If you live in Ontario...

...(as I do) you may want to give the government your $.02 about your experiences with the province's infertility services and/or adoption system. I did the survey & it took me about 20 minutes to complete. Your mileage may vary, depending on how many comments you want to leave, of course! There is also an opportunity to be contacted for a followup interview by a researcher. (I'm still mulling over whether I'll do that.)

Earlier this year, the Ontario government formed an expert panel to advise the government on how to make infertility treatments and adoption easier and more affordable. (I wrote about the panel in a post shortly after it was formed this summer.)

Here's a news item I received through a list that I'm on:

EXPERT PANEL ON INFERTILITY AND ADOPTION

Ontario¹s Expert Panel on Infertility and Adoption is gathering information from Ontarians who have an interest in, or experiences with infertility services and/or the adoption system.The panel is interested in hearing about your experience if you:

* have sought or used help with infertility and/or adoption in Ontario during the past 10 years OR
* are a provider of these services
OR
* were adopted or donor conceived
OR
* have opinions you want to offer.

A confidential survey can be completed on-line until December 15, 2008 at http://www.gov.on.ca/children/english/infertilityAdoption/index.html

Please Note: This survey is voluntary and anonymous and is being compiled byan external consultant using an external survey tool on behalf of the panel. Non-identifying results will be used to inform the work of the Expert Panel on Infertility and Adoption.

BACKGROUND: Ontario has appointed an expert panel on fertility treatment and adoption to help find solutions for people who are trying to start or expand a family.The panel will recommend ways to help make both fertility treatment andadoption more accessible and affordable.The 12-member panel will provide advice to the government on:

* Improving access to infertility treatment and making fertility monitoring available to women so they know if they are likely to have problems conceiving a child.

* Improving Ontario¹s adoption system so that more children can become part of families more quickly.

Panel members include adoptive parents, people who have had personal experience with infertility, and representatives from the medical and adoption communities. The panel is expected to report back to the Minister of Children and Youth Services with its recommendations within a year.

Ten years old

That's how old our Katie would be today, had she lived and been born on the original due date I was given. Ten. Years. Old. Double digits, as I hear my friends say about their kids turning 10. On her way to being a (gulp) teenager.

What kind of birthday party would she be having?

Would she be best friends with the little girl who lives next door?

Would she be doing well in school?

Would she be taking figure skating lessons? Or playing hockey? (Would she be a total washout at sports, like her mother?)

Would she be a Girl Guide?

Would she like to play video games with her two older boy cousins?

Would she love to read, like her Mommy & Daddy? Would she have already plowed through Mom & Grandma's collection of old Nancy Drew books (which have no doubt mildewed by now in Grandma's basement, waiting to be passed along to the next generation)?

Would she be driving Mommy nuts by dipping into her scrapbooking supplies?

Would she beg to be taken to the next Hannah Montana and Jonas Brothers concerts? (Mom never attended a concert until she was 15.)

Would she be pestering us to get a dog?

Would she have Mom's blue eyes and Dad's wonderful smile?

So many questions, never to be answered.

Tonight, dh & I are going to a memorial mass for his cousin's mother-in-law. After 10 years, I don't expect anybody there to realize the significance of this day for us. Why should this year, this day, be any different from the ones that have gone before? :(

But as the prayers for the dead are recited, dh & I will be thinking about our little girl.

Happy birthday, little Pooh Bear (well, you wouldn't be quite so little anymore... but you will always be our little girl). Mommy & Daddy love you.

Remembrance Day

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada and, since it's a bank holiday, I have the day off (although dh does not). I slept in & have been puttering around the house all day, doing a bit of this & a bit of that, not quite accomplishing much, or anything that I thought I would, but enjoying the day that is all too quickly flying by, nevertheless.

When I was growing up on the Prairies, in the late 1960s & 1970s, Remembrance Day was a solemn occasion. Everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, was closed (although I believe this is not the case any more). Stores could be fined for selling anything more than bread & milk. I believe we had the day off school, but with everything closed & the weather usually bad, there was nothing much to do except stay at home and maybe watch TV. Of course, we only had access to one television channel (the CBC) until I was 14, & most of the day would be devoted to Remembrance Day programming, including the broadcast of the ceremonies in Ottawa at 11 a.m., with endless war documentaries to follow in the afternoon.

The day before, we would have an assembly at school, with readings & sometimes skits. Then there would be the traditional two-minute silence, during which someone would inevitably burst into giggles, only to become the object of a withering glare from the nearest teacher.

As a teenager who played alto saxophone in the school band, I would often be obliged to attend and perform at the services at the local cenotaph, or war memorial. Every small town of any size in Canada has such a memorial, usually made of granite or marble, on which are inscribed the names of local soldiers who gave their lives in the First and Second World Wars -- and sadly, there are many. (I can never hear "Abide With Me" without flashing back to frozen fingers & lips on metal keys & mouthpieces.)

When I moved to southern Ontario, I was shocked to find out that all the stores were open (although banks and other federally regulated institutions were closed). I could go SHOPPING on Remembrance Day!! And I have done so -- although never quite without guilt. I've also spent the day baking cookies, scrapbooking and at the spa.

But whenever I'm at home on Remembrance Day -- as I am today -- I pause to watch the service from the National War Memorial in Ottawa on CBC, as I always do whenever I'm at home. I am not aware that the United States marks Remembrance Day in quite the same way as the Commonwealth countries do. One of my high school girlfriends' husbands served in Afghanistan (early in the conflict) as part of a UN mission, & noted that the poppy was not something the Americans he met on the base were familiar with. This Wikipedia piece describes the ceremony & the significance of the poppy quite well.

You really have to see it to appreciate it, however, & although it has been many years since I attended a cenotaph service, I would love to attend the one in Ottawa some day. (I have been to Ottawa, & the National War Memorial is truly awe-inspiring.) The sight of the old soldiers saluting and then, after the ceremony, marching down Wellington Street; the bagpiper's lament, the trumpeting of the Last Post, the reading of the Act of Remembrance and the children's choir singing "In Flanders Fields" (the only poem committed to memory in my school days that I can still recite by heart -- dh challenged me to do so this weekend, & was impressed!!) all move me to tears.

Although I am hearing laments that fewer people are wearing poppies these days, I still see lots of them around. Right around Halloween, old soldiers & others from the Royal Canadian Legion appear in the underground concourse linking the office towers of downtown Toronto, selling poppies for whatever donation you care to make, with proceeds going to various veterans' causes. Seeing them brings a lump to my throat & I always feel a wave of guilt, although I can never quite explain why. No politician or official would dare to appear in public, or on Canadian television in early November, without wearing a poppy on his or her lapel.

The only problem with the poppies is that they never stay put. Yesterday, venturing into the city, I made sure I had my poppy firmly fastened to the lapel of my jacket as the train pulled into Union Station. Ten minutes later, I noticed it was gone. Bought another one from one of the concourse vendors, went to a cafe for a latte & croissant, & as soon as I left the restaurant, it was gone too. (I gave up after that & am spending Remembrance Day guiltily poppyless.)

Remembrance Day has had a slightly different meaning for me these past 10 years. November 14th was Katie's original due date, and although the due date kept getting changed as the pregnancy progressed (and finally ended in August), the 14th has always been the date that stuck in my head. It's never held quite the same significance or pain for me that August 5th & 7th do, but it's still a landmark date. I always try to imagine the birthday parties that probably would have been held this weekend.

Remembrance Day 1998, though, was still pretty painful. The 14th was on a Saturday that year, but I remember being at home on Nov. 11th that year, treating it like my own personal day of Katie Remembrance. Going through all her things again, posting to the new friends I'd made on my e-mail list. I've never quite been able to bring myself to ask for the 14th off work -- coming as it does so soon after the 11th, & at our busiest time of year -- so the 11th to me is also a day of personal remembrance. I watched an interview with this year's Silver Cross Mother on TV this morning, and while our losses are so very different, I feel a bond of understanding at a deep level, of what it's like to live with grief.

They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Show & Tell Doubleheader: The Bathroom & Burton

If you're a regular reader of my blog, you'll know that dh & I renovated our bathroom this fall (mentioned in previous posts here and here). Having repaired the towel bar (which pulled out of the wall, having not been attached to a stud) & re-hung the photo (which still went with the new decor), I'm now ready to unveil the results!

First, some background. Our house was built in 1983-84, so was about 7 years old when we bought it in the spring of 1990. The original owners had done some work -- the acrylic panels that formed the tub surround were obviously not builder issue, & they had two kinds of wallpaper on the walls (floral print on top with a bluish green on the bottom), with a dark wood chair rail dividing the two sections.

The paper was not water resistant & was mildewing & peeling by the time Katie was stillborn in August 1998. As a "keep busy" project, my parents rewallpapered the bathroom while they were here. Again, we chose a small floral print (dark rose & sage green) on top, beige below with a coordinating large-printfloral border separating the two. I also had a ventilating fan installed while I was at home that fall.

The wallpaper held up fairly well, but the border had started to come loose in several areas & some of the seams were beginning to separate. The acrylic panels on the tub surrond, however, were yellowing. Then, in February, we noticed a leak on the living room ceiling below the tub. We recaulked the tub (thankfully, we have a second bathroom with a shower in the basement) and it held up for awhile, but started leaking again in August/September. We tried recaulking again (twice!) but the leaking continued. We decided it was time to take the plunge & renovate.

The question was, how? Dh, for all his virtues, is not especially "handy." His dad did our basement for us 10 years ago, but he will be 80 soon, so asking him was out of the question. We weighed the pros & cons and evenutally decided to ask dh's stepbrother (stepMIL's youngest son). He has a small business doing renovations & we'd seen his work, and although we knew there might be some hazards asking a family member to do the job for us, we knew he would do a good job for us at a reasonable price. (And he did!)

First, here are some "before" photos.

The old tub -- with most of the shampoo bottles, etc., removed (I had already taken down the shower curtain too -- it was sage green). You can see the mildewed caulking & soap scum on the yellowing acrylic panels.


Another look at the tub surround.

The old toilet (beige fixtures), toilet paper holder & wallpaper. We kept the picture on the wall (Il Bacio) -- I love it, & it went just as well with the new decor.


Here you can see the old 80s-style lighting fixture, mirror (which we kept), and medicine cabinet door.


This is the old vanity (we had actually replaced the chipped-up sink & stripped faucets less than two years ago, so we re-used the relatively new faucets. The doors on the vanity & medicine cabinet are the same as our kitchen cupboards downstairs. It wasn't a bad vanity/sink overall, but6 the doors on it kept falling off, which was starting to drive me nuts.

Now for the "after!"

Here is the new moulded acrylic tub.

Another view of the tub/shower head & tiles we used, including the "border" tiles in the middle. I forgot to ask stepBIL about including somewhere to hang the washcloths & put the soap, so we got a metal rack that hangs over the showerhead.

Here you can see the new (white) toilet, chrome towel rack & toilet paper holder, with the new blue towels & toilet seat cover (we also got matching bathmats). FIL did the floor tiles for us about 7 years ago. We still had a box full in the basement & stepBIL used them to fill in the floor around & below the new vanity. We also got a new grate for the heating vent. The window blinds are the same. We painted the walls Pink Beige by CIL, to complement the dark brown in the wall tiles.

A view of the new lighting fixture, medicine cabinet door (which we painted white -- although I'm thinking of painting it the same colour as the wall), & the marble countertop & sink of the vanity.

Here's the new vanity. It looks black here but it's actually a very dark brown cherrywood. We had trouble finding one we liked, & I thought it might be a tad too dark (& the marble a little too yellow), but it's not a bad fit. It is slightly smaller than the old vanity, though, which took a little reorganizing & paring down of my stuff!!

*** *** ***

I have a "double header" Show & Tell this week. Despite a busy week at work, I snuck away from the office for an hour at lunch on Wednesday for a noon hour concert at First Canadian Place, near where I work. Over the years, I've seen a variety of Canadian talent performing at "the Waterfall Stage," a makeshift stage erected outside the Gap by a small waterfall near the elevators.

Wednesday's concert, though, was special. I don't know if the names Burton Cummings or The Guess Who mean much to those of you in the U.S. Burton was the lead singer of the Guess Who in its glory years, and left the band in the mid-1970s for a successful solo career. They were the first Canadian band to make it big in the United States in the 1960s, paving the way for todays Nickelbacks & other success stories. Their best-known song is probably "American Woman," which is heard in "Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me." A re-recording by Lenny Kravitz is heard over the closing credits of that movie.

Not only were the Guess Who Canadian, but -- special point of pride -- they were from Winnipeg, Manitoba -- the capital city of my home province. I wasn't quite old enough to remember the Guess Who in their heyday, but my mother tells me they played a teen dance at the city hall in her hometown when my sister & I were small, & even then, they were drawing big crowds. Thanks to Canadian content regulations, I heard lots of their music while I was growing up. Cummings has a beautiful, distinctive voice, one of the most instantly recognizable in rock & roll. He can rock, he can croon ballads, he is an accomplished piano player, and even plays the flute.

Cummings went solo in the mid-1970s & shortly after that -- some 30+ years ago now, yikes!! -- my sister and a few of her friends went to see him in concert for her birthday. I missed the concert, as I was at a student council conference that weekend, but heard all about it afterward (& saw him several times in concert myself in later years). Several of us were talking about it at band practice, & Miss M., our music teacher overheard us. She was a sharp, no-nonsense Brit. Classical music was her forte -- not rock & roll.

So we were shocked at what she said next. "Burton? Oh, I know him," she said, to much shrieking from us. Turns out she had taught him music in both elementary & high school, and she brought in her old yearbooks to prove it to us, pointing him out in the cast of the Gilbert & Sullivan operetta she had directed. She told us he was talented, but didn't apply himself (he wound up dropping out of high school), and she thought that a well-known local criminal lawyer who had attended the same high school actually had the better voice!!

Years later, I watched an episode of CBC's "Life & Times" series featuring Burton Cummings. Back at his old school, he paused outside the principal's office. "Many times Miss M. sent me here," he said ruefully, & I almost fell off the couch laughing. I could just see her doing it.

Wednesday's concert was to promote his new album -- his first solo album of new material in many years. It was just him and a keyboard, & he played for nearly an hour. The area around the stage was jam packed -- some people had been waiting for hours. I tried taking photos with my zoom lens, but they didn't turn out very well.

He played some new songs, as well as a few songs from his older albums & Guess Who days. His voice still soars, even though he is now 60 years old. And at the end, he did a theatrical little bow with a flourish.

After the concert, he was signing CDs at the nearby music store. I knew the lineup would be long, & I had already been gone an hour, so I regretfully passed & went back to work.

I wanted to ask him whether Miss M. had taught him to bow like that.

To see what others are Showing & Telling this week, hop on over here.

A Canadian perspective on tonight's events

OK, I wasn't going to blog about the U.S. election today, but in the end I couldn't resist. : )

I am Canadian (actually, I am half American through my American mother, and eligible for dual citizenship, although I have never claimed it), and so don't have a say in what's going on. Which doesn 't mean I don't have opinions. ; )

Like many other Canadians, I've been envious these past few months. We just had an election ourselves a few weeks ago, but it was nowhere near as exciting. (On the bright side, it was also nowhere near as LONG, lol.)

As a feminist, the thought of the first woman president was absolutely thrilling. But then so too was the idea of the first black president -- the first president from my own generation.

Obama may not have experience on his side, but he is obviously gifted. As a sometime speechwriter, I am blown away by his ability to deliver on the podium, to create a vision with his words, to inspire, especially young people. Inspirational figures are far & few between these days, it seems, and inspirational politicians...?? The response to Obama shows just how hungry people are to be inspired, to be challenged -- not just in America, but all over the world.

Words arent' everything, of course, and should Obama win tonight, there is no way he will be able to live up to all the expectations heaped upon his slender shoulders. But words do matter, and he has used them well and wisely during this campaign.

I'm the same age as Barack Obama (just a few months older). I was barely a week old when John Kennedy was inaugurated, & in grade school when his brother Robert was assassinated. I've had a lifelong fascination with the Kennedy family (much to my diehard Republican mother's bemusement). I would read Robert Kennedy's speeches & the stories of his campaign, & wish I had been around to experience that kind of passionate politics.

But by the time I was old enough to be interested in politics, the idealism of the 1960s had given way to the cynicism of the '70s. (If it wasn't a moon launch wreaking havoc with my Saturday morning cartoon schedule during summers at my grandmother's, it was the Watergate hearings)(she got FIVE channels with her rotary antenna, compared to the measly ONE I grew up watching -- the CBC -- until I was 14 & we moved closer to the border, and then got cable).

The closest I ever came to a truly inspirational political figure, I think, was Pierre Trudeau, Canada's Liberal Prime Minister from 1968 to 1979 and then again from 1980 to 1984 -- a good chunk of my formative years. (My very first political memory, in fact, is of the 1968 election, and asking my mother how to spell Trudeau.) Trudeau was a charismatic but highly controversial figure in Canadian politics (still is), and he was hugely unpopular in the area of the country where I grew up. He lost the 1979 election (the first one I voted in), but the Conservatives who defeated his government only held a minority, and in the winter of 1980, we were plunged back into another election.

At that time, I was a first-year student at the University of Manitoba. I didn't especially like Trudeau (& in fact, was a member of the campus Progressive Conservative club), but when we heard that he would be making a stop on campus, my roommate & I decided we would go see him. How often do you get to see a prime minister up close and in the flesh?

He was speaking in the student union building around 12:30 that day. Around 10:30, my roommate returned from a morning class. "We have to go NOW if we want to be able to see him," she said. So we went, and people were already waiting. By the time he finally arrived, it was wall to wall people, with kids lining the stairwells and looking down from the second floor.

It was a classic Trudeau performance. He stood in front of a microphone on the stage and spoke to us -- no lectern, no notes, certainly no teleprompter, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops in what the press called his "gunslinger" pose. I don't remember what he said that day, but I do remember laughing & shaking my head at how deftly he handled the inevitable hecklers. I never did vote for him, but I came away with a new respect for the man.

Later in the year, the province of Quebec held a referendum on separating from the rest of Canada. The recent accusations that Obama is a Muslim, because of his middle name, Hussein -- & Colin Powell's response, "he's not -- but so what if he was?" -- reminded me of a famous incident during the referendum. In Trudeau's own words:

"I was told that no more than two days ago Mr. Lévesque [Rene Levesque, then the separatist Premier of Quebec] was saying that part of my name was Elliott and, since Elliott was an English name, it was perfectly understandable that I was for the NO side, because, really, you see, I was not as much of a Quebecer as those who are going to vote YES.

"That, my dear friends, is what contempt is. It means saying that there are different kinds of Quebecers. It means that saying that the Quebecers on the NO side are not as good Quebecers as the others and perhaps they have a drop or two of foreign blood, while the people on the YES side have pure blood in their veins. That is what contempt is and that is the kind of division which builds up within a people, and that is what we are saying NO to.

"Of course my name is Pierre Elliott Trudeau. Yes, Elliott was my mother's name. It was the name borne by the Elliotts who came to Canada more than two hundred years ago. It is the name of the Elliotts who, more than one hundred years ago, settled in Saint-Gabriel de Brandon, where you can still see their graves in the cemetery. That is what the Elliotts are.

"My name is a Québec name, but my name is a Canadian name also, and that's the story of my name."

That was a pivotal moment in the referendum, and a great one in Canadian speechmaking. The famous opening line of a famous book about Trudeau reads, "He haunts us still," & and I don't think there has been anyone quite like him since he exited Canadian politics almost 25 years ago. (Certainly not our current cold fish of a PM.)

Trudeau died in late September 2000, just as I was completing my first IUI. Dh & I had taken the week off to accommodate my appointments & do stuff around the house, & we wound up watching the extensive coverage of his funeral. The eulogy was given by his oldest son, Justin, now a newly elected member of Parliament himself, who proved to have the oratorical skills of his father (not to mention the theatrical skills of his mother... but that's another story...).

Anyway -- all day long, for some reason, I've had an old Tom Cochrane song running through head. I just knew the refrain & the melody, not all the lyrics, & I finally had to look them up. At first read, it was nothing like what I expected. But when I read them again, I could actually see some application to current events. I am hoping it truly is a "Victory Day" all round -- for the United States, for all of us. (And now, I'm off to watch the returns!):

She's got her reasons, she's got her pride
Though she's beaten black and blue
One fine day she'll be walking outside
She'll turn to see what is true
Won't draw no curtains, be hiding no way
On that Victory Day

She's stuck it out, she's hung in tough
She won't be running away
He says it will change, but each time it does
It starts up all over again

He wants the thunder, the crashing of waves
The guts, the glory of victory parades
She says it just never happens that way
On that Victory Day

Victory Day, Victory Day
There's no rockets flaring, there's no loud display
If you walk with me we'll get there someway
On that Victory Day

In the sun, walk by the water, in the sun
She says life isn't big, not it's kind of small
Made of small moments, they're all strung together
If you don't look out, you might miss them all
Then it's just passed you on by like the weather

He wants that thunder and crashing of waves
The guts, the glory of victory parades
She says I'll give you much more than you'll take
On that Victory Day

Victory Day, Victory Day
There's no rockets flaring, there's no loud display
If you walk with me we'll get there someway
On that Victory Day

And he's gotten so close and he won't let it fade
And the reasons still haunt you for the mistakes you made
She says let it go, 'cause it's time for a change
But he's still a little boy trapped between pages
Time to walk away from him
She said "I'll take you some place where I know it will change"

Victory Day, Victory Day
There's no rockets flaring, there's no loud display
If you walk with me we'll get there someway
On that Victory Day, on that Victory Day

November, again

My Halloween kicked off, at work, by reading C's heartbreaking post, marking one year since the stillbirth of her son, Callum.

Then I went downstairs to the food court to get a tea. And ran smack dab into the kids from the building's daycare centre, dressed up to the nines for Halloween, and being escorted by their caregivers (all wearing funny hats & headdresses) on a tour of the merchants in the concourse for trick-or-treating. With a gaggle of beaming, camera-toting mommies & daddies tagging along.
I've worked in this building for 20 years, and this is an annual event, so I'm not sure why I was so taken aback by the sight of them. It just had totally slipped my mind as something that I might encounter this morning.

I was also taken aback by my reaction. I was more than just teary-eyed, as I have been some years, at the sight of them (& the sound of their excited, childish voices). Great big tears rolled down my face & blurred my vision as I tried to get money from the cash machine, & I gasped as I tried to choke them back. I had to find a quiet corner (where hopefully nobody I knew could see me), wipe my eyes & try to compose myself before going back upstairs to my desk and my colleagues.

I went to the bathroom & there was a pink stain on the toilet paper. AF arrived, a trifle early for me, on day 29. Well, that explains it (at least in part).

Came home & handed out treats to the 101 tricksters who landed on my doorstep, including the little girl next door, who was our first visitor -- dressed as Sharpay from "High School Musical." (I HAVE heard of HSM, although the significance of Sharpay escapes me...!) She went out later with some of her friends. I kept wondering whether she & Katie would have gone out together. And thinking back to other Halloweens, as we've watched her grow up.

Her very first Halloween, when she was about six months old (and Katie would have been on the verge of turning one), her parents dressed her up like a flower & sat her in her swing in the hall by their front doorway to greet the trick or treaters. I remember laughing & crying at the same time when I went out on my front porch to light the candle in my jack o'lantern & saw her. She was adorable.

The next year, she came over for her very first trick or treating, dressed as a bunny. She was so little she could barely climb up the front steps. The next year, however, when she was 2.5, she was a little cowgirl. We were the first house she came to, & she wasn't quite sure what this was all about. I put the candy in her bag & she looked at it, & looked at me & said, with surprise and delight in her voice, "Oooohhh!!" lol About a half hour later I saw her tearing up a driveway down the street, with her mom running after her. I said to dh, "She caught on fast!" lol

Our nephews have always lived too far away to come to our house for trick or treating (and we were never invited to go there to be part of their fun -- I suppose their parents -- and we -- always thought we'd have kids of our own to take out for Halloween someday...), but cousin/neighbour's wife used to bring their two little girls over. I would have special baggies made up with Laura Secord chocolates in it for them (honouring the memory of kind older neighbour of my childhood, who used to spoil my sister and me, and a couple of the other neighbourhood kids, with big baggies filled with chocolate every year). Being 17 & 15 now, they are too old for trick or treating & haven't been over in years. (I remember the huge disappointment I felt the first year they didn't show up at my doorstep, & I was left, literally, holding the (candy) bags.)

Of course, some kids don't know when to quit, it seems. One of the last bunches of kids I shelled out for before closing up shop around 9 p.m. was a group of five great big hulking teenaged boys. After they left, dh said, "When your voice starts changing, I think it's time to stop trick or treating," lol. I added, "Yeah, & when you can't put down your damned cellphone long enough to say 'trick or treat' & hold your bag open...!!" That was a new one for me!!

*** *** ***
Halloween, of course, is closely linked to All Saints & All Souls Days, which Mrs. Spit wrote movingly about this week. And to the custom in some countries, particularly the Latino ones, of Dia de Muertos -- Day of the Dead. The company I work for has a sizeable presence in Mexico, and one of my Mexican-born colleagues circulated a PowerPoint presentation to on Halloween morning, explaining the customs surrounding Dia de Muertos.


Ten years ago, when Katie & my grandfather died, our church held a special service for All Saints Day on the Sunday afternoon closest to Nov. 1. Dh & I attended. Families were asked to call in advance if they wanted their loved one remembered in the service leaflet, & I had their names added. We lit candles for them and heard their names read aloud. It was tremendously moving and comforting.

Hearing the name of a dead loved one being spoken can be a powerful thing. Three years ago, in October 2005, dh's uncle passed away in Italy. As is their custom, his family arranged to have a mass said for him at the church one branch of his family regularly attended, close to where dh grew up. It was Nov. 1st -- All Saints Day. It was a rush for us to get home, have a quick dinner, change and drive back into the city in time for the 7:30 service, but we made it. The church only about a third full as we sat down near the front and began talking to other family members as they drifted in.

Several members of dh's family took part in the service, giving readings and leading prayers, and one of his cousins stood up at the beginning and said that, on behalf of [dh's two surviving aunts here in Canada], they wanted to dedicate this mass to the memory of their brother who had just died, as well as their parents and three other siblings who had passed away. Then she started reading their names -- including that of dh's mother -- the mother-in-law I never knew. I felt a lump rise in my throat & tears in my eyes. Dh took my hand & I squeezed it. He said he too was struck with a wave of emotion as the names were read aloud. And he silently added Katie's name to the list.

At the end of the service, we got up. To our amazement, the pews behind us were packed. Some of the people were no doubt faithful parishoners attending mass as a matter of course -- but most were relatives, cousins, friends, paisan from the old country -- and there are many who live here in the Toronto area -- who had heard & come to offer their support. I wondered how many people would have come to Katie's funeral, had we not opted for a private, immediate-family-only service.

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So now it's November... "the cruellest month," as I blogged last year. All the things I found depressing about November then still hold true now. With the time change, we've been plunge into darkness. It's dark when we get up and dark when we leave for work. It was still light when our train pulled out of Union Station shortly before 5 tonight, but almost dark by the time we arrived home around 5:30.

Some day, it will be light again. Until then, I guess I'll just muddle through as usual...!

Article: "The Bubble of Silence"

Childess-not-by-choice blogger/artist Tiffany Lee Brown (she prefers the interesting term "nymphe") has published an article in the Oregon Humanities magazine about the "bubble of silence" surrounding childlessness and the grief some of us feel about it. Have a read!

(Pamela Jeanne explored the same subject in a recent post in her blog, Coming 2 Terms.)