Skip to main content

Hung Out With These People Last Night

The long bus ride to Guelph was worth it last night.

Worth it to laugh with my siblings, parents and grandparents. Worth it to snuggle with the wee ones. Worth it to eat chocolate fondue by the spoonful. Worth it to celebrate my mother's 60th birthday.

"I can own up to 50," she told me earlier in the day, "But I don't feel 60."

I think that's fair. I like to think of her as 50ish as well. Am I the only one who finds it difficult to let my parents become the grandparents? Who sometimes feels a pang of fear that people my parents' age are retiring, slowing down, occasionally dying? I was thinking yesterday about this fear of aging, the inability to wrap my head around it and embrace it...but I'm getting to somber for this particular post.


Back to the point. Here are some photos that take us back to when my mom was hardly 40...and I was maybe 10.



My dad looks essentially the same today, although his glasses are slightly smaller.
The volume of my mother's dark curls is precisely why I can never have short hair...
Yes, my brother is wearing a Garfield tie.
I really loved that floral suit.
Totally coveted my sister's plaid jumper and waffle shirt.
There is nothing to be sad about the ADORABLENESS of my little brother.
Labels:

Comments

  1. Teagen10:20 PM

    Floral. Suit. Thank you. My middle school brown corduroy over-alls, glasses, and giant cowlick have NOTHING on that.

    ReplyDelete
  2. crouton412:13 PM

    Love this photo! The Fisher family as we once knew them (funky fashions and all). It is truly hard to believe your mom is 60, and even harder to believe that someone can change so little in that many years. Amazing, Dennis, and Happy 60th, Mary! :)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Simone Weil: On "Forms of the Implicit Love of God"

Simone Weil time again! One of the essays in Waiting for God  is entitled "Forms of the Implicit Love of God." Her main argument is that before a soul has "direct contact" with God, there are three types of love that are implicitly  the love of God, though they seem to have a different explicit  object. That is, in loving X, you are really loving Y. (in this case, Y = God). As for the X of the equation, she lists: Love of neighbor  Love of the beauty of the world  Love of religious practices  and a special sidebar to Friendship “Each has the virtue of a sacrament,” she writes. Each of these loves is something to be respected, honoured, and understood both symbolically and concretely. On each page of this essay, I found myself underlining profound, challenging, and thought-provoking words. There's so much to consider that I've gone back several times, mulling it over and wondering how my life would look if I truly believed even half of these thi...
1 comment
Read more

I Like to Keep My Issues Drawn

It's Sunday night and I am multi-tasking. Paid some bills, catching up on free musical downloads from the past month, thinking about the mix-tape I need to make and planning my last assignment for writing class. Shortly, I will abandon the laptop to write my first draft by hand. But until then, I am thinking about music. This song played for me earlier this afternoon, as I attempted to nap. I woke up somewhere between 5 and 5:30 this morning, then lay in bed until 8 o'clock flipping sides and thinking about every part of my life that exists. It wasn't stressful, but it wasn't quite restful either...This past month, I have spent a lot of time rebuffing lies and refusing to believe that the inside of my heart and mind can never change. I feel like Florence + The Machine 's song "Shake it Out" captures many of these feelings & thoughts. (addendum: is the line "I like to keep my issues strong or drawn ?" Lyrics sites have it as "stro...
2 comments
Read more

Esse - Czeslaw Milosz

I'm on a bit of a poetry binge this week, and Monday afternoon found me lying on the luxurious shag rug of a friend's tiny apartment, re-reading some of my favourite poets (ee cummings, William Carlos Williams, Czeslaw Milosz). It is an adventure to re-open a collection and wonder what will pop out, knowing something you've read before will strike you afresh, or you will be reminded of a particularly moving line that you had somehow forgotten. Like this piece from Milosz, which floors me. Every. damn.* time. The first time I read it, I lay in a park with a friend (this same friend who offered me her rug as my reading burrow) and demanded that I share it with her. I spoke it carefully, and then, into the post-reading silence, I slammed the book shut, and dropped it as loudly as I could onto the grass. "I'm never reading anything again," I declared, "What else is there to say?" Esse I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro st...
Post a Comment
Read more