, only in the sense that I'm glad he's got himself a hobby.

What makes mum sad?
My wart (do we sense a little egocentrism here?)

How does your mum make you laugh?
She do not laugh :-(
(He must have observed me on a bad day.)

What was your mum like as a child?
Normal.
(Whew!)

How old is your mum?
59.
(And looking goooooood!)

How tall is your mum?
I do not know.
(As my friend Sandy would say, how tall do I CONSIDER myself to be. That is the question.)

What is her favourite thing to do?
Yell at Molly.
(Well, I have to do it a lot as she is punctuality-challenged, but favourite?)

What does your mum do when you're not around?
Go on the computer.
(Guilty as charged.)

If your mum becomes famous, what will it be for?
Getting people jobs.
(Well, indirectly, by telling them what a great university we have and convincing them and their children to go here.)

What is your mum really good at?
All her yelling.
(Really? He should go live with the Italian auntie for a while and find out what loud is really like!)

What is your mum not very good at?
Running
(Touche.)

What does your mum do for work?
Get people jobs
(Sort of. It's hard to explain media and communications coordinator in the post-secondary sector to a six-year-old.)

What is your mum's favourite food?
Fries.
(Definitely not. Someone's doing a little transference here.)

What makes you proud of your mum?
Getting people jobs
(I guess I should get busy on that then, hey?)

If your mum were a cartoon character, who would she be?
Aloha (from Sponge Bob, apparently)

What do you and your mum do together?
Go geocaching with other people.
(Thank you, Alyson, for being supermom, buying the equipment, doing the research, and letting us tag along on something he obviously enjoys.)

How are you and your mum different?
She is a girl and I am a boy.
(Glad we've got that sorted out.)

How do you know your mum loves you?
I do not know.
(Aw, C'MON! All those bedtime snuggles, stories, hugs, Wii matches, dog walks, movie nights, count for nothing? Not to mention the multiple multi-day hospital stays during your worst asthma phase, oh, and a little carrying you in my belly for nine months, birthing you, and breastfeeding for several years? I guess he's entered the 'too cool to love your mum' stage, at least in his public persona.)

Where is your mum's favourite place to go?
Teapot Hill.
(Well that's one of them, especially when I go with you!)

A little 'me' time

Reflections at Cheam Lake wetlands, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Somehow negotiated a Sunday 'pass' this spring -- giving up precious family time, especially since spring soccer rules our lives Monday through Thursday evenings -- to take an advanced photography course. Enjoying our field trips and the chance to really concentrate on photography and find out how to really work the controls on that Nikon. This shot is from the Cheam Wetlands on April 25.

Please support Team Molly in the Walk for Diabetes

Dear friends,

As many of you know our family had the sad and difficult experience of having to incorporate Type 1 diabetes into our lives last year when our daughter Molly was diagnosed at the age of 14.

Since then we've learned a lot about diabetes care and management. Type 1 diabetes generally strikes young people. It is thought to be an auto-immune disorder in which the body attacks and destroys its own pancreatic cells, and it is not preventable or caused by lifestyle choices. Multiple daily doses of insulin keep Molly and other Type 1 diabetics alive, and multiple daily glucose checks help them monitor their blood sugar and health. That's thousands of needle pricks and finger pokes per year. We have maintenance, but we'd like to see a cure. We're doing our part in the search by fundraising through the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation Walk to Cure Diabetes on June 13.

There is no ignoring diabetes. It will be with Molly 24/7 for the rest of her life unless a cure is found. At the moment, that means four shots a day, four finger-pricking blood-glucose tests a day, and six carefully timed and balanced meals and snacks, all with the goal of managing her blood sugar levels, as her pancreas can no longer do it for her. It means no going out with friends without remembering her insulin and glucose monitor, and sometimes us driving it to her when she does. It means no more sleeping in as late as she likes or staying up until all hours of the night, or skipping or delaying meals.

It means recognizing, and taking steps to deal with, blood sugar highs and lows to avoid the dangerous effects these can have such as ketoacidosis and coma. It means living as healthy a life as possible now in order to minimize risks of serious side effects in the future. It means far more vigilance and organization than a teenager should have to incorporate into her busy life.

Molly has coped with all these challenges with impressive courage and determination. She continues to balance friends, family, school, homework, three sports, babysitting, and refereeing, all the while maintaining high marks, good fitness, and excellent diabetes management. She even traveled to Europe without her parents!

Families and friends of people with diabetes are an important source of funds for research on cures for Type 1 diabetes. We can truthfully say we never gave much thought to this condition until we were forced to last year. Knowing someone who has Type 1 diabetes really wakes you up to the reality of it.

Please consider sponsoring us. It is the families and friends of diabetics who will help to find the cure by supporting this cause, which is suddenly very personal for us.

Kind regards, and thanks in advance for your support. (For those of you who have supported me in the Run for Mom before, note that this is my new cause and I won't be asking for donations for that one anymore.)

Please click below to support Team Molly, or email me to arrange an in-person donation.

http://jdrfca.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&eventID=804&participantID=53386

Anne, Daryl, Molly, Emma, and Miles

Roses in tulips in Rosedale!

Roses in tulips in Rosedale!, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Can't resist hopping off to the local tulip field for some photo opps this time of year. This one is taken by Emma.

And it's all for a good cause:
http://www.calla.ca/tulipmania/index.html

Almost all the Russells

Almost all the Russells, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Olympic spirit

DSC_0053, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

After the corn harvest -- image from a mild midwinter

After the corn harvest, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

Now that I work full-time again, opportunities for daylight photography don't much abound. Sometimes I'll find myself rushing by a compelling scene while driving kids from place to place without my camera. But today I found a magic 15 minutes. Had gone to work early so I could leave early to bottle wine. That finished quickly so rushed out to easternmost East Chilliwack to hit Emma's volleyball game, only to discover that it was in town. So found myself going down Chilliwack Central at a leisurely pace and enjoying all the reflection scenes.

See more here, along with some dog-walk along the Fraser shots.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/rosedaleannie/sets/72157623253159748/

Gomez in the grass

Dog in the trees, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

It's all about the dog now. Sometimes, anyways. Having had a dog in the family for most of my life, I was well aware that they can dominate your free time, requiring walks, outings, and in-your-face attention. And we'd been okay without those demands for the last three years. Sometimes it's nice to go skiing or on a bike ride without worrying about the dog you've left behind. But now that he's here, we've been enjoying rediscovering places to take a dog for an afternoon adventure in Chilliwack.

Fraser River reflected

Fraser River reflected, originally uploaded by Rosedale Annie.

The Fraser can be so serene this time of year. Love the blues, beiges, and browns together without the greens to interfere (thanks to my new colleague Carol for this observation). Really enjoyed going off alone with just boy and dog for some one-on-one (and canine friend) time.

Merry Ukrainian Christmas from the Russell-Roses

Okay, it’s January 3, 2010, and I’m still on holidays so I guess I’m making the Christmas letter deadline just under the wire. I always find the build-up to Christmas so darn busy that it’s hard to find time for the kind of reflection that this kind of project requires. Plus, it took until Dec 24 for us to have all three kids together in one place during daylight hours long enough to snap a nice portrait of them. And, I have to fight them for computer time now that they have memberships to their favourite websites.

But most of all, 2009 just wasn’t the kind of year that we want to spend a lot of time reflecting upon or celebrating, unless we’re celebrating that we survived it and reflecting on the fact that we have the love of family and friends to sustain us. They say that health and wealth are two of the cornerstones of contentment, and we were tested on both fronts this year.

We started the year with a nice snowfall, but a rapid warming trend after that saw flooding in Chilliwack, including in our neighbourhood. While our neighbours experienced actual flooding, our new house is high enough up that we were able to escape with some seepage. Our good friends the Gadsby-Haners rushed over to help us move furniture upstairs in a hurry in case it did flood, and we called upon the generosity of our East Chilliwack friends to collect seven shop vacs within a couple of hours, which we set up at various spots downstairs and kept going all night long, moving from one to another to empty them in a sort of zombie assembly line. Not much sleep for us that night. But now that our house has got through the worst flood the farmer up the year has seen in 50 years with just a little seepage, we’re feeling pretty good about its ability to withstand the elements.

Then there was this little problem called an economic downturn. Like many people in B.C., Daryl’s business depends on a healthy real estate market, and like many, we suffered when the economy took a huge dive in late 2008. We’d regularly see reports of condo developments that were clients of his going under, and the newspaper advertising promoting these developments that is the bulk of his business really dropped off.

Just as we were watching the news on January 10 about the flooding in Chilliwack, the other big story was the financial problems with the Olympic Village, and the City of Vancouver having to bail out the developer. Given that this was one of his biggest clients, that was a pretty depressing newscast. Oh, and during the newscast and ambulance came and took our elderly neighbour away with heart problems as he was so stressed about the flood.

The good news on this front is that things did pick up a bit during the second half of the year, he was eventually paid by most of this clients, and other clients and projects did emerge to help keep us afloat. But we did have to severely curtail our spending after a few years of relative prosperity, and learned new skills such as negotiating with Canada Revenue Service.

But in some ways it was nice to dial it back, stay home, and cocoon. We had each other, our pets, the Wii, books, DVD movies, and the ever-present computer to amuse us.

As always, our family kept very busy with school, work, and sports, so busy that our time together as a whole family was brief, except for the dinner hour, which we try to have together regularly. June is an especially hectic month. With four of us in spring soccer, we had seven soccer games a week going for a while, along with field trips, UFV convocation-related activity, and two kids’ birthdays.

So it took a day spent together in Vancouver on June 14 as a family to really notice that something was not quite right with Molly, who turned 14 in April. We spent Emma’s 11th birthday at the beach, strolling Commercial Drive during a festival, and going for dinner, and noticed that Molly needed to use the washroom with extreme frequency.

I figured it was a simple bladder infection and took her to our doctor. She had Molly do a urine test and then ordered a blood test, as she was concerned about Molly’s high sugar levels. We didn’t hurry to the blood test as it didn’t seem urgent (I guess I was in denial that it could really be something serious).

I took the other kids on a camping trip with several mums and 17 kids to Rathtrevor (lots of fun!), and then stayed on the Island on business for a couple of days, so it was July 3 before we got the blood test done, and July 9 before we visited our doctor for the results: Type 1 Diabetes.

Here’s some advice: If you’re taking your child for what could be calamitous medical news, don’t arrange to meet your husband in Starbucks right after. I was quietly crying into my coffee that morning.

We found out on a Thursday and were told that we’d have to take her to Children’s Hospital for three days, but our local doctor gave us the green light to take our trip to Long Beach on Vancouver Island first, as Molly’s blood sugar levels weren’t dangerously high yet (we caught it early).

So that’s how we found ourselves on a beach, cooking hot dogs on the fire, looking out at whales cavorting in the water, when the endocrinologist called, saying “We need to see Molly right away.”

Once we explained that we were in Tofino, dude, like, watching the whales, you know, he reluctantly let us stay, as long as Molly had a very low carb diet that week, andtook it really easy. He also said to rush her to Port Alberni Hospital if anything went wrong. “Please take good care of Maahhlly,” he urged us in his American accent.

So we had an uneasy yet relaxing few days on the beach, cooking lots of bacon and eggs and other high protein foods for Molly, watching whales from the beach (in more abundance than we’d ever seen them there) and trying to enjoy our usual beach hikes, campfires, and ocean swims (well, I was the only one crazy enough to actually swim much in the cold water).

Then on Monday morning, the other kids farmed out, we reported to Children’s Hospital where the extremely kind and competent doctors, nurses, and dieticians (and a life-sized cut-out of fellow diabetic Nick Jonas of the Jonas Brothers) helped Molly start her new life, which includes 14 tasks a day for a 14-year-old to deal with and us to bug her about: six carefully planned and timed meals or snacks, four finger-pricking blood sugar tests, and four shots of insulin. It also includes serious things to consider such as avoiding blood sugar ‘lows’, which can be harmful now, and ‘highs’, which can lead to long-term severe health consequences, and deciding appropriate levels of insulin to take. Way more serious stuff than a teenager should have to be worried about. Not as bad as some other things that can happen to you, but not good either.

To say this has added stress to our lives would be an extreme understatement, but we are all coping. Despite the fact that sometimes we have to nag her, and that we all hate the fact that she now has this lifelong condition for which there is treatment but no cure, Molly has showed extreme maturity in dealing with this blow. Her life isn’t as carefree as it should be any more, but she still gets to do all of her former activities.

And unlike Type 2 Diabetes, she can’t prevent or cure it through diet and exercise alone. She will need insulin for the rest of her life unless a cure is found. Essentially, her pancreas has ceased to function properly on its own due to an autoimmune disorder.

Daryl and I often catch ourselves feeling that we’ve done this before, having endured the pain and hardship and fear of having a child with a serious medical condition when Miles went through his multiple emergency hospitalizations for asthma as a toddler. It’s like: hey, we passed that test, endured that trial, why do we have to go through it again, and this time for a condition that’s not going to get better, and will trouble us all (especially Molly) for the rest of our lives? But something that you learn as you get older is that life is just not fair. We led a charmed one for a long time, but that doesn’t mean we had a free pass to trouble-free times forever.

And as much as I can say this has been hard on her parents and siblings, Molly often wisely and correctly reminds us that it’s even harder on her.

And as the months have gone by she has proved herself generally very competent at handling her condition, so much so that we are, with some trepidation, allowing her to travel to Europe on a 10-day school field trip without us this March.

Oh, and did I mention the emergency quadruple bypass my dad had in May? That was intense and scary. It was difficult to visit him so frail and dependent on medical technology and expertise in the hospital after he was the doctor for so long , but he has come out of hit very well and we are delighted to still be enjoying his company. He’s back to walking the dog two times a day, mowing the lawn, and enjoying some travel with Mum.

Within this bummer of a year where the bad news seemed to just keep coming, there was also routine, and fun, and regular accomplishments.

I kept working at UFV, in fact returned to fulltime employment (had been 80 percent) thanks to the benevolence of my employer. That helped on the financial front, but made juggling all those kids’ activities even more difficult. I’m often tearing home just in time to turn around and drive them to something, but we find that sports are very good for them, and just because a boy is the third child and you’re tired of carting them to swimming lessons, that doesn’t mean that a boy doesn’t need to learn how to swim! (And once I get in the pool and do my lengths while he’s in lessons, it feels pretty good to me too!) I continue to enjoy my work and have especially liked working on the history of UFV project, interviewing veteran and retired faculty and staff. I also played women’s soccer again in the spring, with a bunch of mostly over-40 ladies who love leaving our troubles behind and hitting the turf for some kicks. That, combined with badminton, cycling, the gym and now Wii fit, keeps me active (not to mention dog walks -- that’s a bit of foreshadowing).

Daryl kept plugging away at his work, going to the gym, and enjoying his newfound enthusiasm for watching hockey. This fall, his midlife crisis took the form of playing ball hockey in a league. So twice a week, he goes out and chases younger men around the gym, stick in hand. He also bought hiking gear with hopes of doing some overnight trips, but only managed a few day trips as our summer turned out to be so busy. He also seeded and planted a very nice front yard for us. No more meadow. And he’s working on a “dry river” concept for the area leading to the front steps.

Emma got to play school sports for the first time this year, so she added volleyball and basketball to her repertoire as well as soccer. (She also got a bonus unexpected trip to summer camp when Molly had to go to the hospital.) She is growing up, on the cusp of early teenager, and wishes she could fit the clothes at American Eagle, but is still stuck buying her jeans in girl sizes for awhile longer. She keeps busy with sports, playing with friends, and being a fashion maven on the Stardoll website. She’s also serving as an apprentice babysitter, helping Molly on some of her assignments, and she enjoys that very much. She gives us very little trouble, as always, and her weak spot is allowing herself to be bothered by her very bothersome (to her) brother Miles. She’s doing very well in grade six, and will be off to middle school (and uniforms) at Rosedale Middle next year.

Miles is now 6 and in grade one, and the world is one big collection of words waiting to be deciphered. He’s reading menus, signs, packages, newspaper headlines, and of course, books with us in the evenings. He’s also quite good with numbers. He enjoyed playing soccer again this fall on a team with a lot of his buddies from school, and is finally getting the knack of swimming, after several sets of lessons. But most of all he loves his screens – computer (he’s gone from Club Penguin to Moshi Monsters website), Wii (loves his Super Mario), and now his Nintendo DS handheld gameplayer. We have to force, cajole, or bargain him off screen time regularly, and he and Emma are both rationed on the computer with the oven timer. (“20 minutes and then go do something that doesn’t involve a screen.”)

Molly, although her tendency to dawdle can drive us crazy -- especially when getting ready for the bus in the mornings, continues to impress us with her excellent grades in every subject and her ability to juggle school, sports, friends, and Facebook. Her favourite sport is soccer, and her team won the Coastal Cup this spring (best in the Lower Mainland at the silver level). She also plays basketball and volleyball. She is a much-beloved babysitter and is very good with young kids. The fact that she continues to do so well despite the huge extra burden she’s been handed is impressive beyond words.

The four cats continue to eat, sleep, doze, play, and purr. George is 15 and when we brought home a dog bed for the floor (more foreshadowing!) he thought that was great, flopped himself on it, and rarely leaves it for the heights of the couch or the bed anymore.

So that leaves the newest family member: Gomez! I’ll agree that it’s totally illogical for a busy family without a fenced yard should get a dog, but this wasn’t a logical decision. He came to us at a time when we were feeling great sadness as a family, and we (I) decided that we needed something joyous and positive in our lives to counterbalance the heavy blow that Molly’s diagnosis dealt us. In other words, we needed something happy to happen. So a puppy it was! (Paid for through a combo of my bottle-return savings and the kids' allowances.) He’s three-quarters golden retriever, one-quarter muensterlander (German hunting dog), and although he comes with considerable hassles, he has indeed brought joy into our lives. He accompanies us to many soccer games,gets walks from me on the weekends, and even his reluctant master Daryl has come around and is sneaking him out for some forest excursions on weekday mornings.

My friend noted that we’re 10 years into the new millennium in her year-end letter, and I think that’s a noteworthy fact. Ten years ago we had two little girls, four cats, and one dog in a tiny house clinging to the edge of a river in a big yard. Now we have – hey, what do you know – three kids: two big girls and a little boy. The house has now morphed into a modern big structure able to house us all comfortably, now higher up and in the middle of the big yard. Still have four cats and a dog, but the dog and two of the cats are different.

We have just enjoyed a lengthy Christmas break with family and friends. My favourite part of Christmas is the days after the preparations and festivities are over when I can enjoy time with very little on the agenda (although, ever the striver, I aim to read the papers and clean the house and go on a walk and play with the kids and watch a movie and do a puzzle and do Wii fit and read my book, and never accomplish it all).

So although overall we’ve dealt with some tough stuff this year, there has still been joy, and love, and laughter, and friendship, and for that we are grateful. Here’s to 2010!

To see family and pet photos from 2009 go here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rosedaleannie/sets/72157623104875864/

For my favourite scenic shots from 2009 go here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/rosedaleannie/sets/72157622986074399/


All the best to everyone, everywhere.

Anne, Daryl, Molly, Emma, Miles
(and George, Sophie, Moby, Neko, and of course Gomez).