Category Archives: Personal

It was way overdue.

It is way overdue, like the tomorrow that never seems to come quick enough, but perhaps that is the way of it. It needed to gather its pieces together like a snowball rolling down a mountain. With each turn, the pieces are packed tighter together so that at the end of its journey, little withstands its impact.

The #Metoo campaign has grown to encompass both women and men coming together to say: “Enough!”  It gladdens me to see people from all ethnicities, generations, ways of life opening up about their experiences. It is hard to do. I know.

The shame you feel. In my generation, the thought was that you probably deserved it. You ask for it in the way you dress. You keep quiet for the most part. You beat yourself up. You wonder. Could I have done something to stop it? You wonder. Were they right? You wonder. Did you cause it? Was the dress you wore too provocative? Did you drink more than you should have? You berate yourself for making the decision that getting from a car park to your house at night was safe enough. After all, you have done it hundreds of times in the last years.

You keep the memory of what happened closed off in a tiny compartment, deep, so deep down inside. By locking up the memory, the voice that taunts you will gradually die away you reason. It never does.

Then one morning you see that others have done the same as you. The blame, the shame, the need to keep it hidden, was not only yours to claim. And the numbers begin to mount of brave people facing their demon. Facing the belief that they were to blame and casting it aside for all eternity.

It was way overdue.

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In the flesh.

In the blogging world we get to meet all types of people. Some we click with, some we don’t. What a blessing it is when we do form a friendship, even if it is in the waves in the air between us. It does not diminish how much these friendships mean to us.

What a joy it can be when there comes a time we can meet up and actually touch.

I experienced that when I was recently in Switzerland visiting my daughter. Many moons ago a lady, with loads of wit, and I connected here through our blogs.

When she heard I was in Switzerland she drove for four hours to meet me. As I saw her sitting on the steps outside my daughter’s apartment building I knew that this was going to be one of life’s better days.

Her laugh, her joy in life, her stories, they all made me walk around with a feeling of happiness.

I so want to thank her for taking the time to add another memory to my trip to Europe. A memory that always brings a smile to my face.

Meet the ever delightfully irrepressible Em.
Meet the ever delightfully irrepressible Em.

Of course we had to have a beverage so we could have a toast or two !!!

Em and I enjoying a Swiss beer.
Em and I enjoying a Swiss beer – photo thanks to my adorable daughter.

You could pop over and meet Em yourself on her blog.

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..

 

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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Little Drummer Boy #6

How about a little rastafarian version ???

Yes there is one…and here it is.

Interesting isn’t it !!!

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Little Drummer Boy #5

And now for a version from New Zealand’s own Hayley Westenra…enjoy !!!!

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Little Drummer Boy #4

After my last slightly humorous post I thought it was time to get a bit more serious.

How many of you knew that ‘Little Drummer Boy’ was originally titled the ‘Carol of the Drum’ ?

The first official recording of this song was by the Trapp Family Singers. Yes indeedy…that Trapp family that Julie Andrews made famous in Sound of Music.

So here is their version.

You might notice that instead of “the ox and lamb kept time” the Trapp Family Singers sing “the ox and ass kept time” which was as it was originally written by Katherine Davis in 1941. There is a very interesting story about some plagiarism of this song, which I will tell you during this month of the Little Drummer Boy, once I check out that it is true.

Hope you enjoy.

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Little Drummer Boy #3

This was too cute & funny NOT to share. A drum roll please for…Little Drummer Boy – Walk off the Earth (Feat. Doggies)

If you have a couple of minutes and would like to see how they put this together then I have one more video for you. A behind the scenes which I loved watching…go the doggies !!!!

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Little Drummer Boy #2

Bob Seger is high up on my list of wonderful singers. I still have the records of his I bought back in the day.

So when I heard this I was thrilled. Hope you like it as much as I do.

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