If there's one thing I don't need in my life it's more fantasy. For this reason I wish Barbie would stop tethering up my bike.
I got an exercise bike at Sears mostly because I thought the bike would be good for my sore knee and I used to love biking and even biking standing still is more fun than lying on my floor flapping my legs. Jimmy calls those exercises "my roly-polys" and I suspect that bike riding has more dignity. I quickly discovered that it was fun to bike while watching TV so the bike isn't banished to the spare room anymore. It sits in the living room and is hurriedly whisked from sight if anyone real comes.
Nancy and Barbie giggled a bit and said wouldn't it be fun if they removed the little bar from under the wheel so the tire would touch the floor. When I got on and started pedaling I'd go whizzing across the floor, through the big picture window and over the sundeck twelve feet down to the ground. Silliness I can take from the young and I ignored it.
Barbie had no right to start patting the bike and saying, "Whoa there, Trigger. Whoa, boy." She had absolutely no right to get a rope and tie the bike to the chesterfield. "You don't want it stomping all over your living room," she said.
She had no right to keep putting plants in front of it and accusing me of starving the thing. "Barbie!" I screamed, "I have enough fantasy in my life. I don't want my bike turned into a horse."
I am a stolid, ordinary kind of person. I frizz not my hair madly, I dye it not blond, I flit not through misty meadows clad in wispy robes of white. I am sensible, down to earth, the kind they call a good, plain homebody, although with my hair just done I'm not all that plain. I do believe I look kindly and practical.
I never invented all the mad stuff that goes on in this community. It's all true and I'm absolutely terrified that Barbie can take this ordinary bike and turn it into a horse. I'm resisting this fantasy with every atom of my being.
Now I need to take this column over to the newspaper office. I hope it will clarify matters for those who think they hear whinnying from our front room. And on the way back I'll pick up a sack of oats for Trigger. I haven't got a plant left in the place.
Monday 19 August 2013
Monday 5 August 2013
Intro to Mom's life - 1914 - me
Marguerite Flora Anderson, Greta, born in 1914 grew up to be my mother. Greta's life didn't begin in a wealthy home - her father was an unwell man, older than her mother and poor. I hesitate to diagnose her mother in hindsight but from stories told to me by my mother and her siblings I can guess Em was not a good mother. In fact, she was pretty awful. Em's youngest child was diagnosed as an adult as having borderline personality disorder and being narcissistic. Several of my mother's siblings showed clear signs of those personality/mental health disorders. I suspect they came from Mom's mother, Em.
Em's upper-crust parents came to the colonies from England. How Em met and married Mom's dad Arthur, 17 years her senior, remains a mystery.
Arthur was the son of AC Anderson, a Hudson's Bay fur trader and his Metis wife, Eliza. In the early 1900's Eliza and her offspring were simply part-Indian or half-breeds. Therefore, Arthur their son was also part-Indian. It was a disgrace for Em to marry a part-Indian man. One of Em's brothers never spoke to her again.
Greta's (Mom's) early years were spent with her family on Valdez Island, one of the Gulf Islands in the Georgia Strait between Vancouver Island and the west coast of British Columbia. Greta lived as a wild child with her younger twin brothers, Johnny and Tommy and her youngest sister, Joan. Her two older brothers, twelve and fourteen year old children Elton and Harry logged the property. Rosamund, her oldest sister lived with Granny and Grampa in Duncan and developed the proper British accent that stayed with her for life.
When Greta's family moved to Duncan in 1923 the part-Indian label preceded them. Greta went to Grade Four as "one of the dirty Indian kids", squaw or papoose. The family's poverty coupled with Em's terrible housekeeping and neglect added to the stain.
When Greta turned fifteen her despairing letters to her older sister, who now lived in Winnipeg, became more desperate. Rosamund suggested that Greta join her in Winnipeg where she could go to school and be away from the family. Greta jumped at the chance - she knew Rosamund loved her dearly and she loved Rosamund. After all, love was in short supply in her family.
In Winnipeg, Rosamund suggested that Greta was an unattractive name and called her Peg - and Peg stuck. Mom was Peg to me all my life and I didn't hear about Greta until much later.
Life for Peg in Duncan, Valdez and Winnipeg impacted her life along with the genes she inherited. The stories that follow will cover some of those times and I will look at how those years and genes impacted her life and ultimately impacted mine.
I will be using Mom's letters to her sister Rosamund from Cortes Island when my sister and I were babies to uncover and open doors. I didn't understand when I first read them what sort of impact the letters, what was said and what wasn't said, would have as I fight to understand my own choices.
And the beat goes on.
Em's upper-crust parents came to the colonies from England. How Em met and married Mom's dad Arthur, 17 years her senior, remains a mystery.
Arthur was the son of AC Anderson, a Hudson's Bay fur trader and his Metis wife, Eliza. In the early 1900's Eliza and her offspring were simply part-Indian or half-breeds. Therefore, Arthur their son was also part-Indian. It was a disgrace for Em to marry a part-Indian man. One of Em's brothers never spoke to her again.
Greta's (Mom's) early years were spent with her family on Valdez Island, one of the Gulf Islands in the Georgia Strait between Vancouver Island and the west coast of British Columbia. Greta lived as a wild child with her younger twin brothers, Johnny and Tommy and her youngest sister, Joan. Her two older brothers, twelve and fourteen year old children Elton and Harry logged the property. Rosamund, her oldest sister lived with Granny and Grampa in Duncan and developed the proper British accent that stayed with her for life.
When Greta's family moved to Duncan in 1923 the part-Indian label preceded them. Greta went to Grade Four as "one of the dirty Indian kids", squaw or papoose. The family's poverty coupled with Em's terrible housekeeping and neglect added to the stain.
When Greta turned fifteen her despairing letters to her older sister, who now lived in Winnipeg, became more desperate. Rosamund suggested that Greta join her in Winnipeg where she could go to school and be away from the family. Greta jumped at the chance - she knew Rosamund loved her dearly and she loved Rosamund. After all, love was in short supply in her family.
In Winnipeg, Rosamund suggested that Greta was an unattractive name and called her Peg - and Peg stuck. Mom was Peg to me all my life and I didn't hear about Greta until much later.
Life for Peg in Duncan, Valdez and Winnipeg impacted her life along with the genes she inherited. The stories that follow will cover some of those times and I will look at how those years and genes impacted her life and ultimately impacted mine.
I will be using Mom's letters to her sister Rosamund from Cortes Island when my sister and I were babies to uncover and open doors. I didn't understand when I first read them what sort of impact the letters, what was said and what wasn't said, would have as I fight to understand my own choices.
And the beat goes on.
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