My Family After Tragedy

To our daughters; I learned so much from your mother!  She was my lover and my bosom friend.    The summer of 1992 was running in earnest and Mom and I were escaping every day to many different places around the mainland.  We were having the time of our lives!  At the end of the summer, I did not have a penny left but was the happiest man alive! Mom had a white 1989 Chevrolet Cavalier station wagon.  Her car smelled like a wet dog, Sam, her dog, was the main passenger before she met me.  That car would break down every 100 kilometers or so and would run out of gas as soon as the gas red light went on, and guess who had to push; your Dad!  But, we were like peas and carrots and as happy as they came. You always tell me - " Dad, you know strange old words and expressions no one uses these days! " Your mom is responsible for that! I learned what a "Sea Shanty" is in that white Cavalier listening to CBC radio.   The station had a show on sailors and fishermen and how po

Today, completely out of the blue, I remembered a story from my childhood.  In my neighborhood, there was a child whom everyone called "Buchee".  This fellow was a lot older than me, about three or four years older.  Therefore, if I recall correctly he must have been a young teenager when these events happened. Buchee lived near my maternal grandparents, who lived two blocks from where I lived.  Every time I visited my grandparents I had to walk by Buchee's house and we would exchange hellos and sometimes we would tease each other lightly, nothing offensive.  I would visit my grandparents daily after school therefore I would walk the distance every day and most days Buchee and I would exchange friendly words.   One evening a group of children, including me, were playing cards on the sidewalk, a few doors from my grandparents.  These games could be very competitive and the currency used at that time was crystal marbles.  At some point, the stakes were very high and the poo

  Dear Love, Forgive me, it has been a while since I have written to you.  It is not for the lack of news; home is buzzing with events typical of growing pains and gaining experience.  For me, it is just about missing your hands, warm body, your words; missing planning something to do together.  I must admit, you always had the best ideas. Recently I became a Master Chef , but not the kind of chef popular among all ages; oh, no!  I cook your dishes, daring, adventurous, and full of flavor!  I set the table and see you on your chair , right opposite to mine displaying my favorite smile, approving the dinner.   I remember when you made Spaghetti Tomato Bassilic for the first time.  You thought that I was not going to like it.  Boy, were you in for a surprise!  It became my favorite dinner!  You made it for me.  What a treat! Oh, Christina, you were the wife I always wanted to have!  The fact that we found each other made me feel very special.  We worked hard to be together and celebrated

  During the past few months, I have written stories about my family, things we have done together, and how I feel about Christina not being here physically.  While I think about all of these stories, events, and feelings, it becomes evident, to me, that there is a great deal of randomness in our lives; there is no master plan.   Of course, we all have goals and fantasies, things we would like to do.  To attempt to accomplish these things we create paths in our minds, others write them in steps or priorities.  These paths help us stay focused on these goals, but what I have experienced is that the actual execution of these steps takes place in an  ether we live in not in isolation.  Naturally, the path to our goals is heavily modulated by the environment we are in; by our lives. Christina and I had many plans. A recurring fantasy was to have a long holiday with her.  We often talked about going to a warm place and simmering our bodies on a white sand beach.  Sorry girls, this fantasy o

We have not made bread at home in a long time.  The kind of bread we usually bake is heavy, multigrain, good for breakfast, not fluffy, and leaves a sensation of satisfaction when you eat it any time of the day.  A toast from this bread goes well with butter and honey, but it is also great with a couple of fried eggs on top.  You might not find this appetizing, but I do.  Sometimes I put a slice of whichever cheese I find in the fridge, a slice of salami, and the eggs on top.  Livia enjoys that kind of savory toast, but Raquel does not care; she is a waffle girl. The recipe that we always use for making heavy-grain breakfast bread calls for honey, however, next to that line there is a note from Christina - " Use sugar instead ".  Her bread was always wonderful.  The bread is now baking and I am waiting for the timer to go off to get it out of the oven and leave the loaf to cool overnight on a rack. I am looking forward to a slice! Over the weekend I painted the window frame o

  I believe that one of the subjects for intense philosophical discussions known to modern humanity is what happens on streets, roads, and highways when we use them.  "The Truth" is by no means absolute but relative to everyone telling the story, circumstances, or sequence of events leading to a point in time.  Everyone could record the same event, and even if we all would like to be truthful,  we could underline different passages, willingly or not, that would make us look good at the light of scrutiny.  This happens because storytelling is subjective to the person who tells it. Our family was not any different.  On road trips Christina and I have heated conversations about which lane was the best, the three-second rule, speed, when to overtake, etc, etc.  Of course; all these discussions were aimed at safe travel. However, there was a problem; we were both "alpha" drivers. One way to break this "tied in the first place" could be by penalties; accidents