Groundhog Day, and why it is better than Valentine's Day

For a few years now, my family has been celebrating Groundhog Day, in a way that's different than other people do. Sure, we listen to the news, and find out if Wiarton Willie saw his shadow or not, but its more than that. There is cake involved. (cake in pic made by Offspring #1, who has just been accepted to pastry arts and management at George Brown College)




Here are all the things that suck about Valentine's Day
1. Single people feel left out.
2. Lots of money spent on useless stuff like overpriced, bad tasting chocolate and bouquets of flowers that die.
3. Douchebaggy boyfriends/husbands who don't get you those things mentioned in #2 make you feel bad.
4. Husbands who give you a rose made out of panties, that come from the dollar store, but they found in the parking lot at work, look bad. (true story)
5. Men get the short end of the stick on this holiday, with having too many expectations put on them that they just can't live up to.
6. Kids who aren't as popular as other kids don't get as many valentines and feel like crap.
7. Restaurants are overcrowded.
8. Hearts aren't really shaped like that.


Here are all the things that suck about Groundhog Day.
1. Nothing.

Really... What is bad about celebrating the coming of spring? With regard to the accuracy, Wikipedia say "Groundhog Day proponents state that the rodents' forecasts are accurate 75% to 90%. A Canadian study for 13 cities in the past 30 to 40 years puts success rate level at 37%. Also, the National Climatic Data Center reportedly has stated that the overall predictions accuracy rate is around 39%." While an accuracy rate of 39% is not great, it's not horrible.

There is no consumerism related to Groundhog Day (while, not yet, anyway). Valentine's Day, however, makes giving an overpriced gift equal being in love. We should show those we love how much we love them every day. Not with overpriced chocolate and packaged sappy sentiments, but with kindness and sweet gestures, like Groundhogs do.

Jann Arden... goddess of Canadian music

I’m getting ready to go to a Jann Arden concert in London, Ontario. For those of you who don’t know her… well, your life is empty. I’m sorry to be the one who has to tell you that, but surely you had some inkling of that before I wrote those words.

She’s a Canadian musician who’s been on the scene (or, actually, just outside of the scene) since her first album in 1993. The biggest single from that album was “I would die for you”, which is a hauntingly beautiful song. She made it ‘semi big’ south of the border, with the song “Insensitive”. That’s probably the one she’s most well known for. My favourite song of hers, though, is “Good Mother”. There’s a line in there, referring to her father ‘and his strength is what makes me cry’. (Actually, I have no idea if it’s about her father, I’m assuming it is, because she and her parents have a close relationship, and, in fact, live, like really really close to each other) There’s also a duet that she’s sung with Jackson Browne, but on her album, I believe its someone from her band. “Unloved”, the most gorgeous song I’ve heard. I could (and have) listened to that song 10 times in a row, in the car, singing along (to both parts).

This will be the third time I’ve seen her in concert. I’ve seen her at Massey Hall in Toronto, and in Mount Forest, in a renovated movie theatre. She is fricking hilarious. The time I saw her in Mount Forest, she told this story of waking up on a Navy ship with a trumpet in her bed, or some such thing. (That concert was the first time I actually spoke to her… well, spoke... ok, I’m misrepresenting that. She asked where people were from, I shouted out “Midland” and she replied “Finland?? Cripes that’s far”. End of Conversation. Sigh.)

Jann is someone who’s never really hit the ‘big time’(like, famous famous, i mean. She can walk the streets without being mobbed) although she’s a familiar sound on Canadian radio. You might not be able to name a song of hers, but you’ve definitely heard more than one. If I played one for you, you’d say...Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that. Nice.


I’ve had this feeling, for so long, that if we ever actually met, we’d really get along. I like to think that our sense of humour is similar, we share that love of music, and we have similar values. (Well, what I can glean of her values through her twitter and her blog, and her song)

How does one tell someone famous that, without coming off as a crazy stalker? I had similar thoughts when I went to see Robert Wiersema at a reading he did at Yorkdale Mall, in Toronto. Although “Robert” and I are... well… you know, “facebook friends”, I thought it might come off as just thiscreepy for me to tell him that he’s my absolute favourite author. I tried to play it cool, when I asked him to sign my copy of his book, and I think I did ok, but, man oh man. I really just wanted to say “Hey, didja want to grab a beer or something?” (But I would have had to ditch my mother, and that’s not cool). (And, in all likelihood, I’d be a little star struck, end up being all tongue tied, I’d be out of my league, intellectually, and I’d sound like an idiot)

So, yeah. My dream in life is to sit and have a glass of wine with Jann, shoot the shit and just yak for an hour or two. If, from there, she asked me to jam with her, or sing back up, well... who am I to turn down a request like that?

This is crazy

I've decided that I absolutely have to do something with myself. I'm restless, i'm agitated, I'm angry at myself and I need to do something about it. I'm not sure if this is the catalyst or not, but I read about Myra getting a two book deal for her YA (that's young adult) novel. i don't know her 'for reals', but I've read her blog, she's a wonderful writer, I bet her novel is great, and she'll be very successful. Reading about her, tho, made me incredibly jealous.

I feel like I need to write something. I love books, I love words. The way they go together, and the way they sound. I love the way you can put them together and they can mean one thing, and then switch the same words around and they mean something else.

The trouble is, I don't feel a story inside me, trying to get out. I keep waiting to be inspired or something like that, and it's just not happening. It just ain't there. There are no characters in my head talking to me, telling me the story that needs to be told.

I write, all the time. I write for a living. I've written silly little poems to commemorate goofy adventures, I've written a eulogy. I've written reviews of concerts and plays. My friends tell me that I have a talent for writing. When people need an angry letter written, or someone needs a letter of reference, they call me. And I write it. There are times when i've done this, and i feel like it's a piece of crap, and people still seem to like it.

From the reading I've done, the quasi research, if you can call it that, writers need to have some discipline when it comes to writing. Author/bloggers that I've read talk about setting aside specific times to write, setting themselves goals of words per day. They say that you need to write, every day, and it doesnt matter that what you write is crap, but it needs to be done. Every. Damn. Day.

So, that's where I am today. I cannot wait for the elusive muse of writing. I cannot wait to be struck by inspiration. I need to go out and hunt down my muse, drag her kicking and screaming back to my lair and tie her to my desk until she spits out an idea for me. Apparently this writing thing is no airy fairy task, it's a freaking job that you need to take seriously.

Adventures in Toronto and other harrowing tales

Well, there are no harrowing tales, I should disclose that right up front. It’s just a trick to lure you into reading. (note to self. Maybe I should tell people it’s a trick later on in the blog, once they’re engrossed in the tale)

My sister, mother and I go on an annual trip to the William Ashley Warehouse sale. Half the fun is waiting outside in the tent gossiping and gabbing before you even get into the deals. It really is a lot of fun, and you can find a lot of your Christmas gifty and decoratey stuff there. As well as life size leather horses, and dishes.

This year’s trip, however, had a few another activity added on to it that made me terribly excited. I was going to a book reading by Robert J. Wiersema .

I read his first novel “Before I Wake”
probably about a year or more ago. I love this book, its one of the most amazing stories I’ve ever read. I borrowed it from the library, but then I was compelled to go out and buy it, because I couldn’t imagine not having it. I thought about writing a review, but I’m not good at them, yet, and I didn’t feel that I could do justice to it. So, this isn’t really a review, it’s just me gushing about the book. Here’s the blurb from the back cover.

Tragedy strikes the Barrett family when three-year-old Sherry falls into a coma after a hit-and-run accident. Her devastated parents, Simon and Karen, wait by her bedside, hoping for a miracle – one that doesn’t come. Told that she will never recover, they agree to remove her from life support. And then the miracle occurs. Sherry doesn’t die. But neither does she wake. Wiersema brilliantly weaves together disparate voices and sheds light on the inner lives of characters struggling against tragedy, finding each other, and themselves, in the darkness. In exploring how hope can be renewed in the face of unimaginable sorrow, Before I wake reveals the power of forgiveness, and the true nature, and cost, of miracles.

That gives an accurate description of the book. At the book reading, Robert (and I feel like I can call him Robert) said that he is a narrative writer. He’s not so concerned about the words that tell the story, more about the story itself. I have to say that I noticed that in this book. Sometimes, when I come across cool ways of expressing an idea in a book, I’ll underline it with pencil, and come back to it again. I didn’t do that in this book, I wasn’t distracted by cool phrasing, or unique sentences or any of that. Which is not a drawback, I was so caught up in the story, in the characters and their lives, that I read the story and believed it, and loved it. And I didn’t (couldn’t) take time out from reading to look for a pencil to underline something.

The way he depicted the parent’s relationship, I thought, was bang on. They came across as flawed, real, and sympathetic. (Even Simon, who I thought was a bit of a dick at first) The way they deal with the things they have to deal with, which could have been handled in a very heavy-handed, religious way, also came across in a very real manner. They were faced with a decision they needed to make, about how to deal with the miracles their daughter created. Robert described the novel as agnostic, and the parents’ decisions were made using that precept.

It was one of those books that you regret coming to the end of, because you’re not in it anymore.

Mr. Wiersema was actually there to promote his new novella, The World More Full of Weeping.

This is the blurb from Amazon, written by Jillayna Adamson.

Victoria local Robert J. Wiersema's soon-in-bookstores new novella The World More Full of Weeping, establishes an immediately-chilling mood before you've even opened it up.

That mood is set by its well-crafted cover - an eerie glow peeking through dark, fogged woods. It makes for a perfect introduction to the story, which wastes no time to reveal what will be a haunting tone throughout.

Eleven-year-old Brian Page is missing after wandering off into the woods behind his home. The story bounces back between the point of view of Brian's worried father and Brian himself. This is not your average story, nor your typical tale of a missing child. Once again (as he did with Before I Wake in 2006, which went on to be a national bestseller), Wiersema takes readers to a new and unnerving place, complete with spine-tingling chills.

Weeping is an immediately engaging, fully supplementing quick read that brings you back to the days of spooky campfire stories that go on to make for a sleepless night wandering around your own imagination. This novella is a refreshing break amongst the monotony of boringly average, everyday reads. It coasts along naturally with Wiersema's vivid writing, keeping you glued to the page.

Hearing him read his own words was wonderful. I always love hearing people read their own work, they know where they intended the emphasis to be, and they know how to speak their character’s voices. He also read from an essay that is included with the novella, which speaks about his use of a fictional version of a real place (his home town) as a setting for the novella (and other short stories, I don’t know about the availability of them). His reading of the essay prompted Offspring to say, on the way home. “Ok, now I’m confused about what an essay is.” Which, of course, forced me to actually think about that and give a reasonably intelligent answer. God I hate it when kids do that. I explained that an essay was a nonfiction piece of writing, which details and supports the author’s opinion and ideas about a particular subject. (I think that’s right, anyway. Seemed to satisfy her.)

It was terribly cool to have the editor (publisher) from Chiaroscuro Web Zine, sorry, I forgot his name, and the artist who designed the cover of the book, at the event. (I didn't get his name) Tres cool. I wish I had said something to the artist, because it is just so perfect.
I ordered a limited edition of this book, which includes the hard cover book, the essay, and a short story set in the same town. Haven’t yet received it, but when I do… oh my… ohhhhh myyyy…. I wish I had received it before the reading, but that’s ok. I did get Robert to sign my copy of Before I Wake. (Can I just say, I was just a little star struck. I had previously ‘friended’ Robert on Facebook, and when I asked him to sign my copy, he…. Oh yeah... he recognized me. “Monica, right?”, and them proceeded to sign the title page. Yep... that’s just how cool I am. ) (god I hope he doesn’t read this and get creeped out by me. Some people are gaga over rock stars. With me, it’s publishing stars.) This is when I absolutely thank Sir Timothy John Berners-Lee . The internet makes it possible for people like Robert (and Ben Esch, and Corey Redekop, and George Murray) more than esoteric celebrities, and turned them into real people, that you can actually have a conversation with. (when you’re not tongue tied)

I have been lax, it seems, in updating my blog. I apologize to my loyal followers (and to the not-so-loyal ones, who actually won’t know that I’ve been so lax).

It’s not because not much has been happening, gosh no. We’ve had thanksgiving, there have been family issues, it’s nearly hallowe’en, and I had an interesting thing happen at the local Salvation Army Thrift Store.

I went in there, actually, on the morning of Thanksgiving dinner with my family. I had made a triple threat chocolate cheesecake and I needed a proper plate to put it on. It was so yummy. I layered it wrong, but it was gosh darn delicious.

Anyway. All the plates I have are not right for cheesecake. I did stop in at the antique store on the way to the Sally Ann, and they had a plate that was almost right, but not quite. I did promise to go back there and pick it up, once I got some cash, cuz all I had was my debit card, but I did not. Hopefully she won’t remember me the next time I go there. I also wanted a cute purse, that was made of mother of pearl, and had room for your lipstick and cigarettes, and came with a tiny little comb in it and everything… I should have gone back for the purse. Still regret not going. It was kind of like this but without those little jewels… sooooooo pretty… I have a bit of an obsession with purses. I think I’ll go back and see if it’s still there.

I looked in the Sally Ann store, and they did not have what I needed, but I took a look around the rest of the store anyway. At the store I frequent, they have auctions, usually on a monthly basis. Out of the stuff that’s donated, they put some of the really special things up for auction. Jewellery, antiques, art, that sort of thing. You may remember that my father was an artist, .

On the wall, in the area designated for auction I saw a familiar style of picture. Sure enough, when I went up closer to see the artist’s name, it was my father’s. My father was quite a prolific artist. Of the framed pieces my mother had after he died, there was enough to give to each one of my siblings (there are seven of us in total), and enough left over from that for my mother to have a living room that looks like an art gallery. (We all got one as a wedding gift, too, over the years.) I know that there are lots of pieces ‘out there in the world’. It was just such a shock to see this one hanging there.

I asked the salesgirl if she knew where this had come from, and she didn’t, it was just part of the donations that come daily to the store. (I think she got a little panicked, too, thinking that it had been donated by accident. If I’d been more on my feet, I would have said yes, maybe and got it for free.) I ended up bidding on it and winning the auction. Which was surreal. I think my dad would have gotten a good laugh about it. I had a second thought about it, thinking that maybe I should have let someone else win it in the auction, let someone else enjoy his talent, you know, I already have so many of his pieces. But then I worried about them not taking good enough care of it, I pictured it rotting away in someone’s basement. So, I think I feel good about having it. Just weird.

Is nothing sacred anymore??? I hope not.

So, I heard on the news this morning, in response to fears about Swine Flu, the catholic church is making some changes.


Yep. Many churches are removing the holy water from the fronts of churches. This statement from a chancellor in Quebec City, kind of grossed me out a bit.

"In some churches the holy water is changed frequently, but there are churches that leave it there for months, turning [it] into culture fluid”.



Ewwww…. Double ewwwwwwwwwwwww…. Blech.

As a lapsed catholic, I used to dip my fingers in that water, oh at least on a yearly basis. (Yeah, I was that kind of catholic, which makes my ‘lapse’ kind of anticlimactic. I’m sure they don’t miss me too much). I have a fairly casual relationship with dirt. I’m not one of those germaphobes, who uses sanitizer at regular intervals. I firmly believe that letting your kids get dirty on a regular basis makes them stronger in the long run. (My offspring were rarely on antibiotics as children, no ear infections.) But that comment about the holy water turning into a culture fluid really did me in. And then I got past the grossness factor, and thought about how absolutely hilarious it is, that the catholic church is admitting that holy water is not some absolute protector against everything. They’re actually saying that holy water has the potential to spread disease. (Along with sharing communion and shaking hands)

(I hope I’m not going to offend anyone, please, if you’re catholic, don’t read any further. You probably shouldn’t have read up till now…. This is your warning.)

In the bible, Jesus uses spit, holy water and clay to heal a man. It’s used in the ritual of exorcism and to overcome witchcraft. It’s believed to have healing properties. It can be used to ward off vampires. I’m not sure if it has any effect on zombies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that the catholic church has gotten to the point where they’re not so arrogant that they can’t change.

But they’ve got a long way to go, yet.



My dad used to say that the church made rules for people in order to protect them, because the general populace wasn’t educated enough to understand some things. Hence the ban against pork in the jewish faith. Because people didn’t understand that they could get sick if it wasn’t properly prepared, the church told people just to avoid it. The ban against meat on Fridays was to stretch the supply of meat, when there wasn’t enough of it to go around. (During WWII, my dad said that his priest told them that if they could get meat, they should eat it; don’t worry about what day it is) But that’s his opinion. I’m sure there are other reasons for the rules they made up.

So, I’m glad that the church figures that we’re intelligent enough to know the real reason for the removal of holy water. And I’m glad that I’m lapsed enough not to worry about catching anything from the holy water.

Full disclosure: I do have a bottle of holy water at home. I got it from a priest in this church in a small town in the Netherlands, called Beverwijk. My grandfather was on the crew that built the church. Apparently the water is from Lourdes (the place, not Madonna’s daughter), so I keep it in case of vampires. You never know when there will be an infestation. They seem to be more mainstream these days. But now, at least I know it won’t protect me from Swine Flu.

So, suck on that.

Higher education and the function of parents.

Imagine my surprise when my daughters had the audacity to turn 18 this past August, without asking for permission or anything. Not that it was that much of a shock, I guess. They’d been threatening to do it all year, and had lobbed reminders at me, nearly daily. They each programmed their cell phone to count down the days.


With the whole ‘turning 18’ thing, came the incredible task of getting Offspring #2 ready for university. (Offspring #1 decided to put off the advanced education thing until next September, thereby staving off the onset of my empty nest syndrome. Very kind of her.)

So, Offspring #2 is now suitably ensconced in residence at Brock University. (Which, I discovered during the campus tour last spring, has a Oenology Degree available. Had I known that, 20 years ago, I’d have followed a vastly different career path. Who knew such a thing even existed? However, I’d probably need a liver transplant about now, so maybe things happened for the best.)

It’s a strange thing, as a mother, sending one of your offspring out into the world. If you look at it, intellectually, it’s a sign that you’ve done your job right. The function of a parent is to grow these little darlings up into people that become valuable members of society. So, when a child goes off to university, you should greet it with the proper aplomb and ceremony. Yeah…

As the days (and now weeks) passed by, I became more sure of my ability to survive this next step in parenting. I’m becoming more sure of her abilities to survive and grow outside of my direct line of vision. She’s doing laundry; she’s eating the right things, getting to bed at a fairly reasonable hour. She’s making friends, and going to classes on time. All the things I’d make sure she was doing. I’m proud of her.

Offspring #1 remains at home, for now. She’s learning from her sister, how difficult it is to go out on your own. I’m glad that she’s decided not to go away yet, and I hope I’ll be ready when it comes time for her to go. #1 consents to give me hugs when I need them (she’s not the huggiest person in the world, not sure how that happened), and we’re helping each other through this. (She’d like people to think she’s the strong one, but... I think she’s pretty mushy inside, actually)

So far, this milestone in parenting has gone ok.



So... suck on that.