I am a woman of many words but in this, I am without.
So I’ll tell you about crawling into her bed on early Sunday mornings and begging for stories about Antigonish and the always fabled east coast.
Edmonton, Calgary, Toronto.
Ottawa. Ottawa and the Minto hotel.
I needed to know these places. These homes that housed my momma, the indomitable supermomma, a women whom I loved more than anything and anyone in the entire world. So much so that I often wondered how – how could my little heart hold this much?
I craved her memories – needed to know, needed to see, needed to feel these things my momma had known, seen, felt – devoured every word, curled up perfectly, in a momma-sized crook, each piece of part of her life nourishing and sustaining, brightening the beat of my heart.
She brought me to life. She brought me to life.
I cannot find the words, because I am my mother. And she is me.
I am the knowledge of a world and a love manifestly bigger than my own single self.
It echoes in the hollows of my bones.
Momma, momma, momma.
Donna Marie.
Vanessa Marie.
I feel her everywhere. I see her everywhere. She’s in my fingertips when I write. She’s in my laugh with friends. She in the tree dancing in the wind outside of my home.
Tell me about Suzan.
Tell me about blueberry picking with Marilyn. Tell me about the dances and camping trips with the MacFarlanes. Tell me about the boys you liked and about the girlfriends you loved more.
I mean, I’m by no means a proper Old or anything – goodness knows.
But! Growing up I always assumed that once I neared an age that had both a three and a zero it would mean that THINGS would be SERIOUS and that I would be MATURE and, oh, I don’t know, WISE.
(Or something.)
Now, it’s not that I think I’m none of these things.
I am, of course, properly wise.
(Or something.)
But mostly, it’s so awesome to realize that age really means nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
Bupkis.
Nothing will ever be as inconsequential, fleeting and intangible as those four little numbers littered about your birth certificate, drivers licence, passport and all other personal identification pieces you have littered about your purse (or wallet, or fannypack, or what have you.)
And I mean, who actually wants to relive their early twenties?
(If you do – WHO ARE YOU? And WHY?)
Despite the fact that I spent these years with the massively excellent man to whom I am now lucky enough to call my husband (or permanent life partner in crime) I was pretty, deeply unhappy for a good portion of this time.
I was incredibly ill (suffering as I was from both anorexia and bulimia), and completely neurotic about school, and work and my constant quest for perfection in every, and all areas of my life.
It was exhausting.
And now?
I cannot even begin to explain how good it is to be able to walk by a mirror, or window, or any semi-reflective surface and not feel compelled to look at myself.
It has got to be the most freeing experience in the whole wide world, and I wouldn’t trade all the anti-wrinkle cream in the world to go back that time in my life where, like Narcissus, I was just drowning all the live-long day.
Of course I’m not going to lie and say that I don’t still struggle with perfectionism (daily), because I do (and probably always will, in some iteration or another) but I am no longer sick, and every day I get better and better at giving myself a break (or the many breaks that I deserve.)
And how awesome this that?
And you know what is more awesome?
I am finally getting to a place where I am comfortable celebrating myself and all the cool things that come along with being me.
Because dudes, I have accomplished a lot of really cool stuff in my relatively short time here on planet earth and for the longest time I refused to even acknowledge them, let along celebrate them. As a young women that just always seemed SO gauche, and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was stuck up, or a braggart, or just an insufferable jackass.
(I might be that last one, but that’s only when playing Ticket to Ride after too many glasses of white wine.)
Not quite the right photo but one that really, really makes me laugh.
And no only that, but there are so many amazing and brilliant things coming down the pipe in the next few months which leaves me with ever more reasons to celebrate: work adventures, incredible public speaking opportunities, radio show hosting gigs, half-marathons, Tough Mudder, trips to the Okanagan, Chicago, and Hawaii, and so much more!
PLUS –
Five years ago, Marc and I bought our first home (our exquisite town-home that I love very, very much), andvery soon we will be moving to our first real house-home!
Not to mention the fact that I have the most amazing, life-affirming and life-enriching friends, many of whom will be coming over to have a massive dance party with us next Saturday.
And even though they live so gosh-darned far away,my family are my rocks, and they make all the beautiful diamonds and gems of this world shimmer just the more.
Finally, I am married to my best friend, the greatest man I will ever know.
…
Man.
The simple act of just typing out those words makes me SO excited for not just the next season or two, but for the bloody next twenty-nine years!
She’s brilliant, and beautiful, and utterly fab, and I love her more than can be properly communicated on ye Olde Rant and Roll.
And it’s her birthday!
As I will be seeing her in exactly two weeks, when the family descends upon New York for my sister’s wedding festivities, I didn’t send her card in the mail (plus Canada post is notoriously slow).
Also, one thing to know about my momma is that she is a Buddhist, zen master extraordinaire, so in her quest to reach nirvana she has shunned all worldly possessions.
(And yet despite this fact, I cannot seem to stop buying her all the beautiful jewelry that reminds me of her.)
I’m working on it, okay?
(Just not that hard.)
However, as soon as I saw this card I KNEW that I had to purchase it:
I mean, how perfect is that?
Momma, I love you to death, and if I could buy you a lifetime supply of nothing (or, at the very least, all the salmon and salads in the world), I would.
What I did eat was absolute garbage, and mostly just consisted of one thing: doughnuts.
I arrived home way past my usual ETA – deflated, rain-splattered, and exhausted.
Holed up on the couch, I ate some carrots, and watched a few episodes of Arrested Development, before schlepping my rickety bones up to bed.
By 9 o’clock I was out like a light.
And oh how I slept.
Today, thank goodness, was different.
The rain was good enough to stay away, and my workload was manageable.
I even only ate one doughnut. ONE!
(Seriously, any day where I stick to one dessert per meal is a win in my books.)
It’s also my big sister’s birthday.
I miss this beauty cat more than you could possibly know, and it makes my little heart sad knowing that I cannot be with her to help her celebrate. However, I take solace in knowing that in but a few short weeks I will be there in New York PARTYING IT DOWN, feting her wedding like my life depends on it.
So happy birthday Kate! You are the most magnificent big sis a gal could ever hope for.
In other wonderful news, today I met up with Ms. Laura Beth of Perched on a Whim AND IT WAS AWESOME.
Inspiring.
Hilarious.
And just plain old fabulous.
She is in town visiting with her husband, and I was lucky enough to catch her before they took off for the wild, bewildering beauty of Whistler village.
I couldn’t have asked for a better lunch hour.
Sometimes you meet people and everything just clicks. It’s easy – the conversation, the rhythm, the energy.
Our time together, although brief, left me energized and enthused.
What an amazing thing that we could connect through our writing, and have the chance to meet each other in person.
The world truly is a magical place!
AND YOU GUYS.
My first blogger meet up!
This just means I will get to meet more of you, right?
Because goodness knows you all do light up my life.
It’s my birthday in two days, and as such I’ve been gifted with some pretty sweet swag from Sephora:
Seriously, all you need to do is purchase one expensive blush there ONE TIME, and two years later they’re still giving you free stuff!
Now that is the kind of relationship I can get behind.
So yes, this Sunday I turn twenty-eight years old, which officially vaults me into the “late-twenties” catagory.
This is fabulous, because it means that my actual age is finally catching up to what I feel to be my “inner age” – a number that I imagine hovers somewhere around seventy-two, give or take a few tubes of Polydent.
GET OFF MY LAWN YOU YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPERS!
Ahem.
Meanwhile, my “outer age” seems to be suffering from a whacked-out case of Benjamin Buttons, as I can’t seem to go anywhere without getting IDed.
Just the other day I was carded at 7-11 while trying to buy a one dollar scratch and win.
(As you can imagine, my life is pretty much a continual stream of glitz and glamour.)
Of course, being me, I didn’t have any ID on me, (because who brings their whole wallet on a late-night jaunt about the neighbourhood?) so I wasn’t able to complete my purchase.
I was all: LOOK LADY – I’LL TAKE IT, BUT NEXT TIME GIVE ME THE DANG GOLD RUSH AND NO ONE GETS HURTS, YA DIG?
Then I took my can of coke and ran out of the joint laughing like a maniac.
(That didn’t actually happen.)
(OR DID IT?)
This weekend, Mr. M and I are going to gussy ourselves up for a fancy-schmancy dinner on Saturday night, and then it’s off to the familial units on Sunday afternoon for more pageantry and more importantly, some sweet, sweet Superbowl action.
(Or as myself and many others have taken to calling it: The SUPERBAUGH.)
To be honest though, I was so super (har har) bummed when Seattle was eliminated (WHY OH WHY DID YOU CALL THAT TIME OUT PETE!?) that I’m a little less than enthused about the two teams competing the finals. However, if I had to pick a team, I’m going for San Fran because I don’t think I have it in my being to actually cheer for Ray Lewis.
I cannot stand that guy.
I’ll have to wait a week to celebrate with friends, as VanComedy Fest is next Friday, but I figure what better time to jam that after some crack-up comedy?
And in the meantime…
Fry-up time!
Sister acts.
So I don’t know if you are all acquainted with the awesome Canadian power due that is Tegan and Sara (they are two sisters from Calgary, Alberta), but if you’re not, you should probably rectify this situation at once.
These gals have been making rad music for years, but their most recent release is much “poppier” than their older records, and being the pop-lover than I am, I really can’t get enough of it.
So if you have a hankering for some mad dancing about your house, please let me recommend the following:
Last weekend I was in full-on cleaning mode and I must have listened to this song well near twenty times.
Plus, this music video is pretty much exactly what I imagined every one of my birthday parties would be, during my years as a permanently love-struck, doe-eyed teenage girl.
(Unfortunately, it never did happen.)
(OR DID IT?)
Next!
Olive garden.
So the other night I returned home from work to a startlingly cold and very much empty house, what with my husband having to work late, and the temperatures hovering just above zero degree centigrade outside.
My whole neighbourhood was socked in with a low-hanging, thick, wet fog, and just walking home from skytrain had left me feeling well-soaked and completely ravenous.
After taking off my boots and putting on the fireplace, I immediately set about preparing a dinner that would both quell my hunger pains and warm-up my frigid little body.
(I may have taken a few minutes to cuddle with my kitten before commencing dinner preparations.)
The end result was a meal of spaghetti with tomatoes, olives, basil and fresh mozzarella, accompanied by crunchy French bread and a massive mug of earl grey tea (not exactly the most traditional drink, I know, but goodness knows if it wasn’t needed to rejig my sluggish circulation.)
Rant and Roll 