Happy 4th of July From a Late Bloomer

This post I did in July of 2010 has always been at the top of my most viewed posts (over 4,000 views!), a fact that I find kind of funny. I've kept it just as I originally wrote it, in my early blogging days, complete with a mistake pointed out to me in the comments at some point.

I thought my family might enjoy reading it again, and some of my blogging buddies too.

Do you ever get comments on old posts?  I do every so often.  Go check your stats and see how many views your posts receive.  What's you most popular one?



For the first 15 years of my life I never celebrated the 4th of July.  Isn't that strange?  I was born in Montreal, Canada and lived there for the first three years of my life.  My family moved to Toronto, Ontario, Canada where I lived for the next twelve years. (See?  That's me at about age 14, nothing says "cool" better than knee socks)

I was the only Canadian in my family.  My parents were both born in New Jersey.  My two older brothers were born in West Virginia.  My father's job took the family to Montreal, where I made my appearance.


We moved to Toronto in 1962 and that's where I spent my youth up until high school age.  When I started in elementary school ( public school as it was called in Canada) the Canadian flag looked like this:

We started the day reciting The Lord's Prayer and then singing "God Save the Queen" (which I still remember most of the words to!).  Then a change came about, not sure exactly when, but think it was about 1967. Our Centennial. Suddenly our flag changed, I always liked it:

And we sang "O Canada". But the Queen's pictured remained in the classroom.

My dad retired in 1974.  I remember watching Richard Nixon's resignation speech amongst boxes in our basement in Toronto.  We moved to Dunedin, Florida and my life changed drastically.

I was the new kid in school and even the newer kid in the high school marching band.  I had no idea what a marching band was, had no experience as my American counterparts did, so I was given a job in the colorguard.  Carrying the Canadian flag.  Oh my.  How funny.

Why the Canadian flag?  Well our high school was a bit different.  Dunedin's sister city was Sterling, Scotland and the high school reflected that relationship by having it's band dress as Highlanders.  Yes, we were the Dunedin Highlanders.  Kilts. A bagpipe section. For some reason the band director felt that along with the American flag and the Scottish flag, the Canadian flag should also be part of the colorguard, and who better to wield that flag than the "Canadian", even though I really wasn't since I was born to American parents.  A technicality.

I carried "my" flag with dignity and fear.  The colorguard was always at the front or back of the band doing pivots and marching in a straight line.  Except for me, the new girl.  I always seemed to get the flag blown in my face by the wind and would end up out of line during our march.  We were not allowed to turn our heads and see where we were or move the flag from our faces.  That's how I ended up doing a solo march with the Canadian flag at the Orange Bowl in Miami where we had been invited to perform at the half-time show of the game between The NY Jets and, of course, The Miami Dolphins. There were only about 80,000 people in attendance and then the national TV audience, so I don't think anyone really noticed.  Except for our especially crazed band director who yelled at me after the show.  Welcome to America. But I did get to see this guy up close:

But I have digressed.  It was in high school that I learned all the American "stuff".  The first few weeks were spent moving my lips and trying to memorize the Pledge of Allegiance.  During football games I learned the words to The Star Spangled Banner (as well as Scotland the Brave).  During History and Geography classes I finally learned the specifics about American History, state capitols, and how our government worked.  I also learned that I pronounced words funny and that erasers were to be referred to as such, not rubbers as I had grown up calling them.  You can imagine the embarrassment a shy 15 year old suffered with that gaffe! I switched the "re" around in the word "theatre" and stopped spelling "colour" with a "u".  I also was chided for pronouncing the word "again" improperly.  The "gain" part for me was pronounced just like the word "gain". Try it, you can hear the difference. The hardest thing to drop was the "eh?" at the end of every sentence.  That's right, we actually did say that, it wasn't a made up joke. And since I was living in the south I started saying "y'all" and dropping the "g"s from words like "goin'".

My parents loved to travel and I was lucky enough to spend my summers with them in various locales around the globe so I was not in the states for those first 4th of Julys.  But I distinctly remember the first time I puffed out my chest and felt proud to be an American on the 4th of July.  My parents let me invite a friend along on a trip to Spain and we were in a small seaside resort for July 4th , 1976.  Not many Americans around, but my friend and I made banners to hang on our apartment balcony and bought horns to blow.  I felt that I was an authentic American celebrating my country's bi-centennial and was so proud. Or were we just trying to impress the cute guys who had the apartment across the way? Perhaps.

My globe-trotting summers ended when I graduated from college, married Mr. Tennis and was employed.  It was then that the traditions of July 4th really started to sink in for me.  Picnics, fairs, crowds, fireworks, and lots of flags.  Of course I married into a military family and their pride in their country and our armed forces rubbed right off onto me. 

I'm glad my kids got to grow up with the wonderful traditions that come with living in this great country of ours.  I certainly don't regret my childhood in Canada.  It gave me a unique perspective and will always be a part of me. My parents also made sure I learned about the States when we lived in Canada.  We travelled a lot to visit relatives, went to Williamsburg and Washington DC, both which gave me great insight into how our country developed and thrived. My dad and I flew from Toronto to Los Angeles in his little plane and that allowed me to understand how vast this country is and how diverse it is from one region to another. I had that same feeling of awe while driving this summer with The Maven.  What a beautiful country we have and so many different and unique people and cultures that make us what we are. 

Although we still have problems in this country and everyone doesn't always agree or get along, I still feel that I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. Happy 4th of July!

Tears of Happiness...

I've always been a crier, I'm sure it has been the source of a lot of aggravation and embarrassment to my family over the years. If I felt the need to cry, I couldn't stop myself, as a child and even as an adult.

I found myself sitting in the living room this morning crying. 

Again.

I've cried a lot of tears in the last several years, usually from great sadness, fear, uncertainty, frustration, anger, resentment, hatred-there aren't enough words to cover the emotions I've had.

Today I know for sure that my tears were happy tears, grateful tears, hopeful tears, proud tears-again I've run out of words.

The Maven is starting her new job, no, her new career today! She's working again! The fact that she will be earning money almost seems like a bonus. She will be working in a field that she is passionate about and has experience in. She will fulfill a lifelong dream of helping other people find their way in the world. How many of us get that chance?

I think back a year and remember where we were one month after brain surgery. Over-coming that challenge in itself is a big enough accomplishment in life, but this girl, this young woman, has had so many years of so many obstacles and roadblocks. Physically, mentally, emotionally. She has met every one of these uphill battles head on and soldiered on no matter what! No matter what! That's why I cry today because SHE has done this. Yes, she has had a lot of support from family, friends, doctors, but in the end it comes down to her, the strong, resilient, optimistic person she is. A lot of people would have given up. There have been times I wanted to give up, but saw that she was fighting and therefore I would fight too. That's what we do in this family, when one can't do it anymore, one of us takes over for awhile and inspires the other to step back into the battle.

I've known a lot of warriors in my life and have drawn inspiration from them, but this girl, this woman, is the one who inspires me the most with her beautiful smile and her determination to stand up and go for it!

Thank you to all our family and friends for being such a source of support and encouragement. My blogging friends are so special because most of us have never met, yet you have all been so encouraging, understanding, joyful, whatever the occasion calls for. Thank you.

And thank you for letting me talk this out.

We Went to Venice this Weekend....

...Venice, CA, that is.

It has it's own vibe, this quirky beach town.

And a beautiful beach.

Hazy day in LA today, but at the beach, the air was cool and refreshing.

This lady was walking around with a smile on her face

 and a tub of fresh fruit for sale on her head.

My main goal was not necessarily to reach the beach, I was on the hunt for the Venice Canals.

A recent newspaper article featuring a walking tour of the canals was my inspiration.

Designed in the early 1900s by a man by the name of Abbot Kinney, these canals and canalfront homes were inspired by his trip to THE Venice.

He even went so far as to import some gondolas as well as authentic Italian Gondoliers to tour people about this quiet oasis.

The gondolas didn't last and today exist as canoes, but the neighborhood that emerged lining the canals persists, evolves and still delights those visitors and locals who know where to go for a pleasant stroll.

A lot of big homes here, some very modern.

I think I'd feel quite exposed in these fish bowls, but maybe that's the idea.

Our next rental, perhaps?

Not unless my numerous acting talents get discovered and I'm paid what I'm really worth!

Maybe then I can snap up this fixer-upper for a couple of Mil.

There's a house back there somewhere. Then we could be 

THOSE people in the neighborhood.

But my heart rests with these smaller, more quaint beauties -"the holdouts", I call them.

Real Estate is at a prime in this location and not many properties have much yard space, but oh, what they do with the space they have!

Beautiful plantings at every turn.

Fences and gates.

A serene spot before heading back out into reality to retrieve our cars.

Venice, CA.

 A small area of contrasting tastes and lifestyles that somehow meld together into a wonderfully vibrant atmosphere.

Come see for yourself!

If you'd like another look at the funkier part of the boardwalk

you can take a peek at a post I did a while back:

Click here to see an earlier post of some of the fun stuff going on in Venice Beach.

Stanley's Scary Story

During my blogging drought many things happened that caused me to think, "Oh, I must blog about this!". Our family furkids always provide a lot of funny stories to share, but this time it was quite scary and traumatic.

Stan is our Greyhound "grandson', who owns our son, The Writer and his wife, Sammy. He's been in the family for about four years now, so he's a "solid" Boston Family member.

Waiting for The Writer and Sammy

You may remember his early days with the clan as he adjusted to our ways, or rather we adjusted to his:

Stan the Man!

In April, Sammy and The Writer took some time off and headed back to our home state, Florida. The Maven was asked to watch after Stan in their absence. This has always gone smoothly before.

This time things took a scary turn as Mr. Stan decided to test the boundaries of his backyard retreat-something he's never done before. He slipped out unexpectedly and was missing for about 20 minutes before The Maven realized it!

She called us (1 hour away) in a panic. Panic for many reasons, Stanley is naive about traffic, the area of LA they all live in has a lot (I mean, a lot!) of traffic and well...he was out!

Leaving Animal Control

Fortunately our good family friends live right behind our kids, so The Maven called Mrs. Smith-Smith for help. Mrs. S-S and The Maven sprung into action armed with a leash, a pic of Stan and his adoption file.

We got into Mr T's truck and headed towards LA.

At the emergency vets

Time passed with many updates, but still no sightings or information about Stanley. I spent the ride composing a Craigslist ad and talking and texting with Stan's distressed parents who by this time had been told what was going on.

Home at last, recuperating in the backyard.

As we neared their neighborhood and swung our heads back and forth looking for a sign of him we got an update from The Maven and Mrs. S-S. Someone had given them the phone number to Animal Control and when they called they were told a Greyhound matching Stanley's description had been brought in....after being hit by a car.

The "nurses" supervising Stan's yard time.

Only people who have received this kind of news can understand the mixture of elation and fright this news brings.  We headed to Animal Control to meet The Maven and Mrs.S-S.

Expecting the worst, we were met with a "best case scenario". Yes, Stan had been hit, but there appeared to be no broken bones. He was extremely stressed, bloody and sore, but oh.....it could have been so much worse.

Long story short which included: an overnight stay at the Emergency Vet (because of course, this happened on a Sunday) for 24-hour observation;  the arrival of Mal-Pal (good friend of the Maven who was staying for a week); eventual release to go back home under 24/7 watch; TBL relocating up to LA for the week and conducting Japanese/English classes with Stan's assistance.

Quiet Teaching Assistant

We survived. Stanley was very bruised, had a torn trachea, punctured tongue. Medication was difficult to give because his tongue made it hard to eat, but he eventually could tolerate soft food in which we crushed up his pills. All in all a lucky dog. And lucky us.

Lessons learned:
 always check the gates. LA has an awesome Animal Control team which gives excellent trauma care to the animals brought in who are injured. Because we were able to identify Stan, he got further care to stabilize him before he was transferred (in Mr. T's truck) to the ER Vet. Micro-chipping your pets is a good idea-Stanley would have been ID'd quicker  (he can't wear tags as they fall off over his skinny head). Emergency Vets are really expensive (we knew this, but really? This much?).  Mrs. Smith-Smith is a cool cucumber during a crisis-Thanks Mrs. S-S!

Finally,
Stan's a great teaching assistant-nice and quiet and
 doesn't climb on my keyboard like my other TA does.

Phew!

Happy Father's Day to Mr. Tennis and All The Other Dad's Out There!

We are going back to the firepits in Huntington Beach tomorrow evening for a Father's Day cookout.

Simple food will be on the menu, but full hearts will be in attendance as we give Mr. T some attention and appreciation.

At the fire pits for The Writer's birthday last December.  

Sunset, hotdogs, fun will ensue

 and hopefully I will have some pictures too!

(Say it! "I'm a poet and don't know it!)

Happy day to all the great Father's in our lives now and in our hearts forever.

Guess who? and her father in 1961.