Books

I love to read. The intensity has ebbed and flowed over my life. Small children and lack of sleep made Good Night Moon the go to night time read. I pride myself with having read a wide variety of genres, more so before the Big C. All of a sudden I found myself craving happy endings and mindless entertainment. Trash novels got me through 2 weeks of waiting for surgery results. They got me through those nights where instead of wondering if ‘it’ would come back, I escaped to the lands of Lord Carylse and the shy daughter of the Earl he had to have as his own, even though it started out as a lark. And sigh, now I am addicted. I admit I love trash novels. They are entertainment at its very best.

The ‘girls’ are ‘never what you would call pretty’ and the ‘men’ who fall head over heels in love with them are always tall, dark, handsome, beefy, or blonde, scruffy piercing blue eye and they are built. They work, but don’t have to because they are independently wealthy, and fly their own planes. Because really, who wants the hassle of flying commercial? They are content to ‘hold them’ their girls all night with nothing more if that is what is requested. They are always neat and tidy and can cook! And their brothers are always equally as gorgeous with stories to tell on their own (love a good brothers series). Plus they always have good healthy relationships with their mothers who instantly recognize the girl is a keeper. How could you not love it (I say with my tongue in check).

Yes, I have read my share.

Everything. Lords. Earls. Vampires. Cowboys. Vampire cowboys. Navy Seals. Paratroopers. Werewolves. Shapeshifters. Shapeshifting werewolf vampires. Wizards. Witches. Once I read one about shapeshifter dragons whose ancestor was the Loch Ness Monster! She really does exist! That one made me laugh out loud many times – when I think I wasn’t supposed to. Which is the great thing about trash novels - you don't have to take them seriously.

So yes, I do enjoy them. They are fun. They are mindless. Simon and Sophie are always asking about my trash novels – Sophie reminds me to put book covers on the more risqué covers. My friend’s daughter refers to trash novels in their house as Courtney’s sex novels. I have favourite authors – some are better than others (think Loch Ness monster), and I am always happy to offer others suggestions after a few general questions about interests. And guess what – my friends read them! We exchange author names and book titles. When I was young, my Grandma would read harlequin romance novels and I was horrified! My great aunts would bring her brown paper bags full of them. I have become my Grandma and you my friends, are my great aunts. And that is a compliment in the highest regard.

A double helping of thanksgiving, goodwill towards all......and happy new year

Here's the thing. I like blogging. I really do. I write a blog posting a day. In my head. And they are always witty and wise and the whole thing. Then I tell a couple of people the stories I was thinking of blogging, and I feel done. But, there are a few that have been floating around in my head, oh say since Canadian Thanksgiving (Columbus Day for some of you).

On that great day of thanksgiving, I had my yearly appointment with my surgical oncologist. He told me that unless I had any unusual signs or symptoms, I never have to see him again!!!!!!!!!! Of course I am able to conjure up at least 4 unusual signs or symptoms per day, but since I am easily distracted they go away pretty fast. I still see my dermatologist regularly and he still has the big note at the front of the file that says stage II melanoma, and I will never be completely out of the woods BUT I do think about the future again. And that is a good thing.

Around the next great day of thanksgiving (that's the American one), Simon made the 'r' sound for real. As is capital R real. He has been working with the speech therapist at school since kindergarten. And yes I was thankful. He has worked so hard. And it was such a beautiful sound - like music. And I thought - this is better than being told I don't have to go to the oncologist anymore. This is what I want to think about and celebrate, this is what I want to matter most of all.

Next date, Christmas. And yes, my cards are still sitting on my counter - labeled and waiting for stamps. You will get them. Before Valentine's Day. I promise. Maybe. Eric spent the holidays writing grants. The state of grant funding is a New York Times editorial of its own. Regardless we had a great time. Fun with neighbours reliving the 80's and apple products for all.

And so it is a new year. And it will be a good one for us. Because today we have our health, our happiness and each other. And that is what matters most of all.

(And my lack of mentioning Sophie means nothing - she is equally as wonderfully fantastic as her brother.)