Another Milestone

So we've reached another marker point for the twins.

They went to their first day of school today. All in all it went well. Last night I was surprisingly nervous about today. When I was finally able to sleep, I had odd dreams, etc.

Then this morning the kids wanted to get up and go right away, but they weren't scheduled until the afternoon session, which made them pretty cranky.

After a fairly long morning, it was finally time to go. They put on their uniforms and I got them in the car. As I pulled into the parking space, my daughter jumped out of her seat and said, "OK, Mom, you can go. We'll go on from here."

Needless to say, I didn't listen to her.

My son wasn't quite so brave. He did well until it was time for me to leave, then he chased after me sobbing for me to stay.

His teacher finally had to pick him up and carry him back in the classroom and shut the door (after I assured him with one more kiss and hug).

It must have worked (as it almost always does) because when it was time for me to pick them up, he waltzed out like he was old hat at it.

This evening I got a little wistful (but no tears on my part, first nor last, as some had predicted). I remember someone had once said that once they go to school, we lose them.

I understand that now.

I can only give them a hug and kiss and hope for the best (and hopefully it's still a long way off until they stop letting me be affectionate with them).

Hope when all hope is gone

I will make no excuses for my absence, but merely continue with my musings.

Lacking a penseive, this will serve to ease my overloaded mind.

I have been in a thoughtful mood today. Not as in considerate (though I try to be so) but as in full of thoughts, pensive.

And as often happens with such moods, I start thinking about Dwayne.

And I realized that it has been almost nine years since he went missing. And it still hurts, and I still turn around when walking down a crowded street, expecting to see him loping toward me, his lopsided smile unchanged.

To clear any confusion, I met Dwayne in high school through a friend of mine, whom he was dating. Even after they split, we remained very close friends. I went away to uni, and he went on to BC for work, and still we talked as often as we could. I remember that he lost my number once, and made phone call after phone call back to Newfoundland, to track down my number at uni. He was worried that I would be concerned because I hadn't heard from him in a while; he just wanted me to know he was ok, and that he loved me and all.

And then a few weeks later I got a call from my friend, the one whom he had previously dated. She told me that he had gone missing.

I said no, it wasn't possible, it hadn't been that long since we talked. She assured me it was true.

I outwardly accepted it, meanwhile thinking, "It'll be ok, he'll turn up soon enough".

Here it is, nine years later, and I still haven't given up. He'll turn up.

He used to play the song "Stay" by Shakespeare's Sister when we would talk on the phone. I can't hear that song without thinking of him and wishing he had only heeded the words.

If this picture is recognizable to anyone, please reply or contact the RCMP. Keep in mind that it is a nine year old photo, and his features would have most certainly altered by now. I am not the only one missing Dwayne. He has a circle of family and friends that are praying for his return.

Summer Work Sucks

I didn't mind going to classes during the intercession. Some of them were the most interesting lectures and discussions we've had since entering the program, in my opinion.

However, I am finding it increasingly difficult to stay focussed when I am trying to write my term papers.

I am sitting at my computer on a beautiful Saturday morning, discussing Frye's use of the word code in his book "The Great Code" when I could be off swimming, playing around, or better yet, on the west coast for the come home celebrations.

I really did want to attend. I thought I might sneak away for a few days, just to go to my highschool reunion, however that is not even possible right now. I have two twenty page papers that need to be finished, in rough copy form, by this coming Friday.

All I can say is blech.

The F-Bomb

My beloved daughter, who always gives the most gracious gifts, and surprises, (and who I might add is somewhat precocious ~ not that I know where she would get that from) laid one on us today.

From the title, you can surmise the nature of said surprise.

I was at my mother's house, sitting at her desk, checking my email. Mom was sitting on the bed next to me, doing something or other. The kids were playing (nicely, for once, I might add) on the floor.

All of a sudden, Eden said, "Well, that's f@#king different Connor". Or some such sentence. You can gather which word I focused on, and not paying attention to much else.

Now, I will admit that I am pretty lax about many things. I really don't care who says what words, it would take a lot more than that to offend me.

However, I am not keen on my four year old laying the f-bomb out quite so cavalierly.

Trying not to crack up laughing (which was fairly easy, after all, I just had to look at the abhorred look on my mother's face), I calmly sat her down, asked her where she heard the word, and explained that such a word can make people sad, and please don't say it again.

Once she realized I wasn't angry, she was happy enough to drop it from her vocabulary.

When she's 16 we can have a right laugh over it. (Just don't tell my mother).

Here's the potty-mouth. She looks so innocent, doesn't she?

homesick

I have been spending much more time on the west coast than I originally expected after returning to St. John's yet again.

This has been for a variety of reasons. One of the major ones is that I feel compelled to spend as much time as I can with Leah. Not to give out too much private information, but she is a cousin of mine. That is not the correct term though. She is more like a sister to me. As the story goes, D'Arcy was almost seven before he found out she was NOT his sister.

Rather than digressing too much on that part of the story, suffice to say, we are close, and she is dealing with some pretty heavy health issues at this time.

On one of my recent trips to the left coast, Leah and I watched the movie "P.S. I Love You". I will not spend my time here expounding the value of the film. Rather I need to explain something, and perhaps work it out in my head.

Some of the major characters are Irish in this film, and part of it is set in Ireland.

I enjoy the movie for a variety of reasons, but while watching it, I had the strange feeling of homesickness wash over me.

How can I be homesick for a place that I have never been?

This is how I feel whenever I see/hear/talk about Ireland.

I don't want to wish the next year of my life away, but it just seems as though everything is centered around my waiting to get there.

Once I get there, will I return to Newfoundland at some point?

Of course. I have to get my kids. But I may very well do an about face and go back to the place that seems to be calling out to me for reasons unknown.

The gypsy that I am

After one of my characteristic lapses in writing, here I am again to spin out some of the musings of my (often) overcrowded mind.

As can be seen in the development of this blog, I seem to be floundering about, and trying to grab hold of something that seems to be just beyond my grasp, as though creating definition will somehow provide a hitherto unknown purpose to the otherwise seemingly episodic nature of my life.

As of now, I am content.

That is not to say that there are things I wouldn't like to change in my life. Far from it rather. There are always present things that one would prefer to be altered. However, I am consciously choosing to focus on the pleasing aspects of my existence.

With that said, it is difficult to maintain this perspective, when the repeated refrain from family and friends is, "So, have you found someone YET?"

Yes, I am 29 and single. No, I have never maintained a lasting, meaningful relationship. Yes, I do have two children.

While this sometimes plays on my mind (usually after a drawn out conversation during which I have -- again-- explained that there is no one in my life, and there is no one I am particularly drawn to at this time) I recognize the fact that all in all I rather enjoy the relative freedom my life offers.

I have two children that I am ultimately responsible for, and must consider in all endeavours. Other than that, I can continue with my gypsy-ish life, having to be accountable to no one other than myself.

There is something to be said in that.

Someone once told me that they didn't want to see me at 60, alone and lonely.

Maybe that day will come. Maybe I will be alone and lonely.

But during those lonely hours, at least I can look back and say that I was true to myself, and experienced what I thought was important, without having to compromise and sacrifice. There will be no one to begrudge anything, no one to blame, no one to resent for missed opportunities.

There is certainly something to be said in that.

I'm on my way

(from misery to happiness today! unh huh, unh huh, unh huh, unh huh!)

I couldn't resist.

So the process has officially begun. I paid the deposit on my "Enchanting Ireland" trip.

I know, the name is a little cheesy, as tour names usually are. But I'm like Jimmy crackin' corn. (I don't care!)

I'm goin' to Ireland! I'm goin' to Ireland!

Yippee and horray and such!