Twenty-one

This entry comes to you on the auspicious occasion of my 21st Blogiversary, from the rather inauspicious location of my bed- where I’m tucked up with a wicked cold, a parting gift from Meg and her crew.

She had surgery 10 days ago and has been staying here since then – my little grandchildren all over the house, with me cooking and cleaning and doing some of the school run with Elliot. (He loves school by the way, and the only thing we don’t like about it is that it’s turned him into a walking viral vector, and I’m reasonably sure that he’s the reason I’ve been sick for months, including a nasty run with pneumonia and something terrible that derailed Christmas.)

It’s been a blast to have them here, current virus not withstanding and we do like to stick together as a family so I suppose (she says, blowing her nose again) that it is more than worth it. The whole family headed home this morning leaving me alone in the house, and I promptly retired to the bed with my knitting where I’ve slept most of the day and have no plans any loftier – but I’ve always written on my blogiversary, and I didn’t want to stop now

Over the last while, I’ve been thinking a lot about moments and the way we spend our time. I think of it a lot when I’m with little kids. That while I’m just making dinner or doing the dishes, or chatting with them as I clean, or as they’re annoying me while I try and write an email or do some work… that while all of that is Wednesday morning for me, to them it is a series of moments that are making up their childhoods, and I (like the other grownups in their lives) feel a certain responsibility to try and make things magical. I make fancy pancakes, I dance in the kitchen, I read endless stories and play in the park and anytime I feel like this is a burden or interpret it as pressure, I try and remember two things.

First, while we are responsible for making the magic in children’s lives (and the grownups we love too) children have unbelievably low standards and can show unwavering love and devotion to even the worst of adults with terrible ideas from time to time. Second, you never know what is going to be accidentally magical – when I was a little girl my Grampa (who was a wonderful person and grandparent and together with my Grammy is the model of all I do with Elliot and Abigail) worked so hard on making my childhood amazing. He took me on a plane, I got to go in a hot-tub at the Calgary Hilton. He gave me a hammer and let me smash rocks to find potash in them at the end of a driveway in Saskatoon. He worked incredibly hard and yet some of the most cherished moments of my childhood were watching him in his element when he wasn’t even trying, me sneaking down over the stairs to watch him waltz with my grandmother in the mornings, or raging at the squirrels who were eating the corn he’d planted. (Fair enough, his yield was only going to be four ears. He was all in.) One time while we were out somewhere he said he’d named a lake for me. “Lake Stephanie” he said, as we whizzed by a surely-already-named lake, him gesturing out the car window. Looking back I’m sure we were on our way to something he thought was going to be life-building magic, but it was that one line and a soft wave out a window on a twinkling winter night that did it. It was a transformative moment between us. I am older now than he was when he said that, and I remember it like it was yesterday. You never know what will do it, what the real moments are and it’s not like at the time it was so important, but I see it now.

Funny topic for a blogiversary you’re probably thinking, but hold on, here comes the tie in. This blog was that way for me. Twenty-one years ago my kids were little and I was building their childhoods and our lives and to take a break from all of that and give me a connection to anyone who cared about the things that I did, Ken gave me this blog. I sat down with my little laminated HTML sheet (if you don’t know what that is ask someone in their 50s) and I wrote. I didn’t know it then, but it was one of those moments. It was magical. I mean, it wasn’t then, that’s what I’m trying to say. Right then it was me and a computer the size of a compact car in the dining room, and it didn’t feel magical at all. It didn’t feel like anything other than trying to learn to blog.

Twenty-one years later it’s clear that that moment was a life changer. Probably even bigger than having a lake named after you. That moment created a connection with all of you, and that little stone thrown in has created ripples that are still changing my life every day. I love you all. Thank you for writing back, thank you for your comments, thank you for catching and ordinary moment, and making it magic. You changed my life.

PS: It has become tradition to kick off my fundraising for the Bike Rally every year on this date, and well, why not. To be completely honest- after last year I was a little reluctant to sign up again, and I am starting to feel a little old for it, but I in the end I did sign up, and I’m going to give it my all. Every year we weird out the people in the PWA office by donating an amount that seems random to them and has meaning to us – this year obviously, it’s $21, or a mutiple thereof, if you’re so inclined and you figure the Blog has meant that much to you. The link is here. Some people like to thank Ken today too, after all he’s the guy who set this blog up. If you like, his link is here.

PPS: More later when I’m better, I owe you loads of posts and I have a blanket to explain. (Abigail pulled the needles out. Patrons, thank you so much for your patience while I’ve been so unwell, I’ll be back in that space very soon.)