We were airborne: YOW to YYZ and back

Old highway 16 crossing 416

 This is a post for my adult children, as well.

Century Rd. Oct. 1990
I could grow a veggie garden in those days! 

The above photo is fun. On the lower left is our old home on Century Rd. in North Gower (Carsonby), with old highway 16, Car Canada, in the central spot of the photo. I moved here with my first husband, Pat (1950 - 2014) and 3 kids in 1989-ish, after selling our house in Nepean. He entered a Schick razor blade contest, and won a silver-coloured Mercedez 450SL car.

We paid off the mortgage with the money we made selling the car. The insurance for the car ran about $2000/month! At that time mortgage rates were around 22%, although they were beginning to lower.  I was doing supply teaching, and we moved to the country. The neighbour babysat our kids, Jess was in kindergarten. my youngest in nursery school. At that time, I secured a contract, teaching 3/4 time: Ramsayville school; kindergarten in the morning and grade 3 English to a French Immersion class in the first quarter of the afternoon. I could be home when the kids arrived from school!
I remember long drives, in the fog, through the village of Manotick, to my first ever teaching assignment. We made friends with two other local teachers, Pat ended up marrying one of them (Sharon) after she divorced. Isn't life funny? The other teacher was Jess' SK teacher, Isobelle Eastman, who wrote a book about the funny things her students used to say.

But I digress in old memories, sorry for that...back to my in-flight photos! I love the view from up above. I apologise for two posts a day, but life is short, and I want to post my photos for hubby! He kindly lets me have the window seat across the 4360 km!



I watched 4 movies going to and fro. Two were smaller NFB films, and it was fun just veging out on the long (5-hour) flights.

• October Gale (see below!)
• Introducing Dorothy Dandridge (1999) - this was excellent. A contemporary of Marilyn Monroe, and Ava Gardner, Dandridge (1922 -  1965) was the first black actress to secure a Best Actress nomination in 1954 for Carmen Jones. She had to fight racism and whites only facilities. It was moving and sad.

Biopic of the multi-talented African-American singer/dancer/actress Dorothy Dandridge. As a teenager, she was part of The Dandridge Sisters night club where she met her first husband, Harold Nicholas.

Driving Ontario's rural roads, home again

We've been doing our share of driving: we were at medical appointment #XXXII in Carleton Place Friday. That was to see the Naturopath. She's pleased with his progress. For him to have his PSA go down, albeit slightly, means that the immunity boosters and anticancer agents are working. (Or not, but we're doing something right!) She's gotten his stomach better, as well, no more anti-acid pills, now that we're narrowed down his food intolerances. What a journey!

I enjoy driving rural roads, on a good day.

Ironic, who parks beside us, after our well pump troubles!

Perth was a mess Friday morning as we hiked into the city.  Sadly, I only had time to do 3/4 on the driveway, before changing clothes and sprinting into the town. I didn't have time for a shower! (My poor physiotherapist!)

In Carleton Place, I spotted an ambulance screaming around a corner, sliding in the slush. It was bad, even after rush hour.

Bless their hearts! 

They were everywhere after 4" of snow!

Difficult grabbing a photo!
Visual distraction.

This memorial is down beside Car Canada, in Carsonby, Ontario. My first husband and I, and our 3 kids,  used to live here, on Century Rd. I've been unable to figure out who it is for. Another memorial! I feel the same about these as I do the ghost bikes. It brings back anyone's tragedy, or death in the family.

North Gower/ Carsonby old school house

Endangered species

After our event  number 3, (1. new stove, 2.  loaner car for car repairs, 3. new well system), it's been a week. We thought we'd had our three, and we'd be good. Hubby went into town to do shopping and the cash register died on him! He'd emptied all his groceries from the cart to the counter. His back has been bothering him, too. They called for help, sent all the other customers to other cashes. Finally, they gave up. The cashier ushered him to a different cash, having phoned all sorts of head office and other places. The poor man! The store was packed, at noon on a Saturday.

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

Caitlin's wedding, 2005
Both her late father and I walked her down the aisle.

That was quite a day. First off, it was a 45-minute drive to Kars to have a brief visitation with my ex-late husband.
What a shock. We were married 17 years: 1976 - 1993! 
Patrick Timothy Martin
April 21, 1950 - February 4, 2014

Normally, only the family gathers at the funeral home, and the casket is closed, then the family goes to the Celebration of Life.

Of course there were years of discord, as my first husband and I  navigated our way from me being a  young university student (age 18), when we were married (1976) and moving to Ottawa (1981). I was going out to work as a teacher (I graduated pregnant as he wanted kids, being 6 years older than I), and then separating (1993), and divorcing a couple of years later. I simply couldn't live with him. The Right Fight, as Dr. Phil calls it, was too much for me. In a marriage you do not need to be right, you need not correct your father-in-law (my late Dad, who had low self esteem, depressive traits, and a gr. 10 education).
  

Without any closure, and many memories of conflict, how do you move beyond that? I found that by concentrating on the grandkids at any parties (hatching, matching or dispatchings), I could get through it.

I was alone with his body for about 20 minutes before the family arrived. I made my peace, remembered the good times, gently chastised him for not accepting counselling the 3 times I'd asked. Assured him that her children were going to look after his 2nd wife, Sharon. She is not well.  I told him we have fine children and grandchildren. What's done is done. We did the best we could at the time.

My late father and mother , our family in 1991
at the church were the funeral was held

As with my daughter's wedding, there were in-laws, and what my late mom called out-laws! My ex-husband's wife's adult children and grandchild.

The time we spent preparing to go to the church for the funeral service was interesting. The casket was still open, and Isabel (3 yrs. old) asked every 5 minutes or so, to go over and look at her late grandfather's body. I've done much reading and writing on sharing grief with children.

I told her she could remember Grampa Pat by looking at the photos they had. There was one photo of him, in drag, for a Hallowe'en party. It was 1981, and I was doing my B.Ed. at OttawaU. I was one of the oldest class members. I had to explain the photo to Bradley, Sharon's son. Several of our husbands all decided to go as women to the Hallowe'en party. It was funny and fun! A good memory.

I lifted Isabelle up and we talked about her grampa as we gazed on his lifeless form. We agreed we were sad he was dead. She was kind to tell me.

My daughter talks to Josephine.
Her aunts look on.

     "He not sleeping." she assured me.
I said she could remember her grampa in her mind.
     "No, Gramma. In my brain!" she retorted!
Suggesting her Grampa had a new body, and new home, and was with his mommy and daddy, that stumped her. I said he was in heaven with the angels and she could talk to him, if she wanted, and tell him she remembered him. He would like that. (She cannot process the concept of a great-grandparent.) She was OK with the notion that he was with the angels.
     "We not see them. They're invisible!" she explained wisely.
    "What else can't we see?" asked Papa.
   "Your breath."
     "Air."

The minister came in and suggested we could say our last goodbyes before they closed the casket. Isabelle, on my hip, watched everyone carefully. He step-grandmother went to the casket, we happened to be standing behind Sharon.

"Gramma," she queried, "why they not say goodbye?" She expected to hear them say those words, but people were murmuring. She didn't like that! Kids need to see, hear and understand what we do. This is part of grief, mourning and bereavement. We model it for them, show them the cultural traditions, which gives them a framework. I carried her over and she said "Goodbye, Grampa Pat!"

Everyone got their coats on. Isabelle told me I should come with her and sit in the back seat of their mini-van. I told her I had to drive my car!

This is the church our family attended.
This is where Pat's funeral was held,
since he and his wife were members there.

     "You can drive beside us, Gramma!"
     "That might not be safe, Isabelle!" She seemed to need me with her for some reason. It was heart warming.

We drove in the funeral cortege over to the church. I was last in line. There were impatient drivers behind us, veering in and out, looking to see if they could pass these slow drivers. Argh.

We drove past the house where my kids had had swimming lessons, across from the feed and grain store. Then we turned the corner, passing the development where Pat and Sharon had lived. Up, farther north, where Mrs. Eastman's farm was. She taught Jesse kindergarten. She was there at the church, helping with the food served after the funeral. The old Carsonby building was next, where the kids had participated in community pageants. Finally, we arrived at the church.

Being the 1st wife at a funeral means I'm persona non grata. It's bizarre and surreal not to be mentioned at all!  I watched the 1st Mrs. Mandela greeting the 2nd Mrs. Mandela at his funeral. In my mind, I held to that standard. Dignity and class, they had in the public eye.

Isabelle at her great-grandparents gravestone. 
Isabelle was
fascinated with the site.
"Gone but not forgotten,
at rest in their beloved Muskoka"

The funeral service was lovely. Many tears, good remembrances. Our granddaughters, and Pat's step-granddaughter, all lit candles. We sang hymns, heard scripture. We heard comforting words and the message that all is love.

My eldest son read a eulogy, with his fine acting voice, and sang a song. I totally forget what it was.

I had scarfed some tissues from the funeral home. My son-in-law, beside me, grabbed one. Josephine, at this point, was reaching up to hug her mom. She and Caitlin wept together. SIL handed a tissue to Josephine. Josephine noticed her uncle was quietly weeping and scootched over to him, past her great-aunt (Pat's sister) and gave her tissue to her uncle. 

It was a poignant moment.

My youngest son was not at a loss for words. I like to think he found his love of literature through me! They all have musicality from both their parents. With his fabulous bass voice, he recited a poem, from memory. Of course, there was much weeping!

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

There were smiles and happy memories
visiting my parent's gravesite (Aug. 2011)
Isabelle and Josephine couldn't understand 
that MY parents were buried here.

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

 in Frye's obituary, 5 November 2004:^[2]

Isabelle concentrates, as I try a selfie
with my heavy camera! 

We checked the first image, I told her to smile!
She did!
Here we were bonding at the funeral home
prior to the service.

The minister explained that
 Josephine & Isabelle
were going to light a candle
in memory of her Grampa Pat.