Read the beginning here.

It’s quite humbling to think about how we become acquainted with people who leave a mark, an imprint if you will, in our lives. I don’t think it’s happenstance or consequence that we meet others in that type of scenario, there’s definitely a bigger plan out there. There’s something that John Edward always says at the end of his shows, “Take time to communicate, appreciate and validate” loved ones in our lives, and I really think that’s important.

I had a tough time when I was in California. I won’t go into it (mainly because this is such an open forum), but needless to say, it was not something I really wish to revisit or hash out. If you’ve seen Single White Female, that’s all I’m saying. Due to these circumstances, and a few beyond my control, I lost touch with my dear Italian friend, R.N.

When I was compiling wedding invitations, I searched to find her address and found nothing in my entries under N. Hoping I had misfiled it, I searched under R too, to no avail. I could remember her mother’s name, Ana, but not her father’s. I had just affectionately named him Papino, just like R. had in my company.

Over the years, she would pop into my mind quite frequently and I would ache to just find her. After Ian was born, I tried again in vain to search for her online with no success. I never gave up hope of finally locating her, but my zealousness to continue searching (in vain) diminished. Again, when Cameron was born, I went looking for her. Anything for some glimmer of hope.

On 5th September 2007, I was sitting in the basement of my mother-in-law’s home (we went down for a visit with the boys, stopping off at Yellowstone first, for a few days) watching Ian play with cars and glancing up now-and-then to check Cameron wasn’t getting into anything he shouldn’t have been. I was sitting on a rocker, mindlessly going through my e-mails, when R. popped into my head. I nonchalantly pulled up Goggle and typed in her name. There was one complete match, but I had to check it out. I went to the website, clicked on member profiles and typed in her first name. There was seven others with the same name, good odds, I thought. I checked through the profiles, sometimes with only an age to go by. I sat and tried to remember how old she was and it was killing me that I couldn’t recall it. I knew she was younger than I, I just couldn’t remember by how much.

It had to be more than sheer luck that the website asked in the profiles which languages each member could speak fluently in. I had four names to go and clicked on the next one. And there it was: Italian, English, French and Spanish. I knew she could speak fluent Spanish because it’s her mother’s native tongue. I also knew she studied French in High School, and her sister taught her English.

I had to be sure, so I checked the final two underneath.

On a whim, and a lot of hope, I blind e-mailed her, short and sweet, nothing too revealing. (I didn’t want to shame myself in case it wasn’t her.)

Are you R.N.?

The next day, I received my response that I had been waiting on for almost 8 years. And let me tell you, eight years is a very long time.

Yes I am R.N. and you are???

I sat and quietly sobbed. I had found my friend and it was almost too difficult to believe. The years rushed away as I sat and stared at her response, knowing I had finally put an end to the mystery. I decided right there that I would never lose her again.

After I responded, she wrote back, elated as I was, and made a comment that emotively portrayed how I had felt.

HELLO!!! I am very very very happy to get your email!! I have been thinking about you a lot in all this time and was always wondering where you were. I don’t even know where to start…..too many things to ask you and to tell you… Well first of all I am too excited to get your email, it was a real shame we lost contact but I kept you in a corner of my heart the whole time!

For all the things I appreciate that 2007 has brought me, this certainly is at the top of the list. I am very grateful that I never gave up hope, but especially blessed that I can now share my life with her instantaneously in real time through Instant Messenger.

laldy:

An odd word, meaning punishment or enthusiastic participation.  To give it laldy means to give one’s utmost enthusiasm and effort to whatever it is one is doing:

“Aye, yer granda used tae gie us laldy wi’ a slipper for the likes a that.”

I don’t care if this is true or not, it’s still funny!

I have always felt that many of the folks at Wal-Mart weren’t the sharpest knives in the drawer, this story only validates my theory that incompetence knows no bounds.

We had a ‘going away’ party yesterday for a lady at our Little Rock claim office. One of the supervisors called a Wal-Mart and ordered the cake.

He told them to write:

“Best Wishes Suzanne” and underneath that write “We will miss you”.

As the picture shows, it didn’t quite turn out like we anticipated, but it was too funny not to keep it.

I was going to touch on another subject tonight, but have decided to postpone it until I air out my brain on this one.

Bryan educated me tonight on a new phrase, acronym, if you will:  DINK.  For those feeling left out, you may be able to refer to yourself as a SINK, if it applies.  So, are you wondering what a DINK is?  (I’ll pretend you said “yes” here.)

DINK is Double Income No Kids.
SINK is Single Income No Kids.

I know that rearing children shouldn’t be delved into blindly or taken lightly, there are responsibilities to fulfill and sacrifices to make in every aspect of your new life with a little one around.  But I can’t help but feel saddened and discombobulated, empty even, that someone took the effort to coin this phrase.

Bryan and I would definitely be in better standing financially and have unrivaled security for our futures if we had decided to take our lives down a different pathway.  However, I just can’t imagine not having the boys in my life.  It brings tears to my eyes just thinking of it.  My children love me unconditionally, and hopefully always will, and they bring me so much joy and happiness.  I know I couldn’t find anything close to it elsewhere in life.  No amount of toys or possessions could make me want to revert to a life without them, and I know unequivocally that if I had the chance to go back and make the decision again, knowing what I know now, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

There were quite a few consecutive months in Layton, Utah where we could barely make ends meet, and quite frankly, sometimes we didn’t.  We had our two credit cards paid down to a very enviable amount, and they soon were going in reverse at an alarming rate — just to put food on the table.  We didn’t go out to eat, not even McDonald’s, we didn’t have a “date night” or see movies, we couldn’t rent any, not even for a dollar at McDonalds’ Red Box.  No amount of clothing was purchased, in fact, when Ian was about 9 months old he maybe had around 14 pieces of clothing total.  We just had to make do.  I had to de-snob and buy store-brand items, I even grew my hair out, just to save $22 every six weeks.  Life wasn’t easy, and sometimes barely manageable, but we survived through it.  To add to the equation, there were the work allegations and threatenings of dismissal, which ironically coincided to-the-very-day with the new pregnancy.

The offer of the new position with a different company was definitely a shock to the system.  Things would be changing, and fast!  The interview took place on 24th July 2006, and by 20th September, we had signed the papers on our new home in Montana.

I sincerely doubt that Bryan’s career circumstances would have been different in Utah, but I know that he and I would have been making a considerable amount of money.  We would have been driving newer cars and owned the things we needed in life (like a new couch), but things don’t really matter to me.  We have two beautiful sons who delight and amaze us every day.  Just tonight in the SUV heading home, Ian was asking to go back to “the hallway”.  It took Bryan a minute but he mumbled to me, “I think he means the Mall.”  It’s amazing how little minds work.  And after we got home, I held Cameron at eye level with the bird (a cockatiel).  A huge smile spread over his face and he breathed excitedly, then out of the blue he said, “Dee-dee!”

A plasma telly would be nice, but would it make me squeal with delight, bring tears to my eyes AND fill me brimming with pride like this did to me?  I doubt it.  People have their reasons for opting not to bring children into their lives, and I respect that, but I know I wouldn’t change a thing.  I’d rather be SIK any day.

I really love the advice below. Stellar. It appeals to the sarcastic ‘mother’ in me and the lover of English prose. It may have been prudent to post this at the beginning of November…hahaha.

1. Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.

2. Never use a preposition to end a sentence with. Winston Churchill, corrected on this error once, responded to the young man who corrected him by saying “Young man, that is the kind of impudence up with which I will not put!

3. And don’t start a sentence with a conjunction.

4. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.

5. Avoid clichés like the plague. (They’re old hat.)

6. Also, always avoid annoying alliteration.

7. Be more or less specific.

8. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (usually) unnecessary.

9. Also too, never, ever use repetitive redundancies endlessly over and over again.

10. No sentence fragments.

11. Contractions aren’t always necessary and shouldn’t be used to excess so don’t.

12. Foreign words and phrases are not always apropos.

13. Do not be redundant; do not use more words than necessary; it’s highly superfluous and can be excessive.

14. All generalisations are bad.

15. Comparisons are as bad as clichés.

16. Don’t use no double negatives.

17. Avoid excessive use of ampersands & abbrevs., etc.

18. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

19. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake (Unless they are as good as gold).

20. The passive voice is to be ignored.

21. Eliminate commas, that are, not necessary. Parenthetical words, however, should be enclosed in commas.

22. Never use a big word when substituting a diminutive one would suffice.

23. Don’t overuse exclamation points!!!

24. Use words correctly, irregardless of how others use them.

25. Understatement is always the absolute best way to put forth earth-shaking ideas.

26. Use the apostrophe in it’s proper place and omit it when its not needed and use it correctly with words’ that show possession.

27. Don’t use too many quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.”

28. If you’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a billion times: Resist hyperbole; not one writer in a million can use it correctly. Besides, hyperbole is always overdone, anyway.

29. Puns are for children, not groan readers.

30. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

31. Even IF a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

32. Who needs rhetorical questions? However, what if there were no rhetorical questions?

33. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement.

34. Avoid “buzz-words”; such integrated transitional scenarios complicate simplistic matters.

35. People don’t spell “a lot” correctly alot of the time.

36. Each person should use their possessive pronouns correctly.

37. All grammar and spelling rules have exceptions (with a few exceptions)….Morgan’s Law.

38. Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.

39. The dash – a sometimes useful punctuation mark – can often be overused – even though it’s a helpful tool some of the time.

40. Proofread carefully to make sure you don’t repeat repeat any words.

41. In writing, it’s important to remember that dangling sentences.

41. When numbering in a written document, check your numbering system carefully.

42. It is important to use italics for emphasis sparingly.

43. In good writing, for good reasons, under normal circumstances, whenever you can, use prepositional phrases in limited numbers and with great caution.

44. Avoid going out on tangents unrelated to your subject — not the subject of a sentence — that’s another story (like the stories written by Ernest Hemingway, who by the way wrote the great fisherman story The Old Man and the Sea).

45. Complete sentences. Like rule 10.

46. Unless you’re a righteous expert don’t try to be too cool with slang to which you’re not hip.

47. If you must use slang, avoid out-of-date slang. Right on!

48. You’ll look poorly if you misuse adverbs.

49. Use the ellipsis ( . . . ) to indicate missing . . .

50. Use brackets to indicate that you [ not Shakespeare, for example ] are giving people [ in your class ] information so that they [ the people in your class ] know about whom you are speaking. But do not use brackets when making these references [ to other authors ] excessively.

51. Note: People just can’t stomach too much use of the colon.

52. Between good grammar and bad grammar, good grammar is the best.

53. There are so many great grammar rules that I can’t decide between them.

54. In English, unlike German, the verb early in the sentence, not later, should be placed.

55. When you write sentences, shifting verb tense is bad.

I like to think of music as being a warm blanket around your soul. It’s an extremely powerful medium and can evoke many different feelings and emotions. It possesses an inherent ability to both entertain and heal, all with the touch of a button; many times pulling us back to a fond memory - or as the case may be, not so fond and down right unwanted.

It can whisk you back like a time machine to a milestone in your life, bringing with it those thoughts and feelings that made your day so memorable. It can also provoke feelings of contempt or sorrow, rewinding the years to a time where the less time spent meandering down memory lane the better.

Music is also a great tool in teaching, and can oftentimes project a message with more eloquence and vigor than the most gifted of tutors.

I have always had a great love for many different genres of music. Some I have admittedly learned to tolerate, albeit badly.

Some of my favourite pieces of music are found more prevalently during this time of year. More recently, I have grown to have a greater appreciation for all types of Christmas music: the quiet reverence, the wool-blanket-and-cocoa, or the jolly holidays types. Some of my favourites include: “Pie Jesu”, “O Holy Night”, Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar-plum Fairy” and intriguingly, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.”

However, as with everything in life, there are equal and opposite reactions. Here are but a few of the musical epitaphs that typically make me want to rip my ears off so that I’ll have something to pound the life out of my speakers with:

“Hey Santa!” - Carnie and Wendy Wilson
“Feliz Navidad” - José Feliciano
“Christmas Shoes” - New Song

Honourable mentions:

Anything by Karen Carpenter.
The line: ‘Christmas comes this time each year … ‘ (no frickin’ kiddin’ Sherlock) from “Merry Christmas, Baby” by The Beach Boys.

Which holiday songs both delight and disgust you? I’m interested to know …

Anyway, I had a point.

For Hallowe’en, we went to our local Church’s Trunk or Treat.  Everyone was asked to bring chili, so I obliged.  I thought variety might be the best approach, so I searched for a great Chili Verde recipe, as I had never made it before.  You know the kind, a soft green colour, made with chicken and not beef.

Anyway, I got there, sat my covered casserole dish down and opened it up.  A sweet old man who is known for his incessant teasing stopped and stared at it.

“What’s that?  That’s not chili.”
“It’s Chili Verde”, I offered.
*silence, crickets chirping*
“It’s made with green salsa and chicken instead of ground beef.”
“Oh.”

I made it again for dinner tonight and couldn’t help but think about the potential ruckus I could have caused.

Welcome to Montana.

I walked into the kitchen to find something for breakfast.  The closer I approached the fridge, the quicker caution and reason was thrown to the wind.  So, what was for breakfast?  Perhaps a fresh, creamy non-fat blueberry yogurt?  A few pancakes with a drizzle of maple syrup and a small teasing of Country Crock spread?  Maybe some warm toast smothered with blackberry jam and a glass of cold, fresh orange juice?

No.

Heapings of leftover homemade trifle still in the bowl, with a big spoon.

I can’t be accused of being a bad example either.  We offered Ian a bowlful a few hours after dinner last night.  His eyes were huge and I could hear him getting fatter as we ran through a few of the key ingredients: custard, jell-o and fresh cream.

“I don’t like it,” he muttered, after taking a bite.

He’s no son of mine!

In April of 1999, I met an amazing young woman.  No, it wasn’t me.  We went through training together and became instant friends.  I make friends quite easily, but this was easier than easy, it felt natural, normal.  I felt like I had known her my whole life after just the first day of being around her.  She took her seat next to me and that was the beginning of getting to know someone I would love dearly.  She became the best friend I’ve ever had, someone I would later dub my little sister.

The first week of July, we became room mates after I moved towns to share a flat with her.  I had so much fun with her, talking into the late hours, laughing and joking, and talking cryptically about guys with her when they stood right in front of us.  She literally filled a space in my heart that I didn’t know was empty.

We would head to work to IBM together, we both worked in the call centre logging hardware fault calls for huge corporations, small businesses and end users: my desk in the UK team, and hers in the Italian team, 100 feet from me.  At home, she would teach me Italian (which I learned to almost speak fluently after just 5 months, thanks to her) and I would teach her how to speak English with a Scottish accent.  She was very convincing and was mistaken for someone from Glasgow many times.

In December of that year, I moved to California and was so sad to leave her.  She had become such an important and integral part of my life.  But that wasn’t the worst of it.  Little did I know I would be so crushed literally months later.  And just because of something I didn’t do.

to be continued…

nyaff:

A disparaging term for a despicable or irritating person, especially one small in stature:

“Tell that wee nyaff Ah’m gauny boot his arse fae here tae Govan*.”

The word seems to derive from an older Scots term for the bark of a little dog.  Interestingly enough though, Partridge’s Dictionary of Slang refers to a Parisian slang word gniaffe (a term of abuse for a man) which would have a similar pronunciation.  Perhaps the Académie Française would cite this an example of the Auld Alliance corrupting the French language.

Incidentally, this word is a favourite of my Mum’s.

* Govan is an area of Glasgow.