Good bye 2013, you little rascal.

Edit: Farewell Ginger, centre, 2001-2013.

A good writer will do some research before attempting to prepare a Year in Review. A great writer takes careful notes as the calendar pages turn. The retrospective essay practically writes itself. At least I suppose it does.

The lazy way of doing things can be incredibly revealing, though, about what is most important in a person's life. And therefore a Year in Review written off the top of one's head can be equally worth writing - if not equally worth reading - as a beautifully-engineered piece steeped in research and forethought.

When I look back on 2013 this is what (randomly) comes to mind:

Rachel, Joshua and my Mom, Lorraine.

My family all stayed alive and together. No deaths. My parents, J's parents, our siblings, our beloved child Rachel, my brother's precious baby boy Joshua, and let's not forget our silly little dog Benji.

Benji hides beneath a hemlock.

Not one of us stayed in hospital overnight, even, unless it was for the surgery my daughter got at the end of October to help her hear better. More on that in a minute, but first I have to say how grateful I am that all of my family members and my friends are still in my world, still a phone call or email or car ride or footsteps away. Thank you.

Illness. Having said that everyone stayed alive, I can't say I had the best year physically. I was tired and I seemed to catch every passing virus and take things harder than someone my age should. On one hand, I'm bitter that much of the year was lost to this cold, that flu, that back spasm, etc. But on the other hand, it has inspired me to eat (even) better and become more committed to exercise. Not a novel idea for a new year's resolution, yet I do mean it.

A family snapshot after the spring piano recital.

Love. I felt this year that my love for my family and friends is growing at a rapid pace and I'm not afraid to show it. I love my husband more than I ever have. I treasure him. I don't know if it's because the amount of time he has been in my life is now approaching 1/2 the number of years I've been alive, or if it's because I am more aware than ever that his presence in my life each day comes with no guarantee. He looks young, and handsome, and he is in great shape physically. He is smart and quick-witted. He is polite and gentlemanly. He demonstrates his love in quiet, gentle, thoughtful ways. How lucky can I be?

Love, part 2. I am not a particularly special person, and I am decidedly imperfect at the best of times, but for some reason I am very much loved by my family and by a very wide circle of friends. And though distance and busy schedules often keep us from having tea and hugs as often as I'd like, I rely on the undying support of these beautiful people I'm lucky enough to have in my life. Among them ... and this list will never be complete ... and I know I'll be editing this blog entry to add more names to it, but off the top of my head I am thoroughly blessed to have Lorraine, Jonathan, Rachel, Joey, 2 Michelles, 2 Karens, 2 Jennifers, at least 2 Barbaras, a Linda, a Lynn, a Sally, an Eve, a Josephine, a Kathryn, a Mike, a Naghmeh, Percy, Brenda, Italo, Mary and so many others who shine their light and wisdom and laughter and love upon my world despite the fact that I haven't earned an ounce of any of it.

The future. This year seemed to be a gateway year to the future for some reason. A bridge. I could be wrong, but it's a feeling I have.

Trying out the BAHA on a headband.

Over the course of 2013, starting in about March, we made a big decision to go through with Rachel's BAHA surgery. It's a device made by the same people who make Cochlear Implants, and it stands for Bone Anchored Hearing Aid.

As Rachel will be turning 12 at the end of January, it seemed insufficient and irresponsible to allow her to continue through life with only hearing and sight on one side of her head. She can't hear on her left side, but now she can at least pick up sounds coming from that direction and hear them with her right ear. Which means she can eventually walk to school on her own. Go for pizza at lunchtime with her friends. Have a conversation without saying Pardon Me every other word. She has only been wearing the actual BAHA for a few weeks but already the difference it makes has exceeded our (rather reserved) expectations tenfold.

Hours after the implant surgery, with Dr. Cushing from SickKids. 

Rachel gets her own BAHA.

There are lots of things that I assume/fear will change in 2014 - for some reason I just don't think we can get away with the health, prosperity and relative bliss we've enjoyed thus far. With love there is always loss, and letting go, even if it's only in the good fortune of watching a child grow up and out of childhood ... which is, inherently, the loss of a child, in a way, if that makes any sense at all. This next year will be the final year of having a daughter who isn't a teenager. She is still a baby, in so many ways, but she is still the one who helps me log into this blog when I forget what to do. She is the one who explained to me why I couldn't see the stats dashboard when I log in from this gmail account I'm using. She doesn't even have a Blogger blog, but she just knows. I think the tables will continue to turn, now, until she's completely the one in charge. Wow, huh?

Hello 2014. We've been expecting you.

And there you have it. That's what a list looks like when it's written off the top of one's mind. No mention of Toronto floods, or the Great Ice Storm Blackout, no talk of Rob Ford, or Sammy Yatim. The Boston Bombers barely came to mind. No great movies or TV shows or songs. Even the shiny new car got nary a mention.

I'm not the first to say this, nor will I be the last. But it is, however, the final thing I'll write in the year that was 2013.

Love is all that matters.

It seems odd to sell childhood memories - but sometimes it's the right thing to do

I have a very special friend who, over the years, I've liked to spoil with free hand-me-downs (and believe me, we have some of the world's best hand-me-down clothes).

Now that it's time to let go of some space-consuming American Girl items ... which I have wisely decided to sell instead of give away (OMG do they hold their value!!!), I gave my friend first dibs on the American Girl sale.

R has probably - hate to say it - thousands and thousands of dollars worth of furniture, clothing, accessories, animals and of course dolls.

I am not a hoarder, by any stretch of the imagination. But since R had eye cancer when she was 4 1/2, we received a lot of beautiful American Girl clothes and toys from doting grandmas, friends, aunts and uncles. Sometimes when they were in New York they picked up a horse or two to be carried home on the plane. Oftentimes it was my Mom sitting at her computer ordering the items to be shipped just in time for Christmas, or birthday, or ... just because she thought R had to have them.

So we do have a lot, and due to the sheer volume it is kind of cluttery in some ways. That being the case, getting rid of the stuff is a welcome notion. And R wants her room re-decorated to be more "older nature-loving science-minded wildlife photographer girl" versus "young, babyish doll-loving girl". 

A photo taken by our resident Wildlife Photographer

No, my 11-year-old doesn't play with dolls and hasn't in quite some time. When her friends come over they might dress up Chrissa in a soccer outfit or something. But Rachel just waves her arm at the extensive array of doll stuff and says "Instead of all those dolls I'd much prefer to have a chair in that corner so I can read. I'd like a desk so I can work on my blogs. I'd like the pink walls to be painted dark green, like the forest". 

So a sale of the doll clothes, furniture and accessories makes sense. After all, R is turning 12 in about 7 weeks so she is within her rights to want the room to grow up with her.

Last evening my friend Jen and I had a lovely time going over all the pretty little birthday cake sets and doll-sized karate outfits and ponies. After about 3 hours, she rushed out into the windy night carrying bags filled with Penny's horse and western saddle kit and tons of loot for her daughter's Christmas surprise. 

"Do you feel ripped off?" I asked her, with my cheeks flushed with the shame of making her pay for the purchases, even though I know I'm giving it away at a fair price. 

"Not at all", she laughed. "I feel like I just won the lottery!"

Ah, the memories of this dress.

When R and I went upstairs at 9 o'clock to get ready for bed, there were quite a few little boxes and outfits still sitting on the white duvet. Kaya's wolf-dog was out, as was the dogsled thing he pulls. A crisp once-opened box revealed a beautiful ceremonial dress for Kaya. And while Jen was here she had dressed Julie in a black and gold dress that R had once worn to a Make A Wish event at which she introduced David Suzuki as a speaker. Julie looked dazzling and brought back long-forgotten memories for me.

Before we knew it, we were ... you guessed it ... playing with the dolls. R set up the barn and fed the horses and dressed Kaya for riding. On and on it went. Just one more thing. Just one more box to open. Just one more thing to set up and try out.

"These dolls and clothes and horses truly are beautiful", R said, breathless, surveying the collection of items that was spread out before us. "I'm so glad Auntie Jen didn't take the doll sled. I want it. And I want to keep the doll who looks like me - not Michelle but the other one, the one with the long hair. And we can never sell Lanie because Nannie Raine loves her so much. We have to give that one back to Nannie Raine and never sell her," she said.

This morning when I drove R to early choir practice we talked about the dolls and she said "you know, I don't know why I didn't think I liked dolls. It's just that I'm trying to be the kind of person who doesn't get attached to objects. I want to keep my memories, not the things they are attached to."

"Devil's advocate speaking," I said, "But if things aren't important at all in helping us keep important memories, then why do we have museums filled with millions of objects?"

Her silence told me she knew I was right.

"Do you remember getting your very first American Girl Doll?" I asked her, while we were on the subject.

"I do. I remember on Christmas morning, opening the Just Like You doll we called Michelle. I remember I didn't like her. She did grow on me after that. I don't know why I didn't like her at first."

"If you can hold onto that memory,"I said, "you're always going to remember yourself just 10 days after losing your eye to cancer. That was just 10 days after that all happened."

"Hmmm," she said, wistfully. "That explains a lot."