Yesterday I was driving home, and I was stopped at the lights. Crossing right in front of my car were 2 young teenage girls being silly, holding hands and just giggling. I suddenly got a flashback from my youth. I remember the days of hanging out with my friends, making plans to go to a movie and talk about the guy we had a major crush on.
In high school we want so badly to grow up. We want to wear heels, wear make-up, drive around, and stay up late. We think that life gets easier when we get older because we make our own rules. We think we know about life and we think that life is so stressful. All we want to do is get ready for the next party. We think hanging out with our parent’s sucks, and we want nothing to do with them.
This is all part of the journey. It is the part where we know it all and we hate our parents for all their useless rules. I was thinking back at those moments in my life. I had a great time growing up. I had great friends and I thought I was at the peak of life. I thought that life was very serious, and that it would not get harder than that. I remember thinking women in their 20’s were “older” girls and women in their 30’s..Well they were useless and ancient.
When we are young have no use for information. We make our own mistakes and we think that it is just “different” for us. No one person understands what we are going through and the older people are just nerds in heels. We think that our relationships are “real love” and we would just die if we broke up with that guy we “cared” so deeply for... that whole month. Summer was for breaking up, and Christmas was for exchanging gifts with our girlfriends. Life was so hard, homework sucked and we just couldn’t wait to work.
The ironic thing about this stage in our lives is that we just can’t wait to be older. We can’t wait to turn 19 so we can go to clubs, then we can’t wait to turn 21, because for some reason we cared if we were legal in the States..lol. Then we couldn’t wait to turn 25 because then people would take us serious. But then something happens. We wake up and we are 30 years old. We think back to the days we couldn’t wait to be older. We think back at all the things we wish we would not have done, and we think back at the days when we didn’t want to have a relationship with our parents. Life is funny that way. When we are young, we want to be older, and we age, we think back at when we were younger.
Yesterday, when I saw those young girls I did not wish to be that age again. Although I admit, it was fun. I think there is a time for everything in life. Those teenage years are meant to be the years of foolishness, silliness, and just plain old carelessness. It is our time to practice for our 20’s, our 30’s and yes ladies...our 40’s. We should embrace the immaturity, we should embrace the attitude, and we should embrace the irresponsibility, because before we know it, we will be driving our minivans filled with children reminiscing of our youthful days. Not wanting to go back, but waiting to go forward, to witness our own children’s teenage years. So I say... if practice really does make perfect, than I think we will all get it right at the ripe old age of 99.
That’s my peace today!
Steak Wrap
1 rib eye steak, grilled and sliced thinly into pieces
1/4 cup of Ceasar dressing (I prefer Renne's)
1/2 Boston lettuce shredded
1 tomato cubed
1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 Avocado cubed
(any grilled veggies you like)
6 10 inch wraps
Salsa (optional)
Lay wraps open. Sprinkle all ingredients evenly. Roll wrap tightly and secure with a toothpick. Place on grill or heated pan, and grill each side for 3 minutes. You can dip in salsa once cooked.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
My mother is a woman and she had cancer.
I was just reading a few of my friend’s status’ on face book, and I noticed a few of them wrote about the wonderful thing they did yesterday. They walked. They didn’t just walk for a stroll, they walked for a purpose. They walked for Cancer.
This is a yearly event in the city. Hundreds of people gather together in 1 place to begin a walk to raise money for cancer research. Cancer. What a horrible word. Half the time I cannot even say it because it gives me the creeps. It is a word nobody ever wants to hear in a doctors’ office, and it is a word no one person ever wants to repeat to another person.
It is said that by the time you reach a certain age in your life, you or someone you know will be diagnosed with the disease. Cancer affected my life when I was 10 years old. I was in Grade 5 and loving life. I just found out the boy I had a crush on, was having a birthday party. I was so excited to go to his party so I ran home to ask for my mother’s permission to attend the party. She was at home frying some peppers. I ran up to her (this is something I will never in my life forget) and I excitedly said, “Ma, Sam is having a party..Can I go?” much to my very surprise she answered me, “No, I’m sorry you can’t.” Shocked! I was shocked. How could she be doing this to me? Everyone was going..How could I be the only 1 not attending the party? She went on to explain to me that she was going to be in the hospital and that my father would not be able to take care of things, including me attending a party at the same time. “How unfair!” is what I shouted and ran out of the room.
I didn’t know it, but at the time, my mother just found out she had Thyroid cancer. She was scheduled to remove the tumour and her thyroid, that same week. She opted not to tell her 4 children, I guess it was her way of protecting us, so we had no idea why she was going in for surgery.
I remember the day I went to visit her in the hospital, it was surreal. I couldn’t look at my mother with tubes in her throat and needles poking in her arms. It is something nobody should ever have to go through or witness. My mother had 4 children who needed her, she was more worried for us, than for herself, not because she was scared of dying, but more because she was scared that we would grow up without a mother.
My sisters understood a little more than me and my younger sister did. Nancy was 17 and Ann-Marie was 13. My father was just in a daze, probably trying to figure out what he was going to do if anything happened to my mother. I can only imagine the stress her sickness put on the entire family. She explains to me now how she felt the moment the doctor said the words no one ever wants to hear, “You have cancer.” Her world changed from that moment on. You feel a sense of invincible just go away; you are now human because the doctor just proved it to you.
My mother is a survivor. She has been 26 years and counting, in remission. It is something she will never forget; it is a part of her history in life. She is thankful every morning when she takes her thyroid pill that she was saved. She is thankful that she was able to experience and witness all the things a mother should see.
This past weekend, I want to commend all the people that walked to help beat Cancer. I want to commend you for your strength, your commitment and your dedication. It is people like you that make this world a better place; it is people like you that helped save my mother and so many other mothers. You walked to help raise money for women’s cancer. My mother is a woman and she had cancer.
That’s my peace today!
This is dedicated to all the women who are fighting the battle, who have lost the battle, and who are winning the battle!
Gnocci
6 potatoes
2 cups or so of flour
1 egg
chopped parsley and basil
a fork
Peel and boil potatoes. Salt the water. remove and mash. Add egg, and a little at a time add the flour. You may have to add a little more or a little less than 2 cups. Once you feel the dough is not too sticky, you have added enough. Add in chopped herbs and knead together. Take about a handful of dough, roll it out into the size of a thick rope, repeat until you are done the dough. With a knife, cut into 2 cent pieces. Put a fork facing down, take a piece of the dough and roll until you make a rolled gnocci. Lay out on a flour surface so it does not stick. Add to boiling water and cook about 20 minutes. (Until no longer doughy). Add whatever sauce you like.
This is a yearly event in the city. Hundreds of people gather together in 1 place to begin a walk to raise money for cancer research. Cancer. What a horrible word. Half the time I cannot even say it because it gives me the creeps. It is a word nobody ever wants to hear in a doctors’ office, and it is a word no one person ever wants to repeat to another person.
It is said that by the time you reach a certain age in your life, you or someone you know will be diagnosed with the disease. Cancer affected my life when I was 10 years old. I was in Grade 5 and loving life. I just found out the boy I had a crush on, was having a birthday party. I was so excited to go to his party so I ran home to ask for my mother’s permission to attend the party. She was at home frying some peppers. I ran up to her (this is something I will never in my life forget) and I excitedly said, “Ma, Sam is having a party..Can I go?” much to my very surprise she answered me, “No, I’m sorry you can’t.” Shocked! I was shocked. How could she be doing this to me? Everyone was going..How could I be the only 1 not attending the party? She went on to explain to me that she was going to be in the hospital and that my father would not be able to take care of things, including me attending a party at the same time. “How unfair!” is what I shouted and ran out of the room.
I didn’t know it, but at the time, my mother just found out she had Thyroid cancer. She was scheduled to remove the tumour and her thyroid, that same week. She opted not to tell her 4 children, I guess it was her way of protecting us, so we had no idea why she was going in for surgery.
I remember the day I went to visit her in the hospital, it was surreal. I couldn’t look at my mother with tubes in her throat and needles poking in her arms. It is something nobody should ever have to go through or witness. My mother had 4 children who needed her, she was more worried for us, than for herself, not because she was scared of dying, but more because she was scared that we would grow up without a mother.
My sisters understood a little more than me and my younger sister did. Nancy was 17 and Ann-Marie was 13. My father was just in a daze, probably trying to figure out what he was going to do if anything happened to my mother. I can only imagine the stress her sickness put on the entire family. She explains to me now how she felt the moment the doctor said the words no one ever wants to hear, “You have cancer.” Her world changed from that moment on. You feel a sense of invincible just go away; you are now human because the doctor just proved it to you.
My mother is a survivor. She has been 26 years and counting, in remission. It is something she will never forget; it is a part of her history in life. She is thankful every morning when she takes her thyroid pill that she was saved. She is thankful that she was able to experience and witness all the things a mother should see.
This past weekend, I want to commend all the people that walked to help beat Cancer. I want to commend you for your strength, your commitment and your dedication. It is people like you that make this world a better place; it is people like you that helped save my mother and so many other mothers. You walked to help raise money for women’s cancer. My mother is a woman and she had cancer.
That’s my peace today!
This is dedicated to all the women who are fighting the battle, who have lost the battle, and who are winning the battle!
Gnocci
6 potatoes
2 cups or so of flour
1 egg
chopped parsley and basil
a fork
Peel and boil potatoes. Salt the water. remove and mash. Add egg, and a little at a time add the flour. You may have to add a little more or a little less than 2 cups. Once you feel the dough is not too sticky, you have added enough. Add in chopped herbs and knead together. Take about a handful of dough, roll it out into the size of a thick rope, repeat until you are done the dough. With a knife, cut into 2 cent pieces. Put a fork facing down, take a piece of the dough and roll until you make a rolled gnocci. Lay out on a flour surface so it does not stick. Add to boiling water and cook about 20 minutes. (Until no longer doughy). Add whatever sauce you like.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Daddy's little girls
There is a reason why we use the phrase Daddy’s little girl. A father is the first man you love in life. He is the man that protects you, consoles you and just downright spoils you. Since I grew up with 3 sisters, my father was able to love each and every one of us in a special way. He made us feel as important as the next.
This past summer my father went through some serious medical concerns. There was a period of a week or so that my sisters and I did not know how things were going to turn out. At the moment my mother told us that our father was not well and that there may be some bad news, I immediately panicked. My whole childhood raced through my mind. I constantly stated that I was too young for my father to not be well; I could not accept that things may not turn out the way we wanted them to.
My father is a very proud person. He is the kind of man that never complained about pain, or feeling tired, and to my memory, he never had a “man cold”. He just carried on life the way it should be lived. When you are used to your father only showing strength, than for a small second you cannot imagine your father showing anything else.
Thankfully, everything worked out well for him and he is going to be fine. I know I should prepare myself in life for the not so nice things that happen to us as we age, but I felt like a small child who did not want to “play” that game. My sister would tell me that we have to accept the fact that our parents are aging and that they will not always be what they once were. To me, those words were devasting. How could she be saying that my father is getting old? My father is not getting old, he is just growing up.
When a daughter thinks about her father, she only thinks of the man that guided her in life. The man that taught her how to ride a bike; the man who lectured her when she did not come home on time; the man who purposely judged any young boy his daughter brought home; the man that walked her down the aisle; and the man that told her no man was ever worth crying over. This is the man that we look up to. This is the man that we have the up most respect for. This is the man that we would start a fight with our spouse over, if he ever criticised his methods of doing things.
A father is someone who stays silent in the sidelines. He is someone who secretly tells your mother that boy is not good enough for you, and he is someone that teaches you that you should always have enough gas to take you home. That man is my father. He is the man that I always respected and (most of the time) I took his loving advice. He is the man that walked me down the aisle; that danced at my wedding with me, and he is the man that taught me how to charge the battery of my car if I accidently left the lights on.
This summer my father gave us all a scare. A part of me was not ready to accept anything but good news, but a part of me was also preparing for the worst. I know that one day we all have to lose our parents, but at this point in my life, I refuse to be ready for that. He still has a lot to do in this lifetime with his 4 daughters and his 7 grandkids. He will still have to be annoyed when we all show up unannounced wanted to be fed, for a lot longer, because we are not ready to be without our father. We are not ready to be “adults” just yet.
We still love the fact that he is around (opinion and all..lol), and we are still loving the fact that he brings us a coffee on Saturday mornings, but most of all we are still loving the fact that we are daddy’s little girls.
That’s my peace today!
this is my father's favourite!
Fried Potatoes and Peppers
7-8 yukon gold potatoes
2 cubanelle peppers thickly sliced
oil for frying
salt
Cut potatoes in half and then slice each half into thin "wedge" like pieces. In a pan, heat oil and place potatoes and peppers. Fry for about 15 min on each side (until crispy). Salt and remove into plate lined with paper towel to remove any excess oil.
This past summer my father went through some serious medical concerns. There was a period of a week or so that my sisters and I did not know how things were going to turn out. At the moment my mother told us that our father was not well and that there may be some bad news, I immediately panicked. My whole childhood raced through my mind. I constantly stated that I was too young for my father to not be well; I could not accept that things may not turn out the way we wanted them to.
My father is a very proud person. He is the kind of man that never complained about pain, or feeling tired, and to my memory, he never had a “man cold”. He just carried on life the way it should be lived. When you are used to your father only showing strength, than for a small second you cannot imagine your father showing anything else.
Thankfully, everything worked out well for him and he is going to be fine. I know I should prepare myself in life for the not so nice things that happen to us as we age, but I felt like a small child who did not want to “play” that game. My sister would tell me that we have to accept the fact that our parents are aging and that they will not always be what they once were. To me, those words were devasting. How could she be saying that my father is getting old? My father is not getting old, he is just growing up.
When a daughter thinks about her father, she only thinks of the man that guided her in life. The man that taught her how to ride a bike; the man who lectured her when she did not come home on time; the man who purposely judged any young boy his daughter brought home; the man that walked her down the aisle; and the man that told her no man was ever worth crying over. This is the man that we look up to. This is the man that we have the up most respect for. This is the man that we would start a fight with our spouse over, if he ever criticised his methods of doing things.
A father is someone who stays silent in the sidelines. He is someone who secretly tells your mother that boy is not good enough for you, and he is someone that teaches you that you should always have enough gas to take you home. That man is my father. He is the man that I always respected and (most of the time) I took his loving advice. He is the man that walked me down the aisle; that danced at my wedding with me, and he is the man that taught me how to charge the battery of my car if I accidently left the lights on.
This summer my father gave us all a scare. A part of me was not ready to accept anything but good news, but a part of me was also preparing for the worst. I know that one day we all have to lose our parents, but at this point in my life, I refuse to be ready for that. He still has a lot to do in this lifetime with his 4 daughters and his 7 grandkids. He will still have to be annoyed when we all show up unannounced wanted to be fed, for a lot longer, because we are not ready to be without our father. We are not ready to be “adults” just yet.
We still love the fact that he is around (opinion and all..lol), and we are still loving the fact that he brings us a coffee on Saturday mornings, but most of all we are still loving the fact that we are daddy’s little girls.
That’s my peace today!
this is my father's favourite!
Fried Potatoes and Peppers
7-8 yukon gold potatoes
2 cubanelle peppers thickly sliced
oil for frying
salt
Cut potatoes in half and then slice each half into thin "wedge" like pieces. In a pan, heat oil and place potatoes and peppers. Fry for about 15 min on each side (until crispy). Salt and remove into plate lined with paper towel to remove any excess oil.
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