On turning 40, losing Mandela, and becoming Canadian

I am two years older than my mother was when she lost my father. At 13 I gave no thought to what 40 felt like though no doubt I must have thought it quite old. I am sure that my mother felt younger than she was and had the same types of conversations then as I do today with my peers. The time has flown, my friends have teenage children and while a small part of me mourns my youth that flew by, I have thoroughly enjoyed the gentle transition out of my 30s. The last decade was hard in many ways, yet rewarding in so many others. If I live to 80 then I am only halfway there however my sister was halfway there at 16 so the truth is we never know. And that's why I am happy to be where I am, know who I am, in the best shape I've been in years, able to look back with no regret and fervently hope that I age as well as Joan Rivers. 

Hearing that Madiba had died was no great surprise, we knew it was inevitable. At 95, he accomplished so much more than most of us, suffered hardships we will never endure and despite spending the better part of his adult years incarcerated lived a lifetime after his release from jail. For a moment I wished I was back in South Africa to be a part of the rainbow nation and I read and watch as much as I can with interest; noting comments for and against him, predictions of change in South Africa versus the fear of the mythical Uhuru and the international commentary on who shook hands with who and where the fake interpreter came from. I am proud to have actively lived his freedom, I knew a South Africa pre-end-of-apartheid and I lived the one post. I watched his release from prison and stood outside the Union Buildings at his inauguration. I was fortunate enough to have met him. He was taller than you would expect. He was quiet-spoken. He was legendary. But I also fled the South Africa he created, and that is the only part I hold against him; though blaming him is akin to blaming an apple for rotting in the sun (as quoted by a friend). 

I wrote my Canadian Citizenship Test last week. I studied hard and actually enjoyed learning the history of the country I now call home, figuring out how the economy and government works and achieving a score of 100% - set high the previous week by Keith. I have always loved this country and this is the inevitable conclusion of a 20 year old dream. South Africa will always be the land of my birth; nobody will ever truly understand Africa unless you have lived it; but I am Canadian. I am proud to be legally part of a country that works, where I feel my taxes do something; where I feel free and safe and where in comparison the government and people are free of the ailments I was so frustrated by in South Africa. 

But best of all, where I live, all you need to do to become the next Mayor is not smoke crack.

Remembering Jessica

Jessie was born on one of my saddest days, helped chosen by my friend Cherise, and came home to me and Dexter at 12 weeks old with a serious case of attitude that would continue throughout much of her life.

During one of her naughty moments, and there were many, I screamed out JESSICA! to which my sister, who lived with me at the time, added ANN! And so it was, that she came to be known as Jessica-Ann (Joo-Joo-Bell) Reiter Pfeiffer. 

Boxers tend to get lots of lumps and bumps and are prone to Cancer and so each time something popped up on either her or Dexter, we would run off to the vet to check it out. Most of the time they were benign but at around 5 years old I got a call to say that she had a Grade 2 Mast Cell Tumour on her chest. I was devastated and immediately Googled this only to be told by a series of online experts that my baby would probably not last another 7 months. Jessie had two surgeries to remove the tumor and surrounding tissue but they could not get clean margins i.e. there were still cancerous cells in the tissue. I did some research and found a Vet that specialised in animal Oncology and after an interview and assessment we were invited to join the secret programme. Once a week for about 15 weeks we would park in the lot outside the Park Lane Clinic in Johannesburg, hiding in the car and watching the side blue door of the hospital for movement. As soon as we saw the light go on and the door open, people with dogs and cats would run from their dark cars across the lot, through the doorway and down a flight of stairs to the Radiation Oncology Unit where Dr. Crewe would be waiting, needles in hand, to immediately sedate all pets upon arrival. You see, while the hospital administration were well aware of what was going on in the basement, the patients were not. And all measures had to be taken to avoid anyone finding out and complaining because we would then be kicked out. Once sedated, each patient would go through their individual radiation routine and then be woken up. As soon as they were able to stand on their own we would be whisked up the stairs and out the door with a "I'll let you know when the next session is" farewell. A few people would stay behind to scrub the walls, the radiation machines and clean the floors so that in the morning no human patient would be any the wiser as to the nocturnal goings on. Jessie ended up with a hairless patch on her chest from the radiation, and for the next 6 years I would send an annual follow-up to Dr. Crewe letting her know that the 7-month prognosis had far been exceeded. 

Jessie always had her tongue out, during the hot and humid Toronto summers she would walk around with the tongue getting longer and longer until it almost dragged on the sidewalk, resulting in people literally stopping to ask if something was wrong with her!

Jessie believed that anything the other dogs had actually belonged to her. She would walk around the house gathering up balls and toys and guarding them; not necessarily even wanting to play. Keith was always convinced that these tortured her because she would lie on the floor, with two balls, or two bones in her mouth, whining incessantly.

 She loved Dexter. Every morning when she woke up she would walk over to him and lick him, clean his eyes and wake the rest of us up for a walk.

She loved Troy. When she first met him as a pup she looked at him, walked over and pushed him to the ground. She was a no-nonsense, dominant kinda gal.

But she liked to lie on her back.

A few weeks ago Jessie suddenly wasn't herself. Up until then she had been in great shape. Tests revealed that she had a Cancer that required the removal of her spleen and half her liver. She seemed to recover unbelievable well and despite us deciding not to put her through any treatment, was given around 3 - 4 months during which time we promised her any treats she wanted and days filled with love. I think she knew what was coming and rather than force us to make the decision on when to let her go decided to do it on her terms, Jessica-Ann style. She died in her sleep 5 days later, at home, with all of us sitting by her side. Sarah Silverman recently lost her dog Duck and wrote a beautiful tribute to him. In it she said "I picked him up and his body was limp - you don't think about the head - it just falls". When Dexter died, it was a surprising, unfamiliar feeling. When I picked up Jessie to take her to the vet, it felt almost comforting. We let Troy and Tyson say a gentle goodbye. 

I wish that I could upload every photo and video of her because each one is touching and beautiful. Sitting here looking through them makes me laugh and smile, and though we miss her terribly we are blessed for a life almost 11 years long. Below is a short video montage; her best bits. She was a fierce girl, our Chatty-Cathy, she loved having her ears rubbed and snuggling with Keith in bed, she bounced when she ran and she always attacked the vacuum cleaner. She hated wearing boots, but she hated the salt even more. When Tyson joined us she immediately took on the maternal role. She was the last of her line and we will never forget her.

"When a friend passes on, they take a little piece of you along with them for their journey...."

Gustave Flaubert

I will make no apologies; a New Year's resolution

Scott Feschuk recently wrote this in an edition of Macleans: "I am saddened to announce that my New Year's resolutions, which imbued me with a sense of optimism and gave me hope that I could become a better human being, have died. They were less than a month old. They passed away quietly after a brief struggle with reality".

I loved that. It's the reason why I do not make New Year's resolutions. But I do believe in change.

We visited South Africa in December/January and it was a trip filled with great moments and not-so-great moments. Highlights included Christmas/Birthday Celebration with the family, the Game Reserve, great South African food, and seeing the country of my birth through the eyes of Canadian friends. The low-lights aren't worth mentioning however an interesting experience was noticing how, after almost 5 years, friendships have changed. People I expected to smother me with attention didn't, and people who I didn't expect to see at all, smothered me. It was not a low-light, it was a realization and that's OK. I returned home, to a place I love, filled with friends and experiences I would never have had, had we not taken the giant leap. I'm a lucky guy.

This year I will be 40 and I am excited to enter that decade of my life though I often struggle just with the concept that I have reached this age, be it middle, just approaching, or past - it's older than I often feel. When I woke up on my 39th birthday I said to Keith "I wish I was 40", he said "me too".

A friend and I have set ourselves a personal 60 day challenge. This is my New Year's resolution and we have set ourselves some goals that we will motivate each other to meet. This morning I decided that one of those is to remove myself from Facebook for that period. I tried a few months ago to get away from technology and speak more to people rather than communicate only through text or online but it didn't work and I quickly understood that this is the way of the world. Heaven forbid I become someone who speaks about how things were in my day...

Having said that, I log on to Facebook too often, and spend a ridiculous amount of wasted time seeing who checked in where (some of my friends insist on checking in to every place they pass on a daily basis), reading shared pictures, statements and bright-light ideas, learning about everyone's opinion (and I often wonder why you have to put that as a status - how about actually telling the person about whom you are opining directly) and my personal pet peeve; being subjected to someone's cause (I respect that you have something you now believe in but please stop shoving it down my throat). I've removed the app from my phone, along with many others so that I am no longer someone who constantly checks the (I love my) iPhone at a dinner party, coffee or gathering in the hopes that my phone is not broken and has received that exceptionally urgent message, status update or email.

I would love to catch up with someone and actually hear some news that I didn't already know from Facebook. And I think I need to read more magazines. And maybe blog more. So I downloaded a copy of my Facebook data, transfer my birthdays to my iCal (because I still want to wish you a Happy Birthday) and will decide if I want to suspend my account or just remain silent (because no doubt I will be back and I may need to log in and check something!). In doing my "how do I" research I learnt that if one has ever "logged in using Facebook", that if one uses that application, it will automatically re-activate a suspended account and then your friends think you couldn't go the distance and stay away. Facebook is not that easy to get rid of!

So I'm almost there. But then to my horror, I realized a fate worse than forgetting someone's birthday. I won't be able to check in to the Fran Lebowitz show next week, nobody will be able to comment on my beautifully worded memory status on the 4th anniversary of my sister's passing, and I won't be able to like your comment or comment on your comment. In essence, I won't be getting any attention and neither will you. Wonder how that's gonna work out for us?

If you are reading this, then I pray it's not on Facebook because that means that Networked Blogs has re-activated my previously (very recently.....or maybe not yet enforced) inactive Facebook account. If you are reading this I pray it's on Twitter (because I can't remove myself from every social networking site available to man), or because you are one of my precious 12 email subscribers. 

Everyone else on my Facebook friend's list will be none the wiser, may not notice, and will comment on my return, when I return that I've been quiet.

As they say about the uninterrupted vinyl record; "catch you on the flip side"