I'm now writing at http://conquerorofsillylittlethings.wordpress.com/
Same deal, different look.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Sometimes I Wonder.
Sometimes I just find writing really wonderful. Today is one of those times. So I’m thinking of starting something called “Sometimes I wonder” on this lovely blog. That way I can write my day-to-day perplexings (yup, I manipulated that word real good) and still have longer posts that I pour more energy into. Often my thoughts are in questions so hopefully this format will transfer well from brain to keyboard to blog. Nice move on my behalf? I think so. So here goes.
Sometimes I Wonder:
How did that little bug get in my apartment? We are on the second floor, we have screens on all the windows and we have never taken them off. And now there is a bug in my apartment. I keep seeing it in my peripheral looming by the lamp. Yuck. However, this must be a very clever bug to make it all the way into our place, so I guess a compliment is in order. Nice work you crafty little bug.
How did Robbie get so particular about his signature? He just about gave me a heart attack this evening. He was working away finishing off reports for work when he suddenly and intensely said, “Do you know what I just realized?” I automatically thought “Oh no, he’s been doing something wrong on every single one of his reports that he’s been slaving over.” This “slaving” includes giving up his Saturday and Monday of his long weekend (someone is a very good employee and a very hard working de Fleuriot man). Then, since he is not very good at multi tasking, he left me hanging waiting for the answer to his self-imposed question, which was now imposing itself on me quite persistently. I waited for what felt like eternity (and was probably only 3 seconds), lost my patience and barked at him saying ‘What Robbie?” He then explained that he was unhappy because his signature was unbalanced, but now he is quite chuffed because he found the solution. It has to do with the F in de Fleuriot slightly changing. You see he has to sign his signature on each of his reports so it all made sense to me quite quickly. I do know that his family used to, and come to think of it still sits around practicing and perfecting their signature. It’s a very interesting family activity. And he thinks the Hamels are a bit nuts. Somehow for Robbie it has become a lifelong mission to perfect his signature. I guess there are worse things in the world. Also, I often hear from him how I need to change my F in de Fleuriot because it doesn’t look very nice. Specifically I am making it loop the wrong way. Jeepers.
Why does the sound of boiling water make me so irate? Yesterday I made mashed potatoes for the first time in my married life. So why was this the first time? Because I don’t like them. Its one of the advantages of being the wife. You never have to eat anything you don’t like again because not only do you buy the food, but you make the food. This is pure genius passed on from my Mom. Siblings: do you ever wonder why we didn’t eat French Toast or Squash? Now you know. Anyways, I noticed that once the potatoes were rolling in the boil that the noise made me super agitated. This did not help as I was trying to finish off a roast and decide what to do with the carrots. I was especially annoyed when water would splash over the side and hit the burner making a hissing noise. Robbie saved the day by pouring some of the water out (practical thinker I am not). However, it still made lots of rather violent noise. Does anyone else experience this? It was just so unsettling.
How many times will I move in the next 5 years? I’ve heard ridiculous stories of the early years of marriage involving several moves. With one behind us and one right around the corner in the first 15 months of marriage I’m hoping it doesn’t get out of hand. Any guesstimates one this one? Well, at least we will always have our tea station with a ‘Touch of Earl’ on hand to keep us feeling homey no matter where we go.
Excellent. I feel much better. Now for a cup of tea for me and a bowl of ice cream for Roberto and off to bed.
This is how we roll
Sunday, May 15, 2011
It's just me...Emily.
Ponder this riddle:
I am a very special woman that you might know.
I have passion in my eyes and a mischievous glow.
I can pick up any instrument and play it like a pro.
My imagination is something I will never outgrow.
I'm tall and lean,
But don't call me string bean!
But do call me Fliedermaus,
Or Gloria if she's in the house.
You might find me just daydreaming for hours and hours,
Or plotting some plot with my thinking powers.
And when this thinking would get me in trouble,
I'd always know what to say on the double.
You can find me in 'The Book Man'
Or hanging out with my theatre clan.
In my closet you'll find many coats,
But its really shoes I love the most.
Do you have an idea yet?
Well...
If you must know.
It's just me... Emily.
A riddle is quite appropriate, for Emily is quite a mystery herself. She is a force of nature, someone to be reckoned with.
My mother has said that raising Emily took more energy than the other three of us put together. Now Emily could take this as a slight or see that she is largely responsible for the extremely skilled mother that we have today. It is not necessarily that she was naughty all those years, but rather that she was excessively creative and energetic, which often lead to naughtiness.
As for myself I am incredibly thankful for the experiences that I have thanks to my second oldest sister. I played a part in many of her fantasies. Often the part of trusting innocence, like a lamb being led to slaughter or a princess taking her place in her kingdom. As a kid I was drawn to Emily and for good reason. There was never a dull or monotonous moment with my big sister. I am happy to have participated and look forward to the days that she can take my own children along with her on her journeys.
Imagine you are me. You are no older than 5 years in age. You enjoy your simple life and are highly trusting of those around you.
I have to set up the physical space to make sense of this tid bit. Our childhood house on Killarney drive had an open dining room, kitchen plan. It was separated from the living room by a wall that contained the kitchen from the living room, but exposed part of the dining room. We would use this area for many dramatic entrances throughout the years as we played out our games and created alternative worlds to enjoy.
Emily saw this particular set as a place to stage one of her sneakiest dramas, the Gloria drama. You see, she would walk behind the wall into the kitchen while Jeff and I were playing in the living room. She would change character from her normal self to Gloria, her evil twin. My 5 year old mind remembers her as totally different, as though she had morphed into something new... and sinister. She would treat me and Jeff terribly calling us names, ordering us around, and getting up to all sorts of nonsense. She was not the same person. We would be incredibly distraught by the time she would make her exit back through the kitchen again. However, this time she would emerge as the sweet and darling Emily ready to console us after undergoing such unjust and inhuman treatment. She would always say something along the lines of "Was Gloria here? What did she do to you now? Don't worry you'll be okay now."
Pure genius I tell you.
Another notable performance from Emily during our childhood took place when Mom and Dad were out for the evening. We were in the family room downstairs with the legendary, funky old carpet that looked like a Persian rug. This room housed the TV, our old couches, the piano, the ironing board, the sewing machines, and a fireplace that we never used because something was wrong with it. I distinctly remember this taking place by the ironing board under one of those hanging lamps with a big pink shade. The lighting of course was dramatic.
Things were going on as usual. We were up to some nonsense probably enjoying onis (mac and cheese) and iced tea for dinner while watching an episode of Newhart or something since Mom and Dad were out for the evening. Suddenly Emily started acting strange. She looked all lethargic and started breathing funny. Jeff and I rushed to her side. She collapsed under the ironing board and "fainted." I distinctly remember Jeff checking to see if she was breathing and telling me that she wasn't. (Come to think of it maybe the stinker was in on it too!)
At this point I really honest to goodness thought that she was dead. Jeff and I were both crying and were incredibly upset at this point. I remember laying our heads down on her supposedly deceased body, like you see in the movies. Then all the sudden she jolted up with a large gasp of air. She had a far off look in her eyes. We asked her "Emme, Emme, what happened? Are you okay? Are you alive?" She caught her breath and managed to say "I went to heaven and God told me that I wasn't ready to die yet. I'm too pure and young. I need to stay on earth."
I believed this whole heartedly. I thought it was amazing that she got to go to heaven and see God and Jesus and all the Saints. Oh how I wanted to go to heaven and see those beautiful things just like my big sister. I wanted to be pure too.
However, these memories seem to have a way of sneaking back to you later on in life. I confirmed a few years later that this was indeed a scam, but at least it made me long for heaven even more.
From our days of play. Emme is 2nd from the top.
One of the most wonderful times of the year is clearly Christmas. One of my favorite musical delights from the Christmas season is Amy Grant's 'Home for Christmas.' The most epic song on that album is the instrumental recording of 'Jesu, Joy of Man's desiring.' It begins with beautiful classical guitar and builds into a stirring celtic arrangement. If there's one thing that gets me up and dancing, its fiddles at their best. For many years in a row Emily used to choreograph a dance to this piece of music that went out of our traditional Scottish dance training. We would dance the night away waiting for Santa and the birth of Jesus. I remember spinning around and around giggling with joy in our Sunday best for what seemed like an eternity. It was Christmas in Killarney at its best.
Emily is also excessively talented musically. When she reached teenage-hood she would play piano and sing for hours and hours. She even penned a puppet opera once of which I was going to be the star. I still remember the reoccurring song that played throughout the story. Maybe the world will be delighted with this little ditty one day?
Emily leads the Hamel 3 in song.
As we grew up it was evident that Emme had to cultivate these talents. After high school she left for Rosebud, Alberta where she attended theatre school for two years. The morning she left was probably the day that I cried most in my whole life. I was inconsolable. Alberta seemed a world away and I couldn't imagine not seeing one of my siblings for a 4 month stretch. I remember waving goodbye to her from the driveway and watching the van turn away from the house. I knew life just wouldn't be as fun or adventurous with Emily moved away. I was about to start high school in a few weeks and I needed her around to help me through it. But it was the way it was. I picked myself up and walked into the house in her newly vacated room, which was now mine. I cheered up a bit relishing in one of the perks of being the youngest. Perhaps it wouldn't be too bad after all.
One of her more mischievous looks.
Emily left behind a little reminder of herself in our home. In Home Ec. class they made stuffed animals. She chose to made a mouse. We affectionately called it the Fliedermaus, the German word for bat, one of Emme's nicknames for her ability to make jolting entrances much like bats. Her little mouse had a superhero cape that went from one outstretched arm to the other. Its perky ears rested on it head which had a severe tilt. It looked ready to pounce any second. We placed it on the highest part of the kitchen cupboards. It would sometimes take you by surprise if you forgot about it presence as you could feel its little sweet eyes looking at you. We would often look up at the little Fliedermaus and remark on how we missed our Emme. It was yet another remarkable creation that filled our lives with theatrics even while she was gone.
And this talent for the theatrical has only continued to blossom over the years. On a recent trip home Robbie and I were able to see a production of "Sabrina Fair" directed by none other then Emily Hamel. It was a delight. It was one of my favorite nights at the theatre. The casting, costumes, acting, and set were all a perfect bundle of classy storytelling. And my Emily had the final word in each of these decisions. It was truly a marvel to behold.
Emme on the set of Sabrina Fair
I've been thinking lately about the miracle it is that my family love each other the way we do. We're all stubborn. We're all very different. We have had very difficult times that my teenage heart could see no way out of.
However, I think my parents did something more than right in raising us. You see, in spite of the hard and difficult times, deep inside we all feel the beckoning call back to one another. When it comes down to it, we can't live without each other, because we know the value of what we have and who we are as children of Tom and Diane Hamel.
My case in point: Emily Diane Hamel.
Stunner much?
You see I waited through my late teenage years for my family to make a pendulum swing back to the peace that we now have. What shook us was no one persons fault, but a disagreement of ideologies, personalities, and the messiness of life. In short, there was a deep divide in our family.
Its not worth hashing out as the past is the past, but it is worth mentioning. It is worth mentioning because it helped define each of us as we grew into the adults that we are now. For many uncomfortable years I know that the hardest thing for each of us: Mom, Dad, Jenny, Emme, Jeff, and myself was that we couldn't be together in the all familiar and comfortable way that we had know for so long.
Like molasses slowly moving, things have changed and shifted.
And now I rejoice, for wounds have been healed, words have been spoken that needed to be spoken long ago and prayers recited for many years have been answered.
I return again to the blessed day I married Roberto to explain myself. Emily came out the day before the wedding from Chilliwack to Walnut Grove. We spent the greater part of that day together running errands and finishing off 'To Do's." She had my back all day. She took such good care of me. We chatted about our current states in life and the excitement of the big day as we traipsed around Walnut Grove together.
It felt like for the first time in a long time that there were no barriers between us. It was the most unexpected blessing that I had all week. I could feel God smiling down on my family as we prepared for this most important day saying "Isn't my timing always perfect Laura?"
And it is.
Isn't she lovely?
Emily, I can't imagine my life without you. There is still never a dull or monotonous moment when I am around you. I am still drawn to you and will always be drawn to you for your beauty and your love of all things aesthetic.
I may be the conqueror of silly little things, but you are the conqueror of many great things.
I am a very special woman that you might know.
I have passion in my eyes and a mischievous glow.
I can pick up any instrument and play it like a pro.
My imagination is something I will never outgrow.
I'm tall and lean,
But don't call me string bean!
But do call me Fliedermaus,
Or Gloria if she's in the house.
You might find me just daydreaming for hours and hours,
Or plotting some plot with my thinking powers.
And when this thinking would get me in trouble,
I'd always know what to say on the double.
You can find me in 'The Book Man'
Or hanging out with my theatre clan.
In my closet you'll find many coats,
But its really shoes I love the most.
Do you have an idea yet?
Well...
If you must know.
It's just me... Emily.
A riddle is quite appropriate, for Emily is quite a mystery herself. She is a force of nature, someone to be reckoned with.
My mother has said that raising Emily took more energy than the other three of us put together. Now Emily could take this as a slight or see that she is largely responsible for the extremely skilled mother that we have today. It is not necessarily that she was naughty all those years, but rather that she was excessively creative and energetic, which often lead to naughtiness.
As for myself I am incredibly thankful for the experiences that I have thanks to my second oldest sister. I played a part in many of her fantasies. Often the part of trusting innocence, like a lamb being led to slaughter or a princess taking her place in her kingdom. As a kid I was drawn to Emily and for good reason. There was never a dull or monotonous moment with my big sister. I am happy to have participated and look forward to the days that she can take my own children along with her on her journeys.
Imagine you are me. You are no older than 5 years in age. You enjoy your simple life and are highly trusting of those around you.
I have to set up the physical space to make sense of this tid bit. Our childhood house on Killarney drive had an open dining room, kitchen plan. It was separated from the living room by a wall that contained the kitchen from the living room, but exposed part of the dining room. We would use this area for many dramatic entrances throughout the years as we played out our games and created alternative worlds to enjoy.
Emily saw this particular set as a place to stage one of her sneakiest dramas, the Gloria drama. You see, she would walk behind the wall into the kitchen while Jeff and I were playing in the living room. She would change character from her normal self to Gloria, her evil twin. My 5 year old mind remembers her as totally different, as though she had morphed into something new... and sinister. She would treat me and Jeff terribly calling us names, ordering us around, and getting up to all sorts of nonsense. She was not the same person. We would be incredibly distraught by the time she would make her exit back through the kitchen again. However, this time she would emerge as the sweet and darling Emily ready to console us after undergoing such unjust and inhuman treatment. She would always say something along the lines of "Was Gloria here? What did she do to you now? Don't worry you'll be okay now."
Pure genius I tell you.
Another notable performance from Emily during our childhood took place when Mom and Dad were out for the evening. We were in the family room downstairs with the legendary, funky old carpet that looked like a Persian rug. This room housed the TV, our old couches, the piano, the ironing board, the sewing machines, and a fireplace that we never used because something was wrong with it. I distinctly remember this taking place by the ironing board under one of those hanging lamps with a big pink shade. The lighting of course was dramatic.
Things were going on as usual. We were up to some nonsense probably enjoying onis (mac and cheese) and iced tea for dinner while watching an episode of Newhart or something since Mom and Dad were out for the evening. Suddenly Emily started acting strange. She looked all lethargic and started breathing funny. Jeff and I rushed to her side. She collapsed under the ironing board and "fainted." I distinctly remember Jeff checking to see if she was breathing and telling me that she wasn't. (Come to think of it maybe the stinker was in on it too!)
At this point I really honest to goodness thought that she was dead. Jeff and I were both crying and were incredibly upset at this point. I remember laying our heads down on her supposedly deceased body, like you see in the movies. Then all the sudden she jolted up with a large gasp of air. She had a far off look in her eyes. We asked her "Emme, Emme, what happened? Are you okay? Are you alive?" She caught her breath and managed to say "I went to heaven and God told me that I wasn't ready to die yet. I'm too pure and young. I need to stay on earth."
I believed this whole heartedly. I thought it was amazing that she got to go to heaven and see God and Jesus and all the Saints. Oh how I wanted to go to heaven and see those beautiful things just like my big sister. I wanted to be pure too.
However, these memories seem to have a way of sneaking back to you later on in life. I confirmed a few years later that this was indeed a scam, but at least it made me long for heaven even more.
From our days of play. Emme is 2nd from the top.One of the most wonderful times of the year is clearly Christmas. One of my favorite musical delights from the Christmas season is Amy Grant's 'Home for Christmas.' The most epic song on that album is the instrumental recording of 'Jesu, Joy of Man's desiring.' It begins with beautiful classical guitar and builds into a stirring celtic arrangement. If there's one thing that gets me up and dancing, its fiddles at their best. For many years in a row Emily used to choreograph a dance to this piece of music that went out of our traditional Scottish dance training. We would dance the night away waiting for Santa and the birth of Jesus. I remember spinning around and around giggling with joy in our Sunday best for what seemed like an eternity. It was Christmas in Killarney at its best.
Emily is also excessively talented musically. When she reached teenage-hood she would play piano and sing for hours and hours. She even penned a puppet opera once of which I was going to be the star. I still remember the reoccurring song that played throughout the story. Maybe the world will be delighted with this little ditty one day?
Emily leads the Hamel 3 in song.
One of her more mischievous looks.Emily left behind a little reminder of herself in our home. In Home Ec. class they made stuffed animals. She chose to made a mouse. We affectionately called it the Fliedermaus, the German word for bat, one of Emme's nicknames for her ability to make jolting entrances much like bats. Her little mouse had a superhero cape that went from one outstretched arm to the other. Its perky ears rested on it head which had a severe tilt. It looked ready to pounce any second. We placed it on the highest part of the kitchen cupboards. It would sometimes take you by surprise if you forgot about it presence as you could feel its little sweet eyes looking at you. We would often look up at the little Fliedermaus and remark on how we missed our Emme. It was yet another remarkable creation that filled our lives with theatrics even while she was gone.
And this talent for the theatrical has only continued to blossom over the years. On a recent trip home Robbie and I were able to see a production of "Sabrina Fair" directed by none other then Emily Hamel. It was a delight. It was one of my favorite nights at the theatre. The casting, costumes, acting, and set were all a perfect bundle of classy storytelling. And my Emily had the final word in each of these decisions. It was truly a marvel to behold.
Emme on the set of Sabrina FairI've been thinking lately about the miracle it is that my family love each other the way we do. We're all stubborn. We're all very different. We have had very difficult times that my teenage heart could see no way out of.
However, I think my parents did something more than right in raising us. You see, in spite of the hard and difficult times, deep inside we all feel the beckoning call back to one another. When it comes down to it, we can't live without each other, because we know the value of what we have and who we are as children of Tom and Diane Hamel.
My case in point: Emily Diane Hamel.
Stunner much?You see I waited through my late teenage years for my family to make a pendulum swing back to the peace that we now have. What shook us was no one persons fault, but a disagreement of ideologies, personalities, and the messiness of life. In short, there was a deep divide in our family.
Its not worth hashing out as the past is the past, but it is worth mentioning. It is worth mentioning because it helped define each of us as we grew into the adults that we are now. For many uncomfortable years I know that the hardest thing for each of us: Mom, Dad, Jenny, Emme, Jeff, and myself was that we couldn't be together in the all familiar and comfortable way that we had know for so long.
Like molasses slowly moving, things have changed and shifted.
And now I rejoice, for wounds have been healed, words have been spoken that needed to be spoken long ago and prayers recited for many years have been answered.
I return again to the blessed day I married Roberto to explain myself. Emily came out the day before the wedding from Chilliwack to Walnut Grove. We spent the greater part of that day together running errands and finishing off 'To Do's." She had my back all day. She took such good care of me. We chatted about our current states in life and the excitement of the big day as we traipsed around Walnut Grove together.
It felt like for the first time in a long time that there were no barriers between us. It was the most unexpected blessing that I had all week. I could feel God smiling down on my family as we prepared for this most important day saying "Isn't my timing always perfect Laura?"
And it is.
Isn't she lovely?I may be the conqueror of silly little things, but you are the conqueror of many great things.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
You are the rarity.
There is an eldest child in every family. They are normally characterized as obedient, independent, and reliable.
Our Jenny is no different.
Tom and Diane plus Jennifer Leigh.
She was in many ways an ideal child. At least I’ve always seen it that way as the doting youngest sister. Jenny to me has always held a strong fascination. She is so beautiful, so refined, so intelligent, everything a young woman ought to be.
I remember watching her get ready for dances, putting on makeup and fixing her hair. I would think ‘If only one day I could be as beautiful as Jenny. Jenny must be perfect.’ I would often sneak into her room and put on makeup myself. I was so proud to be her little sister.
Great beauty.
But my mistake was that I could only see the outer beauty of Jenny.
Let me explain.
My mom recalls a story of when Jenny was in Kindergarten. Mom dropped Jenny off at school. She saw a group of little girls from Jen’s class and overheard that there was some sort of dispute or difficult circumstance (something age appropriate such as ‘Person A called Person B a meanie’). They were discussing what to do when one of them had a Eureka moment and said “I know, lets ask Jenny. She always knows what to do.”
So there she was at the tender age of 5 analyzing a situation and coming up with a solution that worked for all parties involved.
And she hasn’t stopped since. She is a true giver of self, contributing to the peace-making of many awkward and frustrating moments in my childhood. She has a desire to help make sense of things and make things right like I have never seen in another human soul. Now this is not just a sweet little aspect of her character, rather it is an intelligence that she possesses. It is a feminine determination to care for and protect others.
Along with this intelligence Jenny has a certain silliness to her. Something you wouldn’t expect from such a refined young woman.
A favorite Hamel memory happened one day in our Killarney house in Chilliwack. If I recall correctly this was a stage in Jennifer’s life where she was very serious and quite grown up, Thank you very much. One day Emme heard a little song coming from the kitchen. It peaked her interest and so she went to investigate. As she came closer she realized the songstress was Jennifer. Emily saw Jenny eating her lunch, a nice bowl of soup to be exact. Emily listened carefully and this is what she heard:
♩ Hello Mister Soup. How are you Mister Soup? I’m going to eat you Mister Soup ♩
Over and over she repeated this. Jenny was singing to her soup with great care and personification. To her horror Jenny eventually noticed Emme and asked her to never tell the story again. Clearly that did not happen. Actually this little story seems to come up quite often. All you have to say or sing is ‘♩Hello Mister Soup,♩’ and Jenny gets all red in the face.
Jennifer led us younger children fearlessly. She is credited with pulling Emily away from a moving vehicle just in time to literally save her life. She read to Jeffy tirelessly as a little boy, giving him a great love for knowledge. She changed my stinky diapers armed with rubber gloves, a breathing mask, and an apron. She taught me how to write papers. All of these things great and small show me how much she loves us.
Hamel Sandwich.
But there were times of great tragedy.
Emily, Jeffrey and myself were playing on the stage left side of the house (if the audience were the road). We were near the back by the porch. On this part of the house there was this amazing old tree tucked right up to the house that had a ton of branches all coming right from the ground. There was no real trunk to it. It made a great backdrop for many adventures. We had taken an old sheet and had placed it from the overhang of the tree to the porch creating a little tented area.
The game of the day was something about an evil Duchess who was terrorizing the poor peasants of the town. We wanted Jenny to play the Duchess, so we hauled her out from her room and explained the scenario. Things proceeded as normal for a few minutes. I was a dramatic little peasant, Jeff spoke up for the peasants invoking our rights and the need for justice, and Emily led us as our great leader to the Duchess.
We went to the tent/palace expecting to have an audience with her, but something was wrong. We looked at Jenny who wore a face of distress. Then with a far off vapid expression she said “I’ve forgotten how to play,” and slowly walked inside.
It felt like my heart had broken.
I’d like to think that there were many tears after this. I’m sure I cried. I always cried. It was a memory we have never forgotten. Our biggest sister had crossed over from fantasy worlds and silly games to the reality of adult life.
But life is a funny thing. Life itself is what in my opinion brought Jenny back to a place of childhood wonder and awe.
You see Jenny married this wonderful man named Darren roughly 8 years ago now. She and her Greek god moved to Saskatoon, far away from the rest of us. While they lived there studying our great and noble country their own family began. Our little Benno joined the fam in a dramatic way in December of 2004.
Benno bambino.
I think that Benno rocked Jenny’s world in a way she didn’t expect. I can’t speak exactly for her, but I began to observe a change in her. The seriousness of life was still there and her nurturing tendencies were more pronounced than ever.
However, when a little boy is around things can’t help but get a little silly sometimes. You can’t help but go for long walks enjoying the outdoors. You can’t help but play with trucks and cars, and cars, and more cars. You can’t help but spend hours and hours in a playground each month. You can’t help but be a dinosaur with that little boy for an afternoon. You can’t help but read Dr. Seuss over and over again, which is decidedly some of the silliest literature I have ever read and some of the best.
And then when a little bundle of girl named Cate came along, things were silly in a whole new way.
E-Tuc Cate.
You see when a little girl is around you can’t help but put her in lovely dresses. You can’t help but put her hair in pigtails, even if she pulls them out after a minute. You can’t help but play with My Little Ponies with her. You can’t help but receive several cups of tea from her tea set when she is serving you with great civility for a 2 year old. You can’t help but kiss her sweet little cheeks at every possible opportunity. You can’t help but tell her what it was like being a little girl yourself.
I’ve seen these two little Friesens take my Jenny back to where she used to be before she forgot how to play, even for a few moments each day. And for this I thank them.
Silly kids.
I can only imagine what bambino number three has in store for us!
The weekend before I got married Jenny threw me a Stagette. We painted pottery, got dolled up, went for a yummy dinner and Bellini’s, sang our hearts out at Karaoke and then returned to Jen’s house for an unforgettable experience. Jen had each one of the girls go around the circle and affirm me. It was incredible. You see in my heart of hearts I had always imagined something like that might happen in my lifetime. The thing is that my big sister really knows my heart. She knows who I am and how I experience love, because she is just that kind of person.
So now I say to you Jenny that you have a very special place in my heart, and not just because you are so physically beautiful.
The Italian humanist Petrarch said "Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together."
You are the rarity.
Jenny, I love you in all your intricate plots and plans. I love the look on your face when you are about to figure something out. I love how you were so honest to me in my youth about what true happiness is. I love how you look after your kidlets.
But most of all I love how you look after me.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
A history of War.
Laura and Ffej looking cute
Jeffrey Thomas.
Jeff.
Jeffy.
Jeffykins.
Jeffo.
Ffej.
Ffejo.
All of these names mean one thing. My big brother.
I feel like I am at a loss to explain this relationship. Truth be told I am not as close to Jeff as I am to my sisters in a friendship sense. We don't hang out just the two of us like I would with Emme, Jen, and even his lovely Michaela.
But we certainly have a history together. We spent hours playing orphans running away from the oppressive and child working head mistress with Miss DK and Judy. I think he may have even helped us set up intricate barbie cities with us. We got up to all sorts of nonsense with Emily such as turning down the volume on soap operas and doing the voice overs for the characters. The argument was always over whether oranges or bananas are better. Trust me this is alot of fun. I seem to remember something about garden gnomes too. We even started a band. We did a photo shoot and made an album cover with pretzels spelling out our band name, but alas we had no songs. We even got married once. Emily was the priest (a wee bit liberal), Jen attended as a guest, and we even had communion like good Catholics.
Our first dance: for real. We've got style.But we also have a history of war. War of all sorts. Fighting with each other, but even better fighting for each other.
Before I get to that, lets go back to the beginning. Imagine a beautiful October day in 1987 in Chilliwack, BC. Leaves are falling, the air is crisp, and the sun lights the world with a warm Autumn glow as if it were coming from underneath the earth. Everything is beautiful. I love these days. They are my absolute favorite. In the Hamel house a new little bald bundle with a V on her forehead enters the house for the first time. Her name is Laura Christine. Her three siblings gather around her. They love her instantly. Each takes a turn bonding with her for the first time in their home. It comes to the wee little boys turn. A boy named Jeffrey. He holds her so gently in his lap with all the care in the world. He looks at her with absolute wonder and awe. He leans down and places a gentle and voluntary, sweet kiss on her forehead. Their mothers' heart melts. Their father looks on proudly. They have a true gentleman for a son. Their dream come true. Love fills the room.
That exact momentNeither did they all know what a firecracker I'd turn out to be and how these two innocent children would be anything but peaceful with one another in years to come. The dynamic of the family shifted once again to let a little soul in. My little soul. And I am always pleased to remember my first interaction with my big brother was a perfect moment.
I don't think its that constructive to explain in great detail how or why we didn't always get along. Its as simple as we're brother and sister two and a half years apart with different personalities.
I remember once driving across Alberta somewhere on one of our family trips out to visit Emily while she was in Rosebud. We always drove across the prairies commenting on how funny it was that every time there was a slight bend in the road/highway there would be a ton of signs leading up to it. 'Look out, Its an anomaly, A bend in the road. Oh no!' Coming from BC this was pretty funny.
We would often take the Trivial Pursuit cards on these trips to entertain us. It was generally a competition between Jeff and Mom to see who could recall more useless/interesting bits of information from their brains. After a while we stopped playing and just chatted for a while, something that I could participate in with much more ease. I was about 12 at the time, in my awkward years of tearaways and visors. Jeff would be pretty close to his 15th birthday. I, like many 12 years olds often felt ugly, weird, and just out of sorts. I'd look in the mirror and see someone in-between. I started to complain about how I was ugly, probably going on about my eyebrows being terrible because they look like two caterpillars (true story). Then being the true gentleman he is Jeff piped in and said "Laura after all the arguments we've had don't you think I would have called you ugly by now if it were true." Another perfect moment for Jeff and Laura was created. My pre-teen angst subsided and I had to admit that that was a good point. Mom and Dad or course chuckled in the front seat.
There was a time in Jeffs life before he became a strong military man and a law student with an extremely gorgeous wife that things were quite hard for him. He has always been incredibly intellectual. As a kid he would pour over books. He was always taking those eyewitness books out from the library memorizing huge amounts of data. He knew so much about airplanes and weapons used in World Wars by each individual country. He read 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy by the time he was 12. In grade 7 he did a report on Dieppe that was 20 pages long, well researched, and properly cited if I recall correctly.
This boy was smart. But he struggled in school. It wasn't until my mom practically forced his high school to test him for learning disabilities in grade 10 that his grades finally reflected his great intelligence after modifications were made to what was expected of him in school. In grade 10 he was spelling at the level of a grade 5 student but reading at the level of a second year university student. His success in many ways is my moms success. He took off from there and has been unstoppable since.
When we were in elementary school there were certain boys who were treating Jeffrey with great disrespect on a regular basis. I was not impressed. Nobody was to treat my brother like dirt. I knew he was smarter than all of them, but he just didn't have the guts to really lay down the law with them. So one day in grade 5 I decided to give them a piece of my mind. I told off those grade 7 bullies for my big brother. I remember them looking back at me pretty scared. I've always had the skill of pulling out the scary guns when necessary (ask my grade 9 students from last year). Reflecting back I am certain it didn't help at all since he now had the added embarrassment of having his little sister ream the mean boys out for him. But I swear from the bottom of my heart that I meant every threatening word because I knew my brother was being treated unjustly.
I would go to war for him any day.
Fast forward to my grade 10 year. Jeff was in grade 12 and a tall but lanky 6'2, much more intimidating then he was in grade 7. Jeff was coming into his own. He was going to attend TWU after high school and knew unlike those bullies that there is life after graduation. One day on the bus a certain classmate of mine (who will remain nameless) decided that a fun activity for the ride home would be to cut my hair. He cut a small to medium but unforgivable chunk of my locks. I was not impressed. Evidently Jeff wasn't either. The authorities that be dealt with it in their own way with something lame like a detention or an in school suspension (I would have had him cleaning toilets). Jeff walked up to the nameless young man in question in the hall the next day and told him with a cool and calm demeanor "If you ever touch my sister again I will take both of your (expletive) legs and (expletive) arms and shove them up your (profanity)." All with a smile. Now Jeff did get called to the office and was spoken to quite firmly nodding along to the allegations agreeing that that's exactly what he said, which I think dumbfounded the authorities more than anything. But he told me he didn't regret it at all.
You see he would go to war for me any day.
And maybe that's what we both have deep within us. An innate sense that although we are never going to bond over pedicures like I would with my sisters (that would be awkward anyways) that when push comes to shove we will ALWAYS push and shove for each other (in a figurative sense). Because its right. Because blood is thicker than water. Because, and I speak directly to you right now Ffej, I love my big brother and I always will. We've grown up and we probably know each other strengths and weaknesses better only than each other spouses. We wished each other heartfelt words on our own respective wedding days this summer and meant everything we said. We'll tell our kids embarrassing stories about each other and we might still have a few tiffs from time to time. But I know I can rely on Jeff to stick up for me when I need it.
After all he can kill a man with his bare hands.
Dilemma
So heres a big shock. I can't stick to a writing schedule. I've been trying to move onto my next family member to write about, but its much harder to write about siblings than parents.
Do I write about Jenny my oldest sister currently with child? Or Emme my second oldest thespian sister with new love blossoming in her life? Or Jeff who I affectionately call Ffej who is away in London, Ontario with his beautiful golden beauty Michaela?
Dang.
Three people to choose from. Three crazies (I say respectfully). Three intelligent, worthy contenders for my thoughts and words.
Do I go oldest first (very original), or only boy first, or second first to mix it up?
This is difficult because as much as you love your siblings there are things that drive you totally batty. So how do I balance my struggles with each of them without offending the Hamel kingdom?
I'm not sure yet, but I'll give it a try starting with......
Do I write about Jenny my oldest sister currently with child? Or Emme my second oldest thespian sister with new love blossoming in her life? Or Jeff who I affectionately call Ffej who is away in London, Ontario with his beautiful golden beauty Michaela?
Dang.
Three people to choose from. Three crazies (I say respectfully). Three intelligent, worthy contenders for my thoughts and words.
Do I go oldest first (very original), or only boy first, or second first to mix it up?
This is difficult because as much as you love your siblings there are things that drive you totally batty. So how do I balance my struggles with each of them without offending the Hamel kingdom?
I'm not sure yet, but I'll give it a try starting with......
Friday, October 22, 2010
Tom Hamel: Action Hero
Firstly, clearly this is not a week from my last post. I promise to improve henceforth.
How can you possibly give credit to your hero? It is an impossible task, but I will attempt it.
Cheesy as it may be, but my hero undoubtedly is my Dad. He is everything you can imagine a hero to be. Strong, Independent, Intelligent, Kind, Caring, and Selfless. He is a bulldog when he needs to be, a shoulder to weep into, an imaginative man with the ability to make dolls and blankets come to life when boo boos are a plenty, and he’s even occasionally a rock star.
My dad is awesome. Consider this little ditty:
How many RPC students does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
(You pause to consider what Catholic joke may be coming).
Zero, Tom Hamel’s already done it.
And isn’t that the truth. My Dad is a man of action. Oh my goodness, things are about to get even better!! My Dad is an action hero. Perhaps that’s what RPC should give to all its grads. The Tom Hamel action figure: a Saint in the making.®
But I know he’s not perfect. He has his little faults. He eats ice cream when he knows he’s not supposed to. He is a big tease like all the men in my life. He loves ABBA (sorry Padre).
….I think this is an appropriate time to end this list.
I still like to think he’s perfect though.
So now to let you in on a not so secret family secret. It goes like this. I was a newborn and my parents were out after mass one Sunday with all of us four kids. Some family friends were sitting nearby eating their lunch as well. The Father of the other family said to my Dad “So is this your last kid?” To which my Father replied by gesturing towards Jeffrey my older brother by two and a half years “He was our last kid!” When Mom tells the story she makes sure we know that the other Father was asking something a little to personal.
But alas it is true. I am the classic Catholic surprise baby.
I came into my parent’s life in a time of great prosperity for them. I think they were quite shocked by the fact that another ‘blessing’ was coming into their lives. I’ve known about my origins since I was about 12 when I asked my Mom “How did you feel when you found out you were pregnant with me?” (Inquisitive much?) When she told she was quite surprised and the implications set in it changed how I looked at things. I was no longer the final precious planned Hamel baby, but instead I was a tragic mistake, an interruption in their already busy lives. I began to think that that was why I was born bald, with a V on my forehead, and not nearly as classically cute as the other kids. Now I know this seems ridiculous, but I’ve spoken to many other youngest children and this type of active imagination coupled with a sense of inferiority to their siblings is quite commonplace.
Of course I began to mature and realize that you can’t always trust your 12-year-old self and the dramatic musings of your heart. God does indeed work in mysterious ways and surprise us all the time with many wonderful things. But something still remained in me, egging me on year after year that I was inferior.
And so returns Tom Hamel to the story. I believe that my coming into the world changed my Dad in a way he didn’t see coming. You’d have to ask him about the exact details as it is just a notion on my behalf. I have always had a special connection with him as a result. That has always worked its way into our relationship. I can look strait into his eyes for song after song while he sings to me and plays the guitar. It is like nothing else I have experienced in my life.
My first memory is of me sitting next to Dad wrapped in zhuzhin (my baby blanket) on the downstairs stairs in the Killarney house holding on to his arm, while he played the guitar and sang the folk song ‘Lost John Riley.’ I can transport myself back to that moment in an instant. I know exactly how I felt. Safe. I felt like I would always be happy if my Daddy was around. I could look at him forever. He was perfect.
It is perhaps a memory that happened more than once through all my stages of life. Bald, blond, scrawny, even throughout puberty again and again he was there for me. We may have disagreed between these stages on everything from the mysterious disappearance of my chocolate covered pretzels from Purdy’s to why I wasn’t ever allowed to go on any dates to why he must ask me even as an adult when I leave the house where I am going and when I will be back. I still remained spellbound.
And his heart responded to mine in a similar fashion. My Mom recalled a story to me about the last time I played with my worship team at TWU, a crowning accomplishment in my life. During one of my solos he turned to her and said “Diane, she’s my favorite mistake.”
The happiest day of my life was not so long ago. I got to marry my best friend in the world, tied with Dad for the best man I know. In the back of the church right before I walked down the aisle Dad kept affirming me telling me how good this was and how he felt so secure giving me to Robbie. He told me He loved me. I tried to hold back tears failing miserably but smiling through them I told him I loved him too. And then came the affirmation I needed to know that I am loved and was planned for this world. It came at a perfect moment. He said to me something to the effect of “I’m so glad we had you Laura. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.” Those words are truth. They tell me I can conquer anything for I am truly loved and cherished. I am invincible. I am in fact the second generation Tom Hamel action figure: The Laura de Fleuriator®.
To top things off Dad wrote me a song for my wedding. It was perfect. I was so surprised. He sneakily wrote it in the basement in the months leading up to the big day. He had been playing it for months for friends and family alike when they would come to visit trying it out on them like a true artist. The name of it is ‘The girl at the top of the stairs’ commemorating his own memory of his little Laura waiting for him at the top of the stairs every day when he got home from work. The morning of the wedding he took a photo of me all ready to go to the church, veil and makeup intact standing excited looking for approval from my Daddy and Mommy at the top of the stairs. He showed that photo at the reception while he played the song. You see, my Daddy is a very thoughtful one.
The picture I’ve included below is of that very moment. Note that all three of his beautiful girls, plus little Cate are totally entranced by Tom Hamel, their hero. In that moment he was his real self removed of all the glitz and glamour that I sometimes ascribe to him of action and heroics. He was showing me what could logically be called a nearly perfect love, only because it is earthly. But as far as I’m concerned its perfect.
Aren’t I lucky?
I love you Dad.
How can you possibly give credit to your hero? It is an impossible task, but I will attempt it.
Cheesy as it may be, but my hero undoubtedly is my Dad. He is everything you can imagine a hero to be. Strong, Independent, Intelligent, Kind, Caring, and Selfless. He is a bulldog when he needs to be, a shoulder to weep into, an imaginative man with the ability to make dolls and blankets come to life when boo boos are a plenty, and he’s even occasionally a rock star.
My dad is awesome. Consider this little ditty:
How many RPC students does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
(You pause to consider what Catholic joke may be coming).
Zero, Tom Hamel’s already done it.
And isn’t that the truth. My Dad is a man of action. Oh my goodness, things are about to get even better!! My Dad is an action hero. Perhaps that’s what RPC should give to all its grads. The Tom Hamel action figure: a Saint in the making.®
But I know he’s not perfect. He has his little faults. He eats ice cream when he knows he’s not supposed to. He is a big tease like all the men in my life. He loves ABBA (sorry Padre).
….I think this is an appropriate time to end this list.
I still like to think he’s perfect though.
So now to let you in on a not so secret family secret. It goes like this. I was a newborn and my parents were out after mass one Sunday with all of us four kids. Some family friends were sitting nearby eating their lunch as well. The Father of the other family said to my Dad “So is this your last kid?” To which my Father replied by gesturing towards Jeffrey my older brother by two and a half years “He was our last kid!” When Mom tells the story she makes sure we know that the other Father was asking something a little to personal.
But alas it is true. I am the classic Catholic surprise baby.
I came into my parent’s life in a time of great prosperity for them. I think they were quite shocked by the fact that another ‘blessing’ was coming into their lives. I’ve known about my origins since I was about 12 when I asked my Mom “How did you feel when you found out you were pregnant with me?” (Inquisitive much?) When she told she was quite surprised and the implications set in it changed how I looked at things. I was no longer the final precious planned Hamel baby, but instead I was a tragic mistake, an interruption in their already busy lives. I began to think that that was why I was born bald, with a V on my forehead, and not nearly as classically cute as the other kids. Now I know this seems ridiculous, but I’ve spoken to many other youngest children and this type of active imagination coupled with a sense of inferiority to their siblings is quite commonplace.
Of course I began to mature and realize that you can’t always trust your 12-year-old self and the dramatic musings of your heart. God does indeed work in mysterious ways and surprise us all the time with many wonderful things. But something still remained in me, egging me on year after year that I was inferior.
And so returns Tom Hamel to the story. I believe that my coming into the world changed my Dad in a way he didn’t see coming. You’d have to ask him about the exact details as it is just a notion on my behalf. I have always had a special connection with him as a result. That has always worked its way into our relationship. I can look strait into his eyes for song after song while he sings to me and plays the guitar. It is like nothing else I have experienced in my life.
My first memory is of me sitting next to Dad wrapped in zhuzhin (my baby blanket) on the downstairs stairs in the Killarney house holding on to his arm, while he played the guitar and sang the folk song ‘Lost John Riley.’ I can transport myself back to that moment in an instant. I know exactly how I felt. Safe. I felt like I would always be happy if my Daddy was around. I could look at him forever. He was perfect.
It is perhaps a memory that happened more than once through all my stages of life. Bald, blond, scrawny, even throughout puberty again and again he was there for me. We may have disagreed between these stages on everything from the mysterious disappearance of my chocolate covered pretzels from Purdy’s to why I wasn’t ever allowed to go on any dates to why he must ask me even as an adult when I leave the house where I am going and when I will be back. I still remained spellbound.
And his heart responded to mine in a similar fashion. My Mom recalled a story to me about the last time I played with my worship team at TWU, a crowning accomplishment in my life. During one of my solos he turned to her and said “Diane, she’s my favorite mistake.”
The happiest day of my life was not so long ago. I got to marry my best friend in the world, tied with Dad for the best man I know. In the back of the church right before I walked down the aisle Dad kept affirming me telling me how good this was and how he felt so secure giving me to Robbie. He told me He loved me. I tried to hold back tears failing miserably but smiling through them I told him I loved him too. And then came the affirmation I needed to know that I am loved and was planned for this world. It came at a perfect moment. He said to me something to the effect of “I’m so glad we had you Laura. I wouldn’t trade you for the world.” Those words are truth. They tell me I can conquer anything for I am truly loved and cherished. I am invincible. I am in fact the second generation Tom Hamel action figure: The Laura de Fleuriator®.
To top things off Dad wrote me a song for my wedding. It was perfect. I was so surprised. He sneakily wrote it in the basement in the months leading up to the big day. He had been playing it for months for friends and family alike when they would come to visit trying it out on them like a true artist. The name of it is ‘The girl at the top of the stairs’ commemorating his own memory of his little Laura waiting for him at the top of the stairs every day when he got home from work. The morning of the wedding he took a photo of me all ready to go to the church, veil and makeup intact standing excited looking for approval from my Daddy and Mommy at the top of the stairs. He showed that photo at the reception while he played the song. You see, my Daddy is a very thoughtful one.
The picture I’ve included below is of that very moment. Note that all three of his beautiful girls, plus little Cate are totally entranced by Tom Hamel, their hero. In that moment he was his real self removed of all the glitz and glamour that I sometimes ascribe to him of action and heroics. He was showing me what could logically be called a nearly perfect love, only because it is earthly. But as far as I’m concerned its perfect.
Aren’t I lucky?
I love you Dad.
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