August 26th, 1989

When I was 18, I got married. It was a small wedding (only about 50-75 people) and not my "dream wedding" but I was on a tight budget and there was a time constraint as well I had to work with. I was pregnant, and Alan was due to leave for basic training at the end of August, and since he was informed that the military (at that point) didn't recognize "common law" marriage, if I wanted to be covered under any of his benefits -- we had to be married. So we did. Not that it really mattered WHEN we got married since we were planning on getting married anyway, it just happened BEFORE he went to basic training instead of AFTER like we'd originally planned. Either way, I was marrying the love of my life.


I didn't have a bridal gown or anything like that, and to be 100% honest -- while my dress was pretty it wasn't me (or at least I don't think so). It was wedgewood blue in colour and fairly plain. It wasn't anything I was overly excited about, but it fit and looked nice. It wasn't what I wanted (I wanted an actual wedding dress of course) but that wasn't in the cards and it looked nice and served it's purpose.

My Mom had worked 11pm until 7am the night before my wedding (something she couldn't get out of), and my sister and I had spent the night at my Mom's. After a couple hours of sleep My Mom and I went to the hairdressers, (of which I spent with my ass in the air for a good half hour -- I'll explain later), picked up one of my two wedding cakes, and took me to the woman who did my make up.

Quite frankly, the day is a little hazy. I don't remember much about the morning at all. I know we went to these places and did things but any conversations and actual details -- I have nothing until about mid afternoon. With the loan exception of my ass being in the air at the hairdressers. She originally tried to do a regular french braid but I had these pieces that would stick out at the side, so she decided to try a reverse braid which started at the nape of my neck and went upwards instead. So there I was, ass in the air, bent over the chair while she braided. Charming to be certain. But my hair looked good in the end - and truthfully isn't that all that matters?

Later I found out that after I left, Alan went in for his own hair cut to the same salon. The same lady who had done my hair, completely butchered his. He went home, his Mom took one look at it and said "What the hell did you do to your hair??" He ended up going to a place just up the street from his Mom's and getting his hair RE-cut just to fix the mess she had made.

We returned back to my Mom's and waited for my family's arrival so we could take some pictures and then drove to the park where we got married. I remember pulling up in the car and seeing Alan and his family and trying to hide in the backseat of my Dad's little Nissan Maxxima so he couldn't see me before the wedding. I remember my Aunt Jane (whom I adored -- she unfortunately passed about 6 months after my Mom) had brought me some pearl earrings for my "something borrowed" (which she later gave to me), who shooed Alan away when he got too close to the car.

I remember walking with Mom and Dad to the gazebo where we had our wedding. My youngest sister in law Mary lead the way as our flower girl, and then my sister. I remember as Mom, Dad and I walked across the grass my heals sank in with every step. I had to keep lifting my feet up to pull the heels out of the grass. I remember I almost felt like I was marking with each step - hoping like hell I didn't lose my shoe. I remember I also whispered something like "don't let me go ass over tea kettle" to my parents.

Our ceremony wasn't a long one - it was a Justice of the Peace and we hadn't done anything special with our vows or anything (although I wish we had, I always thought that was cool when people did that). I remember I couldn't look at Alan as he had this grin on his face that he gets sometimes, I can't describe it in any other way than the "I know I'm gonna get laid" grin. LOL Sorry kids but it's true! My brother in law Rob stood over his shoulder making goofy faces at me so he was no help, and my friends sat lined up on a bench - some watching intently, others in tears. Surely I couldn't look at them! I would have started bawling myself! So with no where to look, I stared mostly at the ground.

We had a small dinner reception with family and a few friends, and then moved to a small hall for the reception. Alan's parents arranged that portion and to be honest I knew very little about what was going on with that. I knew my youngest brother in law Dan had literally spent days recording music to dance to, and while I'd gone over that with him (I was pretty anal retentive when the music came up), I was pretty hands off otherwise.

There were a few "must haves" at the reception for music in my eyes. I had specific songs in honour of friends in attendance. Various memories - songs that meant something. Something by Triumph (Just one night) for my friend Nat and I who we had spent many hours listening to Triumph over the years, Kim Mitchell (Go for a Soda) for my friends Leslie and Dede, Yello (Oh Yeah) for our friends Jeff and Ray, AC/DC (Back in Black) for our friend Amber, and of course Duran Duran (The Reflex) for Rach and I.

My in laws also had a 50/60/country band that they performed in that played. Truthfully that genre really isn't my thing, however they wanted to play a couple numbers that I really loved and that was a great gift from them. Alan got up to sing "Johnny B. Goode" with them, and as a joke part way through they changed the tempo on him. Here's Alan singing like gang busters and they drop the tempo right out from under him. The look on his face was priceless. I loved it.

Tomorrow, Alan and I are heading (just us) to Toronto for the weekend to go to this convention. It will be nice to get away and have some alone time. I look forward to it.

22 years ago on Friday, I married the love of my life. Happy Anniversary Alan. I love you.

One Last Glimpse,


~K

64 days...but who's counting

It still seems like a dream to me on some levels. Almost like I won't let myself believe it's real. That this time..it's really going to happen. I can't bring myself there yet. I think I'm scared or paranoid that if I let go, and go there....it won't happen. Everything else logical in me screams "don't be ridiculous- let go, enjoy the ride! It's not going to be taken away from you again. You're going. And that's that." But I can't....not yet.


Make no mistake I'm absolutely counting down the days. The anticipation is great, and it's about killing me that I just haven't let go...but I just...can't. The funny thing about it is, I know I'm not alone - I know there are others out there who are "what if'ing" right along with me, but dare not speak of it. Chiefly among them would be Simon himself I'm sure. But truthfully, he can't let it consume him which is probably for the best. Move forward, move on, take what you have learned from the experience and move on using its lessons in the future to your advantage.

I think I just want the tour to start, I want them to be over here...on our half of the world, I've missed that. Then maybe I'll feel better, and be able to just let go. I'll need to let go of some of this pressure cooker or I'm going to end up on youtube in one of those videos where a crazed fan dives the stage grabbing John or Simon and being dragged off by security. And as much fun as that would be...I don't think that's how I'd want to be remembered by them.

In the reality of the situation, I suppose no matter how crazy, batshit or insane I go before the show - I still will absolutely loose my mind at the show. There is no question in my mind.

I would love to be at one of these rehearsal gigs. I think that would be outstanding, and fun. it's another thing I've never heard of a band doing before that I think quite frankly is brilliant. Leave it to Duran.

As the opening of the North American date approaches I suspect another surge of emotion once again will swell with the excitement and anticipation, I would love to hear the screams that are going to ring out during the first show (and rehearsals for that matter). I'm certain it will be an emotional moment for Simon, I have no doubt. To over come that hurdle - I'm sure will fill him with pride.

Deafen them ladies....they deserve it.

One Last Glimpse,


~K

My mind goes one million miles an hour

I don't consider myself to be a hyperactive person. In fact quite the opposite, I've been told that I don't worry enough and that I don't get wound up about things. I  get excited about things, but don't think of myself as an excitable person per se or a hyper personality. I can be hyper, but I'm not everyday.

Lately; probably the last 4 months or so; my mind has been going one million miles an hour creatively. Photography, musically, writing, blogging, poetry, etc. I want to do it all, and for some reason I'm compelled to do it all. With writing I've been lucky with this blog because I can just blog and blog and get the words or thoughts out that are forming, but when it comes to story telling I find when I can't get words out that I get frustrated because I think in my mind...it shouldn't be that hard. I know what I want to write, I know where I want to go with it, but for whatever reason - I just cannot get out the words out. I have a story I WANT to tell, all the characters are carefully and clearly defined, I've done a little research (it's a period piece) but I just cannot find that jumping off point.

At times like this I tend to go do something else, blog, take photos, #PTFBK, etc. Until I find that starting point and then as if things have a mind of their own, they just....flow. But with this one case -- it's just not happening, and it's frustrating, truly frustrating.

Maybe if I put it out of my mind something will come to me. Isn't that usually or occasionally how it works? Maybe I'm over thinking things. Making it more difficult than I need to be. Who knows.

One Last Glimpse,


~K

Fan Expo 2011

On this coming Thursday my husband Alan and I are going to go to Toronto for the weekend. I'm rather excited about it as it's for a multitude of reasons.

On Friday August 26th we will have been married 22 years. We got married on August 26th, 1989 in a park that I actually live about a 5 minute walk from now. We were surrounded by our family and friends in a small justice of the peace ceremony when I was 18.

In Toronto this coming weekend (25-28) is something called Fan Expo. It's a convention for gaming, anime, horror, sci-fi and comic books. It's a geekfestgasm. Loads of actors, novelists, fx people, artists etc. I really am not that much interested in the anime, comic or gaming aspect however I am interested in the actors that are going to be attending for the horror and sci-fi aspect of the con (short for convention). Martin Landau, Robert Englund (Freddy Kruger), Michael Shanks (yes THE Michael Shanks) and his lovely wife Lexa, Katee Sackhoff, Nichele Nichols (Uhura from the original Star Trek), Marina Sirtis (Deanna Troi from Star Trek Next Generation), and William Shatner (if I have to tell you who that is....we can no longer be friends...sorry!) and one Elvira Mistress of the Dark. Truthfully, I am DYING to meet the chick.

Another upside (besides the convention) I get to spend my anniversary...in TORONTO. I LOVE Toronto. I'll cruise around and get some pics before we bail at some point -- although we're going to be taking the subway most of the time. (I'd LOVE to hit up the CNE and get some pictures from where the exhibition stadium used to stand, but I'm not sure I'll be able to. But I'll do my best, and I'll DEFINITELY take a shot of the ACC where Duran are going to be) Just to show. And of course the CN tower. I want to take some hard core architecture photos. We'll see what we get.

Friday night for dinner we have reservations at Benihana which excites me VERY much. Benihana is a Japanese teppanyaki place. (I LOVE teppanyaki) I've not been there before however I'm eager to enjoy myself.

THANKFULLY my Uncle (my Dad's eldest brother) lives in Toronto and is graciously allowing us to stay at his apartment for the weekend saving us a CRAPTON of cash on hotels. He also has decided he wants to go stay at his boat instead of invading our weekend, which I thought was very sweet of him.

I'm sure we'll post pictures on Facebook either throughout the weekend or when we get home on Sunday evening. Either way I'm looking forward to it!

One Last Glimpse,

~K

My friend Nat

I am blessed to have wonderful friends. Truly wonderful friends. I have one friend whom I have known since we were in 4th grade...and this blog...this one is for her. Her name is Natalie Evans.

Nat, how can I ever possibly tell you in these words, in this short brief amount of space what you mean to me? I've known you since grade 4, and another 20 lifetimes together won't be enough time to spend together. You have seen me at my best, and my worst. Have laughed with me, cried with me, we've been enraged together (at situations that life has thrown at us but never at each other). Helped carry me through my mother's illness and death, and even shared a laugh with me (my Mother's request) at her visitation.

When I think of my friend Nat, a few things come to mind. She's singing...forever singing. Always making up lyrics to songs (her mother does the EXACT same thing), dancing, and her laugh....that laugh....that I love. It never fails to make me smile.  She has a quick wit about her and a way with words that can always make me laugh. Her laugh never fails to make me laugh and her smile is an infectious one.

We've had some hell of a good times together in those 30 years. And I am looking forward to another 30+ years of good times

When I first met Nat, we were in grade 4. I had just moved to London from a completely different city, which made me (again -- and many times in this life) the new kid on the block. I moved a lot growing up, which would move on into my adulthood.

Nat made me feel welcome and wanted. And for a kid who was new, and lonely and unsure of herself - it was appreciated more than I can ever say. I've been fortunate to always have Nat to have my back. She's always been there for me, and me her. A mark of a true friend.

Nat has always loved animals. She should have been a veterinarian. The animals would have been lucky to have her. She's got a very gentle touch with them, and cares very deeply about their well being. She's donated time, money and items to those animals less fortunate. She's a truly wonderful person and I am blessed to know her.

We've shared many highs and lows together - school, marriages, births, deaths, family drama, life and luxury. I cannot imagine my life without her. Nor would I want to. She is a true treasure of a person, and it's an honour to call her my friend.

Thank you, Nat. Love you. You are exceptional.


One Last Glimpse,


~K

High School

No one's high school experience is perfection. I don't care who you are. My first 2 years (grades 9 and 10) sucked large.  I was overweight, had glasses, braces, was in orchestra and didn't have cool clothes and was teased mercilessly. And being me...I took it to heart.

 I did a few things during my high school years that I'm less than proud of - lied, stole, drank, smoked dope, smoked cigarettes and even one afternoon, while home alone...came this close....to ending it all.

I'm not going to go into detail as to why, although I could. Suffice to say I was very lonely, and very sad. I don't handle being alone well when I have a problem, even though I have on numerous occasions said "Just leave me alone". And when I say that...I only mean for about 20 minutes..not days at a time. I'm a very social person and need that connection with others. I am thankful on that day that "Angels come in strange forms" (thank you Rachel for that quote).

I had one guy in high school who teased me the worst. I remember one day in the middle of an argument with Rach he inserted himself into the fray. Big. Mistake. I remember being in the middle of my tirade at her and when he inserted himself into the conversation, I spun round yelled something at him and continued my rant. Momentarily off footed he paused, and then resumed his blather and comments at me.

A few years ago, he sent me a friends request on facebook, which quite frankly I found very amusing as not 2 days prior I had been talking about him. His friend request was attached with a note that read: "I know I was terrible to you in school. I hope you can forgive me." After I got over the initial shock of how earnest his apology seemed and accepted his friends request I replied with: "I forgive you. Does this mean I can send you all my shrink bills now?" He never replied about that one.

Life throws you little karmic curve balls like that every once in a while. It's just a question of if you're going to hit a pop fly and get called out or if you're going to swing and crack that grand slam and win the game.

One Last Glimpse,

~K

Innocence Lost

 This is probably going to be one of those blogs that will be one of the most painful ones to write, so I apologize in advance it may be hard for you to read. But, it is my story, my journey and I'm going to tell it in as great a detail as I can remember. If it is disjointed I apologize. I was only 4/5 years old so the memories are vague, and blurred together.


When I was 4 my parents separated and then divorced, my sister and I that summer (as well as the next one) went to live with my Mother's sister in Toronto with her husband and their son who is about 6 years older than I. I didn't know my Aunt and her family well, they lived in Toronto (world's away at that age) and we didn't see them often. The person (I won't even refer to him as a "gentleman" because he wasn't) my Aunt was married I can only refer to as an alcoholic lecherous abusive asshole.

To be honest I'm uncertain as to what they did professionally. I THINK they may have been book keepers or accountants but for whom I have no idea. I know my Aunt had gone to school to be a teacher (which she didn't really end up even doing although she truly would have been a GREAT teacher), and I know later on she was also a real estate agent...but I know they weren't then. I know they worked from home and I know there was countless ledger books in their "Office" (living room) which is what makes me assume they were book keepers or accountants. 

They lived in a lovely influencial area in Toronto, not too far from downtown Toronto. The house was a large 2 story home, 4 bedrooms and 1 bath. I WANT to say it was "Craftsman style" but I could be wrong. It was lovely in any event. But, I hated it...for those two summers, it was my prison.

My cousin was allowed everyday to go off on his bike, and play with his friends. Now, did I expect my sister and I (she was 6 the first summer) to be allowed to run the streets of Toronto? No, of course not who would?
But the fact that we were NEVER allowed out of the back yard, I hated it. My sister and I were woken up every morning, dressed, fed and ushered outside for the day. The only time we were permitted to come back in was if it was raining (and I mean downpour, if it was spitting...we could stay out...after all it's not like we were going to melt! "What are you made of sugar?"), if it was the end of the work day, or if we had to pee. That. WAS. IT. The screen door was LOCKED so we couldn't even get in. I remember I had to pee so bad one day, the door was locked and I banged on the door for what seemed like 20 minutes and no one came. I peed in the bushes in my Aunt's back garden. She wasn't happy with me...What if the neighbors saw?! God forbid!

We were given a card table with paper, colouring books and crayons and a small above ground pool. And that was it. Our lunches were spent at that card table every day. If we wanted to have a nap, it was either sitting in the chair with our heads down on the table (which btw sat in this garage thankfully -- truthfully our only shade). I prayed for rain days, only then were we allowed to be inside.

It was lonely, confusing, boring. Imagine being 4 years old, or 6 for that matter (my sister's age) and suddenly being thrown into a house were you don't really know the people who you're living with, who are complete strangers in your eyes. Your Mom isn't there, your father isn't there...there's just you...and your sister who is only 6.

On rare occasions my sister and I got to go out: CN Tower, Toronto Zoo, Science Center, Casa Loma, Center Island, Ontario Place. On those rare times, those odd forced "family" moments, life seemed almost normal.

I have very little recollection as to which summer was which, I just know I was very, very sad.

I have one very disjointed...odd...disturbing memory. One of those memories that you're not sure if it REALLY happened or if you've imagined it. But somewhere, deep down in the pit of your soul...you know it's truth. That it really happened, but I get the feeling that I'm forgetting something. And truthfully, I probably don't want to know.

I don't know if this happened the first summer, or the second and truthfully...it doesn't matter. It's hazy, vague and honestly..I don't know which summer it was. I remember I was either in bed and woke up, OR I had just had been finished being read to and was about to go to bed...but in any event I needed to pee. My Aunt informed me that her husband (I REFUSE to refer to him as my uncle (even though I called him that to his face at the time) - The title "Uncle" is reserved for someone who deserves it, and let me assure you - he..did not.) was in the bath. But, since that was the ONLY washroom in the house, and I was a little girl - I had to pee - right then. I remember I knocked on the door, opened it and went in. Went to close the bathroom door and saw him sitting in the tub. Now, you would think...if a little girl was coming in to use the bathroom, that you'd close the curtain, put a wash cloth or hell even your hands over your penis. Not him. He was just sitting there completely exposed. I remember I went pee, he talked to me casually (I don't remember what about), I finished and went to leave when he stopped me and said "Good night". I remember being uncomfortable and at the time finding the whole scene just wrong. Why didn't he cover himself? Do I recall him touching himself? No. Do I recall him touching me? No. But to be honest....I think I know the answer to both questions, and it's not good.

Would it make a difference if I knew either way? Probably not. I think I've blocked out whatever occurred and inserted my own reality into it. I think there's sizeable amounts of that "bathroom visit" that are missing from my memory - and I've always felt that way. I literally would get a feeling of loathe and disgust and repulsion and even nausea on occasion looking at him over the years. I truly hated him. And I'm not a "hate" kind of person. I don't think that if I knew for a fact what went down that it would change me fundamentally as a person. I mean, I already hate the guy. I already assume something was amiss, I just don't know what.

He was cruel to my sister and I. One night my sister was crying because she missed our parents. Instead of comforting her, he mocked her saying things like "look at the baby" and that "if she didn't stop crying, he'd set up a crib and she could sleep in that." Who says shit like that to a child???

We used to eat "too slow" supposedly. A large black timer (I THINK it was used for film developing??) was set in the kitchen on the counter. I remember struggling to eat and get everything eaten before that fucking buzzer went off. I hated that fucking timer. I remember one breakfast timer was rapidly coming close to going off and with each loud tick of the timer I would sob harder and harder because I KNEW I wasn't going to finish on time and I would gag on my eggs. I was such a nervous wreck I wanted to puke. Who does that to a child???

I was eternally scarred for life after those 2 summers. I made decisions of things I would NEVER say OR do to my children. Or anyone else's children for that matter. I feel in a way my innocence was ripped from me. It was the first time I can ever remember hating someone. Who hates someone at 4 or 5 years old? Does one at that age even have a grasp on the ideology of hate? Let me assure you, they can. And truthfully my Aunt was just as much to blame, because she didn't stop him. But I think because she's blood related I feel that I MUST forgive her actions or non actions and move on. My Aunt eventually left him, and he's dead now - and has been for years. I don't know if I should forgive him or not. I don't know if I can. Does that make me a bad person?

One Last Glimpse,


~K