Posts from the ‘Family’ Category

Apr 20

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Beenie — There is nothing more beautiful

The best cat that has ever lived. Brings tears to my eyes.

Apr 12

We came in 2nd place!

I think they were serving $6 cosmos, but of course beer was the choice of drink for us!

Gayle’s BFF (that was the name of our team) came in second place during trivia night at Wayla Lounge in Leslieville last night! We lost by only two points, which was disappointing of course, but a stellar showing nonetheless. A group of queens beat us, and considering we were only a team of three, we did a pretty damn good job!

The competition was still arriving well after 9 p.m.

This crew spent nearly 30 minutes on their smart phones, without speaking

Look at my left eye! It looks like it's going to pop out!

Lisa and me

Pretty!

Lisa on the streetcar home

Mar 30

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Humita en chala

Ramiro was born in the province of Santiago, a place where — if legend is true — no one wakes. It’s a running joke in Argentina that people from Santiago are always sleeping. When Ramiro was a teenager he and his family moved to the province of Tucumán where things are a little livelier.

I have never met a person more calm or serene than Ramiro. He’s an exceptionally quiet individual. He’s also very generous. He has allowed me to stay with him in his apartment for seven months now, in spite of the fact that I’ve broken or nearly tarnished every valuable possession he owns.

Sure he’s never here, and I’m basically the housekeeper, but I don’t complain. Ramiro has two sisters, one older and one younger. The oldest lives with her husband and three young daughters in Tucumán and the youngest lives in La Plata, Buenos Aires. His mother owns a clothing establishment, and his parents visit Capital Federal frequently to peruse the shops for clothes to sell in their store. Sometimes they sleep here in the apartment. Sometimes they don’t. But they visit. Often. If you catch my drift. Often.

None of them speak English. I don’t speak Spanish. It can get… interesting. I can never fault them on their kindness. When they visit they make lunch, or dinner, and are always observant that I don’t eat meat, and therefore make vegetarian meals. This is not something that I ask of them, and to their credit, in this meat eating country, they never complain. But then again, how would I know any better if I can’t understand a word that they say?

The whole brigade is in town this week and his mother brought over a food that I had never heard of before called humita en chala. Here is a little history lesson that I swiped form this blog. In 1879, the forces of Tucuman-born future president of Argentina General Roca wiped out most of the indigenous peoples that inhabited the Pampa, leaving the country with a predominantly European population. One of the few traditional recipes that survived from the native population was humita en chala and it was passed down from the Andean Incas and Mapuche tribes. Today it’s considered a national dish filled with hot corn pudding spiked with roasted piquillo peppers.

Inside humita en chala

At first sight it just sat on my plate. I didn’t know what to do with it. Eventually I grabbed a pair of scissors, cut the string and carefully opened the contents to reveal a mushy substance in the centre. It was yummy and I helped myself to three servings.

It demonstrates that though a vegetarian diet in South America is more challenging, it isn’t impossible. Corn provides a lot of dietary fibre, and carbohydrates needed for energy. I am thankful to Ramiro’s parents for introducing me to this simple yet fabulous traditional culinary experience and for being remarkably generous while I’ve mooched off their son.

To finish this post I welcome you to listen to a song by the late Mercedes Sosa, an Argentine treasure.

Feb 2

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Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo

I’ve written before about Argentina’s military dictatorship. Canada’s history is, to put it bluntly, boring. Canadians are always complaining about our tepid past, myself included. Since living in Argentina, a country that has experienced tumultous political upheaval, I’ve grown to appreciate banal Canadian politics, now more than ever.

Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo is an organization of mothers whose children disappeared during the military dictatorship from 1976 to 1983, also known as the Dirty War.

For over three decades, the Mothers have fought for the right to re-unite with their abducted children. In protests, they wear white head scarves embroidered with their children’s names to symbolize the blankets of the lost children.

The Mothers’ association was formed by women who met each other while trying to find their abducted sons and daughters, many of whom were presumably tortured and killed by agents of the Argentine government during the Dirty War.

The military has admitted that over 9,000 of those kidnapped are still unaccounted for, but the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo say that the number is closer to 30,000. Close to 500 were children born in concentration camps to missing pregnant women and raised by military families. Many of these children, who are now adults, have learned the truth about their identities and are being reunited with their biological parents. However, for many of the missing, the revelation is too painful, and they refuse any contact with their blood relatives.

Tragically three of the founders of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo have also disappeared. After the fall of the military regime, a civilian government commission estimated that the number of those missing was closer to 11,000.

Asociación Madres de Plaza de Mayo march every Thursday outside the Casa Rosada. Over the years they have evolved, not only to demand justice for the victims of the Dirty War but to support action for other social causes.

This afternoon I joined the march and snapped these photographs. The entire experience would have been more poignant if I wasn’t accompanied by a British woman who talked endlessly about her hangover. I don’t care!

I swear to God these women are talking about groceries

At 3:30 p.m. sharp a small group of ladies began their walk

They were soon joined by a larger group of supporters

These are painted throughout the Plaza de Mayo -- The white head scarf is the movement's symbol

Mothers of Plaza de Mayo plastic flags

For more photos click here.

Jan 1

Hello 2012!

Victoria and Scott’s annual fondue New Year’s Eve party was a smashing success. I had a great time but as a result of too much red wine consumption I had to depart earlier than I wanted. I had a terrible headache. Still fighting it actually. I drank as much water as a human possibly can. Victoria is a talented chef and is available for freelance work, check out her website to learn more.

Veggies

What a beautiful display of food

The hosts, Scott and Victoria

Sisters

Brothers

These are the people who attended last night's party

Lisa Loeb dropped by and sang Stay for the guests

This is the only photograph of me from the evening and it's blurry

Cheese

Not surprisingly I knocked over their Christmas tree

Dec 13

Congratulations to Sue and John

Sue, John and me on Trout Lake in North Bay, Ontario in 2008

Congratulations to my British friends Sue and John on the birth of a healthy baby boy. Sue was ten weeks past her due date! I’m sure you’re relieved to have the sucker out.

I’m proud of you two. Now don’t screw it up.

Dec 13

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You can only be you

North Bay 2008. When I think about the majestic beauty of the world we live in, my problems seem rather trivial.

“Some of the most wonderful people are the ones who don’t fit into boxes.” Tori Amos

I was speaking with a friend today who is going through some personal issues and she needed a shoulder to cry on. Enter me. She expressed some frustration that when she spoke with certain friends about her problems (lack of a better word) she was receiving more judgment than support.

We can all relate to that. I know I can. Over the years I’ve become more private, preferring to cope with my personal issues on my own. I’ve been burned too often in the past by friends who used my revelations as fodder for gossip.

What our friends observe, and what we choose to reveal to them never paints a whole, and accurate picture. But for some reason, all of us really, when playing the role of supportive friend, make false assumptions that are unfair.

I’ve learned that a true friend is someone who will listen, and avoid advice based on their own experiences. Individually many people I know, including myself, make the mistake in assuming that our idea of happiness should be everyone else’s. It’s a short-sighted way to experience life. Perhaps, by doing this, we’re revealing our own unhappiness and fear about breaking convention.

No two marriages are the same, and nor should they be. Every relationship has their stumbling blocks, and some are meant to end, while others begin the painful yet rewarding process of repairing and rebuilding. Make no mistake, each relationship must find the path that is best for those who are in it, and looking to others is more detrimental than liberating.

No family is the same. Before I attended University I didn’t know one person whose parents were divorced. I remember thinking how terrible it must feel to come from a family where mom and dad no longer loved each other. It was only until I started, rather privately mind you, to unveil the skeletons in my own closet that I understood each family has its issues, and sometimes the best solution is the one that is the hardest to make. You cannot find the wisdom without the sting.

We’re prone more to complain about our relationships than to praise them. It’s funny isn’t it? No one wants to hear how happy you are, they only want to hear how you could be happier.

There are no rules in life that apply to each one of us the same. Every day we try our hardest to make sense of the world that surrounds us. We avoid conflict, but it’s inevitable, we can’t run away from it forever. Accepting that confrontation is natural and healthy is the first step in healing.

I told my friend that the majority of people who we confide in unconsciously want us to be someone else. They don’t even know who this person is, maybe a figment of a person they wish they could be. Or maybe it’s the insecurity we all carry when listening to a friend who has made choices that we think we never would. But wait, one day we might, and then the story changes.

For my friend I said, “You can only be you. A lot of times it’s never enough for people. But that’s okay, you only need to be you for you — no one else. So make all the mistakes you need to in this life. It’ll make you a better, stronger person. And fuck what anyone else thinks.”

From personal experience I learned this the hard way.