I don't remember anything about the house I lived in from the time I was born until I was 3.  That house was in Chatham, Ontario, the city my dad grew up in, where his sister's family lived and where his mom lived.  When I was 5 we moved 30 minutes away to Tilbury, my mom's hometown where my meme (grandma) and pepe (grandpa), my mom's meme's, and mom's younger brother lived.  Dad was the assistant manager at the grocery store there for 2  years, then he was transferred to Kingsville, a small town 30-40 minutes away, to take the Manager position at a new store there.  

While we were living in Tilbury I met my husband.  I didn't actually know it then, of course, and neither did he.  The Drinkwaters, a British family who had just taken the boat (it was probably a plane but a boat sounds more exciting)over from England moved in next door to us on Crawford St.  Anne Drinkwater was the same age as my mom's older sister (same birthday even) and my mom helped her to feel less homesick being so far from home.  When my mom worked Anne would babysit me.  Their first Halloween in Canada we took the Drinkwater boys, Mark (9) and Steven (11), trick-or-treating since they don't do trick-or-treating in England. In England their Halloween is Nov 5 and they call it Guy Fawkes night. They have fireworks, set bonfires and burn effigies of Guy Fawkes. Sounds like a great kid friendly event. The Drinkwater's and my family took short trips together (see beach pic below) and the boys camped out in our living room once (I only know that because I have pictures).  In the picture below, from left to right : Anne, my sister, me on my mom's lap and Mark being goofy (I'm sure he brought that bathing suit from England. It doesn't look like anything I've seen a boy wear before.  It's a cross between a speedo and short shorts.)

Mark, who is now my husband, remembers having dinner at our picnic table in our backyard and he remembers the Halloween that he trick-or-treated with us. I wish I had memories of him from back then. All I can remember is that he was cute, like Beaver Cleaver, with chubby cheeks. In the picture above his cheeks aren't chubby so I'm not sure what I was thinking.  Maybe I was thinking of my own cheeks.

We moved to Kingsville when I was 7 and the Drinkwater's would visit us on occasion but as the years passed by the time between visits got longer.  I don't remember them visiting us at all but Mark remembers a New Years Eve get together at our house, probably the first year we were in the new house, and he had asked his parents on the way to our house if he had to kiss the Westman girls at midnight. (I don't hear him complaining about kissing me now.. LOL).  By the time I was in my early teens visits were mainly between my mom and Anne when my mom would visit my meme in Tilbury and afterwards she would go around the block and visit Anne. Before Mark and I started dating, the last time I can recall catching a glimpse of him (and that's all it was, a glimpse) was when I was with my mom visiting at Anne's house.  I was around 13 so that would have put Mark at 17.  He was in the living room watching tv and I couldn't see him well because Anne had this fabulous (not really) macrame door partition hanging between the kitchen and living room.  Mom, Anne and I sat in the dining room and Mark, being his typical social self  (not.. although who can blame him.  he's 17 and there's an awkward 13 yr old geek with braces visiting) didn't bother coming to say hi to the visitors. He left shortly after we arrived to go find something more entertaining to do (because the town of Tilbury with its 4000 people is a barrel full of fun!).

The next time I saw him  was at The RoadKill Cafe.  I was one week shy of 24 and he was almost 28.

As the dog barks her head off in the sun room, I'll try to ignore her and type.  This is when I wonder why I have 4 dogs.  I love them dearly but seriously why can't she understand that she needs to be quiet and lay down because I am busy.  It's nice outside.  GO LAY DOWN!!!!

O.k, she's settled down so I'll continue my little tale that I started yesterday.

My mom and dad met when they were seniors in high school and were married when mom was 18 and dad 19.  My sister arrived a few months later on Christmas Eve of 1969.  I arrived in June of 1972.  My parents were growing up too as they were raising us.  I'm sure it was difficult for them, as they struggled with raising two children on my dad's grocery store clerk wages.  They did without a lot of things.  It's so much different in this day and age when everyone expects to have it all.  They accepted that they weren't going to have it all and that's just the way it was.  
My dad started working as a grocery store bag boy when he was 18. He wanted to be a science teacher and he would have been an awesome teacher.  I know that because he has
 always been patient, understanding teacher to me.  He taught me how to drive a stick shift.  If you've ever learned to drive a stick shift then you know the frustration.  I was determined to learn in one session because I wanted to drive the car to see my boyfriend the next day.  At one point during our lesson I yelled, I cried, I got out of the car and slammed the door.  The car wouldn't do what I wanted it to.  I couldn't get the shifting and pushing the clutch and gas all coordinated I would think I was doing everything right then the car would jump and then stall.  I just couldn't get the hang of it and I was so frustrated. My dad might have been too (I know if I was the parent I would have been). But he didn't yell at me, he kept teaching me and I did learn that night.  His dream of being a teacher was derailed when my mom got pregnant and they then got married.  He never mentioned that he regretted having to give up his aspirations.  Who can go through the frustrations of raising kids and never mention in anger that you gave up so much for them?  My dad never did that.  He never made us feel like we were his second choice.  

My dad started out bagging groceries, then he worked in a factory and would cry at night because he hated it so much (I only know that because my mom told me when I was a teenager so that I would understand the sacrifice my dad made to provide for us), then he went back to working in a grocery store.  He worked his way up to assistant manager and then manager.   You've been at a grocery store the day before Christmas or even two days before and seen how busy it is.  He would never get holidays off.  He would come home on Christmas Eve after dealing with crazy busy days and then have to have the energy to be there for his family to celebrate the holiday.  He never slept in or complained.  He was (and still is) an amazing role model who has shown me what hard work is.  Some days I wish he hadn't taught me to be so responsible because it would be nice to call into work without feeling guilty that because I'm still breathing I should be at work not at home resting.  Thanks Dad, my employers appreciate how well you raised me.

Welcome to my blog.  I doubt there will be many followers of my blog but that's o.k. because I don't want to be followed.  I'm not special, I have had a pretty normal life.  I'm not really sure why people are interested in hearing what's going on in my little world, perhaps because when I relate events I am very dramatic, I make things sound more exciting than they really are.  Why?  I guess because I'm high-strung, I talk fast, I make fun of myself and most of all...I say what other people want to but don't.  I don't have a filter.  I'm an open book, what you see is what you get.  I have the belief that my life doesn't need to be kept a secret.  Perhaps something that I've gone through will help someone else going through the same thing.  If we don't talk about things we've dealt with then how can we be an example to others?  I wouldn't be surprised if that reasoning is illogical, my dad often told me when I was growing up that I wasn't thinking logically.  In my opinion, I probably just wasn't thinking.


Since this is my first post I'll start off with a little story about my life so far. I was born and raised in Ontario Canada, in a small town of 5,000 people.  The closest mall and movie theater were 40 minutes away, which made an occasional trip there an exciting event for my older sister and I.  My mom, sister and I would get up early on a Saturday morning so we could spend the day at the mall eating in the food court and browsing the stores.  We didn't buy much but just going there was fun, especially during Christmas.  I loved the sizzle of anticipation in the air as everyone searched for the perfect gift and as I went store to store with my mom pointing out (and begging) for things I wanted to find under our tree.  I remember a cardigan I wanted (which I now recall as being super ugly.  I can still picture it hanging up high on a wall peg. I was so worried that if my mom didn't get it that day then when she came back it would be gone).  I did find the cardigan under our tree that year.  Someone should have stopped me from wearing it in public!! But, alas, my older sister was in her own world of drama so she probably didn't notice her little sister leaving the house dressed in a get up that might have people mistaking her for a school teacher who likes to wear knit cardigans with embroidered apples, or pumpkins, or candy canes or whatever depicts the event they are celebrating. (sorry all you teachers out there.  It's perfectly o.k for you to wear those sweaters because I know you do it for the kids... you do it for the kids right?)


Since we didn't go to the movies very often, because of the distance and also the expense, it was thrilling when VHS players were made.  We were like kids in a candy store at the local video store where my sister worked.  Obviously there wasn't much to do in a small town.  We had no fast food restaurants, no Walmart or Target, and nowhere decent to shop for clothes.  Now that I think about it, why did I not die of boredom?  What did I do all day in the summer and on weekends? I guess when there's nothing to entertain you, you just entertain yourself.  


I remember riding my bike with my little dog in the front basket, playing on the swing in our backyard (for so long that I often fell asleep on it.  Once I put my dog on my lap while swinging, then she threw up. Sorry, Bridget).  My dad and mom would play catch with me and on weekends my friends and I would sleep at each other's houses.  My mom took me to the little library in town once a week.  It was a two storey brick building with wide concrete stairs going up to the glass front doors.  There was a side door that opened up to a tiny landing that had stairs to the right leading up and stairs straight ahead leading to the young kid's area downstairs.  It was a cozy library and I loved going there to pick out my next adventure.  I ended up working there when I was in high school with the same librarians who helped me as a child, arms loaded down with books that I was so eager to get home and inhale.  Who knew that years and years (and years) later I would work in a library again.  Just goes to show you that you never know what life is preparing you for.  There is meaning in your life, if you don't see it now you'll see it someday.  


That's enough chitter chatter for today.  Next time I'll tell you what my young parents did for a living to keep us fed and clothed, what my sister and I had (or did not have) in common and why I gave my sister a lot of my halloween candy.