I had a whole bunch of new to me words to look up and I was more than halfway through when Safari wiped out my blog. I'll try again tomorrow. It's too late to start over.
Anon, anon.
Was today good for you?
I had a whole bunch of new to me words to look up and I was more than halfway through when Safari wiped out my blog. I'll try again tomorrow. It's too late to start over.
Anon, anon.
Was today good for you?
Milestone celebrations are hard. Like a lot of women I'm a this-time-last-year kind of person. Men aren't and this difference is the source of friction between the sexes, as I'm sure you know. So here we are at another milestone: Thanksgiving in Canada. In the States it's Columbus Day, when credit is given to Christopher Columbus for discovering the new world two centuries after Leif the Lucky. See, I go further than this time last year.
I digress, deliberately. I always get a bit depressed at any milestone event, remembering better times and feeling a little self-pity, so it's good to have a distraction. But this one is different. Long ago, a Thanksgiving event was so difficult that I had trouble being thankful. My son Matthew, challenged from birth (my obstetrician had me on amphetamines during my pregnancy which damaged the placenta, and the baby), was in a special residential school being looked after, I thought, by responsible, caring people. They wouldn't let Matt come home for Thanksgiving, saying he was too upset to leave. At that time his siblings were at schools too far-flung to get home; my late husband had been gone for over six years; my widowed mother was still in Winnipeg. So I drove to Matt's school and was allowed to take him out for T-dinner, which turned out to be a bucket for two from KFC. Neither of us ate much. Matt dozed in the back set and I worried in the front seat, missing the driver.
I didn't know at the time that they (the good, kind director of the school and his resident physician) had Matt on a tonne of Valium to keep him tamped down and behaving - conforming. He developed a drug-induced psychosis. A week later they checked him into the Clarke (Psychiatric) Institute with the recommendation that I lock his door and throw away the room. Well, his recovery is another story. (The Book of Matthew, Key Porter Books, 1984) and I am pleased to say Matt is alive and well and independent and he's coming for dinner tomorrow.
I am fortunate, I know it. I am truly blessed, that, too. And I am thankful, every day.
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