Capri, Italy
Capri, Italy

It’s been a while…

I know, I know…of late my blogging has been atrocious. This week for my local writer’s group I had the task of writing a letter to a dead relative/friend. Strange subject I know…and guess who set the task ??

Yes…it was me. I am learning there are few coincidences in life. I know from writing the following piece that I had a need to say these things to a father that can no longer hear them.

But the process of taking these thoughts from my brain and placing them on paper was very good for me. I can move on. I can love with open arms and no expectations, and not be afraid.

Dear Dad,

Earlier this month I took a moment to ponder what it would have been like to still have you here. You would now be 107 years old, and I wondered if time might have made you different. Seemingly out of nowhere came a thought. Common sense tells me that of course nothing comes out of nowhere. That our thoughts are simply pulsating deep feelings that we may try to bury, yet like an earthquake they will eventually erupt and arise to the surface. My thought was this. Love and hate are very closely bonded together. I realised that when I think of you in the quiet moments I waver between the two.

I remember and love the moments we shared. It was only as I became an adult I truly appreciated how you suffered through my learning to cook, never expressing what you must have felt about some of the awful missteps in the kitchen that still made their way on to your plate. You generally ate every mouthful, and for that I loved you. I also remember you teaching me to drive, and wonder just how you made it through that period without suffering a serious heart attack. There are many of these memories that pop up. Often they surface when not expected, but they give me a sense of peace.

I also remember how you broke me in to so many pieces that 20 years later I am still finding cracks. It was not until after you died that I realised how like Pop you were. I should have seen the signs; perhaps I did but chose to ignore them.

Family was in fact a burden to you. When it came down to it, like Pop, you were not above exploiting that family for your own needs. As I reflect, one memory in particular arises again and again. It was painful at the time. It is still painful. Conceivably that is why for many decades I buried it deep inside. I was an eight year old, getting to know her mother for the first time. Using guile and guilt you tried so hard to bring me to heel. When I take that memory apart now I see a selfishness I had refused to acknowledge in you.

Put that aside…and oh how I loved you. I still do. I always will.

You left this world in 1996. You left it leaving behind your signature on some papers that would do exactly what I believe you wished for. Papers and a signature that would tear me in to little pieces. I know that you had no way of knowing what a vulnerable state I was already in, because I kept from you the news that my marriage was falling apart. So for a time…even broken as I was by your action…I did not hold you to account.

When the news came to me days after your death of your decision to cut me so completely, at first I felt nothing. I moved from room to room in my newly rented house, and often wondered how I came to be standing where I was. I dressed and fed my two children, your grandchildren, yet a part of me was disconnected from everything in my world.

One day while I was cleaning out the pantry, my disconnection, the very thing that had held me together for those few weeks, dissolved. As did I. I lay amongst the tins and packets of food on my kitchen floor and piece by tiny piece cracked open so wide that feeling the world around me became a painful thing.

A hug from my children, seeing a butterfly land on a flower, a summer shower…all those little things that had once given me such peaceful joy now caused more pain than you can imagine. It was as if any pleasurable thing that touched me wore a coat of acid.

For years the pain of living with what you did seemed simply too much. The pain of knowing my father was the cause seemed simply too much.

In the following years many things happened, and the adulthood I had so longed to postpone found its way to me. My children were a large part of my learning about the world. I learned that I could love so deeply and so unconditionally that I was in truth…nothing like you. With that revelation came some peace. With that peace came some forgiveness. Not only for you but also for me. I forgave you. I forgave myself for still loving you. You who could consciously cause a child of yours so much pain, so much sorrow. I promised myself to learn to be everything you were not.

I would love my children…with no conditions applied, with no expectations that their lives were mine to control or to exploit. Love is often a surprise to me. Having never really felt secure in love I was a prime candidate to be like you. To seek it, to demand it, to hoard it. I imagine there is more of my mother in me than I will ever know. Because I have learned that love is not to be controlled. It is only when you embrace it with loose arms so it is free to leave when it desires, that you ever truly experience the peace and the joy of it. And I wonder if you saw the part of me like Mum, and that is what drove you to wreak such destruction. In trying to punish me you were also trying to obliterate her in payback.

When it came time to write this letter to you I was surprised to find that feelings I thought of as gone, were actually just in hiding. Love and hate. The two ends of the spectrum of emotions. I hate what you did. Still. But…yes, with me there always seems to be a but, I am also thankful for it, even if I can never grasp what drove you to inflict pain of that magnitude on your own child. No matter what you perceived my guilt to be.

Asking a pregnant woman to choose between the two most important men in her life was unjust. Clutching your perceived sense of being wronged when you were the one who forced the choice in the first place was unjust. Unjust and unkind. And once again I am surprised at myself. When I take my memories out and lay them before me I see that in fact you were not a kind man unless it suited you. A kind man would never have allowed the police to hold his 18 year old daughter responsible for a car crash, when he was the driver, and drunk at that.

Perhaps I am now the one being unkind, for the possibility exists that you did not fully comprehend the fall out from your actions. Yes the possibility is there. The probability and the likelihood of that being the case, sadly is minimum. The child that still lives on me would love to latch on to that possibility and therefore be able to imagine her father as a kind man, a just man. The adult in me knows better. The parent in me is uncompromising in her revulsion of the cruelty of your action.

So there in lies the hate part.

And the love, where does that come in to play? In forgiving you, and forgiving myself for still loving such a father. Through forgiveness I have learned to love and love freely. I have learned that even if love is not returned, as we would wish, the act of loving itself is a blessing. I have learned that a love that has no expectation except to be given is the purest form of love, the one that gives the most reward.

You Dad, with your love that was wrapped in expectations, and punishment should those expectations not be met, yes you, taught me how to love without expectation of any kind.

Your lessons though oft times uncompromising and harsh, were for me, lessons I now believe I needed as I went my way in this world. You taught me how love should be, could be, and luckily for me, is.

How can I do anything else but be grateful to you for teaching me what is the most important lesson I have ever learned, for handing me a way to learn the true value of love ?

Love freely given.

Love without expectation.

Love that compromises.

Love that is unconditional.

Love that seeks no reward other than the pleasure of loving.

So there in lies the love part.

Ever your daughter,

Love Joanne.

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And if you are new to my blog, or just haven’t read some of these…a few posts that will maybe explain the crazy existence of me..


Been taking a break…again

I find myself in awe of all the bloggers out there who continually post. I have been taking another break…not really sure why. Seems like my blogging mojo had gone and done a runner, but I am trying to get it to come back home.

Now I know this is not technically a wordless post but that is actually how it started off…so here is the picture I wanted to post before I got carried away with my thoughts.

2015-11-10 12.25.32

My very clever friend Margaret made this for me and another friend for lunch one day. I LOVE invites to Margaret’s house for food. It is always amazing…thank goodness for friends who are great cooks I say !!!!
Salmon & Crab Mousse with Fresh Dill Dressing
220 gram red salmon, drained
220 gram crab, drained
2/3 cup thickened cream
1/2 cup thousand island dressing
1/4 cup chopped pickled onions
1 teaspoon dry mustard
1 tablespoon gelatine [one tablespoon of powdered agar agar can be used in place of one tablespoon of powdered gelatine for those us who have given up eating meat and meat products because we love our animal friends way too much to eat them]
2 tablespoons water
Dill Dressing: 1/2 cup sour cream, 2 tablespoons French dressing, 1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill. Combine all ingredients thoroughly.
Blend salmon, crab, cream, dressing, mustard and onions until smooth.
Sprinkle gelatine over water, dissolve over a pan of hot water, cool and stir into salmon mixture.
Pour mixture into 6 individual serving dishes (1/2 cup capacity).
Refrigerate several hours until set.
Turn onto serving plates and serve with dressing.

Little Drummer Boy #13 & #14

Love hearing this in another language. It does not lose its charm one bit. And their voices are like honey.

Just one more…seeing as Christmas is nearly here…this time in Woodland Cree…enjoy.

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Did a little HAPPY dance today.

So this is not a Little Drummer Boy post, because I have something else to share with you.

I have become involved with our local A & P Show. Helping to run the photography competition, and a few other things. I was also involved in helping with the signs to advertise it.

Today when coming home from Tauranga I saw the sign. My images up on a billboard for everyone to see.

I did a U turn and went back to take a photo…but not before I did a little HAPPY dance. Feeling ridiculously proud right now.


Every photo is one of mine.

Every one.

Just about bursting with happiness.

So of course I interrupted my scheduled posts to share this news with you.

Little Drummer Boy #11 & #12

I apologise ahead of time for this one…but it has to be seen [& heard] to be believed.

To make up for THAT…here is a lovely version.

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Little Drummer Boy #10

Gregorian & Amelia Brightman – Peace on earth (little drummer boy).

This really is a beautiful version. I know…it is not only Little Drummer Boy, but the combination is just joyful. Enjoy !!!


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Little Drummer Boy #9

There was no way I could not include a Chipmunk version of this song…just no way.

I will forever be an ALVIN fan.

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Little Drummer Boy #8

Twentieth-Century Fox Records label contracted Harry Simeone asking that he make a Christmas album in 1958. Simeone assembled a group he called “The Harry Simeone Chorale” and began his search for material. Simeone was introduced to an obscure song by friend and credited song co-author Henry Onorati, titled “Carol of the Drum”. Simeone changed the title to “The Little Drummer Boy”. He recorded the song for his album Sing We Now of Christmas. The single “The Little Drummer Boy” quickly became extremely popular and rose to number 13 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart.

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Little Drummer Boy #7

Sorry it took so long to post a new version…but life has a way of getting in the middle and throwing all good intentions out the window.

I love this version…hope you do too.

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