I was meeting with a group of women I didn’t know very well to discuss an upcoming event we would all be involved in. Arriving late, a woman hurried in and before she could conduct any pleasantries, she blurted out that their house had been broken into. Of course we were immediately concerned and whether we knew her or not, we wanted details.

She was quick to provide.

Yes their beautiful home (in ‘that’ high end part of town) had been burglarized and left in a state of disarray. Everything was upturned, china broken, jewellery stolen and it was obvious they had thoroughly scoured through the contents of their home. Our reactions to her news were similar. We were both stunned and concerned.

But according to her that was not the worst of it.

Whoever broke in, not only stole some numerous valuables but also had found and taken her car keys.

A round of ‘oh-no’s, OMG’s and fall backs’ circulated but there was more.

Not only had they stolen her treasured Mercedes but unfortunately she had been negligent and in a hurry that afternoon left her purse in the car.

At this we all gasped for air. We had heard stories like this but not happening to anyone we knew.

But she wasn’t finished. According to her, although rightly upset by everything, she could handle all of that. But what followed was the breaking point part of the story and clearly what was causing her the most distress.

She continued …

“I have been floundering ever since my old hairdresser moved away a year and a half ago. I searched for him for months because he was the only one who really understood me and my hair. And finally the other day I found him. I was ecstatic. But his business card with all of his info was in my purse!!!”

To this she broke down and cried.

Looking back it was a blast … I’m sorry it’s all done   

Celebrating my 60 days … with a daily dose of fun

They all filled up so quickly … just so much to do

Growing up in Thorold, a town neighbouring with Niagara Falls, I have deep rooted memories of our regular trip of ‘going over the river’ to dine, see movies or shopping for clothes not yet available just a few miles west.

Although our family seemed to embrace the virtues of honesty and high morals, for some reason all were disregarded when it came to those trips. Any sense of committing a venial sin for lying was tossed out the window as we neared the american side of the Rainbow Bridge (that way we did not have to claim ‘it’).

So, yes over the years I have amassed a plethora of “let me tell you what happened today at the border …” tales, complete with being placed ‘on record’ for a period of 2 years. But I’ll save those for another day.

Here is my recount of just what happens on a typical venture to the other side and most importantly attempting to make it back …

We grew accustomed to hearing stories about our grandmother, Nona. She arrived in Canada from Italy when she was seven, went to grade one but after just a few months was sent to work in the cotton mill in Hamilton. She was the second youngest of eight.

By fourteen she was pursued by a family friend twelve years older. Though reluctant to commit, she married him. At one time she revealed that she felt she had to, because he had bought her a pair of red shoes. She thought she owed him. Their life together was as volatile as it was eventful.

We relished in hearing her tell tales. Family members continued to    share them well after her death. Although some were told repeatedly t here was one story that only surfaced on rare occasions. Perhaps it was because it was never validated by my own mother. And because of that there were numerous variations of the same event.

It was during the Great Depression in the late ’20′s when most were unemployed, many received ‘relief’ and all would do anything to make ends meet for their families. Nona too, did what she could to provide for her family. She was a bootlegger. She serviced her friends and apparently the local police as well.

It wasn’t so much her newly acquired profession that proved to be problematic for her but what she did to defend it and herself.

One Saturday evening my grandparents did what they most enjoyed … entertaining pasani (friends) and famiglia (family) in casa (their home). It was certain there would be delicious Italian cooking and although the prohibition was on, as a bootlegger, Nona would also provide them with booze. Whether or not payment was made, those facts are no longer available to me, but the rest of the story is …

At some point in the night amidst the roaring voices of the crowd a cop entered their home in the north end of Hamilton. Normally her ‘friends in the force’ were able to tip her off to any surprise visits however this particular night the message had not been received. Looking around it was obvious what was taking place among the partygoers as it was a common occurrence in those days. The guilty charge was automatic with the first sniff of alcohol.

But it wasn’t ‘being caught’ that pressed Nona’s button (and for certain gave her ‘agitto’). Apparently she and the cop knew each other and the history they shared did not sit well with her. She really didn’t like him. He was arrogant and a ‘smart alec’ who took advantage of his position and bullied the likes of Nona and her north end community of immigrants.

In the process of dealing with the bootlegging issue he made a disparaging comment directly to and about my grandmother. Incited, she was not prepared to take ‘that’ from anyone regardless of badge or brawn. She reached for her purse and took a swing at the man in uniform, hitting him across the head and knocking his esteemed hat to the ground.

Although some details of what followed had faded, the truth recently emerged. Just this past Christmas my mother finally confirmed that the story was factual. Nona was handcuffed and transported to a cell, on an upper floor of Hamilton’s Barton Street Jail.

She then recalled how her father walked all of the children down the street from their home, stood at the corner of Barton and Ferguson Avenue, and said: “Look up there. Wave to your Mother. She’s on the third floor.”

Nona was to stay in jail for two weeks however when her case was presented before the judge she was released earlier than planned.

Apparently, he was a customer.

That’s our Nona … that’s why we loved her.

PS my chosen title was given to me by a woman I met in New Orleans who shared her own experience of going to jail and how her grandchildren teased her with the moniker ‘Gramma in the Slamma’.

Whether you are a Mom, an aunt, a teacher, coach or mentor to young people I’m sure there have been moments with them that touched your heart. It could have been in the form of a tickle, a jolting jab or maybe even a wrenching squeeze. I challenge you to think of some of them and treasure them.

Here are just a few of mine …

On affirmation … Vince at 2 was an eloquent talker with the voice of an old man. One day I had decided maybe I should try to do something on the culinary side for a change (Joe has always done all of the cooking). He walked into the kitchen and saw me fumbling my way around the ingredients.

He was quick to comment “Mommy you’re not supposed to cook. Only men do that.”

I knew that. I thanked him for the reminder.

On protection … when Alena was in grade on she came home from school excited to show me her class picture. Sitting on my lap she started pointing out the various kids with an descriptor … “This is Emily. She has a new baby brother. This is Thomas. He chases me at recess. But I’m fast. This is Sara. She just got her 7th barbie. I only have 2. And this is Jonathon. When he showed his mommy this picture she said that I was the fattest in the class ….”

I failed to hear about the rest of the children because at that moment my heart was squeezed, my throat was tightened and my belly knotted. I was in full blown ‘mother mode’.

It took some sleuthing but I made that call to that Mom and played that card. I could not protect my child in the playground but ‘Mom – Mom’ she had some explaining to do. I believe we are in this journey together.

On rage … after my eldest repeatedly asked me the same question desperately hoping for a different answer he stood his ground and would not move. In a last ditch effort to convince me to change my mind he said “but I just don’t get why I can’t go. What will I tell ‘insert name’ (girlfriend)?” … no longer able to contain my frustration the rage button was activated. I jumped up from the couch where I was comfortably lounging and screamed “just tell her I’m a f***ing whacko!!!!!!!” The question was not asked again.

On fear … when my second child was 5 weeks old we were at my parents home for a visit. Having decided to go into the backyard, my dad picked up the baby seat and proceeded to walk towards the back door. I followed behind. I saw him back up to the screen door and use his elbow to adjust the handle to open it. Still holding the seat at the top and at the footrest he then stepped outside onto the patio.

And as he did all I heard was “oh no” and the shrilled scream from the baby. In the next split second of panic I saw my baby lying on the concrete floor. The footrest had given way and there he lay screaming.

Fast forward … without elaborating, other than a regular reoccurrence of ‘punning’ and the odd goofy expression on his handsome face he seems to be fine.

On acceptance … Alena (who I always believed had an old soul) was in kindergarten and after spending an enjoyable time together, she took my head in her hands and pressing my cheeks together she announced “if I was a little girl and you were a little girl, I’d want you to be my friend.”

P.S. I know your head is swirling right now with many of your own. I encourage you to please write them down before you forget them and share them. If nothing else they will be an important part of your memory bank and a most valued part of their inheritance. Consider it as taking the gift they gave you … and re-gifting it back to them.

Happy Mother’s Day …

to all of you who in some way influence the lives of children everywhere ~!!~ 

 For more interesting reading … www.ihaveastoryforyou.com

CBL’s Vintage Video Series: Watch her take on ‘A few of life’s great mysteries …’

One morning still flopping (literally) around in my pyjamas I was in the process of gathering the two large plastic water containers to drop at the front door, in hopes that someone would think and make an effort to have them filled.

As I neared the door I heard a light tap and saw through the bevelled glass that someone was standing there. So of course I answered the door still hugging a bottle under each arm.

There stood an OPP officer. Although my initial reaction was one of panic as I quickly accounted for each of my kids, the first words out of my mouth were not ones of concern.

Instead I foolishly uttered an invite into our home “Please come in. And ah, excuse my jugs.”

Thankfully the officer was female and had a sense of humour. She was quick to respond “which ones?”

Shopping in Winner’s one day I spotted a pair of pants with a design in the fabric. I really liked them. I liked the blend of colours too. I knew for sure a basic black top (of which I have way too many to choose from … it’s just sooo slimming though) could finish it off nicely. So I searched the racks hoping to find a pair in my size.

In frustration I thought to myself “why can’t I ever find the clothes I like in my size?”

Before I could dwell on the matter for too long my little ‘inside voice’ barked the reply: “maybe because they weren’t meant to be worn in your size.” Think spandex in size XL without a t-shirt draped to the knees. Need a rear view visual? With lips together, run your tongue from the inside of one cheek to the other.

back to that voice … it’s that same voice that does not allow me to leave the house in certain clothing combinations (but pj’s to the curb are completely acceptable because I’m still on my property), horizontal striped bottoms to avoid looking like a spin top or sans lipstick … not pretty. That voice is a familiar one. Ironically it’s my own.

It’s obvious those I see roaming the streets don’t seem to have to deal with a voice like that. Then again, many don’t appear to own a mirror either. With a tinge of envy I believe they’re the lucky ones ~!!~

PS if you’re really bored check out the latest CBL Vintage Videos

I’ve been posting www.youtube.com/user/Moodivator

& if you enjoy them …. SHARE.

One of the true & great life lessons … take a good look at yourself & enjoy a laugh about it ~!!~

CBL Vintage Video: Watch her take on ‘being able to laugh at yourself’ …

Okay all you baby boomers. Grab a coffee and sit back to reminisce and enjoy a trip back to the 50′s. It’s a long one but it’ll be worth your time …

CBL Vintage Video: Watch her take on ‘the 50′s’ …