My new fav photo... this one's from Rothenburg. In Germany. A walled city. Busses can't enter the city gates, so we schlepped our stuff in on our backs. Some girls had wheels on theirs... but notice the cobblestoned streets. If I ever go to Europe again, I'm going to bring along a personal baggage handler. Someone cute. And strong. And happy to carry heavy objects.

“Hmmm. I love the smell of bread.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Hey Mrs. O – you should write about that in your blog.”

Smart asses. All three of them.

I told them that we’ve hooked up with Yahoo Messenger for all our interoffice non-face-to-face communication. We had been using our e-mail accounts to ‘chat’, and were told it was using up too much memory on the server.
”So, I’ll need you guys to teach me that I.M. language thing.”
“Whadda ya mean?”
“You know, all those abbreviations.”
“LOL means laugh out loud.”
“brb means be right back.”
“g2g means got to go.”
“TTYL means talk to you later.”
“cya means see ya.”
“What about UR for you are?” I asked.
“NO! Don’t ever use that. That’s just wrong.”
“All lower case with no punctuation is wrong too.”
“And spelling things phonetically is stupid. Just spell it the way it’s supposed to be.”
“Yeah. The other day someone spelled ‘my’ like ‘mi’. Tell me how that’s any quicker. You can hit the y key as easily as you hit the I key.”
“Yeah, I know dude. It’s so confusing when girls do stupid stuff like that…”
“Hey Mrs. O – looks like a good day for slurpees.”
“Nope. No time.”
“Huh? Whadda you havta do?”
“It’s a sunny day. I want to sit in the sun in the backyard.”
“You want to what?? Work on a tan??? Man, that’s wrong.”
“Yeah. Wrong.”
“Dude. I can’t believe she’s not going to buy us slurpees. It’s a perfect day…”
“I know. What’s she thinking?”


I was thinking I’d like to carve some time for myself. Just 40 minutes everyday from 3:20 – 4:00. Is that too much to ask?

We skipped the 7-11 stop, but minutes after I dropped the first batch of kids off, Drew shouts, “Mom! We have to go back to school! I forgot my French homework!”
No slurpees and no tanning time. Some days it takes an hour and a half to do a 10 kilometer commute.

The next day one of the other kids forgot something at school, so I had to turn around again.
The other day, they had to stay after school for a 20 minute catch-up thingy.

I gave up.
We bought slurpees the following day.
And I’ll go back to getting my own 40 minutes, to spend any way I want, at midnight.

Oooops. Time's up -

G2g ttyl, ttfn, CUL8R, tc

April 28 - National Day of Mourning. Sigh.  

However, according to library.thinkquest.org, today is
National "Kiss Your Mate" Day.
Go for it.

French Sunset

...from Mont. St. Michel.
Hey - anybody up for a road trip? One that involves a plane...

Three things I love:
1. The smell of freshly cut grass
2. Reconnecting with old friends
3. Evening walks along the beach at White Rock

"We always attract into our lives whatever we think about most, believe in most strongly, expect on the deepest level, and imagine most vividly."
Shakti Gawain


Take care,

Nic and I have something in common. She and I both have receding hairlines. But that's about it. Oh, we're both divorced as well. But nothing else. Well, we seem to both have blonde hair. However - mine is marginally more 'real' than hers. OK. So we have three things in common. But this is weird... if you mix up the letters of her name you get: Kind Omelanic. Seriously I need a life.  

No more Rice Krispies

Thirty days after flying with a head cold - my ears have cleared up. I woke up this morning with no snap, crackle or pop in my head. I do not miss it one little bit. Nope, Nope, Nope.


Yay for me.

Although I was getting used to hearing my Darth Vader-like breathing sounds amplified in my brain. Might miss that.

Angels working overtime

“I want to read a Bible like yours” he says at midnight after talking my ear off for an hour.
We’d celebrated Clint’s birthday earlier that evening and he was still pretty wired.
“I don’t want to keep reading that story Bible… I want one with, like, little numbers next to the words. Not a baby Bible – a real one.”
I get out of bed and hunt one down. It had a hard cover, was the new easy-to-read version, Young Explorer’s edition and it had verse and chapter numbers on each page – like a real Bible.
“Here” I say as I pass it to him.
He’s in my bed, with ½ dozen pillows from his room propping him up. In one hand he’s got a pencil and in the other he has my spare pair of Costco reading glasses.
He takes the Bible, opens it to the middle, puts on the glasses and asks, “So. Where should I start?”
“What’s the pencil for?” I ask.
“I’m going to underline. Like you do” he pauses. “What do you underline? Verses that’re good? Verses that make sense? Verses that are meaningful to you?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Tell me” he insisted.
“I underline verses that make me feel good. Ones that remind me how much God loves me. And I underline verses that say important truths, ones that I don’t want to forget. And sometimes I just underline verses because I like them.”
“I thought so. I’m going to do that too.”
He looks at the page his Bible is open to and starts to read.
“I don’t know what to do. This doesn’t make sense.”
Well, how about starting at the beginning? In Genesis. That’s where God made the world. Or you can skip to the New testament, and start reading Matthew, that’s where Jesus was born. Or, sometimes, it’s kinda cool to read a Psalm and a Proverb every day. In fact, why don’t you just read one chapter of Proverbs. You’ll find lotsa stuff to underline there.”
We flip him over to Proverbs and he starts to read.
“You’re right. These are good” he says as he underlines verse after verse. Can I check your Bible? Did you underline these same ones?”
Turns out I had, which gave him immense satisfaction.

Finally, sometime just before 2:00 he drifted off, holding my hand and facing my way.
"It's gonna be an ugly Monday morning" I predicted as I rolled over.

Oh how I craved sleep the next day.
And was thankful the kids were going to be with their dad.

Turns out Clint did not go to Mark’s as he had homework to do that could only be completed on his computer in my home.
At midnight I poked my head out of my door and said to him that I was going to sleep, could he lock the door and turn off the lights when he came upstairs? But, he was not there. His computer chair was empty.
“Clint?” I called.
I went downstairs, calling his name. No answer. No son of mine was on the premises.
So I called his cell phone.
“Helllloooo” he answered.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“Walking.”
“WALKING? Where?”
“Around.”
"Around WHERE?”
“The neighbourhood.”
“It’s MIDNIGHT.”
“So?”
“Are you on drugs?”
"What?”
“Why are you walking around the neighbourhood?”
“I feel like it?”
"Where are you right now?”
"At the town centre.”
“Please come home now.”
“I’m not finished walking yet.”
“I’m tired and wanna go to bed.”
“You can. Good night.”
“It’s not safe for you to be out walking by yourself after midnight.”
“Quit worrying. This is a safe neighbourhood. Nothing ever happens here.”
“Don’t ever do this again. Someone could steal you. Or hurt you. I didn’t even know you weren’t in the house…”
"Whatever. Good night.”


I sat up and waited for him to return.
And to think, when they were babies, all I wanted was for them to grow up so my sleep wouldn’t be interrupted.

By 1:00 he was back and we both were in our own beds.

Sometime later, someone smashed into my Durango on the driveway. At least that’s what it sounded like. But I was too tired to deal with it.
“Not much I can do about it now. It’ll havta wait til the morning” I said to myself as I pulled a pillow on top of my head.

When my alarm went off at 7, I remember my crunched up truck in the driveway so I hopped out of bed to have a peak through the blinds. Oh the relief. No evidence of an accident at all. “Must’ve dreamt that whole thing” I said to myself as I dove back into bed and hit the snooze button.

On Thursday evening, (4 days later) my neighbour was at my door.
“Did you hear a noise the other night?”
“Noooo. I don’t hear much from the family room, it’s at the back of the house…”
“It would’ve been later than that. Around 4:18 am.”
Thinking he was referring to the previous night, I repeated my “Nope. Nothing.”
“My truck was stolen on the other night. From my driveway.”
(Which is inches away from my driveway, both directly under my bedroom window.)
“And as they were screeching back out of my driveway, they hit the other car they stole – their getaway car – which was at the end of your driveway…”
“YES! I did hear that!”
“Did you look? Did you see anything?”
“Uhhh. No…. I was tired. Figured I’d deal with it in the morning…”
“Well, the noise was incredible. All the squealing tires, then the impact when they crashed into each other. All the neighbours were out. Then the police came…”
“Yeah, I was like, really tired…”
We were standing on my driveway and I said, “Why your truck? My Durango doesn’t even get locked every night. And this week, more often than not, the kids have left the rear windows wide open. Crap. Why’d they take your truck? I’m thankful it’s wasn’t mine…but still, how did they choose which vehicle to take?”
“Apparently my truck, even with the club on the steering wheel, is one of the easiest trucks to steal. It’s a popular model.”

Clint is never walking by himself at midnight again.
And my truck is going to get parked back in my garage by the end of next week, no matter what. That blinkin Camero and all those friggin chippies have got to find a new home.

On Friday night at the lake, Drew and I are getting ready for bed. The other kids are staying up to watch a video, but it’s after midnight, and I’m so ready to rest my head on a pillow or three.
“Can you pray tonight mom?” he asks as his head sinks into the pillows beside me.
Together we say the Lord’s prayer, and then I finish up with some requests, say thanks for a bunch of good stuff and yawn as I say “Amen.”
“Uh, mom. You didn’t ask about, you know, the power going out.”
“What?”
“Every night I ask God to make sure the power doesn’t go out, cuz that scares me. And I ask him to make sure no wind storm happens and that no robber will break in and steal stuff or hurt us.”
“You know Drew, I have a feeling your prayers for safety is what kept our Durango safe on Monday night. Thank you for praying about stuff like that.”
“So, pray mom. Ask God about those things.”
I did.
He took a deep breath and fell asleep.

The next morning, or maybe it was early afternoon, when Clint got up, he told me to check the truck.
“Why? I asked, looking out the window “looks fine to me.”
He’d been sleeping in my parent’s empty room at the end of the hall.
“I heard a truck door open last night at 3 am, so I went downstairs to see what was going on. I looked out the laundry room window and a guy in a white tee-shirt was walking up the stairs. So I turned on the porch light and he ran away. Then I clicked the lock button on the keychain so the truck got locked.
“What? You didn’t come wake me?”
“I thought about it. But…”
“Way to be the man.” I said with pride. 'Weren't you scared?'
"Meh" he asnswered. I think that's code for 'maybe a bit, but not that I'd ever admit it.'

Drew looked at me with his huge brown eyes.
“Good thing we prayed last night, eh?”

Yeah. Good thing.

Happy Birthday Sweets. Love ya... 

Bowser (AKA Clint)

He was born 18 years ago today.
My due date was ‘somewhere in the April 10 – 15th range’. He was ripped out of me via an emergency C section after 36 hours of labour on the 21st.

Incredible how prophetic his entry into this world was. I still wait and wait for him. And by the time he’s ready to make his appearance, we are in crisis mode.

Despite my misgivings regarding his ‘readiness’ for the “N” road test – I did have him at the Driver Service’s building 1 minute before his 3:00pm appointment.
I received a frantic call from him at 2:35pm, “MOM? Come get me. I’m at school. I couldn’t get a ride home.” The reason he couldn’t get a ride home? All his friends, him included, had a spare during the last block – so they left early. He couldn’t catch a ride with them because he left his glasses (which he needs for driving) at Claire’s house, and Claire’s mom was going to drop them off at his school at 2:25 pm. (By the way, in order for me to get him to his test, I had to leave work ½ hour early and ask someone else to do my usual after school pick-ups from the middle and elementary school. After seven rejections, my dad said he’d go.)
Nothing about this road test was easy.
Most things aren’t with him.

He checked in at the counter, zipped over to the bathroom, then sat in the seat two over from me.
“Clint?” the tester asked.
“Uh, yeah” Clint said as he walked over to a short middle-aged round bellied male.
“You lead the way” he said gruffly looking at his clipboard.
“Uh. Ok. I’m parked out by the front. This way is prolly best…” Clint led him away.

I pulled out my journal and started to write.
“I’ve been here before. At Driver Services with a nervous but cute teenaged boy. Last time it was Derek. I was honoured to have been able to be a part of his licence-getting process. The smile of joy and relief when he returned to the building was unlike any smile I’d ever seen on his face before. I hope Clint will come back with a smile too.
But, God, I don’t think he’s ready.
“Dear God. You know what’s best. You love him even more than I do. Please accompany him on this test. Fill him with your spirit so he can experience Your divine peace. Fill him with enough ‘calm’ to squeeze out any nervousness. Send an angel or two to ride along on the roof of the Durango – keep him safe. God, I pray for that tester; please let him be kind. Protect Clint’s self esteem. And if, he truly isn’t ready, then God, I’m praying for your help. May your will be done today in Clint’s lif…”

That’s as far as I got.
A set of keys was dropped in my lap just as I was finishing up that prayer.
“Wha?” I asked, looking to his face for clues.
“Couldn’t take the test. Your windshield has a crack in it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, hon. I wondered about that…”
“Whatever. That was gay.”
“Yeah. It sucks. But maybe this is a good thing? Maybe you can use a smaller, easier to park vehicle…”

Thank you God.

Old Mennonite Ladies

“Oh. By the way, Jane. I got the job,” she says from her curled up position on my couch.
I think to myself, “Oh my goodness, Omi would just love her. None of her children or grandchildren have stepped foot in the place that brought so much joy and fulfillment to her life. And now, this gorgeous red head with the English last name that is dating her great grandson is excited to be working at the MCC store in Abbotsford.”
Out loud I say, “You did? That’s awesome. When do you start?”
“May 1. I love it there. All those older Mennonite women are soooo nice. It’ll be a good change from the library.”
She’s been working at the library (which I think is, like, the perfect job) for a few years, but she was looking forward to something totally different.

As memories of Omi filled my mind, I think “oh yeah… those older Mennonite women. They turned the MCC’s back room into a party room. (An old-fashioned hen-type party room.) After Clint was born, I’d stop in with him to visit her whenever I was in her neighbourhood, which was probably once or twice a month. She lived in Menno-ville, also known as Fraser Street, in Vancouver – and the MCC store was just two blocks from her place. She had a lovely 2 bedroom home with amazing gardens in the front and back yards. But she was never there. If I wanted to visit with her, I’d pop by the MCC store and tear her away from the huge sewing table set up in the back. She volunteered daily. To hand sew quilts. Made out of donated denim jeans and hot pink polyester. They were as durable as a mother’s love and as heavy as a king-sized mattress. Oy vey. When it was time to move her out of a house and into a condo, she chose to live on Princess Street in Abbotsford because it was right across the road from the MCC store. If she were still alive, she’d be working with Claire and loving every minute of it. By the end of the summer, she’d have Claire speaking low-german and baking pershke…

Claire continues, “Yeah, I think it’s so cool that they all know everybody. I found an old knitting book crinkled up under a hat on one of the shelves and showed it to one of the ladies I was working with. She read the name penciled in the inside cover and it said something like Lydia Neufeld from Winkler. “Nah yo. Martha is from Winkler, she’ll know who dis is” she said. Sure enough, Martha knew exactly who it was, who she’d married, who her inlaws had married and who all their children were. I love that.”

I replied, “It’s called the Mennonite Name Game. Very popular amongst the generation older than me. Most folks my age refuse to get caught up in that, although, inevitably we too all know each other…”

As I say that, I remember an evening in Europe a few weeks ago. Ms. Bergen and Mr. Sawatsky were two of the teachers leading our adventure, and it didn’t go unnoticed by me that they both had Mennonite names. I was determined not to find out if we were somehow related, especially since they were both younger than me and it would look like I was one of those ‘older Mennonite ladies’ that Claire thinks is so cute.
Shudder.
But one night…
“Of my grad class of 12 students, only 2 of us left our community. I wanted to visit a different country for each year of my life. I almost did it – by the time I was 29, I had been to 29 countries” she said.
“Where are you from?” I innocently asked.
“Hepburn.”
“Oh.” I said, not sure if I should continue this line of conversation. It would inevitably lead to the name game. And I wasn’t sure if she wanted to play or not. Most kids her age just aren’t into it.
“In Saskatchewan.”
“I know. I’ve been there.” I say with hesitation.
“Why?”
“Bridesmaid in a wedding. My roommate from Bible school was from there. Maybe you know her family? Joyce Paetkau?”
(You see, that’s the thing about Mennonites. You can ask one if they know another one, and not look ignorant. Ignorant like, if you were in the states, and mention to a Californian retail clerk that you’re from the Vancouver area of Canada and he says, Oh, I met a guy once from Toronto – hey maybe you know him, his name is Toronto Guy? You never have to worry about that when you play the name game. Or at least I never have to worry about that because my maiden name is Klassen. That gives me an automatic “in”, at least for round one.)

“Paetkau? Sure. Her brother owns the insurance company in town.”
“Yup that’s them.”

Round one over. Ding ding.

We ended up, not surprisingly, knowing a lot of people in each other’s lives. The game ended with her exclaiming in utter astonishment, “I can’t believe you know him!”
Oh, yes I did. And he’s living in my parent’s barn. And he’s very cool.
So by virtue of the rules of the game, I too am cool.
It was a nice thought to have for a few minutes. Then I had to climb up to the top bunk with my stiff leg, oversized ass, wrinkled face and aching head.

In Mont St Michel, Lori and I stumbled upon a perfectly quaint and unexpectantly tiny cemetery tucked in-between ancient stone buildings. That evening, we talked about our grandmothers.
“It has never occurred to me to visit the graves of my grandmas” I say.
“I have.” Lori replies.
“I just never think of them as being there.”
“I go to show honour and respect. It’s what she’d expect me to do.”
“Huh.”
“It’s what she did. So I know that’s what she’d want.”
“I don’t even know if that’s what either of them did. I hope they’re not in heaven grieving that I haven’t gone to their graves. I think of them often. And hope they feel honoured when I talk about my memories of them.”




Omi, this blog’s for you. Hope it makes you happy. Know that you are loved. And remembered.

As she flips through the pages of my most recent People magazine, Claire ponders out loud, “I think it’s because they’re all Christians. I wasn’t sure if it would make a difference at a job, but it does.”

It does. It so very much does.
Not only at a job, but in your life.
Nothing like having some old Mennonites ladies around who love Jesus.
Nah yo.
I too will be one of those old Mennonite ladies.
And that’s not a bad thing.

Jane the Jock

"The route is sprinkled with gentle, undulating hills. The scenery will include snow-capped mountains along Georgia, leafy greenery in Stanley Park, the breathtaking water view at English Bay, and bridge views of English Bay and False Creek. "

Oh. Was I supposed to be looking at scenery? I don't think I noticed a single snow-capped mountain.
Lynne and I were still parking ($15 for 4 hours! Highway robbery, I tell you) when the elite runners left the starting line. By the time we found our way to the starting point, we had already clocked 2 kilometers. I think our shoe tags started to sing at around 10 am, indicating we were officially off & running. Or in our case, sauntering.

We talked about my Europe trip, our churches, the dating habits of today's teens, school policies, and before you knew it, our shoe tags were buzzing again.

Just like that it was over.

A totally enjoyable way to lose a calorie or two.

But the best part? Walking past those water stations, grabbing cups of water, gulping 'em down, then tossing (tossing! talk about going against all mommy instincts) the empty cups on the ground.
Someone else's mother is gonna clean em up. I didn't have to, cuz, like, I'm an athlete.

I was there. Right under that banner of purple balloons. I set a personal best. Apparently Drew and I will beat it next year. 

Uh huh. Another one.

Check it out:
http://spaces.msn.com/members/europeanadventurejane

The building in the background is a bone crypt. The bones of 120,000 soldiers are housed in there. When you peak in the windows, all you see is a pile (a BIG pile) of human bones. A skull here. A femur there. Hands. Feet. THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS of bones...Disturbing.  

Verdun. A war memorial. 

No real reason for this pic. Just liked the heart shaped shadow. Ahhh Paris... gotta love it. 

Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. I think. I can't remember for sure. Looks great as a desktop background.  

How lucky was I? This is who I got to chaperone. 

Playing with plastic swords and canons. Boys. 

The Abbey on Mont St. Michel.  

One of many "door" shots. I also have a series of "window" pics. Plus a collection of "clocks". And a "bench" photo from every city. REALLY wishing I'd snapped pictures of all the different toilets we were exposed to... 

Brugge, Belgium. I'd go back in a heart beat. 

Not a dream. I was actually there. On top. With 28 fourteen year olds. 

Versaille. It was nice.  

A very cool bridge in Florence.  

More dumb thoughts

The Pope died.
I had been thinking about him a lot when I was in Europe, what with going through one Catholic cathedral after another, day in, day out, it was hard not to think of the guy in charge …
(And by the way, those cathedrals were breathtakingly beautiful yet cold and drafty. Impersonal in most cases. Jus saying.)

According to the news, he died according to his wishes (as recorded sometime in ’96 or something) in God’s perfect timing.

Naturally, this has me (and no doubt the rest of North America) comparing his passing with Terry S’s.
How come her passing had to be surrounded with controversy? Where her wishes not clear enough? Was God’s timing imperfect?

When is someone dead?
What makes a person ‘no longer alive’?
Who decides?
Doctors? Lawyers? Loved ones? Funeral directors?

Is the need for a feeding tube the definitive sign that someone can no longer survive without medical intervention?

There was a story in the People magazine (SHUT UP) about a woman who had been in a coma for 20 years. TWENTY YEARS.
She ‘woke up’ last month, much to her mom’s delight.
It is doubtful she will ever leave the nursing home where she has lain for most of her life – but she is clearly alive.
I’m guessing she musta had a feeding tube. And catheter.

One of my colleagues at work has a cousin who is just coming out of a 6 month coma.

What would my wishes be?
Like the pope, I think I should put them into writing so that those who love me don’t have to make a decision that causes angst and pain.
But what are my wishes?

I guess at this point I hope that God is very clear when He wants me to come home. When my time on earth is up, I hope it’s definitive. The last thing I want is for my parents or kids to have to debate life support, feeding tubes, coma-length, nursing homes, etc.

Whoa. Wasn’t this a cheery post?
My ear is still plugged, and the pressure is starting to pound in my jaw. Feels like I’ve had some root canal work done.
Plus, I’m missing Drew. Haven’t seen him since March 10 and my arms are aching for a hug.
Next post will be more positive. I’ll try to have the keyboard handy after I take a couple painkillers.

Three things I’m thankful for:
1. My dad put something on my front lawn. It’s green. Yay.
2. Twenty two hours til Drew’s plane arrives.
3. Clint and Max helped me in the yard tonight. We pulled out 4 bags of weeds before it got too dark to see. There’s something about having your kids help with the yard work that just feels special. I guess I felt loved tonight. That’s always a good thing.

Take care,