Do you want arachnids with that?

This morning I went to my favourite (Mc)Cafe drive through for my morning cup of decaf. I pulled up to pay and rolled down my window. As the young man was about to pass the debit machine to me a spider dropped down between us on a single gossamer thread. It was a terrifying, heart-pounding and incredibly awkward moment. You see, I have a had a lifelong phobia of spiders.

I remember as a little girl, my mother tried to cure my arachnophobia by reading me Charlotte's Web. Charlotte was so clever and kind (if bloodthirsty). E. B. White taught me that these talented and self-sacrificing creatures were our friends. The illusion lasted just a few short months until I was bit on the leg by a spider. I no longer considered this an irrational fear--it is a very logical one.

Once as a teen there was a spider on me and I screamed. Dear mother suggested that I should scream, "Spider," rather than just screaming so that she can more readily and accurately assess the seriousness of the situation.

In university I turned down a job in a pet store when I was told that I would have to clean the tarantula cages. And I don't even want to talk about the outhouse in the jungle late at night without a flashlight...

Now that I am a parent I have had to be a little more brave and take care of spiders in the kids' bedrooms and so forth. This practiced calm helped this morning in the drive through.

So here we were: me, the drive through employee and the spider. All three of us were in a predicament. A light warm breeze kept blowing the spider toward me.  I asked if he had a napkin. He found a paper bag. I expected him to hand me the bag, but going above and beyond the call of duty, he rescued me from the car spider, exclaiming, "It's OK,  I really don't like bugs either. I hope it doesn't stick to the bag." But no, the spider was brushed away moved on. I paid for my order and was on my way.

I think they should give that young man employee of the month.  At the very least I hope that he felt good about helping the crazy lady in the white car, and had a funny story to tell his friends. As Charlotte said, "After all what's a life anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die...By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle.  Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that." And mom, you should be proud of me; I didn't even need to scream, "Spider."

This is totally staged, but this is the actual coffee cup and I think the same species of spider. 

How Does Your Garden Grow?

A few weeks ago I won the lottery and the prize was some prime real estate.

I entered my name in my city's free lottery to win one of around 80 community garden plots. My name was drawn and I have been given a 4'×8' plot to call my own from May until October.

It seemed like a good idea at the time but the task is rather daunting. I have not had good luck with plants in the past. I actually managed to kill an aloe plant. But I want my children to have the opportunity to watch things grow, learn to care for the garden and enjoy eating the fruits (er, veggies) of their labour.

I still remember the first time I was given my own small corner of the garden. I was probably around four years old and I planted radishes. I didn't like radishes, but I was persuaded to plant them as they would be easy and relatively quick to grow.  From that point on whenever someone asked me "Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow," I would reply, "With radishes." I thought my children should likewise have their own corners in the garden.

Last week we were assigned our plot. The children were excited to discover that there is a playground right beside our plot. They had fun playing while I signed the waivers.

A few days later we returned to begin working on our garden. We had just begun pulling weeds when we were joined by two more children, who remembered my kids from playing together on the previous visit. They wanted to help too. Before I knew it, all of the children were leaving the playground to come and pull weeds with us. Eventually parents wandered over too to talk about the gardens, the neighbourhood and the kids.  Many hands made light work.  And by the time the last of our little helpers left we were ready to plant.

I divided the garden into squares and let the children plant the seeds: onions, beets, peas, lettuce, and carrots.  And while we planted and mucked about in the dirt, I thought this is the real prize. If you ask me now, "Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow," I'll reply, "with new friends and community, childhood memories, a dandelion for the bees, but no radishes."

Dancing On Bubble Wrap

This was a tough week. My daughter was sick and missed a lot of fun events at school and at her after-school clubs. There was a lot of disappointment to deal with on top of not feeling well.  It was also a busy week with early mornings and long days.  Mid-week she lost a tooth, and I still haven't learned to make sure I always have loonies on hand, and did the mad scramble for change that resulted in yet another sandwich bag full of assorted coins under the pillow. (See A Coin from the Tooth Fairy)

Then there was this one golden moment where all was right with the world. My wonderful mother-in-law had been looking after my daughter while I was at work and invited us to stay for dinner. Just as we were about to sit down to eat the kids spotted two sheets of bubble wrap from a package that had arrived that day. It was providence. They asked if they could dance on the bubble wrap. Suddenly I am faced with a decision. I start to think, but it's time to eat, my head hurts, it will be so loud... But really, it was a moment that it was just as easy to say yes as it was to say no. And so to their surprise and delight I told them to go ahead. Ah, the sound of it! It was like a hundred firecrackers being set off by a couple of elephants; a sound only exceeded by the gleeful laughter of children.

As we were driving yesterday the Lee Ann Womack song "I Hope You Dance" came on the radio. I told my daughter to listen as it is my song for her. I proceeded to sing along, while crying, which I'm sure she really loved. I hope if there is anything my daughter remembers about the week, that it is not the pain or the disappointment, but that she had family to love and look after her, and that she danced in the kitchen with her brother.  So on this Mother's Day I mean every word when I sing to my children, "Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance, And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance, I hope you dance..."(on bubble wrap).

Tea and Empathy: A Eulogy for Helga

This is the story I should have written years ago.  When Helga passed away I wanted to share this with David. I never did and they are both gone now. Anyone who had the privilege of knowing them knows that they taught so much more than cultural studies, Spanish or Latin. I still think of them often and the impact they had on my life. So, as a tribute I'd like to share this story.  It happened more than twenty years ago in an old New Brunswick kitchen...

 I sat as straight as possible, my spine aligned with the back of the hard wooden kitchen chair. My friend Joanne and I exchanged nervous glances across the table as we anxiously surveyed the house that could potentially be our home for the summer. Helga, my Latin professor, had invited us to tea to discuss the potential of a house-sitting arrangement during the school break.  She was a stern school-marm type, with as much love, wisdom packed into her compact frame as there was efficiency and diligence. The home that she shared with her husband and fellow professor was a beautiful century home with large bay windows watching over a quaint street in a small New Brunswick town. It was furnished with antiques, an upright grand piano which was the centerpiece of a formal sitting room, and everywhere were artifacts of a long life of love and travel.

A china plate of butter cookies sat in the middle of the table. Helga poured tea and I noted that although the teacups were lovely, they did not match.

“Helga, your teacups are really pretty,” I commented, to break the tension and ease into conversation.

“Why thank you. They are all each very special. This one was a wedding gift from David,” she gestured toward the cup and saucer with small purple flowers in front of me that had to be at least forty years old. “Yours  was a gift to celebrate my first teaching job,” she said directing her attention to Joanne’s cup with the pale, butter-yellow daffodils. “And mine was a gift from my schatzie  on our very first date.” The evocation of the pet name for her husband brought a mist of reminiscence to her eyes as she lovingly traced her finger around the delicate pink roses, the dainty handle like a silver stem in her strong German hand. She quickly shook it off and abruptly said, “Now kiddos, down to business.”

The next half hour was filled with the expectations of the house-sitting arrangement should we be chosen. We would bring in and sort the mail. The house would be tidy. Yard work was not our concern as there would be a hired man to deal with that type of maintenance. Finally, we would each be expected to pay rent. She didn’t want any “freeloaders” as she called them. For a moment we were afraid that maybe we wouldn’t have a place to stay after all, until she explained quite sternly that we would each need to pay $20.00 per month. Even with my minimum wage job paying only $5.00 an hour, the amount was negligible and Joanne shared a quick look of relief and hope.

“I’ll let you know what we decide,” Helga concluded, signifying that the meeting had come to an end. Eager to make a good impression, I offered to wash the dishes and Joanne jumped up to help. Helga accepted the help with thanks and a satisfied nod. I filled the sink with warm soapy water   as Joanne cleared the table. I carefully washed each dish, placing it in the drying rack in the second sink. I was washing the cup adorned with pink roses, her gift from David, when the handle fell off in my hand. I held the teacup in the right hand, the delicate silver handle in the left, like the horn of a glass unicorn, unique in all the world and broken beyond all repair. The feeling of dread spread from my hands, up my arms, to my heart and down to my knees. “Helga,” I managed to speak my body shaking, nausea setting in, my head spinning, “I’m so sorry, I...I...broke a teacup.” I had ruined not only a precious object, but my chances of being able to stay and work in the town that I loved, in a beautiful house on a quaint New Brunswick street...

“That old thing, think nothing of it.”

“But...but, Helga,” I stammered, “It’s the cup that David gave you… on your first date!” The tears that had been welling up in my worried hazel eyes began to flow in earnest, hotter than the dishwater in the sink before me.

“Don’t worry, it was probably cracked already ; it’s just an old teacup,” she emphasized once again.

“And girls,” she added, “You can have the house.”

I don’t know if Helga cried after we left. I imagine that she did. I don’t know if she tried to glue it back together. I imagine that she would. The one thing I do know that as a young lady, I broke an old lady’s teacup, and that even if it broke her heart, she would never let it break the girl.

A Coin From the Tooth Fairy

When I was little I asked my denture-wearing grandfather if he had fallen asleep with his head under the pillow. I thought I was quite clever. Imagine waking up without teeth and a small pile of coins in their place! As you know, teeth under pillows are meant for the fairies.

I still remember putting my own teeth under my pillow, and the wonder and anticipation of what I would find in the morning. I also remember when the magic came to an end. After sleeping on the same tooth for several nights I finally said to my mother, "Here's the tooth, can I have just have my money now."

Then there was the family down the road who's children claimed to receive $10 per tooth, which in the 80s was a substantial sum. I don't know who was more upset at this claim, the neighbourhood children or their parents. Everyone knew that the fairy brought a quarter.

My own children now participate in the tradition. Due to inflation their tooth fairy brings $1, which in Canada is a gold coloured coin affectionately referred to as a Loonie. When my eldest lost her first tooth (by extraction), she misplaced it before she got it home. That started a pen pal relationship with her tooth fairy Dentina, as she had to write a letter explaining why the tooth was not under the pillow.

I swore to myself I would never forget to put the coin under my sleeping child's pillow. And then it happened. Apparently if the fairy forgets, the next night you get double.

Both my children lost teeth in the last week. My daughter lost one first.  She put it under her pillow.  Late that night I realized that I didn't have a loonie. Neither did my spouse.  I had a toonie ($2.00 coin) but my spouse pointed out that if we do it once, the price of teeth will permanently go up. So I searched the house: under the couch cushions, on top of the drier, behind the toilet, until I had a dollar in coins. I put the whole lot in a sandwich bag under her pillow. When she awoke the next morning we could hear her laughing, "The tooth fairy left me a bag of money," she exclaimed. The fun, the laughter;  the world is planted in pennies.

The next day my son lost a tooth. Of course we still didn't have a loonie. So Dentina wrote him a teeny tiny note, "Sorry, Sam but I'm a little short," snort, "I'll bring your coin tomorrow night."

Maybe we should have chosen a different tooth tradition that doesn't require having coins on hand,  such as throwing your tooth on the roof, or burying it by a tree. But in keeping with the theme of the world being planted in pennies, here is another example of where a small coin can be of great value. It can bring a little magic and wonder. It signifies the milestones of growing up and leaving behind, like tiny baby teeth, the little bits of childhood. Perhaps that is why the tradition continues. Once the teeth start to go, you know that the days of innocent wonder are numbered, and a small chip of copper or silver can connect parent and child to the days of magic. I think that the kids know the truth, but they like to play along, and I am kind of dreading the day they say, "Mom, just give me the money."

So that's my two cents on the tooth fairy.  What are your family tooth traditions. A penny for your thoughts?

Cleaning the Washing Machine: The Importance of Self Care

The other day I was doing laundry and noticed that the clothes weren't really coming out smelling all that fresh. Instead of that lovely clean laundry smell, things were, well, a little funky. I recognized that it was time to wash the washing machine.

The first time I heard of cleaning the washing machine, it seemed a little counter-intuitive to me. How could it be dirty? It is constantly having soapy water and fresh rinse water cycling through it. How could it not be clean? However, the icky stuff that you are wanting to wash off of the clothing can settle into the hoses and suddenly things don't smell so fresh.

When I say clean the machine I'm not just talking about wiping down the surfaces you can see. I mean cleaning the insides as well. I have a top loading machine and I do this by filling it with hot water and then adding bleach and letting it cycle through.  You can then run a cycle of vinegar and hot water. There are lots of great tips on the Internet and of course check your owner's manual.

However, even though I knew this is part of washing machine maintenance, and I knew what to do to fix the problem,  I hesitated. I looked at the laundry mountain before me and thought, in the time it takes to clean this machine, I could have another load of laundry done. If I clean it now I'll be even further behind. I had to stop myself there. Continuing to wash laundry in a dirty machine wasn't really getting the job done. I might have gone through the motions of laundry, but my end result would not actually be clean, fresh clothes. In order to get the job done right, I first had to look after the machine.

Isn't that the way with us too? How many of us work hard, cycle after cycle, wanting to be the best for our families, friends, customers and so forth? Sometimes other people's crud can seep in and settle in our inner parts. That's why it is important to take care of ourselves. Self-care will look different for different people. It might mean reading, praying,  exercising or a long, hot, body and soul-cleansing soak in the tub. To borrow again from the washing machine metaphor,  when everything seems to be spinning out of control and you are getting agitated,  it's OK to take a step back and look after yourself.  You will be more refreshed and able to help others.

I have an original piece of art hanging in my bathroom. My daughter made it in grade 2 as a public service announcement for health class. While it is meant to encourage hygiene, it also serves as a reminder to slow down and look after myself too. I think it is pretty good advice. That's my two cents anyway. What about you? What do you do to recharge?

"Just Bath Yourself"

A penny for your thoughts?

The Good News About Public Libraries, or, 5 Reasons You Should Visit Your Library This Week

Libraries have always played a prominent role in my life. I have fond memories of going to the library as a child. I have worked in libraries in one role or another for well over twenty years. So I suppose that it isn't surprising that I have made visits to the public library a regular event with my own children.

In today's fast-paced, tech saturated society, many people have questioned the relevance and necessity of libraries. Why do we need libraries when we have e-books, google, and big box bookstores with high end coffee shops? Libraries have responded by finding new and innovative ways to attract patrons and thereby justify their existence. You can now find public libraries that loan musical instruments, power tools, seeds and there are even projects where you can sign out a person for a candid conversation about their life experience and world-view. You can go to a library to knit, draw, use a green screen or 3-D printer, create and learn. 

These are all fantastic programs, and it is exciting to see the possibilities for 21st century libraries. However, in the midst of change, it is important to remember what it is that has always made public libraries great. I also think it begins with children, who will grow up to be life-long patrons. Looking through the eyes of a child you can see what really is most important about a public library, and get back to the basics, the gospel or good news of these important institutions. So here are five reasons why I think you need to visit a library, with a child or on your own, and I hope that it serves as a reminder to libraries about what they are doing right (and what they have always been doing right).

1. Books (of course)

A little spine poetry in honour of poetry month.

Recently my daughter went on a field trip with her class. They climbed a mountain (OK Mount Pelion), they went curling and visited the public library. She came home bubbling over with excitement to talk about her trip. Did she talk about the beautiful view from the top of the mountain, or about the thrill of sweeping and throwing rocks? Those things didn't even come up. This child who goes to the library almost weekly could hardly wait to tell me about the library. "Mom they have a series there where you get to decide what happens in the story and the first time I froze to death. The next time I died from heat in the desert!" Ah, the good old Choose-Your-Own-Adventure. A day of actual adventures with her class could not compare with a great book placed into the hand of a child by an enthusiastic librarian.

The library contains more than books to be read for entertainment. Recently I was discussing a controversial issue with my daughter and we had conflicting viewpoints. Of course, she was wrong (I'm only half-joking). We each gave reasons for our positions. I told her we could research to become better informed. But what if we went to the library and they only had books in the collection that supported the one point of view? The beautiful thing about libraries is that to the best of their abilities, all view-points are represented in the collections. The freedom to read is freedom for all. And by understanding the point of view of others, we gain a greater understanding of our own beliefs.

2. Belonging

I have a library card. My children both have library cards. We didn't need to pay to join the club. We live here, we belong here. It is a thrill for a child to have that card because it belongs to them. It allows them access to infinite worlds. Children are not lesser citizens at the library. They are given the same responsibility and access as adults. What is really owerful for a child is that they can choose what they get with that card. They will not be told that they are not old/smart/able/rich enough to choose a particular book. They belong. They have a voice and a choice.  Where else can you take a child where the answer will always be a yes? No matter your age, economic status, a particular book. No matter your age, gender, religion, or identity, all are equal, all belong at the library.

3. Being There

The library is a destination. We seldom go downtown for any other than reason than to visit the library. It is a break from Minecraft, and watching YouTube videos of people playing Minecraft. It is something to look forward to. One of the children's favourite things about going to the library is who gets to put the money in the parking meter. It's all part of the experience, the ritual. And if we get to the meter to discover that there is still time left from the last person, well, it's like we have won the lottery. It always feels like we are embarking on an adventure, all for just a few coins. Whether it is for a program, to get books, or just a quiet place to do homework, knowing the library is there means that there is always somewhere to go and something to do. It costs nothing to enter those doors, and one can stay all day. Literally, all day...on my day off... In the winter when it was dangerously cold on the street, the library was there. It was a designated warming station, free and open to all who needed to get off the street and get warm. Need a bathroom downtown? The library can be a blessing just by being there!

4. The Bibliothecary

Alright in keeping with the alliterative style of this post, I pulled out this impressive word for the librarian. Arguably one the library's most valuable resources, the library professional (including librarian, technician and assistant) helps patrons to navigate though the information overload in the modern world. They are skilled researchers, sleuths, and confidants. They are able to recommend a "just right" book, create fun and informative programming, and connect patrons to community services. A librarian just might be able to help you conjugate French "ir" verbs. The librarian is leading the charge for fun and exploration, critical thinking, higher learning and discreet and confidential assistance to all patrons.

5. Barks

Yes, I know, now I'm really reaching for alliterations, but bare with me. By "Barks" I am referring to programs at the library. My son has participated in a program called "Paws for Reading" where struggling or reluctant readers can read to a St. John's Ambulance therapy dog once a week. This has boosted his confidence and encouraged him to practice his reading. This is just one of many programs offered at our local library.  As mentioned above, the staff are what make what could be just a room full of books into a vibrant and active space through the programming that they provide. Just as being in a reading club was exciting for a child 30 years ago, the story times, craft days, puppet shows and summer reading programs are just as exciting today. Sometimes these programs incorporate new technology, sometimes they are constructed from cardboard costumes and imagination. Either way, it is fun and enchanting to the next generation of library patrons.  Remember, for the small children, it is all new to them. They are building memories, and when they are grown, chances are they will want to do the same with their own children.

In conclusion, if you haven't visited a public library lately, or ever, check it out. You will find an active community hub, with free access to information, helpful and courteous staff, and a place to belong. The things that have always made public libraries great are the same things that still make them great today, and so much more. Open your mind and enjoy every moment, right down to the clink of the coin in the parking meter. That's my two cents. What do you think of the role of public libraries in modern society? Do you have any memories of public libraries from your childhood? Did you have a favourite librarian?

A penny for your thoughts?