Visiting Nana in Canada

The bright and cheerful daffodils pushing through the frigid grounds gently reassure and uplift the frosted spirit...

The little white buds in the pear trees hint at the promise of ripe summer fruits...

The lush green lawn, dewy and sparkling in the spring showers, call out softly to the bare feet...

Spring is in the air, for sure.

And to herald the new season, we headed Northwards to visit Nana in Canada.

Nana was happy to see her grandkids, especially since Oggie just turned one. And Ana was treated to a host of fresh experiences that hopefully were enriching and entertaining.

1. Farm animals up close at a small working farm, Vallican, B.C.
   
   
   
   Ducks and chickens, goats and cows, horses and dogs were all doing their part to keep the farm running efficiently. Farmer Peter happens to be Nana's friend and his two little girls were our guide to the animals. The cow was very pregnant, due in a week or so, and was not in the best of moods, understandably. The baby goats were barely a month old and terribly cute... and, it was rather cheeky of them to name their drake Francis
2. Handloom, spinning wheel, making yarn and fabric at Crawford Bay
   
   
   
   Watching Janet at Barefoot Weaving throw the shuttle back and forth and push the pedals of the loom to weave the fabric was quite an experience. Plus, watching Nana spin the sheep's wool into yarn at home at the old-fashioned spinning wheel clearly sparked Ana's interest (and mine!)
3. Cob/Straw building and broom-making: Crawford Bay
   
   
   
   Huff and Puff but you can't blow this straw house down. The brooms seemed to attract Ana's attention as she fancies herself a witch sometimes, riding her broom... (thanks to Harry J. Potter)
4. Glass Blowing at Breathless Glass Studios, Crawford Bay
   
   
   
   Glass blowing always fascinates me and it was nice to show Ana how shaped glass is made. The studio was a tad bit hot with the fire, but it gave Ana a chance to see the artist at work blowing glass to make some sort of a vase.
5. Ferry Ride and Nature, Kootenay Bay
   
   
   
   We built Ana's hopes up inadvertently (falsely) by repeating excitedly that we were going to go on a ferry, which she naturally heard as fairy. And was terribly disappointed at this large boat we were taking her on. But, driving the car onto the ferry and sitting in the car on the ferry compensated for the disappointment at not meeting the dainty winged creatures she loves so much. The Kootenay Bay looks amazingly picturesque whichever way you turn.
6. Snow Play, Sledding: Winlaw B.C.
   
   
   
   Two feet of snow everywhere in Winlaw might have been overwhelming for some, but not for the little ones who get to ride on a toboggan.
7. Dress up and indoor play at Nana's house
   
   
   
   Nana was well-prepared for the wee ones. She had some blocks and toy-things for Oggie, and lots of dress-up stuff and puzzles and books for Ana. Oggie stayed home with Nana for the most part so Ana could get undivided attention from us during the outings...

Just walking down to Cedar Creek Cafe and enjoying a nice hot coffee by a warm wood stove was in itself a pleasurable experience for me, relishing the relaxed pace and closeness to Nature. I wasn't looking to pack the vacation with lots of activities and the few days away from home was just the tonic we all needed to recharge.

This is Ana's first Spring Break at school. Rather than cooping her up indoors for a week till school reopens, it was nice to have managed this simple trip. It may not happen every break, and am sure there'd be times when we would have to keep her home during school breaks, but, hopefully a few trips like this on and off will more than compensate for those humdrum ones to come.

First Steps

I wish I could gather the smiles, giggles and babbles and make a precious bouquet that brightens every day;

I wish I could string the slobbering kisses and pincer grasps into a sweet fragrant garland that never fades with Time;

I wish I could freeze-frame the first time you took the few steps to wobble into my arms, confident, beaming and unsupported.

Even though your first birthday went by a few days ago without much fanfare, know this Oggie, it didn't go uncelebrated! My grateful thoughts went heavenwards for allowing me this precious gift of Motherhood. Watching you walk around with support, independent enough to not hitch a ride on my hip all the time, I feel a slight sense of loss - very slight - for I can't wait to watch and wonder at the things that make you You.

"The loving mother teaches the child to walk alone. She is far enough from him so that she cannot actually support him, but she holds out her arms to him. She imitates his movements, and if he totters, she swiftly bends as if to seize him, so that the child might believe he is not walking alone... And yet, she does more. Her face beckons like a reward, an encouragement. Thus, the child walks alone with his eyes fixed on his mother's face, not on the difficulties in his way. He supports himself by the arms that do not hold him and constantly strives towards the refuge in his mother's embrace, little suspecting that in the very same moment that he is emphasizing his need for her, he is proving that he can do without her, because he is walking alone."
-- from WebMD site

I have a lot of the usual hopes and fears as you turn one, and all of those would sound terribly cliché here, so, I'll just simply state from my heart: I hope to be loving, caring, and nurturing, setting the example that I want you to follow, instilling the values of kindness, thoughtfulness, courage and strength, weeding out ignorance, prejudice and irrational fears, providing you with unshakable sense of security and self-worth as best as I can.

Happy First Birthday, Oggie!

Begone Dysphoria!

As I sit rocking rhythmically, instinctively tightening my hold around feverish Oggie jerking and lurching trying to find a position to settle in, my mind wanders to the first time I felt a strange sense of helplessness: when baby Ana was curled up on me with a 102+ fever; my mind raced faster than my heart then, conjuring up several possible worst-case scenarios within the space of 5 minutes, leaving me feeling inadequate and jittery.

Cuddling Ana on the left and cradling Oggie on the right, grateful for the large and accommodating rocking chair, I try to find a comfortable position making sure the pacifier is within arm's reach in case Oggie can't settle down and the hand towel stays put on my shoulder in case Ana has another spell of vomiting.

Vignettes of my mom brushing neem leaves over my chicken-pox-infected body fade away to reveal my dad holding my long hair back with one hand and supporting my forehead with the other as I retch over the toilet throwing up laboriously... which in turn brings to focus the blurry images I thought I had repressed of watching my brother in hospital room recovering... and finally, my roving mind settles on a crowded waiting room at our family doctor's office with its stomach-churning disinfectant odor and pots of boiling water for sterilizing the needles prompting me to clutch my dad's arm tighter asking, "Usi poduvala?" and quickly adding, "Enakku usi vendaam, Appa". (Will they give me a shot? I don't want a shot, Appa). I couldn't understand how my dad could be wrong especially after he picked up his 5-yr-old daughter, looked her in the eye and reassured her that the shots were being prepared for someone else, not her!

Something about caring for the kids when they are sick brings out morbid thoughts, despite Logic and Reason trying to explain that this is how babies all over the world develop immunity and learn to fight off microscopic invaders that constantly attack their tiny little bodies...

Perhaps the melancholy mood right now is just a by-product of sleep-deprivation and exhaustion compounded by the sheer effort needed to stay calm and function efficiently at all costs, or perhaps it is just a coping mechanism reminding me to slow down and recognize the precious things in life at this juncture as my mind probes and brings forth sepia-toned snapshots of a relatively careless childhood...

Sitting on the baby-seat in the front bar of my dad's bicyle, confident that the dangerous-looking 45° angle at which my dad pedals and swings his leg over to seat himself is not going to throw me down, I wait for the right moment to ask, "Appa, I like cone ice-cream very much. Can I have one today?", as sweetly as I can as he starts pedaling steadily towards the market... Licking the generic vanilla ice cream scooped on top of the small sugar cone, I look longingly at the small striped spinning wheels in the newly installed weighing machine outside the market when my dad fishes out the 75 paisa required to operate it... out pops the little rectangular antique-white card with a fortune on one side and my weight in kilos on the other which I promptly hand over to my dad for safe-keeping till we get home, where I know it will join many of its other comrades safely inside an old cookie box...

The unconditional support for my fleeting obsessions - be it perfumed erasers that looked good enough to eat, with alphabets on them urging me to collect all 26 at a tender age, or, posters, magazine/newspaper articles and pictures of favorite cricketers at awkward adolescence... the fussing and ministering and open concern when I fell ill... the staunch empathy for my hopes and dreams... these are the memories I chose to etch permanently.

The nostalgia that suffuses me every year around Navarathri and Deepavali stems from sweet memories of going shopping with my mom for the thambulam items, grouping and arranging them in small baskets (sort of like party favors) for the guests, choosing a silk saree for my mom to wear every evening for the nine evenings that Navarathri is celebrated, rising up early morning on Deepavali to get an oil bath, put on new clothes and eat a traditional meal... long walks to the local temples, spur-of-the-moment stops at Iyengar's bakery on the way for fresh baked onion bun and thool pakkoda, bus rides across town to Parry's Corner for wholesale shops that specialize in craft supplies...

Try as hard as I can, my mind is unable to zoom in on any single specific incident that made me feel unloved or neglected, despite the fact that there were quite a few circumstances where raised voices characterized the verbal exchanges while quite a few others involved the dreaded silent treatment.

Reassuring. Very Reassuring.

I do have hope after all... Ana and Oggie perhaps will tuck away memories of visits to the Museum and impromptu snacks at Cinnabon^®, harvesting tomatoes in our garden and picking berries in the nearby farm, reading books at bedtime and cuddling together on the sofa on weekend mornings... and perhaps, just perhaps, they will choose to fondly remember resting on their mommy's chest as she rocked them gently during their bouts of illnesses comforting them in her own quiet way and graciously delete the memories of their mommy raising her voice at them every once in a while as she struggled to cope with her responsibilities...