January 30, 2009 · 5:56 pm

Conversations with my mother: On preparing to die and other stuff

Without further ado let me introduce my mother Rosie the Rascal:

Tessa: Hey mom, how are you?
Rosie: Bored.
Tessa: Why?
Rosie: Well,why not? What’s there to live for? I’m thinking of throwing myself off the balcony.
Tessa: Don’t do that. What about TV. You love TV.
Rosie: Yeah, people think I watch too much TV but I love it and I learn alot. Muriel downstairs has a set from the 50s. So small I need a magnifying glass to see it. Why is she so cheap? I asked her. Muriel, stop being so cheap. You can’t take it with you.
Tessa: Still have your Christmas stuff up?
Rosie: I’m taking it all down.
Tessa: [long pause]
Rosie: FOREVER. Who needs it anyways?
Tessa: Mom, you love your matching red balls.
Rosie: So 70s. That went with my leopard bar. Wowie. Remember that?
Tessa: Yup, I sure do.
Rosie: Anyways, there might not be next Christmas.
Tessa: MOTHER.
Rosie: It’s the truth. I know you don’t like hearing the truth but that’s the truth. I could go any time.
Tessa: You’re healthy as a horse. And I have no problem hearing the truth. I live for it. Anyways, I’m planning my big birthday party. You know my big landmark one and I want all you guys to come.
Rosie: Wow. Sounds great. When is it?
Tessa: Two years from now.
Rosie: Why not have it this year? I’l probably be dead in two years.
Tessa: Enough of the death talk. We’re thinking of buying a house. Then there’ll be lots of room for all your dance moves and you can have your own bathroom. It’ll be great.
Rosie: I’m a fantastic dancer. Your father always told me so. I know how to dance and I drive like a man. Anyways, you sure you can afford that? You know what you’re doing? Well, Dave knows what he’s doing so it should be okay. Hey, I’m sending you all your diaries from your teen years. Wowie. I ‘ve been reading them all. I had no idea you were doing all….
Tessa: MOTHER. STOP IT.
Rosie: Wait I’m going to read you a bit.
Tessa: I’m hanging up.
Rosie: Oh, there’ Barack on TV. I have to go. What a sexy guy. You see him in Hawaii in his shorts? Better than that idiot sprout head George Bush.
Tessa: Bye mom
Rosie: Have your party soon. I don’t want to be dead!

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January 26, 2009 · 1:15 am

Bad Hair Part Three: Hair Care 101

From the moment I discovered I had hair which is a long time ago, I have been obsessed. I play with it, think about it, split my ends, cut it, dye it, dye it some more, and discuss at length with anyone who has the patience to endure my endless musings about what really would look best. Why so self-absorbed you ask? I don’t know. It seems my lot in life that this is one thing that I can’t come to terms with. That’s why after Dave’s and mine first year of relationship bliss, he bravely put forward a motion to ban the topic from conversation forever and for all time.

He saw me through my white blonde too-short bob, followed by an equally horrendous dye-job which transformed me into an even more bobbed brunette. Now growing into my more natural, let’s call it ‘caramel’ not mousey brown colour, I am moving away from the ever popular bob back to the voluminous shag.

Sadly for me I inherited my father’s nasty stomach and my mother’s even nastier head of hair. Some of you out there know what I’m talking about. Hair that lacks any predictable qualities is a nightmare for the self-obsessed. A wave here, a curl there, flat here, dry and nasty of there.

But lately I’ve noticed a warming in the air and in a surprising offer of detente, Dave has once again entered the hair fray. Before leaving the house he passes me a brush. Try this, he says. Ah. The brush I say. An excellent tool. I wonder who invented this and ask myself why I couldn’t come up with an idea like this. So now I brush my hair regularly.

This weekend though, he offered even more excellent advice. While bathing together we decided to review hair washing basics. This is something I apparently missed in my formative years. (Where were you mom?) I realize now that in a misguided attempt to stop by hair from drying out prematurely that I applied shampoo only to the very top of my head. If I were a bunch of carrots, only the very top greens would be scrubbed clean. Apparently this is all wrong. And lo and behold, following an excellent all over rigorous hair scrubbing, followed by an equally rigorous application of hair conditioner (ALL OVER) I allowed my salad to dry naturally and after a single brush, I had quite nice manageable hair. Maybe the culprit isn’t my lousy genetics after all. But simply my own pathetic neglect of my mangy locks. Whatever the answer I now know that there are some basic steps to hair care that must be adhered to. It goes something like this: wash at least once every two to three days, apply shampoo evenly over unruly mane, rinse thoroughly, then do the same with the conditioner. Just like they tell you in the fine print!

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January 15, 2009 · 5:21 pm

Book Review: DeNiro’s Game: Rawi Hage

Deniro’s Game. is an award-winning first novel by Montreal based writer Rawi Hage. This is an interesting book. Set in the 1980’s during the Lebanese civil war, its the story of Bassam and ‘DeNiro’ two childhood friends who grow up in war torn Beirut. Bassam goes on to become a small time crook who dreams of escaping Lebanon while ‘DeNiro” joins forces with the crooked head of the Christian militia that rules his section of the city. It’s not long after DeNiro joins the militia that cracks begin to appear in their relationship. The lure of lawlessness that reigns over the city pulls each of them in different directions. Continue reading →

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January 13, 2009 · 4:23 am

Yummy Red Wine Tomato Soup Drizzled with Olive Oil

tomato-soup3I recreated this recipe from Vancouver’s Burgoo restaurant. It was fabulous at the restaurant and it was fabulous when I made it!
Here goes:

Saute until translucent three cloves of garlic  and two finely diced Spanish onions. Add three cans of San Remo crushed tomatoes. Add one litre or tetra pack of veggie broth. Salt and pepper to taste. Add one or two cups of fine red wine. Probably best to add one, let it cook and taste it for balance. Add one to two heaping tbsp of brown sugar. Again, add the first table spoon, taste it for balance making sure it’s not too sweet. If it needs more,  then add the second tbsp.

Simmer for 45 minutes over medium heat. Serve with olive oil drizzled over top and if you’re big on basil add some freshly minced basil. Serve with salad and chunky bread.

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December 2, 2008 · 8:46 pm

Reckless Sobbing at Strangers’ Funerals

Tessa: Recently I have gone to funerals of two women I don’t know. Both of them died of complications related to Alzheimer’s. We weren’t really sure we were even going to go to the first funeral and because I didn’t know Angelina, the mother of our friend Eva, I didn’t really think it would affect me.

We arrived a little late and sat at the back of the church. I took a photocard of Eva’s mom and sat down and studied her face. The photo was black and white and have been taken a few years ago but she looked remarkably like her daughter. Just then the casket entered the church. I’m not sure what happened but as soon as I saw the casket I felt like I was a part of a community of people that were saying goodbye to her. Sending her along her way, taking her to her final resting place and I found it such an intensely crazy personal moment in this woman’s life that I completely broke down.

By the time Dave looked at me I was shaking with sobs. You don’t know her he said. Yes I know. But I’m saying goodbye to a mom. She’s a mother and she’s going to her final resting place. And we’re here. And. And it makes me feel sad. Hmmn.

The next funeral was a few weeks ago. This was for Dave’s best friend’s mother Angela who had suffered with Alzeihmer’s for 12 years. Because I had gone through this recently I thought I had come to terms with this kind of situation.

So again, we entered the church (late) and sat in the back. The service was a little lighter, more English spoken, lots of singing. It was all good. I felt strong. Happy almost to be a part of this person’s community who were gathered to say goodbye. Then came Ava Maria. I could feel a slight weakening inside. That song is a soul buster. Then. All the grandchildren gathered to bring last gifts for their grandmother. Another seismic shift inside. But still, I was hanging on. Thinking of snow. Thinking of snow. Then all the boys, grown men carrying their mother’s casket down the aisle. There was something about this that broke me. This strong woman who had given birth to nine children and had raised them mostly on her own, her sons carrying her as if she was the child, to her final destination. As the procession passed, John, our good friend grabbed Dave’s arm.

We all turned and said peace be with you and followed the family out into the lobby. By the time I saw John it was over. Sobbing. Like a child. Body heaving. He introduced me to his mother’s brother, who I’m sure was wondering who I was, crying as if she was my own mom. I looked at him and felt slightly ridiculous. But what can you do? He hugged me and said everything was going to be alright. Thanks I said. And continued to cry.

By the time we went to the cemetery and then back to the Austrian Club, I had managed to collect myself. I went into the bathroom and looked at my salad head. Wild, crazy, unruly head of hair. A woman who looked like the woman who had died looked at me and said you you wan to borrow my hair pick? No. Yes you do. Here, it will look much better. Okay. So I did and it really did look much better.

Now there will be no surprises. Every funeral I go to I’ll cry like a baby.

I was telling my sister this story and she said maybe you were crying for the universal mother. And I thought. That’s it. I was feeling the weight of losing every mom. Grieving for the universal mother.

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November 13, 2008 · 7:45 pm

A Child in Time: Ian McEwan – Book Review

I just finished reading Ian McEwan’s 1987 novel The Child in Time. It’s the first of his books that I’ve read that I haven’t loved automatically. Yet, the book poses questions that still has me thinking about it days after I’ve finished reading it.

The Child in Time deals with a  compelling “McEwanesque” theme in which the protaganist’s life is irrevocably change by a single act not of his own doing. In this case, Stephen Lewis, a successful children’s author’s, three year old daughter disappears one Saturday morning when the two are grocery shopping. His attention is averted for less than a minute and when he looks up again, she’s gone. The extraordinary ordinariness of the events leading up to that horrific moment and how the rhythm of every day life resumes for everybody except him and his wife Julia, becomes the structure on which the narrative is based. Continue reading →

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October 2, 2008 · 12:00 am

Dye Jobs or Die Jobs: When your hairdresser blows it – Follow-up

Tessa: Several months ago I wrote a post about my bad hair dye job. This happened when I brought in a beautiful picture of this woman with sandy brown hair with tasteful highlights that I thought would suit me perfectly and also bring me closer to my natural colour.

What happened, of course, is a completely different story. My hairdresser, let’s call her Cindy, pooh poohed the picture and said something like “You have to keep in mind complexion. That will be too dark for you.” She then proceeded to dye my quite blonde (also dyed) hair, chocolate brown.  As some of you might recall, this is when shock, horror, tears and more tears ensued, with promises from my husband that it looked “ok”. “OK.” Ok is what you say when there is nothing else to say. OK is what you say when your wife threatens to shave her entire head and start again. Ok is the new ugly. That’s what ok is. But nevermind. I was in a pickle because my previous hairdresser, let’s call her Marcie, had gone to the other extreme previous to this nightmare situation and dyed my hair white blonde. Also, not good. This time it didn’t even warrant an “It’s okay.” This time it warranted utter, dead, and deafening silence.

So I toiled with my shocking blonde head for months until I decided to ‘dye’ my hair back to it’s natural colour which does not happen to be chocolate brown.

In the first instant of my fury, shock and horror I wanted to shave my head or have her add lighter highlights. But at this point my head was starting to look like a toxic waste site, 3 Mile Island, Chernobyl. Whatever you want to call it. So, in the interests of saving my hair from another march down the aisle, a bad aisle, I declined and decided to live with the darkness. Oh and the frizziness because if you fry your hair with enough dye it makes you look like you live with your finger in an electrical socket. But nevermind.

I decided to leave it. Interestingly, over the past few months the chocolate seems to have disappeared leaving me with yet another colour altogether. Let’s call it taupe.

My lesson is that from here on in I’m going au naturel. No dye, no highlights, no chocolate, no nothing. I’m going to restore my hair to its former lustrous mousey colour, no wait,  let’s call it rich caramel with a touch of flambe wine , and call it a day.

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September 26, 2008 · 9:42 pm

TV will Save Your Relationship: Conversations with my Mother

Tessa: Hi mom,
Rosie: Hi sweetie, how are you?
Tessa: Ahh okay.
Rosie: I saw your sister today. We talked about how you didn’t have children.
Tessa: Oh yeah.
Rosie: I told her you two were the lucky ones. Children are so rotten today. You don’t know what you’re going to get. Look at those drug addicts that live across the street. They’re only 14 and smoking god knows what. But I said you would have made a good mother. Too bad. Oh well. You have Dave, at least. He’s a great husband. You’re very lucky.
Tessa: Have you booked your ticket for Christmas yet?
Rosie: No, I have to sell some furniture first?
Tessa: Why?
Rosie: I don’t know how long I’ll live. What are your favourite shows?
Tessa: I dunno.
Rosie: Dave mentioned to me that you’re not so big on television. You know. When you’re married you have to learn to compromise. Can’t be all your way. I don’t want to tell you what to do but if you want to keep him you need to watch TV with him. Lots of it.
Tessa: Right. Are your neighbours still having sex?
Rosie: I don’t hear that old cow anymore. I think all my banging made her stop. I enjoy a good time too you know but that was TOO much. Your brother says he loves you.
Tessa: Yeah, well I love him too.
Rosie: Makes sense.
Tessa: Why?
Rosie: You’re both my children and nice people. Why wouldn’t you like each other? You’re just like me.
Tessa: Right. Anyways, mom I have to go.
Rosie: Okay sweetie. What are you going to do?
Tessa: I’m going to go and watch TV with Dave.
Rosie: Good girl. You have to do these things you know.
Tessa: Thanks mom. Bye! I love you.

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September 21, 2008 · 6:49 pm

Sweetness in the Belly: Camilla Gibb

Tessa: I am currently slogging my way through a book I hate, in fact, I haven’t touched it in two weeks, which has given me an even greater appreciation for Camilla Gibb’s Sweetness in the Belly, a little light read I picked up this summer.

I didn’t know anything about this book when I first picked it up. I didn’t even read the back jacket copy so when I started reading the book I really felt like I had been plunged into a completely different world. And I had.

Gibb tells the story of Lily, a little girl English/Irish girl who is orphaned in Morocco when her parents are killed. She is raised by Sufi’s and ultimately led to Ethiopia in the 70s when she is still a young teenager.

She earns her keep with a single woman and her family in Harar, a muslim enclave in predominantly Christian Ehtiopia, by doing household chores and teaching the Qu’ran to the local children who are too poor to attend school.

Here she is deeply immersed in the life, customs and the daily rituals of a rich muslim society where time has almost stood still. Gibbs paints such a vivid portrait of the muezzin that you can almost see the colourful headscarves, smell the coffee, incense, and feel the local customs. Sweetness in the Belly brings the reader close enough to this world that they can almost smell it. It’s this familiarity that allows you to understand the dynamics of how certain customs like female castration take place and the tribal, religious and cast differences that both divide and unite this culture. It also allows you to understand Islam as a faith and a way of life

Because faith is how Lily has protected herself from the changes and losses in her life she guards it fiercely. But it is tested  when she falls in love with Aziz a half Sudanese doctor. “The desire to remain in his company overwhelmed common sense; I would pick up my good Muslim self on the way home.” Although he is Muslim he is a moderate muslim who seeks change particularly where women’s health and politics is concerned.

But their relationship comes to a bittersweet end when Haili Salasie’s regime is overtaken by the Dergue, Aziz like thousands of others disappears and Lily finds herself a refugee in her native England.

What I love about this book is that for the first time I was able to understand the cultural dynamic of why and how certain cultural customs take place, and how cultural customs mix with religion to create an entirely unique social mix.

The Islam we hear about in the west is through the lense of post 9/11 where media and propaganda have created a fearful portrait of a militant islam that doesn’t reflect the reality of most of the islamic world.

Gibb’s portrait of Lily’s experience in London as an outsider also really brought home the difficulty and some of the hostility people face when coming to a new country.

On a lot of different levels Sweetness in the Belly succeeded in giving me an insider’s view not only of a woman’s journey to finding her home but also to a world and culture I know very little about. And she told the story in a way that touched my heart.

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September 18, 2008 · 8:57 pm

Speedskating: I love it, I hate it, I love it, I hate it, I love it, I hate it

Tessa: Well it’s that time of year again when all the crazy people start to gather in ice rinks around the world. When I say crazy people I of course, include myself because like bees to honey, flies to swatters, horses to grass, I find myself going back year after year, in spite of relentless bitter complaints. I like to say I go because of Agatha Vanderstarre my 76 year old role model who still skates faster than me. Or I like to say I go because of Genghis our coach who I like to think is making me a better person for helping to stave off the dinkle colony that is forever threatening my thighs. Or because my best friend skates but it’s all lies. Lies. I skate because I just want to tell people that I do this freaky sport. I tell them I do it and they’re like really. Speedskating?? And I’m like YUH. When really in my mind I know it’s more like slow speedskating. Because like Agatha Vanderstarre my hero and mentor, I have only one speed and that’s forward. Slow but sure.
If ya’ll wanna join this brutal sport where they think its funny to make you skate for two minutes straight again and again and again with your knee hanging around your ankle in mind blowing pain, give me a shout. You too can be a part of this relentless, brutal crazy group of maniacs who wear tight suits.

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