Generation Exhausted

Late great movies

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, before cable was invented (or satellite, or DVR, or heck, even HBO), a local TV station (and by local, I mean Detroit), used to show one or more movies late at night, after the 11 o'clock news.

Whenever my next-door best friend and I would have a sleepover, we'd be allowed to sleep on the sofabed, and watch TV as long as we wanted. So, of course, there being no such thing as Nick at Nite, we'd end up watching the movie.

I saw a lot of movies that way. Sometimes, they were movies fit for an 8 year old, and someitmes they scared the crap out of us.  Think it's weird that I won't stay higher than the tenth floor in a hotel? Try letting your 7 year-old watch The Towering Inferno, and see how they react.

Cheaper by the Dozen, Yours, Mine and Ours, The Poseidon Adventure - and steadily, over the past few years, they're remaking them all.

Yours, Mine and Ours is coming out soon, and I'm looking forward to it. I can only hope they don't muck it up the way they did the Made-for-TV remake of The Poseidon Adventure, which I watched tonight.

Tonight's new version was an attempt at "new and improved" for the new millenium, and they failed miserably. I'm not saying the 1972 version was a movie masterpiece, but this one was bloody awful.

First of all, Steve Guttenburg is aging badly. And although the added modern touch of a distress email was expected, one wonders why the stranded passengers didn't just immediately whip out their Palm Pilots and cell phones, instead of waiting until they got to the "Internet lounge."

Here's hoping Yours, Mine and Ours is done much, much better.

Well read?

When I noticed last night that the Literary Review of Canada had published what they think are the 100 most important Canadian books ever written, and that the federal government's 1985 Royal Commission on Economic Development and the Geological Survey of Canada of 1863 was on it, I figured I'd probably blog about it.

And then Kim beat me to it.

Bless Kim's heart, for she really is my connection to Canadian literature. I went through her list last year, and if I've read anything else on it since, it's probably because she's loaned it to me. I'm going to revisit that list below, but I'm going to go one step further. At the end of the list, I'm going to add five Canadian books that I've read, and challenge fellow bloggers - Canadian and otherwise - to do the same and add their own five. Maybe at the end of this little exercise, we can send the new and improved list to the Literary Review of Canada and suggest that it's a more accurate and relevant than the 470-year-old Account of the Second Voyage of the Navigation of 1535 and 1536 by Jacques Cartier.

Add your picks in the comments, or on your own blog, and be sure to leave a link!

Here's Kim's 101 (ones I've read are in bold)

A Book of Secrets, M. G. Vassanji
A Discovery of Strangers, Rudy Wiebe
A Dream Like Mine, M. T. Kelly
A Fine Balance, Rohinton Mistry
A Song for Nettie Johnston, Gloria Sawai
A Jest of God, Margaret Laurence
Alias Grace, Margaret Atwood
Anil’s Ghost, Michael Ondaatje
Anne of Avonlea, L. M. Montgomery
Anne of Green Gables, L. M. Montgomery
The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz, Mordecai Richler
As For Me and My House, Sinclair Ross
Ascension, Steven Galloway
Away, Jane Urquhart
The Backwoods of Canada, Catharine Parr Traill
Barometer Rising, Hugh MacLennan
Bear, Marian Engel
The Blind Assassin, Margaret Atwood
The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float, Farley Mowat
The Boy in the Drawer, Robert Munsch
Burning Water, George Bowering
Calculating God, Robert J. Sawyer
Clara Callan, Richard B. Wright
The Cure for Death by Lightning, Gail Anderson-Dargatz
The Dark, Robert Munsch
Deep Hollow Creek, Shelia Watson
The Deptford Trilogies, Robertson Davies
The Deserter, Douglas LePan
The Devil’s Instrument, W. O. Mitchell
Digby, David Walker
The Diviners, Margaret Laurence
The Edible Woman, Margaret Atwood
Elizabeth and After, Matt Cohen
Emily of New Moon, L. M. Montgomery
The Engineer of Human Souls, Josef Skvorecky
The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
The Englishman’s Boy, Guy Vanderhaeghe
Fall on Your Knees, Ann-Marie Macdonald
Falling Angels, Barbara Gowdy
Family Matters, Rohinton Mistry
Finnie Walsh, Steven Galloway
The Fire Dwellers, Margaret Laurence
Forms of Devotion, Diane Schoemperlen
Green Grass Running Water, Thomas King
The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood
Headhunter, Timothy Findley
Hetty Dorval, Ethel Wilson
Island, Alistair MacLeod
Jacob Two-Two and the Dinosaur, Mordecai Richler
Jacob Two-Two’s First Spy Case, Mordecai Richler
Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang, Mordecai Richler
Jake and the Kid, W. O. Mitchell
Larry’s Party, Carol Shields
Legends of Vancouver, E. Pauline Johnson
Lives of Girls and Women, Alice Munro
Lives of Saints, Nino Ricci
Lost Girls, Andrew Pyper
The Love of a Good Woman, Alice Munro
Love You Forever, Robert Munsch
The Loved and the Lost, Morley Callaghan
The Lyre of Orpheus, Robertson Davies
Man Descending, Guy Vanderhaeghe
Mercy Among the Children, David Adams Richards
Never Cry Wolf, Farley Mowat
he New Ancestors, Dave Godfrey
Nights Below Station Street, David Adams Richards
No Great Mischief, Alistair Macleod
The Paperbag Princess, Robert Munsch
The Piano Man’s Daughter, Timothy Findley
The Pillar, David Walker
Pilgrim, Timothy Findley
A Recipe for Bees, Gail Anderson-Dargatz
The Resurrection of Joseph Bourne, Jack Hodgins
The Roaring Girl, Greg Hollingshead
Roughing it in the Bush, Susanna Moodie (only part of it, I'm afraid)
Running in the Family, Michael Ondaatje
Running to Paradise, Kildare Dobbs
The Sacrifice, Adele Wiseman
Settlers of the Marsh, Frederick Philip Grove
Shakespeare’s Dog, Leon Rooke
Simple Recipes, Madeleine, Thien--I went to one of her readings
The Stone Angel, Margaret Laurence
The Stone Carvers, Jane Urquhart
The Stone Diaries, Carol Shields (I guess we like stone in Canada)
Street of Riches, Gabrielle Roy
The Studhorse Man, Robert Kroetsch
Such a Long Journey, Rohinton Mistry
Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town, Stephen Leacock
Tales From Generation Xhausted, Shelley Divnich Haggert
The Temptations of Big Bear, Rudy Wiebe
Things That Must Not be Forgotten, Michael David Kwan
Third Magic, Welwyn Wilton Katz
Truth and Bright Water, Thomas King
Two Solitudes, Hugh MacLennan
Unless, Carol Shields
Wars, Timothy Findley
The Way the Crow Flies, Ann-Marie Macdonald
Whale Music, Paul Quarrington
The Whirlpool, Jane Urquhart
Wild Animals I Have Known, Ernest Thompson Seton
Who Has Seen the Wind? W.O. Mitchell

My five, picked not necessarily for literary value, stunning intellectual insight, or profound revelation, but sometimes just for sheer enjoyment:

Happiness (tm), Will Ferguson

Alice, I Think, Susan Juby

Canuck Chicks and Maple Leaf Mamas, Ann Douglas

Why I Hate Canadians, Will Ferguson

Right Church, Wrong Pew, Walter Stewart

And this winter, I'm aiming for Eleanor Rigby, By Douglas Coupland. I've flipped through it in the bookstore, and it looks intriguing.

List away!

A thousand points of light...all in one front yard

The jack o' lanterns hadn't even been picked up by the yard waste guy yet, but a house the next street over already had its Christmas lights up. And the light-up Santa, and snowmen, and eight tiny reindeer, and garland, and big red bows. Halloween is over - bring on the eggnog!

I love watching the Christmas decorations appear in the neighbourhood. While friends (and the husband) moan and groan about it being too early, I'm silently thinking, "I wish I lived there." In a region that's more likely to see rain come December 25th, than any of the white stuff, there's something about the soft glow of coloured lights, and overly large pagan icons resting on the lawn that just makes me feel all warm inside.

Remember Clark Griswold in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation? His over-the-top displays make viewers chuckle and shake their heads in disbelief, while all the while I'm sitting there thinking "What's wrong with that?"

Alas, my yard is not likely to be one of the ones shining brightly this season. I've discovered, over the years, that the problem with putting Christmas lights up is that you have to take them DOWN again, and we all know I have issues with getting things done in a timely fashion. In fact, there are Christmas lights on my house - we put them up five years ago, lit them for a season, and then abandoned them. They don't work anymore, obviously, but there they hang. Yes, I'm one of THOSE people. (although the jack o'lanterns went out for yard waste on November 1) Someday, the right combination of time, weather and motivation is all going to come together, and down they'll come. Someday hasn't happened yet.

Part of my personal journey over the last few years has been recognizing the need to reduce stress where I can. The outdoor Christmas lights are one of those things that can easily become a stress point, so I've let it go. Instead, I focus on decorating inside.

But I still like the feeling that looking at the neighbourhood lights inspires in me, that sense that Christmas - one of my favourite times of year - is right around the corner. So I'll let the other house on the street light the way for me, as the countdown to Christmas begins.

In other news...we celebrated the little one's 9th birthday on Sunday, and I am happy to report that I remembered the birthday candles this year. I am redeemed. Also, scroll down to the "Yesterday" post, if you're so inclined, and read the comment my kid left for me. Am I a lucky mom, or am I a lucky mom?

Am I making the grade?

Tomorrow is Report Card Day over at the high school, the first of this school year. The teachers have this annoying (well, annoying to me) habit of telling the kids their grades over the week leading up to the Big Day, so there should be few surprises. By all indications, the situation looks promising. Some As, some Bs, a C here or there. A pretty good showing for kids who missed a week of school to flit off to Florida.

I'm trying to prepare myself, because I realize I tend to get a little irrational about report cards. My least famous moment came last spring, when I had a huge freak-out over my daughter dropping 12 percentage points in English. From a 96 to an 84.

You heard me - I freaked out over a grade that was still an A.

I'm so ashamed.

That poor kid hardly even had the chance to bask in the French mark that CLIMBED ten percentage points. I just couldn't stop myself from expressing my dismay at her falling English mark. My reaction to her A was definitely an F.

It's just that I take it all so personally. None of my kids has ever failed anything, and it's widely agreed that they're smart, capable kids. Usually, their grades show it. But I can't help but feel like a drop in a mark- any mark-  means I'm failing them. That a B- in Math means I get a B- in parenting. So, when a lower than average grade comes in, I freak a little.

No matter what my common sense tells me, there's still this little voice inside of me that says that if my kids don't succeed, it's because I couldn't succeed at parenting. I envision the teacher, filling out the report cards, thinking, "That Mrs. H, she's a lousy mother, so I'm putting in a C."

One of the hardest things about parenting teens is knowing what to let go of, and what's still up to me. It changes daily. In the case of their schooling-  well, they know they're expected to work hard in school, and their dad and I have given them every opportunity to do so. Beyond that, it's up to them. I can't grade all their work before they hand it in, and I can't sit behind them in Biology and make them pay attention. I can walk with them as they walk their way through a problem, but I can't walk it for them. The days of flash cards and reading aloud, and helping them glue construction paper together are done. It's in their hands now, at least the majority of it, and like so many other areas, I've been sent to the spectator section, to sit on my hands, shut my mouth, and watch the show.

So, Dear Internets, I promise - for tomorrow, at least, I will try to remember that my kids own their grades. That they have enough intelligence, and common sense to know what, if anything, needs to be done to improve. I will praise their efforts and their successes, and give them enough credit to be able to figure out the rest on their own. I will be proud of who they are, and I won't freak at anything. Not even a little bit.

And maybe, in doing so, I might pull an A myself?

Yesterday

Dear older daughter:

I'm fairly certain that it was only yesterday that you took ten steps down the sidewalk next to our house and then collapsed in a puddle of tears because your sandals didn't keep the dirt away from your feet the way your running shoes did. I sat in the hot July sun, cleaning the dirt from between your toes with a washcloth, and promised you that I'd carry you everywhere for the rest of your life, to spare you the horror of ever having dirty toes again.

And it was only yesterday that while the rest of us were enjoying Grandma's surprise 40th birthday party, you ate 23 gherkins pickles before I caught on. As I changed diaper after diaper that evening, and listened to you howl with your tummy ache, I swore I'd never buy another jar of pickles, so that you wouldn't be tempted by the nasty things that caused you so much distress.

It was only yesterday that you were the only, instead of the oldest. That you cried when you found out the new baby wasn't going to sleep in your room, and then you cried when we changed our minds and said she could.

I'm sure it was only yesterday that I brought you into your Kindergarten screening. During the vision test, you squinched your eyes shut and refused to look at the chart. During the dental check, you clamped your mouth shut, so they couldn't even count your teeth. And during the speech assesment, you buried your face in my shoulder and refused to utter a word.

And I know for a fact that it was only yesterday that you stumbled into a bee's nest, and came running, screaming, as a cloud of stinging insects followed. I scooped you up, and we both ran, and later, I covered your legs with baking soda paste, and gave you a popsicle.

I could swear it was only yesterday that we took the baby gate off the kitchen door, that the training wheels came off your bike, that you walked to school alone for the first time, that you opened a bank account, that you went to your first semi-formal dance - with a boy. That you went to your first job interview, wrote your first exam.

It was only yesterday that I realized one of my greatest fears about motherhood was of running out of time - time to teach you, tell you, guide you, reach you - time to figure it out, to get it right - before you grew up.

I don't know if I got it right, or not. I tried. I taught you to brush your teeth twice a day, to clean up after yourself, to say please and thank you. I taught you not to talk to strangers, and not to run with scissors.  I taught you to cherish the friends you have, and to be true to your own values. Above all, I hope I taught you that I love you - that I'll love you on your good days, and on the not-so-good days, and that you can always count on your dad and I to try to help you figure things out. That I can't always protect you from dirt, and pickles and bees, but that I'll always try.

Yesterday, I realized how very, very proud I am of you, of all your accomplishments, small and large. Of how lucky I am that you are who you've become, of how blessed I am to have such a sweet, smart, beautiful daughter.

Yesterday, you turned 16. Happy birthday baby!

Take my kid to work - please!

There was a day, when I was little, that I got to go with my mom and dad to their respective jobs for half a day or so. I remember it as the same day, but it may have been two different days. I don't remember why it came about - perhaps a P.A. Day coincided with unavailable child care, or maybe they just decided that I would benefit from spending some time with them at their respective places of employment.

As I recall, I must have been about six or seven, so it's a bit hazy.

My mom worked in a neighbourhood drugstore, and I had been to visit her at work many times. She worked behind the pharmacy counter, which was very tall, and my mom is not, so I'd always walk in and say "mom?" and she would stand on tiptoe and say, 'Hi there," and come out from behind the counter to visit. I always wondered what mysteries went on behind that high counter.

So on this day, I remember my mother took me to work, and I got to go behind the counter. She showed me around, and then she took me to the cubicle where the sink was, and said, "Cleaning up after our coffee break is an important part of working here. You can help by washing these coffee cups for us."

So I got to wash dishes. I have no other recollection of what she showed me that day, except that I came away thinking that life was pretty unfair if you had to do dishes at work.

My dad worked in an office for a trucking company. When he took me into the office trailer, the first thing he showed me was the sink, and said, "Cleaning up after our coffee break is an important part of working here. You can help by washing these coffee cups."

Having a job, I thought, would be no fun. All it meant was that you had to do dishes.

Today is Take Our Kids To Work Day here in Canada. Grade 9 students will go to work with their parents to gain a better understanding of what kinds of jobs there are, and what their parents do all day. My child, who lives where I work, balked at going to work with me.

"I already know what you do at work," she said. "You sit at your desk all day, surf the 'Net and send emails. And then you have a rest and watch Guiding Light. If I stay home, you'll make me do laundry."

I had planned to teach her some things, and have her do some filing, and let her play with Quark. And maybe answer the phone. But she didn't believe me, and continued to protest.

So instead, she's going to spend half a day at work with her grandma in the drugstore. I can hardly wait to see how she reacts when she finds out that getting out of doing laundry got her into doing dishes.