Recently, I was having dinner with a couple whose son is in my son's English class. The boys are reading Romeo and Juliet. As a lover of some of Shakespeare's work, I was taken aback by some of their comments. Now, these boys are 14 and not particularly into "romance". Frankly, their idea of romance is letting a dirty sock hang around as long as it can before being snatched from them cruelly but necessarily, to have the stink blown off. The love goes deep.
I was however, shocked when I asked my son what he thought of the novel Romeo and Juliet. In his usual considered fashion, (about the time it takes to blink) he said "It sucked". I must have looked like I'D been poisoned. "No, Mom, you don't get it...it was "STUPID."
Then his friend joined in and pointed out the stupid points of language to us unenlightened parents who looked at each other bemused. "Nobody would talk like that today," one boy said. "It would take half an hour just to say hello!" I can see his point. That would clearly move in on his xbox time.
Other than the feud between the Montague and Capulet's, the boys seemed unable or perhaps unwilling to study the novel from the perspective of a different time. When I was 14, I loved picking up a good book and feeling like I was transported to a diffent time and place. I know my son enjoys that too, but clearly, not by reading Romeo and Juliet.
Perhaps the novel should be introduced later when boys are around 17. Or, God forbid, perhaps Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet has had its day in the Ontario English curriculum. In my house, reading it was a painful, colossol waste of time and my patience.
I just bought "The Old Man and the Sea" by Ernest Hemingway. I bought the book and the audio version so I can torture him in the car and read the novel at my leisure, quietly in bed, with Reese of course. I'm trying to teach her to turn pages with her paw. If I achieve this, I will take pictures lol Cheers,
Linda Grace
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Isn't She Lovely
On March 20, 2010 my Gran celebrated her 95th birthday. Eva May Forster was born in 1915, at home in Northern England in a place called Sunderland, County Durham. She was named after Aunty Eva who lived with the family of Forsters.
The year she was born, the Allies were at war with Germany in the first World War, or the Great War as it came to be known. The sitting Monarch was King George V and the Prime Minister was H.H. Asquith, Liberal and coalition.
By 1915 the first World War had been raging for over a year, and most of Europe was now involved.
Gran's mother's name was Mary Jane Liddell. She was also born in Sunderland. She was an only child. Her mam and dad were care takers at a local school and lived in a house on the grounds. Being an only child, Mary Jane never went out to work, her job was to help her mother keep the school clean. Her mam died at just 40 years old on April 21st, 1927 after having nine children.
Gran's father's name was James Forster, also from Sunderland. Great Grandad Forster was a coal miner for 34 years at Monkwear Mouth Colliery.
He was a territorial soldier in World War II eventually becoming a Sergeant Major. He was away in the war for four years and spent most of his time fighting in France.
Gran remembers him as a very humorous man but quite strict in his ways. He was a good singer and also was quite good at tap dancing. He was also a very good overall dancer. With my late Uncle Jimmy a virtual one man band with instruments tied all over himself, and Grandad Forster dancing and the girls singing and clapping along, it was despite the terrible hardships, a jovial loving family.
Gran came from a large family. She had three brothers, Edward (Ted), born Feb 29th, George born Aug 3rd, 1911, Jimmy born in 1922. Gran also had five sisters, Doris, Mary, Hetty Edie and Edna. Gran's mother Mary Jane Forster died of starvation trying to feed Edna. She lay under the stairs for five days before burial as was the custom.
Gran shared close quarters with her sisters. There was one room for the girls and one bunk bed. Two slept on top and three slept on the bottom. She did not have a special toy or blanket because there was no money for those things. They were lucky to have bed clothes at all. The toilet was behind the house, outside.
Gran and her siblings lived in a small miner's house with the rest of my family. There was one big living room, two bedrooms, in a very friendly neighbourhood where you watched out for each and help when you could. Nobody had anything so it was hard. The houses were terraced with no running water indoors. The tap was down the back yard. No bathroom inside and once a week we all got bathed in front of the coal lit fire in a big tub...youngest to oldest and finally, the dog. We were all clean and happy. And I complain that I've never had an ensuite bathroom. Her memories put it all in perspective...the greed and frivolous comforts we have come to expect.
Many of my Gran's memories surround Church. She attended Sunday school every Sunday afternoon in a primitive Methodist Chapel for two hours. There were, if it was peaceful, Church Concerts which she enjoyed very much.
Gran says they all dressed up "posh" for Good Friday Services. All the Chapels met in the town square, sang lots of hymns then walked back to the individual Chapels where the children received an orange.
At Easter, they boiled eggs, one commodity not lacking. Everyone had chickens. They coloured the eggs and then took them to a place called Tunotell Hill and we used to roll our eggs down the Hill. She said they had great fun on those occasions!
Gran said the way they celebrated Thanksgiving was to take food and vegetables to the Chapel. There was a nice service and then all the food was given to the Salvation Army and distributed to the needy, of course, her family was one. To this day, she is an avid supporter of the Salvation Army.
Christmas was another example of doing what you can with what little you have. Gran told me they always hung up their stockings over the fire place and they were filled with one apple, one orange, a few nuts and a bright new penny. We only had one gift at Christmas and it was generally clothing.
Gran looked a little sad as she recalled that the children never had any money, so making or buying a gift for their parents was not an option.
As I mentioned, Gran had no special doll because there was no money for that sort of thing. But I suspect she was a bit of a tom boy in her and she loved to compete with boys. They played in the street with skippings ropes and spinning tops.
Grans' favourite place to enjoy herself was the Leachouse and says they were "lucky to have lived by the rocky Northern coast."
Interestingly, Granny does not ever remember having a big snow storm...no snow at all. No ice skating or sledding, because there was no snow!
Granny Falls in Love
Gran was almost sixteen when she first met my grandfather, a big tall handsome man with the biggest hands, named Ernest Peckover. She loved everything about him. Their love was simple. Cycling to the coast, long walks on the beaches. Thankfully Grandad Forster approved of Ernie and thought he was a great man. He was right. Now this is where the southern part of my family joins the northern part.
Gran's maternal grandmother was named Hetty Forster of which she has few memories. She was a very stout lady and lived to be in her seventies. She had two boys and two girls.
Gran knows little about her paternal grandfather except that he was a sea man.
Gran remembers being very poor and there was never any money for crafts for school projects. She loved school however and did well. She was taught to sew and knit at school and excelled at both, often making my clothes as a youngster.
Gran went to an elementary school named Thomas Street School until she was eleven years old and then she sat the exams and passed for the Grammar school in 1927, making her father very proud of her achievement. He bought her a real leather school satchel that she treasured. Her favourite subjects included History, Geography and Elocution. She also enjoyed all sports. Take note: There were 54 pupils under one teacher. She wore a uniform that was Green and Yellow and a gym uniform that was a navy blue tunic with a navy blouse with white shoes.
During this time, the war was gaining momentum and times were filled with uncertainty. However Gran recalls with such innocence, her friendships as a child.
"I had maybe two special friends, we used to go to the swimming baths, one movie per week if my Dad had a penny to spare. We played field hockey every Saturday morning. It was all fine.
It is remarkable to me that at a time when Zeppelins raided London for the first time and chaos reigned in southern England, her memories are sweet and childlike.
Gran enjoyed cycling, and she often cycled to Brighten over night, 42 miles, slept under the pier for a few hours and then cycled up to London to Hyde Park and out into the country at Blue Bell time. They always made a stop in the Country for the Chapel Lad Races. She always won!
She says she never went camping because she hated all the "creepy crawlers." Well, at least my daughter came by that fear honestly.
However tragedy did hit the family on June 10, 1956. Brother Jimmy, a paratrooper and Sergeant Major as was his father, was shot down by his own men in a terrible accident in Cyprus. He was just 34 years of age. My Gran adored her older brother and the whole family was deeply shaken by his loss.
My Gran is a fabulous cook and her sausage rolls are a favourite with everyone who visits. She also makes a delicious old fashioned rice pudding that was my favourite.
But as a young girl, she didn't do much of the cooking. Her older sisters took care of that and Gran did the cleaning (I expect this was because she was so factedious even then)
Her responsibilities including laying out her Dad's Pit clothes for his job in the mines and to fill his pit bottle with water for him to drink.
Gran says her mother had no choice but to be a great cook because she had nine children to feed. They survived on stews and meat pies when meat was available and affordable and always a roast on a Sunday with yorkshire puddings and gravy, a tradition we still carry on in the family. A "joint" (roast) can go a long way she used to tell me.
At 95, she is still going strong. She's hard of hearing and suffering from dementia, but she's still with us at times and shares memories and laughs as always. I am so blessed to have her still with us to remind us of how far we have come from her poverty stricken childhood.
The year she was born, the Allies were at war with Germany in the first World War, or the Great War as it came to be known. The sitting Monarch was King George V and the Prime Minister was H.H. Asquith, Liberal and coalition.
By 1915 the first World War had been raging for over a year, and most of Europe was now involved.
Gran's mother's name was Mary Jane Liddell. She was also born in Sunderland. She was an only child. Her mam and dad were care takers at a local school and lived in a house on the grounds. Being an only child, Mary Jane never went out to work, her job was to help her mother keep the school clean. Her mam died at just 40 years old on April 21st, 1927 after having nine children.
Gran's father's name was James Forster, also from Sunderland. Great Grandad Forster was a coal miner for 34 years at Monkwear Mouth Colliery.
He was a territorial soldier in World War II eventually becoming a Sergeant Major. He was away in the war for four years and spent most of his time fighting in France.
Gran remembers him as a very humorous man but quite strict in his ways. He was a good singer and also was quite good at tap dancing. He was also a very good overall dancer. With my late Uncle Jimmy a virtual one man band with instruments tied all over himself, and Grandad Forster dancing and the girls singing and clapping along, it was despite the terrible hardships, a jovial loving family.
Gran came from a large family. She had three brothers, Edward (Ted), born Feb 29th, George born Aug 3rd, 1911, Jimmy born in 1922. Gran also had five sisters, Doris, Mary, Hetty Edie and Edna. Gran's mother Mary Jane Forster died of starvation trying to feed Edna. She lay under the stairs for five days before burial as was the custom.
Gran shared close quarters with her sisters. There was one room for the girls and one bunk bed. Two slept on top and three slept on the bottom. She did not have a special toy or blanket because there was no money for those things. They were lucky to have bed clothes at all. The toilet was behind the house, outside.
Gran and her siblings lived in a small miner's house with the rest of my family. There was one big living room, two bedrooms, in a very friendly neighbourhood where you watched out for each and help when you could. Nobody had anything so it was hard. The houses were terraced with no running water indoors. The tap was down the back yard. No bathroom inside and once a week we all got bathed in front of the coal lit fire in a big tub...youngest to oldest and finally, the dog. We were all clean and happy. And I complain that I've never had an ensuite bathroom. Her memories put it all in perspective...the greed and frivolous comforts we have come to expect.
Many of my Gran's memories surround Church. She attended Sunday school every Sunday afternoon in a primitive Methodist Chapel for two hours. There were, if it was peaceful, Church Concerts which she enjoyed very much.
Gran says they all dressed up "posh" for Good Friday Services. All the Chapels met in the town square, sang lots of hymns then walked back to the individual Chapels where the children received an orange.
At Easter, they boiled eggs, one commodity not lacking. Everyone had chickens. They coloured the eggs and then took them to a place called Tunotell Hill and we used to roll our eggs down the Hill. She said they had great fun on those occasions!
Gran said the way they celebrated Thanksgiving was to take food and vegetables to the Chapel. There was a nice service and then all the food was given to the Salvation Army and distributed to the needy, of course, her family was one. To this day, she is an avid supporter of the Salvation Army.
Christmas was another example of doing what you can with what little you have. Gran told me they always hung up their stockings over the fire place and they were filled with one apple, one orange, a few nuts and a bright new penny. We only had one gift at Christmas and it was generally clothing.
Gran looked a little sad as she recalled that the children never had any money, so making or buying a gift for their parents was not an option.
As I mentioned, Gran had no special doll because there was no money for that sort of thing. But I suspect she was a bit of a tom boy in her and she loved to compete with boys. They played in the street with skippings ropes and spinning tops.
Grans' favourite place to enjoy herself was the Leachouse and says they were "lucky to have lived by the rocky Northern coast."
Interestingly, Granny does not ever remember having a big snow storm...no snow at all. No ice skating or sledding, because there was no snow!
Granny Falls in Love
Gran was almost sixteen when she first met my grandfather, a big tall handsome man with the biggest hands, named Ernest Peckover. She loved everything about him. Their love was simple. Cycling to the coast, long walks on the beaches. Thankfully Grandad Forster approved of Ernie and thought he was a great man. He was right. Now this is where the southern part of my family joins the northern part.
Gran's maternal grandmother was named Hetty Forster of which she has few memories. She was a very stout lady and lived to be in her seventies. She had two boys and two girls.
Gran knows little about her paternal grandfather except that he was a sea man.
Gran remembers being very poor and there was never any money for crafts for school projects. She loved school however and did well. She was taught to sew and knit at school and excelled at both, often making my clothes as a youngster.
Gran went to an elementary school named Thomas Street School until she was eleven years old and then she sat the exams and passed for the Grammar school in 1927, making her father very proud of her achievement. He bought her a real leather school satchel that she treasured. Her favourite subjects included History, Geography and Elocution. She also enjoyed all sports. Take note: There were 54 pupils under one teacher. She wore a uniform that was Green and Yellow and a gym uniform that was a navy blue tunic with a navy blouse with white shoes.
During this time, the war was gaining momentum and times were filled with uncertainty. However Gran recalls with such innocence, her friendships as a child.
"I had maybe two special friends, we used to go to the swimming baths, one movie per week if my Dad had a penny to spare. We played field hockey every Saturday morning. It was all fine.
It is remarkable to me that at a time when Zeppelins raided London for the first time and chaos reigned in southern England, her memories are sweet and childlike.
Gran enjoyed cycling, and she often cycled to Brighten over night, 42 miles, slept under the pier for a few hours and then cycled up to London to Hyde Park and out into the country at Blue Bell time. They always made a stop in the Country for the Chapel Lad Races. She always won!
She says she never went camping because she hated all the "creepy crawlers." Well, at least my daughter came by that fear honestly.
However tragedy did hit the family on June 10, 1956. Brother Jimmy, a paratrooper and Sergeant Major as was his father, was shot down by his own men in a terrible accident in Cyprus. He was just 34 years of age. My Gran adored her older brother and the whole family was deeply shaken by his loss.
My Gran is a fabulous cook and her sausage rolls are a favourite with everyone who visits. She also makes a delicious old fashioned rice pudding that was my favourite.
But as a young girl, she didn't do much of the cooking. Her older sisters took care of that and Gran did the cleaning (I expect this was because she was so factedious even then)
Her responsibilities including laying out her Dad's Pit clothes for his job in the mines and to fill his pit bottle with water for him to drink.
Gran says her mother had no choice but to be a great cook because she had nine children to feed. They survived on stews and meat pies when meat was available and affordable and always a roast on a Sunday with yorkshire puddings and gravy, a tradition we still carry on in the family. A "joint" (roast) can go a long way she used to tell me.
At 95, she is still going strong. She's hard of hearing and suffering from dementia, but she's still with us at times and shares memories and laughs as always. I am so blessed to have her still with us to remind us of how far we have come from her poverty stricken childhood.
When a Friend Lets You Down
Focus,not on the rudenesses of others,
not on what they've done or left undone,
but on what you have & haven't done yourself.
-Dhammapada
It feels good to be back again. I had a health setback followed by a period of insecurity when I wasn't sure I had anything of interest to say anymore.
However, "life" changed that. After digesting a recent disappointment, I took the time to really "think" about what happened, my choices, and accepting that I was wrong about someone I deeply cared for....and not for the first time in my life. After much reflection I determined that looking after yourself emotionally is not selfish...it is essential. We must always be mindful of our hearts and minds. They are worth protecting. If it means letting go of a relationship that is causing you grief, then that is what you have to do. Of course, there are always diplomatic ways to do this..the intent is not to create unnecessary pain in someone but to move away and on to a place that is good and right for you. I have a few select friends who are true, kind and understanding. Those are the relationships I choose to focus on now.
I must make a clarification about an earlier post. I was writing about my boring name "Linda". I have always been disappointed that my parents named me after a character on the Danny Thomas Show. I felt I deserved better. Having said that I am very grateful I was not called "Paris" or "Hunter". I"ve been to Paris, but I'm not a Hunter.
My friend, man of Spanish origins recently enlightened me about my name. "Linda" or "Leenda" as I now refer to myself when speaking to him is actually a Spanish girls name and means "Beautiful". It is derived from the the "Melinda" roots, though the English use Linda the most.
"Linda" is a feminine-gender word in Spanish and my friend Pedro tells me that it means several things but is frequently used as an adjective meaning "pretty" or "lovely". If it refers to a moment in time, then it means "marvelous". If is used with singing and dancing then it means something "done beautifully" or "Baila lindo". How great is THAT?? I also learned that "Linda" was a popular song sung by Jack Lawrence in 1946. Lawrence named the song after a little five year old girl named Linda who great up to be Linda Eastman McCartney! Thank you for enlightening me Pedro. From now on when I do something beautifully,I will say "BAILA LINDO!"
Buddhists have a wonderful saying: "Life goes by quickly, therefore go slowly." This morning I woke up, had my cup of tea and read the news. Now I am a big news hound - I come by it honestly as a former journalist. I have a very busy mind and am very curious about the world. However, I have learned that to keep my mind still I must tune out the news. Not all the time, to be sure. I could never do that because I am so interested in our world. There are times however, when I am reading about catastrophic events like the Gulf Oil spill, political mess ups and G8 and G20 summits with obscene amounts of money being thrown their way, that I have to turn it off.
If I lived in Louisiana, I would be there on those beaches, cleaning up and helping those poor pelicans and turtles. But it is not possible and I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness when I read and view the images. It again goes back to taking care of your emotional self. I can't change the world, but I can write about it and take a break to reflect if I need to. That's okay and probably makes for better writing and a better understanding of the issues.
Sadly, I have had to give up riding my horse. Blackie was put out to pasture and I had just started riding a beautiful huge reddish coloured mare when I took ill...it may have been allergy related, triggered by the hay, mites on the horses, etc. So I have been advised to stay away from horseback riding...the occasional trail ride is okay but not the day to day. I drove to the stable recently and had a quick visit with the horses. They were outside and enjoying each other's company. The herd was running together with not a care in the world. I'm grateful for having tried to ride again and enjoying it as much as I did. It felt really good to ride and be able to take loving control of an animal so large and intimidating. I will continue to visit.
I had made a bucket list of things that I wanted to experience, so I will go back to the list and look for another adventure. Feel free to make suggestions! Rock climbing anyone?
Kind Regards,
Leeenda Grace!
not on what they've done or left undone,
but on what you have & haven't done yourself.
-Dhammapada
It feels good to be back again. I had a health setback followed by a period of insecurity when I wasn't sure I had anything of interest to say anymore.
However, "life" changed that. After digesting a recent disappointment, I took the time to really "think" about what happened, my choices, and accepting that I was wrong about someone I deeply cared for....and not for the first time in my life. After much reflection I determined that looking after yourself emotionally is not selfish...it is essential. We must always be mindful of our hearts and minds. They are worth protecting. If it means letting go of a relationship that is causing you grief, then that is what you have to do. Of course, there are always diplomatic ways to do this..the intent is not to create unnecessary pain in someone but to move away and on to a place that is good and right for you. I have a few select friends who are true, kind and understanding. Those are the relationships I choose to focus on now.
I must make a clarification about an earlier post. I was writing about my boring name "Linda". I have always been disappointed that my parents named me after a character on the Danny Thomas Show. I felt I deserved better. Having said that I am very grateful I was not called "Paris" or "Hunter". I"ve been to Paris, but I'm not a Hunter.
My friend, man of Spanish origins recently enlightened me about my name. "Linda" or "Leenda" as I now refer to myself when speaking to him is actually a Spanish girls name and means "Beautiful". It is derived from the the "Melinda" roots, though the English use Linda the most.
"Linda" is a feminine-gender word in Spanish and my friend Pedro tells me that it means several things but is frequently used as an adjective meaning "pretty" or "lovely". If it refers to a moment in time, then it means "marvelous". If is used with singing and dancing then it means something "done beautifully" or "Baila lindo". How great is THAT?? I also learned that "Linda" was a popular song sung by Jack Lawrence in 1946. Lawrence named the song after a little five year old girl named Linda who great up to be Linda Eastman McCartney! Thank you for enlightening me Pedro. From now on when I do something beautifully,I will say "BAILA LINDO!"
Buddhists have a wonderful saying: "Life goes by quickly, therefore go slowly." This morning I woke up, had my cup of tea and read the news. Now I am a big news hound - I come by it honestly as a former journalist. I have a very busy mind and am very curious about the world. However, I have learned that to keep my mind still I must tune out the news. Not all the time, to be sure. I could never do that because I am so interested in our world. There are times however, when I am reading about catastrophic events like the Gulf Oil spill, political mess ups and G8 and G20 summits with obscene amounts of money being thrown their way, that I have to turn it off.
If I lived in Louisiana, I would be there on those beaches, cleaning up and helping those poor pelicans and turtles. But it is not possible and I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness when I read and view the images. It again goes back to taking care of your emotional self. I can't change the world, but I can write about it and take a break to reflect if I need to. That's okay and probably makes for better writing and a better understanding of the issues.
Sadly, I have had to give up riding my horse. Blackie was put out to pasture and I had just started riding a beautiful huge reddish coloured mare when I took ill...it may have been allergy related, triggered by the hay, mites on the horses, etc. So I have been advised to stay away from horseback riding...the occasional trail ride is okay but not the day to day. I drove to the stable recently and had a quick visit with the horses. They were outside and enjoying each other's company. The herd was running together with not a care in the world. I'm grateful for having tried to ride again and enjoying it as much as I did. It felt really good to ride and be able to take loving control of an animal so large and intimidating. I will continue to visit.
I had made a bucket list of things that I wanted to experience, so I will go back to the list and look for another adventure. Feel free to make suggestions! Rock climbing anyone?
Kind Regards,
Leeenda Grace!
Saturday, April 10, 2010
It's My Birthday
Today is the day I was born. April 10, 1961 at around four in the morning. My Mum doesn't remember. She was asleep. The miracle of birth was not lost on me when I had my two children. When I held my first child, I remember feeling under pressure to pick the "right" name. Nothing too fru fru. No, it had to be strong. Afterall, she might grow up and run a company some time and "Bunny" would be an odd name for a CEO to carry. "Hi, I'm Bunny so and so...what's the bottom line Harry." Plus I was very aware that I had no great story to tell about how I was named. Well, my middle name is in tribute to my lovely Aunty Grace who has now passed, so that was nice.
No, my parents tossed around Jacqueline...very nice...but they felt Jacqueline would be too popular because of Jackie Kennedy. Truth be told I never had a Jacqueline in any school class...ever. So, as the due date loomed, Mum and Dad were watching a fuzzy television show...The Danny Thomas Show. And there you have it. I was named after the character "Linda." It is not a noble name. It is a boring name and from my research, only one love song has been written about a "Linda" and it's in French. What good is that? I can barely speak French.
When I was about 11 years old, I wrote in my diary that I would have preferred to be called "Serenity Jane." In fact, I wrote that should I ever have a daughter, that would be her name. Luckily for Caitlin I had forgotten about it at the time of her birth, due to the drugs I think. It was a toss up between Annabelle, Paige or Caitlin. I think she's happy with our choice. So, no exciting story about my name.
However, my birth date does reveal some interesting events. For example:
So, there you have it. Great moments in history on my birthday, April 10, 1961. It could have been worse. I could have been born on the day the Titanic sank...now that would have been troubling!
Linda Grace
No, my parents tossed around Jacqueline...very nice...but they felt Jacqueline would be too popular because of Jackie Kennedy. Truth be told I never had a Jacqueline in any school class...ever. So, as the due date loomed, Mum and Dad were watching a fuzzy television show...The Danny Thomas Show. And there you have it. I was named after the character "Linda." It is not a noble name. It is a boring name and from my research, only one love song has been written about a "Linda" and it's in French. What good is that? I can barely speak French.
When I was about 11 years old, I wrote in my diary that I would have preferred to be called "Serenity Jane." In fact, I wrote that should I ever have a daughter, that would be her name. Luckily for Caitlin I had forgotten about it at the time of her birth, due to the drugs I think. It was a toss up between Annabelle, Paige or Caitlin. I think she's happy with our choice. So, no exciting story about my name.
However, my birth date does reveal some interesting events. For example:
- On April 10, 1912 the Titanic set sail. It was a short trip. Hmm. For those of you who know me this was indeed an omen even though it happened 49 years before my birth.
- Adolph Eichmann was tried as a war ciminal in Israel on my birthday.
- On April 10, 1998 negotiators from various factions signed the Good Friday Agreement, a plan for peace in Northern Ireland. That was good since I am a pacifist, conflicted as I am as I eat my steak.
- Wayne Gretzky scores NHL record 93rd playoff goal. Of course he did, he's the great one!
- In 1989 H.J. Heinz, Van Camp Seafood and Bumble Bee Seafood said they would not buy tuna caught in nets that also trap dolphins. That was good. I like dolphins.
- On April 10, 1986 Benazir Bhutto returned to Pakistant, in retrospect probably not the best idea.
- On April 10, 1955 Dr. Jonas Salk successfully tests the Polio vaccine. Pretty impressive.
- On April 10 1945 Allies liberate the 1st Nazi concentration camp, Buchenwald, Czechosolvakia. On the same day, Canadian troops conquer Deventer. Wow!
- On April 10, 1877 the first human cannonball act was performed in London...a defining moment in this important sporting event.
- Sam Kinnison, 1992...the most annoying moronic comic ever to terrorize an audience....a preacher no less.
- Evelyn Waugh, the English Author who wrote "Brideshead Revisited" a strange tale of love, sex pretense and people with nothing much to do. He died in 1966. Loved that book! I aspired to that life of priviledge however, I ended up being born into a working class suburb with no castles, men with ascots or houses with wall to wall libraries. We had a Legion.
- Wilma Flintstone aka Jean Vander Pyl died on my birthday in 1999. She also did the voice of Pebbles. I loved Pebbles. I had a Flintstones lunch box too. My favourite episode was when Ann Margrock came to town to do a show. Great singer that Ann Margrock. "I aint gonna be your fool no more...cried and cried until my eyes were sore." LOVED HER!
- Charles Patton died in 1970. George C Scott played him in a movie. It was pretty good.
- Stuart Sutcliffe (former Beatles bassist) died in April 10, 1962. Sad one, that is.
- And finally, Louis II, (the stutterer), King of France from 877 - 79 died. How does a guy with a speach impediment speak to his people? Oh. Perhaps that was the point. He didn't.
So, there you have it. Great moments in history on my birthday, April 10, 1961. It could have been worse. I could have been born on the day the Titanic sank...now that would have been troubling!
Linda Grace
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Who We Are
My son Samuel has developed an interest in finding out who he is. He wants to visit a Geneology centre to find out more about his heritage on both sides of his family. On his father's side, there is some Indian blood (Blind River)and on my side, there is Scottish blood and English blood. We know, thanks to the efforts of my cousin Brian, much about the "Forster's" in England (my Grandmother's family name) who were once royalty but had their land taken from them. We know about Bamburgh Castle in Northhumberland that is our family castle. There are obvious connections with the Forsters of past. There is a portrait of Lady Forster that hangs in the castle and I look very much like her. Amazing.
The Scottish link in my past is one that has taunted me for years. Since I am aware of the physical traits,and the artistic traits I inherited from my father, I am curious about my paternal grandmother whom I never knew. Did she have my curly hair? Was she petite and feisty? Did she have the freckles that Sam and I share? Did she have any lung problems? Was she musical? Could she draw or paint? Did she like to write letters? These are the questions I would so love to have answered one day.
I have never been to Scotland. All I know is that my Grandmother's name was Christine Isobel Campbell and she was born in Hamilton, Scotland. My father was illegitimate and as was often done back then, his grandparents raised him as their own and Christine presumably, went back to Scotland. He only discovered the truth when he signed up for the army and needed his birth certificate. It was a major shock to him.
I share Sam's longing to find out about who I am. I recall a vacation with Mom and Dad where we went to Cape Breton Island and drove the Cabot Trail. The Scottish heritage is alive and well in Cape Breton and I remember a distinct feeling of not wanting to leave. It very much felt like 'home' or perhaps, it was a place that was closer to my blood ties physically. I remember the peace I felt seeing the humble homes that seemed so small compared to the physical enormity and beauty of the trail, and the majestic mystery of the wild ocean. I remember delighting in the accent of the locals and comparing that to my English family who all had very distinct accents, some of which, were impossible to understand (Northern family).
I will certainly encourage Sam's interest and I really hope one day to be able to take him to Scotland. Perhaps we will find out some answers about my Grandmother. For years I have silently thought of her and wondered if she knows or knew about me and my brothers. Did shame keep her from seeking us out? I suspect that was the case. It makes me sad to think she was denied her grandchildren because of social stigmas. Perhaps, it was just too painful.
I don't believe my Grandmother is alive anymore. This post is in memory of a Grandmother I never knew, but always believed was a very, very big part of who I am. Wherever she is, she will never be forgotten by me.
Linda Grace
The Scottish link in my past is one that has taunted me for years. Since I am aware of the physical traits,and the artistic traits I inherited from my father, I am curious about my paternal grandmother whom I never knew. Did she have my curly hair? Was she petite and feisty? Did she have the freckles that Sam and I share? Did she have any lung problems? Was she musical? Could she draw or paint? Did she like to write letters? These are the questions I would so love to have answered one day.
I have never been to Scotland. All I know is that my Grandmother's name was Christine Isobel Campbell and she was born in Hamilton, Scotland. My father was illegitimate and as was often done back then, his grandparents raised him as their own and Christine presumably, went back to Scotland. He only discovered the truth when he signed up for the army and needed his birth certificate. It was a major shock to him.
I share Sam's longing to find out about who I am. I recall a vacation with Mom and Dad where we went to Cape Breton Island and drove the Cabot Trail. The Scottish heritage is alive and well in Cape Breton and I remember a distinct feeling of not wanting to leave. It very much felt like 'home' or perhaps, it was a place that was closer to my blood ties physically. I remember the peace I felt seeing the humble homes that seemed so small compared to the physical enormity and beauty of the trail, and the majestic mystery of the wild ocean. I remember delighting in the accent of the locals and comparing that to my English family who all had very distinct accents, some of which, were impossible to understand (Northern family).
I will certainly encourage Sam's interest and I really hope one day to be able to take him to Scotland. Perhaps we will find out some answers about my Grandmother. For years I have silently thought of her and wondered if she knows or knew about me and my brothers. Did shame keep her from seeking us out? I suspect that was the case. It makes me sad to think she was denied her grandchildren because of social stigmas. Perhaps, it was just too painful.
I don't believe my Grandmother is alive anymore. This post is in memory of a Grandmother I never knew, but always believed was a very, very big part of who I am. Wherever she is, she will never be forgotten by me.
Linda Grace
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Heroes
For the past month or so I have revelled in the joys of the Olympics. I jumped with joy at Crosby's amazing goal who overnight became a national hero as did Paul Henderson in 1972. I watched the brave Joanne Rochette skate through the grief she felt at losing her mom to attain a silver. I watched the snowboarder who won gold for his brother, his hero, born with Cerebral Palsey who stood on the sidelines whooping and cheering with all is might - what an emotional moment. There are so many heroes in our world.
Sadly, ths week, I watched tearfully as we said goodbye to two such heroes. Peel Constable Artem Ochakovsky, husband and father and OPP Constable Vu Pham. Pham died in a hail of bullets, leaving three little boys and a loving wife to carry on without him.
Many of us know and are close to Police Officers, Firefighters, EMS workers and Paramedics. We call on them in times of crisis, look to them for help, for answers. We expect them to be there when we need them. Many of these brave women and men live in our communities, play on our hockey teams, coach our children and get involved with the very citizens they work to protect and assist in their time of need.
Our emergency service providers live in a world where mental illness is on the rise and guns are more prevalent than ever. Many of these guns can be traced back to the U.S.A. The combination of mental instability and a weapon is a disaster waiting to happen as we have seen so many times and it is our Police Officers who face the dilemma of judging whether a person is mentally ill and dangerous.
Our lawmakers need to start getting serious about this epidemic of violence. When a beautiful young girl is killed shopping one evening on Boxing Day and another shot dead in his community school, something is terribly wrong. Where are some of these kids getting the guns they use to create the carnage we have all seen?
Our Police Officers in particular are on the front line of these tragedies everyday. Each morning when they dress and touch their weapon and head out to protect us from the bad guys, at the back of their minds must always sit the knowledge that at anytime it could all be over.
There are many heroes from all walks of life. Recently a friend called another friend to say he was in trouble and needed help. Although they hadn't see each for quite a while, the childhood bond was strong and one of these guys dropped everything and drove three hours to help the other. I consider the one who reached out for help to be a hero with tremendous courage and the other, a hero for being there for him in his time of need. That's friendship.
My Dad is my hero, having battled a brain tumour for 16 months, never complaining, always smiling, always making us laugh with his silly sense of humour and always ensuring his children knew they were loved and cared for. He will always be missed and will always be my hero.
Police Officers, Firefighters and all the workers I listed above are also my heroes. Selfless, brave, compassionate and loyal to their colleagues. Their display of support for OPP Constable Vu Pham's family is an example of how good a community can be in times of crisis. We are so very blessed to have such people looking out for us everyday. R.I.P. Constable Artem Ochakovsky and Constable Vu Pham and bless all the men and women who serve us each and every day.
Linda Grace
Sadly, ths week, I watched tearfully as we said goodbye to two such heroes. Peel Constable Artem Ochakovsky, husband and father and OPP Constable Vu Pham. Pham died in a hail of bullets, leaving three little boys and a loving wife to carry on without him.
Many of us know and are close to Police Officers, Firefighters, EMS workers and Paramedics. We call on them in times of crisis, look to them for help, for answers. We expect them to be there when we need them. Many of these brave women and men live in our communities, play on our hockey teams, coach our children and get involved with the very citizens they work to protect and assist in their time of need.
Our emergency service providers live in a world where mental illness is on the rise and guns are more prevalent than ever. Many of these guns can be traced back to the U.S.A. The combination of mental instability and a weapon is a disaster waiting to happen as we have seen so many times and it is our Police Officers who face the dilemma of judging whether a person is mentally ill and dangerous.
Our lawmakers need to start getting serious about this epidemic of violence. When a beautiful young girl is killed shopping one evening on Boxing Day and another shot dead in his community school, something is terribly wrong. Where are some of these kids getting the guns they use to create the carnage we have all seen?
Our Police Officers in particular are on the front line of these tragedies everyday. Each morning when they dress and touch their weapon and head out to protect us from the bad guys, at the back of their minds must always sit the knowledge that at anytime it could all be over.
There are many heroes from all walks of life. Recently a friend called another friend to say he was in trouble and needed help. Although they hadn't see each for quite a while, the childhood bond was strong and one of these guys dropped everything and drove three hours to help the other. I consider the one who reached out for help to be a hero with tremendous courage and the other, a hero for being there for him in his time of need. That's friendship.
My Dad is my hero, having battled a brain tumour for 16 months, never complaining, always smiling, always making us laugh with his silly sense of humour and always ensuring his children knew they were loved and cared for. He will always be missed and will always be my hero.
Police Officers, Firefighters and all the workers I listed above are also my heroes. Selfless, brave, compassionate and loyal to their colleagues. Their display of support for OPP Constable Vu Pham's family is an example of how good a community can be in times of crisis. We are so very blessed to have such people looking out for us everyday. R.I.P. Constable Artem Ochakovsky and Constable Vu Pham and bless all the men and women who serve us each and every day.
Linda Grace
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Entitlement
I watched Tiger Woods' "confessional statement" with mixed feelings. Once again the media machine was at work, but this time it was his pr people telling the story.
When the story first broke, I thought Woods should have made a curt statement such as, "This issue is between Elin and I and I will not talk publically about it." I think in time, the issue would have died down. All the women in the world could have come forward but if he said nothing publically, it's hardly a newsworthy story, it's media gossip.
Instead he spoke for around 13 minutes, in front of 40 people, many supporters of his and irritated many of the main stream media by taking no questions a big no no in a press conference. But this was hardly a press conference.
As expected the media have been hard on him calling his "statement" insincere and a bad performance. Female columnists have predictably, been the hardest on the cub.
One of the most telling comments the poor, flawed (and who isn't?) Woods made was that he strayed from his Buddhist teachings and felt he was entitled to behave the way he did. He's in therapy apparently for "sex addiction."
Some have chosen to focus on this new disease as the real reason for his indiscretions which I find absurd. Is this really a medically documented disease? Or more to the point is it a celebrity disease of "entitlement?"
I hope Woods can go back to his Bhuddist teachings and get back on track. I thank him for reminding the world that none of us are "entitled" to anything.
"Fulfillment of desire is an illusion; desire leads to more desire, not satisfaction."
- Kathleen McDonald, "How to Meditate"
Linda Grace
When the story first broke, I thought Woods should have made a curt statement such as, "This issue is between Elin and I and I will not talk publically about it." I think in time, the issue would have died down. All the women in the world could have come forward but if he said nothing publically, it's hardly a newsworthy story, it's media gossip.
Instead he spoke for around 13 minutes, in front of 40 people, many supporters of his and irritated many of the main stream media by taking no questions a big no no in a press conference. But this was hardly a press conference.
As expected the media have been hard on him calling his "statement" insincere and a bad performance. Female columnists have predictably, been the hardest on the cub.
One of the most telling comments the poor, flawed (and who isn't?) Woods made was that he strayed from his Buddhist teachings and felt he was entitled to behave the way he did. He's in therapy apparently for "sex addiction."
Some have chosen to focus on this new disease as the real reason for his indiscretions which I find absurd. Is this really a medically documented disease? Or more to the point is it a celebrity disease of "entitlement?"
I hope Woods can go back to his Bhuddist teachings and get back on track. I thank him for reminding the world that none of us are "entitled" to anything.
"Fulfillment of desire is an illusion; desire leads to more desire, not satisfaction."
- Kathleen McDonald, "How to Meditate"
Linda Grace
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Valentine's Day
I know many of my single friends out there feel the way I do about Valentine's Day. There was a time I felt like was on the edge of a big circular crowd, struggling to see what was going in the middle. There was a longing to climb over people and just see what was happening, see what I was missing.
Now my thoughts are not so much about what I'm missing but about what I have. My Father once told me he felt I was "unlucky" in love. Perhaps. Maybe I have been unlucky in "Romantic" love. I have made up for it though in the love of family, my little dog and friends. It is a permanent kind of love, not a fleeting love or a smothering love but a love that changes over time, grows with you and is always there for you when you need them.
If you find that kind of love "romantically" you are truly blessed, but it is out there even for those of us who are single. One of the tests of a great friendship is when you haven't seen each other for months or even years and when you come face to face, it is as though no time has passed at all. There is much to catch up on, but there are no hard feelings or resentments. I don't think you could do that in a marriage...well, if you could, it wouldn't be much of marriage.
When you live in the present moment (or try to) beauty becomes more distinguished. Colours are brighter, silence only broken by birds chirping and creeks trickling while walking in the woods. Natural sounds are love and bring great peace to those who really listen.
So don't feel lonely...feel alive! Love comes in many disguises.
Thank you to all my friends who have posted messages or tried to post messages to my blog. I am still ironing out a few problems with the blog but hope to get it solved soon. I value your comments and always look forward to hearing from you. Much Love, Linda Grace XX
Now my thoughts are not so much about what I'm missing but about what I have. My Father once told me he felt I was "unlucky" in love. Perhaps. Maybe I have been unlucky in "Romantic" love. I have made up for it though in the love of family, my little dog and friends. It is a permanent kind of love, not a fleeting love or a smothering love but a love that changes over time, grows with you and is always there for you when you need them.
If you find that kind of love "romantically" you are truly blessed, but it is out there even for those of us who are single. One of the tests of a great friendship is when you haven't seen each other for months or even years and when you come face to face, it is as though no time has passed at all. There is much to catch up on, but there are no hard feelings or resentments. I don't think you could do that in a marriage...well, if you could, it wouldn't be much of marriage.
When you live in the present moment (or try to) beauty becomes more distinguished. Colours are brighter, silence only broken by birds chirping and creeks trickling while walking in the woods. Natural sounds are love and bring great peace to those who really listen.
So don't feel lonely...feel alive! Love comes in many disguises.
Thank you to all my friends who have posted messages or tried to post messages to my blog. I am still ironing out a few problems with the blog but hope to get it solved soon. I value your comments and always look forward to hearing from you. Much Love, Linda Grace XX
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Connections
Melissa and I chatted today about my earlier blog. It moved her to tears because she realized the horse in the picture was her Dad's horse. We have both lost our beloved Dads to diseases of the brain, and it is a sensitivity we share.
She knew the spot where the photo had been taken too. Top of the hill on Valley Farm Road. All we could say was, "Wow." After speaking with her, I thought, "The universe truly is a remarkable place."
I remember frolicking in Duffin's Creek with my little twin brothers, at the foot of Royal Road with Mr. Annan's cows drinking from the same creek. There were so many cows you couldn't see the grass. The water was so clean and clear that we swam in it and dove off rocks at its highest point.
I also remember a nasty girl named April who lived opposite the creek on Finch Ave. She stole my baby carriage and I remember vividly my first introduction to grand theft whenever I drive by her old house. My Mum Val was indignant at this miscarriage of justice and stormed down to Miss April's house and I think the thief returned my carriage, but not my baby, and after that my baby carriage was never the same to me. It was tainted...by thievery. Babysnatching in Pickering Village in the early 60's. Who knew???? I forgive April now, wherever she is (probably behind me with a sledge hammer lol).
My real babies more than make up for my plastic one, though I think of her often. I believe I named her Peanut. She was wearing one of my brother's newborn hospital gowns when she was so cruelly snatched out from under me. My question: Where were the Pickering cops? Was that not evidence enough? It was a tough lesson for a five year old. She likely ditched the gown. April was no dummy.
Linda Grace
Hmmm
It seems that I may have been interested in horses at a very young age. I remember this day clearly. I believe we were visiting friends who lived close to the Annan farm in Pickering. I had my fisher price medical bag and was assessing the health of the horse. I firmly told my Dad the horse was very sick, needed an apple and insisted we needed to come back the next day. Of course, there was nothing wrong with the horse. lol But we did go back the next day with an apple. Note my pathetic little pout that I know sealed the deal!
Linda Grace
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Breathe
"Smile, breathe, and go slowly"
Thich Nhat Hanh
Thich Nhat Hanh
This morning I got up and felt anxious. Today was the day I was going to learn to saddle and mount Blackie. Now to most people, that doesn't sound like huge achievement but for me, it was.
My son decided to join me and take some photographs to record the event. I think he was taken by surprise by the sheer size of the horses in the stable. Blackie is not the largest horse, she's about a medium size horse - but still formidable in size.
We drove to the farm and my stomach was getting tighter as we approached. It was an absolutely freezing cold morning and I knew the arena would be even colder. As we drove I was thinking about my biggest fear. I was really scared of putting my foot in the stirup and then having it slip out as I swung my other leg over Blackie's back, landing me firmly on the ground.
Much to my relief, that did not happen!
The first thing Rose taught me were some grooming techniques. She introduced me to the "curry comb" (yes Menis, the curry comb lol I discovered it was not an Indian meal). She taught me how to properly comb the horse and Blackie clearly loved it as I circled the comb over her neck, back and sides. She kept bending her neck back to look at me with her beautiful big brown eyes, as if to say, "ooooh, that feels good..more, more more!"
Next, I learnt how to saddle the horse and place the reins over her head and up. Blackie lowered her neck obligingly. Then, I slowly walked her out of the stables and into the arena. I stopped myself from looking up at the ceiling because I figured I would see it soon enough once she tossed me to the ground. Blackie walked alongside me beautifully and I was careful not to get trod on by her massive hoofs.
I led her to the mounting block where Rose showed me how to put my foot in the stirup properly and swing my right leg over her back. I took a breath and said a silent prayer that this was not going to be a disaster captured on film by my son. As it turns out, it was so cold, the batteries froze in the camera so there are no pictures of my first time mounting and riding Blackie. There are witnesses however!
I swung my leg over Blackie and joy of joys I successfully landed my butt in the saddle! I felt like shouting WOO HOO but those of you who know me, know that I don't do that very well. lol I stroked Blackie on the neck and Rose gave me instructions on how to walk her. I grabbed the reins, pulled them close, nervously squeezed my legs into her side, made that tk tk sound and she began to move! My heart began pounding.
"Oh God," I thought. "This is it. She's going to figure out I don't know what I"m doing and bolt and I'm going to be tossed off and be on the ground looking up at that damn ceiling!"
Instead, I learned to pull the reins in the direction I wanted her to go and it worked! She went! As we walked I was really surprised at how smooth it was. I thought I was going to be jolted around, but not at all. The walk was smooth, graceful and peaceful. If Blackie sensed I was a rookie, she didn't show it. She was very patient with me. I did what I call a free dismount and I gave myself about a 7 out of 10. There was no mounting block to land on. I had to swing my leg over and slide down the side of Blackie to the ground. Again, I did it with no spills. It was a wonderful moment. My son watched as I fed Blackie a big fat carrot that she seemed to enjoy tremendously!
The best part of my first ride? The ride home. As we drove down the country road, my son looked over at me and said, "Good job today Mom...good job." "Thanks!" I said proudly. I was tired and my lungs were not working very well. And although I was proud of myself, the moment felt even better to think that my 14 year old boy was proud of me too! Wow. Breathe...well, I tried. lol
I'm not sure what Rose has planned for me next week, but I'm already feeling a little less anxious and looking forward to some more challenges and adventures with Blackie.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The first time...
...ever I saw your face? No. Well, maybe, because I feel like my friends are going to see my face for the first time in some respects.
Before I begin, I want to thank a few people who have sat back patiently and waited...a very long time for me to do something with my writing. This is my start. I want to thank my children who I hope I never embarrass or reveal too much.
I want to remember my late Dad, Robert Campbell Cousins who always believed I was an artist, encouraged my writing and worshiped me. How lucky was I? I miss him every minute of every day. My mother who is always there for me even when I don't want her to be, my 93 year old Granny who continues to inspire me, my brothers who are a big part of who I am, my non-blood sister, Melissa who loves me no matter what...she believes in me and it helps more than she'll ever know. My friends Clement and Jim, Mary, Bev, Gab and Mike, Mary Alice and Marce. You have all supported me, laughed with me and at me (that's okay!) and stayed the course. Please don't be offended if I haven't named you. You know who you are.
I want to say a very special thanks to Dr. Piyal Walpola and his wife Indie for introducing me to a new way of looking at my life through Buddhist teachings. It is a hard and difficult journey, but I am so very grateful for their friendship and guidance and for Dr. Walpola's special care.
So...where to begin? My life was born into drama and seems to have followed that course. I was a blue baby, struggled for my first breath, was born Asthmatic and that first struggle for life seems to have become a metaphor, albeit unwanted. I'm changing that pattern. Slowly, deliberately and with a wavering confidence that has also been my pattern.
The one thing I have known, from a very young age, is that I'm a writer. I simply love to write and I love words. If I don't write...I feel all is not well in this world. I learned as a very young age the power of words. I was a sick child....kids were cruel...very cruel. I learned that words can slice your skin like a sharp knife and leave a scar inside that does not heal.
Sometimes, my words can be cutting, sharp and hurtful. I try to save them and modify them later, but that has not always been the case. Words are the most powerful tool we have within us and I believe we have a responsibility to use them with care. I have not always been successful at that.
My words have also brought sentimental tears, comfort, humour and discussion. They are the words I'm most proud of.
Grace is my middle name. My mother fought to have it be my first name but she didn't win the fight. I think now, in my middle age, I am glad she didn't win. It takes years to find your "grace". I am only beginning to discover that.
There is nothing more "disgraceful" than losing your temper over nothing, arguing over something meaningless and leaving someone you love confused or hurt by your rantings. I have done that, and sadly, still do although not as frequently. Wendy has taught me to forgive myself and try to do better. That's all we can do. And I do try....to be the Grace I was born to be.
There is nothing more "graceful" than holding your baby for the first time, kissing away their tears, bathing them, dressing them, teaching them about higher powers so they understand "they" are not the world, offering up advice even when you know they aren't listening and finally, never letting them know how much you are truly suffering from burdens that are not for children's ears.
I hope I can share some of my insights, humour and observations of this crazy world that is mine and yours. I hope you will laugh with me and let me know when I'm "offside".
Here is to a new day!
My first thought is to tell you about my latest venture...well, truth be told, my only venture in about...oh, eleven years or so. I have taken up horseback riding. I met a lady named Rose who I believe can heal through horses. I have been going for three weeks now and learned some anatomy and how to communicate to a horse through touch and eye contact. She has chosen a 20 year old female horse named Blackie for me. Blackie is not an alpha. She leads by example not might. I took to her right away. This Wednesday, I will ride for the first time. I am excited and anxious but determined. I can do this. I will do this. Well, Blackie, Rose and I will do it together.
I can't wait for the day my kids and friends come to the Arena and see me ride and trot Blackie, with confidence and pride.
Thank you for reading my first Blog. Hopefully, it is not my last! Cheers and much love,
Linda Grace
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