All those days squished between birthdays ...

I'll be 45 tomorrow.  I'm neither anticipating it nor dreading it.  Chances are it will resemble one of the 16,435 previous days I've spent on this Earth.  

Some days have been filled with love, some with anger, some with gratitude, some with envy, some with pride, some with shame, some with selflessness, some with selfishness, some with hope, some with fear.

It's a day like any other day.  Yet I know that memories always come flooding back on ''the day''.  Great ones, good ones, ok ones, not so good ones.  

And I have to recognise the day.  For the sake of my parents and my Kiddo more than anything.  I think, and I'm hopeful, that it meant/means something pretty awesome to them.  'Cos I'm here for them, right?

I think I remember getting a brown toy poodle called Frisette on my birthday.  I was maybe 4?  But I may just be remembering the pictures I've seen.  Or was it our little white Candy?  I'm not sure.  I remember we had two toy poodles, one white, one brown, and one of them I got on my birthday ... that much I know.  Either way, I know it was a great birthday.  

I vaguely remember an expat birthday party at TropiBurger in Maracaibo with my parents when I was about 8, wishing it could have been McDonald's, where Ronald McD and the Hamburgler themselves might have made an appearance and no one would have ever considered putting mayo on a burger.  That was back in the 70's, in the days when I was an expat kid and before Mickie D's was a global conglomerate.  I was pretty spoiled.  It was a good birthday.

I remember my first birthday as a repatriate in Canada;  my mom did her best to get as many people around the table as she could ... she served up a feast of spaghetti and all my cousins (around 40 or so), and aunts and uncles came and sang happy birthday and just hung out.  My mom really tried.  She did the best she could to make the day special.  Except that my dad wasn't there.  He was still in Venezuela.  She couldn't do much about that.  Despite her best efforts.  My cousins and I snuck out after the cake was cut to sneak a cigarette in the woods.  The day was ok.

I remember my first birthday with my ex-husband.  I was 17.  We'd been going out for a few months.  He couldn't afford to get me anything; he'd just bought a new car.  I was sooooo cool with it;  ''no problem''.  He was, after all, just starting a job, trying to make ends meet.  Then he showed up in his little red Firefly on my B'day excited as hell about the new white and royal blue striped seat covers he'd found at Canadian Tire.  I tried so hard to be truly happy for him; to acknowledge that he'd come far enough in life that he could pay himself a pair of 49$ nylon seat covers.  I tried so hard to convince myself that those seat covers would serve a purpose and that they were worth more than the tiniest token of recognition to me on my day.  It was a crap birthday.

28 years later, I'm ready to admit that pissed me off.  AND I'm ready to admit I was a pretty stupid 17-year-old; I can only pray my Kiddo will never be stupid enough to fake happiness at someone buying themselves a gift for HER birthday.  

THAT realisation makes me happy ... the realisation that I deserve something good, something all about me, and that my daughter does too.  

I also realise that I actually played a part in letting the days and the birthdays grow progressively worse, and that I've worked pretty hard over the last few years to make them better.

That having been said ... I'll be 45 tomorrow.  And I feel I have to say it's not the birthdays that have marked my life.  It's every other day.  It's the moments in between the birthdays that have made the difference.

Like the memory I have of walking back from pre-school with my mom through the apple orchard in Burlington, Ontario.  Of sitting under an apple tree and making a picnic out of what was left of my lunch.  I don't have a picture of that ... other than the one in my mind.  I was probably five.  I think that's my best memory ever.

Like the memory I have of my brother bringing me to the ''Smoke Shop'' at Tyandaga Mall and letting me fill a paper bag with Dubble Bubble gum, Popeye cigarettes, liquorice cigars, Sour Chews, and Jaw Breakers.  

Like the memory I have of breaking down a week into my first year of uni, of calling my dad crying, and of having him tell me to stop worrying.  ''You don't have to stick it out, come stay with me for a year; you can work for me, and you don't have to worry about a thing.''  Never has a phrase uttered been so simultaneously reassuring, terrifying and motivating.

Like the memory I have of Smilin' Vic coming to visit when I was a singleton.  Of him installing all the cable for my surround sound and putting up window weatherization plastic in my breezy old attic apartment.

There are a multitude of tiny little amazing moments that have made up my life.  But I don't think a single one of those life-changing moments has happened on my birthday.  Ever.  My birthdays have mostly been about indulgence and excess.  Too many people, too much food, too much cake, too much drink, too much focus on me.  

The amazing moments in between are the ones that have really made the difference.  Silly things like buying matching pj pants for our vacation.  Little things like watching ''Call the Midwife'' with Smilin' Vic and Kiddo.  Little things like skiing a black piste for the first time at the age of 44.  Little things like starting a blog and sticking to it.  Little things like just being happy with where I am today, no matter whether today is my birthday or any other day.  

Matching pj bottoms make vacations WAYYYYY cool.

Tomorrow's my birthday.  I hope it's a great day.  'Cos I'm working on making every day a great day.

Tim Hortons Etiquette 101 ... Lessons on how to order a Timmies in the ME ...

Tim Hortons is a Canadian coffee and donut chain, venerated by Canadians more as a community gathering place than as a coffee shop.

Tim Horton's Menu in Arabic ...

Some would argue that life's greatest lessons are learned not at home, nor at school, but at the local Tim Hortons.  This Canadian institution is in fact where many key curriculums are covered, including but not limited to:

  • Vocabulary:  Tim Hortons is rumoured to have coined the phrase ''double-double''
  • Maths:  What are the odds of bringing home a car in the ''Roll up the Rim to Win'' contest?
  • Science:  What chemical properties in Tim Hortons coffee render it so addictive?
  • Social studies:  What is it about Tim Hortons that causes strangers of all ages, races, religions to be willing to share a table and exchange life stories over a steamin' cuppa?
  • Innovation and sustainability:  Tim Hortons invented the Timbit, thus reducing waste by creating a whole new donut from the donut hole traditionally discarded by less progressive bakers.
  • Time management:  Tim Hortons drive thru's have mastered the art of efficiency.  No faster can you say ''I'll have an extra-large double-double with an everything bagel, buttered on one side only, and a french cruller'' than it will be all packed up and delivered through your driver's seat window.  Mind boggling.
  • Finance & Economics:  Where else can you still get a soup, donut and coffee for under 10$ Canadian.
  • Meteorology:  EVERY Canadian blizzard is immediately followed by weather enthusiasts who congregate at their local Timmies to resolve once and for all how much more timely snow removal would have been if the city had only invested more in dump trucks and salt.

All of this, coupled with the fact that it is Canada's largest food service operator, surpassing even McDonald's, tells you that Tim Hortons is no flash-in-the-pan franchise.  It is indeed an industry unto itself.

Needless to say, Canadians in Qatar were thrilled beyond belief when it was announced that Tim Hortons would finally be piercing the Doha market back in 2013.  For years we'd gracefully swallowed Turkish coffee.  But there was no hiding it - the year Tim Hortons opened its franchises in Doha is the year a Canadian pulse truly started beating in this desert city.  

We were willing to live with the fact that you couldn't get a proper BLT sandwich (just not the same without pork bacon), and that the shop name carried a ''Cafe and Bake Shop'' suffix (just sounds a bit posh for the likes of the veteran Timmie's crowd).  But there are some offences that Canadians are still struggling with about the Doha Tim's rendition almost two years after it first set up shop.

I've listed a few of the more glaring ones below.  And I swear to you that I have personally been witness to every single one of the following Tim Hortons etiquette breaches.  Canadians, be warned, you may find this offensive, and may choose to not read further.

Patron:  ''Hi.  Do you sell Krispy Kreme donuts?''  (Blasphemy!)

Patron:  ''Can I please have the iced cappuccino, but please don't make it to cold.''  (????)

Patron:  ''Yes, I would like the Canadian Maple donut, but without the maple please.''  (Seriously ... Canadian WITHOUT Maple?  That's like expecting yin without yang.)

Patron:  ''Do you have Turkish coffee?''  (Uhmmmm, nope.  No falafel either.)

Staff:  ''No, I'm sorry Sir, we only have American coffee.''  (PARDON ME????)

Patron:  ''Why don't you write my name on the cup?  Starbucks always writes my name on the cup.  Yalla, please write my name on the cup.''  (No one would EVER dare try this in Canada; you would risk being barred for life.)

Staff:  ''Ma'am, we're out of Canadian Maple donuts.  Would you like to try the croissant with Zaatar?''  (Deep breaths, deep breaths ...)

Staff:  ''I'm sorry Ma'am, the coffee machine's not working.  Would you like some iced tea instead?''  (I think I might have to slash my wrists now.)

Staff:  ''Ma'am, do you want your iced cappuccino cold or warm?''  (There is NO SUCH THING as warm ice, people!)

I mean, just how Canadian do you expect your Canadian Maple donut to be if you take the maple away folks?

International Community, please take me seriously.  Tim Hortons is the java beast icon of Canada.  

It is the only supplement we need to get us through -50C winters and 8 feet tall snowbanks.  

It has sustained many a university student through final exams, mothers through their child-bearing and rearing years, and fathers through double shifts at the plant.  

It has helped heal international rifts, paving the way for peace negotiations.

It has helped economically disadvantaged children develop lifelong skills that help them bring a positive attitude and commitment to their lives and their futures. 

It cannot be treated as just another commodity.  Many would argue that Tim Horton's is the heartbeat of our Nation.

I beg of you - the next time you're at Tim Hortons in Doha, simply treat the shop with the simple reverence it commands.  Don't overcomplicate things or try to pull an ''elongated double java iced frappe latte with caramel sprinkles''-type manoeuvre on the hapless staff.

Simply walk up confidently to the cashier, order a large double-double and a box of Timbits, ask the cashier about her mom's health, take your tray, go sit next to a lonely patron, offer up some Timbits, and start up a conversation about the weather.  

And do NOT - EVER - again make mention of Costa Coffee, Starbucks, Krispy Kreme or Dunkin' Donuts while inside a Tim Horton's establishment.

It's that easy.

PS We even write songs about Timmies.  That's how seriously we take it.  Click on the link below for a glimpse into how the average Canadian feels about his/her   ''T-I-M     H-O-R-T-O-N-S'' (song by Johnny Reid).

They Say They'll Bury You Tomorrow ...

My Dad passed away 1 year ago, on March 6, 2014.  He was in Montreal, Canada.  I was in Doha, Qatar.

This piece is a re-take on a post I'd written last May, on the day before they buried my Dad on the North Shore of New Brunswick (almost 3 months later, on May 25, 2014).

For those of you who've been following along, my Dad passed away at the age of 84.  Those who didn't know him might have called him an old man.  To me, he was a beautiful man.  He was a vibrant man.  He was what the French call ''un bon vivant''.  He knew how to sing, how to laugh, how to live, how to love, and he did it all so very well.

I miss him.  Every day.  But I've chosen to honour him by living my life.  By singing corny songs to my Kiddo.  By loving everything and everyone I can every single day.  By laughing as much as I can.  

I love him.  I will always love him.  But I'm trying not to cry for him anymore.  Some days it's hard.  But I tell myself I will LIVE for him, because he would have expected no less.  If you're an expat, and you're grieving, know that you're not alone.  It's hard, and it sucks, but carry on.  LIVE for the person you LOVED.  In the end, nothing else makes sense.

I wrote the poem below on May 24; writing it released me from the black cloud that had hovered above my head for the previous three months.  It was the piece that released me from a lot of the pain and the powerlessness.  

I removed the poem from my blog a few days after initially publishing it because it had caused some confusion; I'd also included a reference to Johnny Cash in the initial post, and readers thought the poem was a Johnny Cash tune.  It's not.

The poem was a result of the following:

  • Because of the extreme cold and frozen ground in Northern New Brunswick, burials cannot take place in the winter.  
  • As a result, coffins are placed in a shed-like structure, or holding vault, until the ground thaws enough to make it possible to dig.  
  • It is a process that extends a family's pain.  
  • My Dad was laid to rest on May 25, 2014.
  • I couldn't be there for the burial.
  • But I knew that no grave would ever hold him down.

This poem is for my Dad, who was there for every shit moment in my life.  Who am I to assume he's not here for the shit moments when I miss him so much?  Just 'cos I can't see him doesn't mean he's not right here.  Right?

They say they'll bury you tomorrow, 

now that snow has finally gone. 

They think the earth will be forgiving, 

as they shovel on the mound.

They've mistaken soul and spirit

as they drop into the ground. 

The flesh that housed your being,

a soul without abound.

They think it makes a difference

that your frame they'll now entomb.

They think that's where you'll lay,

like a child within the womb. 

They've mistaken hallowed earth

for a place that really matters. 

When where you really lie, 

is in our hearts all left in tatters.

Your presence it still lingers, 

and your voice still rings so clear. 

Your body will be buried, 

but You, you are right here. 

I won't be there to say farewell,

over here is where I'll be. 

But you won't be there either. 

You'll be right here next to me. 

Je t'aime Papa.