My Grandfather

When the summer starts to wane, my mind always drifts to my Grandfather (I called him Deda).
It is at this time in September when he passed away.
My Deda was a gentle man, at least he was as I remember him.
I am told that he was hard and tough, and had a temper unrivaled.
I never knew the man that they described in that way.
My Deda was one of the most non-judgmental people I have ever known.
I never heard him say an unkind thing about anyone.
He used to carry me around on his shoulders making clucking noises, stick his finger in sugar and then in my mouth, when I was very little.
He was gentle and silly with me.
I knew that he had suffered in his life.
He spent time in a Hungarian work camp because his brother who was a big Communist fingered him as anti.
I know that he spent time in the Dachau Concentration Camp.
Story tells that he was in the Pijaca (open market) during WWII when a snipers bullet killed a German and at that time, the Nazis took 100 for every 1 German.
My Grandfather was one of the one hundred they rounded up and took to Dachau.
He survived.
He never, ever talked about his experience in the Camp to anyone.
I know.
I’ve asked.
Everyone.
However, he did say that when he came home, he came home a different person.
From a man of 95kilo to a man of 44kilo, he called it the “Nazis Jewish Diet”.
He said that the Russians dropped him at the New Yugoslavian border at the end of the war, and he walked the hundreds of miles home. When he reached that same old gray house that I hold as my life touchstone, he wouldn’t enter it.
He (and Majka (Grandmother)) said that he went straight out to the field at the back of the house, Majka prepared a lye solution, he buried his clothes and shaved his body and used the lye solution to kill the lice and other things crawling over his body before he touched anyone in the household.
He said that bodies were floating in the Tisa River, coming downstream from wherever they were murdered and dumped.
I was told that the Tisa River is still considered the river of the dead.
I cannot argue with that.
My mother almost drowned in that river when she was a young girl, and I saw my first dead body on the grass by the banks of that river when I was 11 years old.
A young man had drowned when he was caught in the current.
I stood fascinated by his young blank face and blue pallor…thinking to myself over and over again “he’s dead”. I couldn’t come to grips with the idea that someone so young could die.
When I was 21 and visiting, the whole town attended the funeral of a young man who had waded into the river and shot himself in the head from sadness or depression.
People said that the river holds the memory of many suicides, because the people who chose to kill themselves preferred to go and “be with their ancestors”.
But, I digress…
When I was a young girl visiting one summer, a man came looking for my Grandfather. When he passed the window of the pantry, I thought it was Deda back from the field…it wasn’t.
It was his brother.
A brother that I didn’t know existed.
He visited for a few minutes, and said he would be back.
I hounded Deda to tell me why I never knew that this brother of his existed.
Deda told me that they (he and his brother) hadn’t spoken in over two decades.
“Why” I asked over and over….I was relentless.
Finally, he told me:
He said that his brother was in love with a Hungarian woman before the war.
He (his brother) was also in Dachau because he was one of the 100 for 1, picked up on the same day in the same market as my Grandfather.
However, over the two years that Deda and his brother were in Dachau, they were separated.
When Deda returned to Petrovo Selo, he regularly went to the Post Office to check the lists of the dead to look for his brothers name, and one day, he saw it.
After a few days, he went to the woman that his brother loved and told her.
She hung herself.
A few months after, his brother returned….and never forgave him.
Deda held that.
As irrational as it sounds, he understood that.
When I think about what the people of their generation endured, my heart swells.
Deda’s stories, and a million others.
When I hear memories and stories like these, I understand why Serbians have such a heavy spirit.
Why during the bombing of Serbia, Serbs held hands over bridges and sang while NATO bombs fell.
Why they stood up, even though they knew they didn’t have a chance.
Why there is such a word as “Inat” (meaning “whatever the consequences”).
Why people were partying in the streets while bombs fell. My Uja Lazar said, “if it’s going to be our last night on earth, let’s celebrate and not die like dogs cowering in the corners of our homes”.
I understand that.
And I miss sitting on Deda’s little bench in front of the house, with my head on his shoulder smelling the mixture of hay and rakija on his sweater, listening to him talk.
Rest in Peace.

Payday

My bank account @ 9:00am


My bank account @ 9:45am


Why can't I be rich?

Thank Goodness!

For those of you that remember Relaxing Aromatherapy Dishwashing Liquid
If you've over done the "Relaxing Aromatherapy" while doing the dishes, I would like to introduce you to:

"Invigorating Dishwashing Liquid, with Passion Flower Scent".

Just when you thought that the original was stupid enough.

The Long Walk Home


The summers that my mother sent me "back home" to my grandparents are some of the best memories I have.
My grandparents home was always the same.

All my life.

No matter how many times my mother and I moved, whenever I went "back home", it was thankfully always the same.
That gray house, with the walls that were three feet thick, with the outdoor hallway that led to the cold storage and the kitchen, the kapija (very large gate) that squeaked when you opened it...was my touchstone.
There have been times when I've passed a farm, and I smell the familiar smell of cornhusks burning...it shoots me back to my childhood on my grandparents farm.

My grandmother was a hardworking woman.
She was never to be seen just sitting around, and she didn't like to see anyone else just sitting around either.
They used to say that she could find something to keep every member of the Yugoslavian army busy, and I believed that it was true.
She used to wake me up at the crack of dawn (she had already been up from 4:30am) by pulling the huge feather comforter off of me and slinging it over the open window ledge, to "air" it out, and then she'd say, "you didn't still want to sleep did you?".

I know that she rose at 4:30am because I once asked if I could see her hair (she always wore a kerchief).
I had to get up at that time to watch her comb her waist length hair and pin it in a bun, and cover it with a kerchief for the day of work to come.

One afternoon, I was helping (along with a number of other family members) pick cucumbers and pepper corns.
I hadn't taken gloves, and much to my city slicker surprise.....they've got pricks sticking out of them...and they freakin' hurt!
Well, I whined about that.
I imagine a whined just about enough for my grandmother, because she sent my whiney ass home.
Alone.
I walked all the way back to town from the field.
It was miles.
She didn't tolerate my whiney, sucky attitude, and showed me so.
Hmmm...I think that (and many others)experience might have something to do with my lack of tolerance for the sucky and whiney.

PS. Did you know that peppercorns grow in a pomegranite type of plant, only the texture of the surface is like the outside of a wasp's nest?

8:15am

Telephone rings...

Job Seeker: "Hi, I'm wondering if you're hiring".

Me: "Well, not at the moment, but if you'd like to send me your resume, I can give you our fax number".

Job Seeker: "I have experience. I was a teacher in my home country".

Me: "Oh, where was that?"

Job Seeker: "You know Ethiopia?"

Me: "Yes."

Job Seeker: "Not there"

Dear Asshole Neighbour:

If I wasn't such a considerate neighbour, I would drag our lawn mower around the corner and down your street, and start it under your bedroom window at 5:35am.

I would do this because this is the approximate time that your dog starts barking.

Do you not hear your dog?
Is your dog speaking to you?
Are you getting the pearls of wisdom from your dog to get your day started?
The whole fucking neighbourhood hears your dog.
But, the rest of us only hear loud, annoying, incessant, baying at the crack of dawn.

I have a news flash for you buddy, not everyone needs to get up when the sun starts peeking over the urban horizon

If you're not going to let your dog into the house, so that he doesn't wake up the whole fucking neighbourhood, I suggest:

Because if I wanted to listen to a dog barking for two hours straight at the first sign of daylight, I would have purchased a dog myself.

Ugh.

Tuesday 9:15pm

Mom: "Ya, tank Got dat ven Uja, me an Teta Ljuba are gon, you, Tanja an Deja vil hev each odder".

Me: "Yeah Ma, thank God".

Mom: "Don forget, I don vant a big deal fo mai funeral. Just don burn me."

Me: "ok, Ma".

I'm not doing the protest thing anymore.

I'm Going to Explode

Image by Diane Arbus (1963)

What does a kid have to do to be removed from a restaurant by a parent?

Last night, my Stepson and I were at a local Chinese Buffet getting take out.
While sitting on the bankettes waiting for our food, we observed little "Ethan" and his sister terrorizing the entrance area.

Right by the door, there is a little pond with live beautiful fish and the obligatory bridge.
Little Ethan kept running back and forth, and jumping on the bridge, with his sister right behind him.
Clearly, Ethan was leading the charge.
Occasionally, he would attempt to push patrons out of the way as he ran back and forth across the little bridge.
I could see the employees were watching him, but not sure what to do.

Not a parent in sight.

This went on for a while when I turned to my Stepson and said:
"Someone needs to get that child and sit his ass at the table. I'll never understand why people don't consider others when they let their children run wild in restaurants. The other patrons are not getting their meals for free to have to put up with that shit".

Suddenly, a parent appeared.
Dad said "Ethan! come over here..." He went directly to Ethan and took him by the hand.
Ethan clearly was not finished rearranging the mints and menus, and protested quite loudly.
When that had no effect on Dad, Ethan continuously slapped him as they passed us.
I heard Dad say, "If you're not going to listen, you'll have to sit in the van".

I was totally down with the van idea.

It seems that they were sitting directly on the other side of the screen that was separating the waiting area from the Dining Room.

I think Dad might have heard my comment.

About 30 seconds later, there was Ethan again at his post at the front door, once again pushing patrons out of the way as he ran back and forth across the little bridge at the front door.

When we left Dad was going to sit in the van with little Ethan.
Is this assbackwards, or what?

What would you have done?

I'll tell you what I would have done.
I would have excused myself (it looked like an extended family dinner), told my wife to call me when she was ready to be picked up, and put Ethan's hungry little ass in the van and taken him home, and put him in his room.
Next time we went out for dinner, little Ethan wouldn't be coming.

Rolling Blackouts


Weeellllll....
Power out since yesterday at about 4:15pm.
Back on 1/2 an hour ago.
Big annual BBQ tomorrow.
No water since 9:30am.

Last night was a beautiful night.
I haven't seen so many stars since I was a child. The moon was bright and Mars was visible.
Candles on the front stoop, a couple of glasses of red wine, BBQ, and the company of neighbours.
We weren't exactly roughing it.

Today,
I was freaking a bit because of the BBQ tomorrow and all the shifting of food I've been doing to save it from spoiling.

Now frankly, I've resolved "to go with the flow".
I've done more reading in the past day than I have in months.
I finally started "Family Matters", Rohinton Mistry's most recent book that has been waiting for the past two months for me to flip open its covers.
He's got me hooked....I love Rohinton Mistry's style of writing.

Sometimes God forces you to stop.
I fought it, but in the end, it is a good thing.

Still no water.
But, as I remember reading once at Linea's (and it's now posted behind my desk at work):

"Do not worry about tomorrow, for today's worries are enough for today"

I Vant to be Alone

I vant to be lyink on da chaise longue, an smoke da cigarettes.
I vant to boz mai manservant aroun an mek him bring me da bon bons, an bekaz I am lyink down...I vill vear dis shoes.
I vanna ver da silk kimono, mit mai hair an mekap to be perfekt.

I don vanna go to da Valmart, an da grocery stor.
I don vanna clean da hous, an kook da dinne.
I don vanna run da....how yu say.....errands.
I vanna hev, how yu say...."peopl" to do dis for me.

I vanna say "fack aff, responsibilities!", "Kiss mai ess, obligatshons! Go avay! Leave me alon!"

I vanna bi like Greta an Marlena touday.

There Goes Another Landmark

As I get older, more and more of the landmarks of my life are disappearing.
Wellesley Hospital (pictured above) is one of them.
The summer I turned 14, I worked in the Midway at the Canadian National Exhibition.
That September, I started high school and got a job in the kitchen of Wellesley Hospital after school.
From 4pm until 9pm, I worked on the "belt" filling whatever was for dinner into the thermal trays, collected them from the floors after dinner, then worked in the steamy, smelly, disgusting dishroom to clean the trays, along with a lot of other high school students just like me.
When I got my paycheque every two weeks, I handed half of it immediately to my mother to help her with the bills and groceries (something that is unheard of amongst todays working teenagers).
I learned so much from that job.
There were so many "firsts" for me at that hospital.
I once stood in the hallway of 4N, with tears streaming down my face as I watched a nurse feed a man who looked to be around 40 years old, but flapped his arms and wiggled around in his bibbed chair like an infant.
It was the first time I had ever seen what the misfortune of nature could do to a human.
I used to sit with a man in 3W during my breaks so that he could smoke a cigarette in his room (the nurses didn't have the time to sit with him, and yes, back then you could smoke in a hospital). He was blind and his legs had been amputated.
Albert always recognized my footsteps as I approached his room...I knew he waited for me.
"Dear, is that you, dear...." he would say as he heard my footsteps.

Wellesley Hospital was were I learned to be responisible.
I became an adult working there.
I learned about humanity, benignity, and that money had to be worked for....hard.

Now, the Wellesley Hospital building is hollowed out and shortly will no longer be there.
One more part of the history of our city, and my life to be referred to in pictures and memories.

It's Our Anniversary
I know it sounds kind of cliche, but my husband and I were married in Niagara on the Lake, just a few minutes drive from Niagara Falls.

We recently took a drive over there to have a look at the Chapel we were married in.

As I said previously in my 100 Things #41 & 42, the Chapel seats 4.
It was nice to see that the Chapel is still standing after all these years and that there is still a guest book that hosts the signatures of vistors from around the world.

On another note:
it's
Reecie's Birthday. Go on over there and wish her a happy one.

My Sister in Law
I have spent a lot of time writing about my immediate family on this blog, so I thought that when stepping over to the other side of my family, the perfect person to start with would be my sister in law Karen.
One thing I have always said is that if you don’t like Karen, there’s something wrong with you.
Karen is someone who is so personable and loving that within a few minutes of meeting her, she makes you feel like you’ve known her all your life.
This quality is a gift from God…and Karen has it.
I have never seen my uncle dance.
Ever.
At our wedding, I turned to see Karen waltzing around the room with him!?!
It’s a memory I will never forget…it’s Karen’s power to make people feel at ease.

I have previously written that for those of us who have had trying childhoods, we become either “fixers” or “destroyers”.
Karen is a fixer.
She wants everyone to be happy and goes to great lengths to do this.
Karen organized our "Family Mother’s Day” and made sure that all extended family were included.
She works to bring people together and if anyone does it successfully, she does.
She never forgets to include my family, and calls my mother “Mama Mila” lovingly.
I appreciate that.
She’s very social and loves a good time.
I admire the way that Karen and her husband Curtis parent their children.
Karen and her husband Curtis make sure that their children experience all the things that a child should experience.
They make memories with their children, and I know that Karen makes sure that she and Curtis provide all the things that Karen had.... and lacked in her childhood.
And two beautiful girls they have raised!
In case you haven’t noticed,
I love Karen…like a sister.
I think everyone should know.
I bet you wish you had her.
You don’t.
We do.
Na na na boo boo.

Oh...and did I mention that she's beautiful?
Inside and out.

The Ballad of Cynthia & Debbie

You know how sometimes Cashiers at check out counters talk over to each other as though customers are not there?
Well, today while I was at the check out at a local grocery store I overheard this conversation between Debbie & Cynthia....who both looked to be about 17.

Debbie: Have you seen the guy who works in the back? I think his name is Devon, he's hot.
Cynthia: No. I don't know half the guys who work here yet.
Debbie: He dresses really nice.
Cynthia: Yeah, my boyfriend has nice clothes, but he likes that "skater boy" look. I wish he'd wear his nice clothes more often.
Debbie: Yeah, my boyfriend is like that too. They're all like that. Guys!

No conversation for a moment.

Cynthia: How old is he, Debbie?

It seemed like Debbie didn't hear her and didn't answer.
I lean over to Debbie and say:

"How old is he, Debbie?"

Debbie turned around and saw me. The look on her face is priceless!

"The rest of us want to know too!"

Cynthia started laughing, customers started laughing, and then Debbie did too.

Living


I love flowers.
Every so often, my husband brings me a big bouquet of flowers.
He’s good that way.
Flowers in the house always make me feel good just looking at them.

It’s true.

Years ago, when I was fighting an ongoing illness, and depression about the illness and my failed relationship at the time (see #12 on my 100 Things).
My friend Sonja used to bring me fresh flowers every few days.
It always made me feel better.
Fresh flowers and plants reminded me of the beauty of nature and creation
and life.

I don’t have what it takes to be a gardener, and I know it.
My husband is the gardener in our house
....I'm the "Minister of the Interior".

I tell you this because....

Years ago I had a beautiful cactus.

I got it when it was small, and I had it for 17 years.
By that time it was over three feet tall, and I loved that plant.

As I stated previously, I can’t grow plants.

While I was ill, I had a deal with my cactus.
If that cactus didn’t die…neither would I.

Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?

But, I don’t think you can understand how much it helped me to see that plant thriving, and to have Sonja bringing fresh flowers every few days.
It’s life,
and living things and the beauty of them.
It helped a lot.

Radmila's Mom on Football

"Da CFL hev latsa maney. Dey hev enuf maney to buy everbady a baall, so dey don hev to fight for van baall"

Shopping: Serbian Style

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I promised myself I would stop by The North American Distribution Centre which is located inside The 747 Travel Agency.

Yes, I admit to a weakness for YU movies, no matter how cheesy.

Now, I know that the name "North Amercian Distribution Centre" makes it sound like it's some huge warehouse full of stuff that needs to be distributed.

In fact, it's a Travel Agency with a little place, in fact, a tiny little corner dedicated to Serbian Music and Videos (I didn't see any DVDs).

So, it's about 6:10pm and I park right in front of 747 . The door is wide open and I walk in.
One of the things I absolutely love about this city, is that I can walk into any ethnic store or restaurant, and whoever approaches me will greet me in that language.
It doesn't matter, Serbian, Italian, Portuguese, Greek....ok...
not all, but many.
I really love that about this city.

Anyway,
I go directly to the little corner and look through the stuff, I pick out 2 movies and ask the older gentleman (who appears to be at least 7 feet tall) to recommend a couple of movies for my mother.
He picks out 2.
One is a comedy and the other is a historical saga type thing.
Fine.
When he tallies everything up, it appears that I am about 20 bucks short in cash.
I ask about debit:
"No."
However, I guessed that from the circa 1965 cash register on the counter.

"Cheque" he says.
"Cheque?" I ask.
"Ma,...Cheeeeeque" he says as if I'm the one that's behind the times.

Ok.
I write a cheque, and start fumbling through my wallet for my ID.
It's been years since I've written a cheque in a store.

"Vat?" asks he, with brows furrowed and a quick little chin up gesture.
The univeral Mediterranean/Slav gesture for "what the fuck are you doing?"

Me: "My Drivers License, for ID"

Him: "No ID. Our peepl don cheat each odder".

Wow.

Him (in very polite formal Serbian): "Van ting...fo da future...I close at da 6 o'clock"

Me: "Oh, the door was open"

Him: "Yes...bat I vas close"

Could have fooled me.

Handicapped? In What Way?



Wow! How eventful can a week be?
This morning I went to Costco to pick up a few things and while I was loading my car, another car pulled up behind me and appeared to be waiting for my parking space. Seeing that the parking lot was full, I hurried to load my car and when I had finished I proceeded to take the cart back when the man in the car honked. I assumed that he wanted my cart.
Well, actually, he didn't want my cart or my space.
He wanted the handicapped spot next to mine.
He didn't roll down his window to let me know or honk prior to this point.
He didn't even try to get my attention by gesticulating in any way or form.
When I realized that he wanted the spot next to mine, I felt like an ass.
I waited for him to get out of his car and then, I immediately started to apologize profusely.
He cut me off by yelling obscenities.
He called me an F'ing bitch, F'ing blind, F'ing selfish and and so on.
Well, this really shocked me and for a moment I stood in stunned silence and just watched him.
However when he got to F'ing C***t, I blew a gasket.
I started yelling at him in the parking lot, not swearing at him..but asking him why he didn't make his need known to me (he replied to this by telling me that I was a blind F'ing bitch if I couldn't see the sticker on his car).
I can't remember everything that I said, except for:
"Do you think that because you have a handicapped sticker on your car, you can just treat people like shit?"
I asked him if he thought that the entire planet revolved around him because he had a minor handicap.
I really did lose it.
When I calmed down, I realized that I just had a fight with a handicapped person!
Ok, no...not really.
The only thing that was handicapped about him was his ability to treat people with courtesy.
It made me think of this entry over at Cicada.

Turkish Coffee

Girlyshit posted a recipe for Turkish Coffee.
It made me think about it.

I love Turkish Coffee.
Turkish Coffee when I was a kid had a ritual.
When ladies came to visit, it was immediate that my mother would get out the mlin and start grinding coffee. The mlin (or mill) was tubular and usually made of brass. The cups were small and the Jezva was ready.
All the items looked like this:



My mother's mlin, (one of two) I now have in my kitchen, had little scantily clad harem girls holding trays of steaming coffee carved into it, with men in turbans waiting cross legged on mats to be served.
It's actually quite beautiful. Maybe I'll photograph it and post it later.

The ladies would chat and gossip and I would be sent out of the room as soon as the ladies finished fawning over how big I was getting, how pretty I was becoming, how much I looked like so and so.
They were always loving and warm and called me sweet endearments.

Little did they know that I often hid under the dining room table with the long tablecloth hiding me, and listened to the gossip and girl talk.
I heard all kinds of things while the ladies enjoyed their coffee.
I heard curse words (my mother? Can you imagine?) and about pregnancy and sex.
Betrayal and husbands who were suspected of cheating. Women who were having affairs.
Listen, it was better than TV!

While the ladies chatted, there would usually be one lady who knew how to "read".
The women would finish their coffee and swish the grounds around in their cups and then turn them over like this:



My Tetka Ljuba used to do some reading, but you had to convince her.
She would deny that she knew anything...
"no...I don no natink...", she would say with both her hands in the air...then....just when you were about to give up....
"ok...let me just look" ,and then she would tell your fortune by looking at this:



There were always letters coming, gifts coming, someone whose name starts with a certain letter that will come in to your life, good news or bad news coming, and so on.

I loved these times.
I learned so much listening to those ladies.
Girlyshit reminded me of wonderful memories.
How appropriate, because those ladies were all about girly shit.

P.S. Don't tell my mom about the tablecloth thing, ok?

My 100 things



1. Born in Novi Sad, Vojvodina, The Former Yugoslavia
2. Lived with my grandparents until my parents sent for me to come to Canada.
I was brought to Germany to meet them by Uja Lazar.
3. I didn’t recognize them when I was brought to them.
4. I called my Grandmother “Majka” (mother) all my life and didn’t find out for years that others didn’t do the same.
5. A teacher gave me an English name that stuck with me until I tried to get a Social
Insurance Number with it.
I then went back to my birth name.
6. I was named after my father because my mother got mad at the registry office because
they wouldn’t let her name me Tanja. They told her (in a typically Socialist way)that she
could call me that at home, but that the legal name had to be the formal “Tatijana”.
She told them, “Screw you, name her after her father then.” And they did, and they wouldn’t let her change it afterwards.
7. I have two birth certificates with two different dates on them (another incompetent Socialist glitch)
8. I was a Bartender for 5 years.
9. I worked at I.B.M. for 2 years.
10. I would not have met my husband if I didn’t take that job.
11. I almost didn’t take that job because it was too far from my home and I didn’t drive at the time.
12. I narrowly missed marrying an idiot a mere year before I met my husband.
13. The idiot went back to New York.
14. I learned to drive when I was 29.
15. I lived in New York City for 2 years.
16. I was robbed twice in New York.
17. I saw my first and only real gun in New York.
18. I am a smoker (get over it)
19. I am a quirky smoker. I don’t smoke at work, in my car (and you can’t either)or anywhere in
my house except the dining room.
20. I have a half brother. He lives in California.
21. I have a half sister that I have never met. She lives in the same city as me.
22. I am estranged from my father (for a good reason)
23. I am a very forgiving person and will eat a lot of shit from someone I love. But, when I cut
you off, I cut you off forever. Sometimes, the person won’t see it coming because they have
gotten away with bigger things in the past and something small has triggered me finally
say “enough”.
24. I hate ice cream and strawberries (together or individually).
25. I hate milk.
26. I have nice fingernails anyway.
27. I love the Blues.
28. I love languages and the traditions of other cultures.
29. I should have been an Anthropologist.
30. I was not supposed to amount to anything.
31. I surprised a lot of people by doing better than people I was compared to as a kid.
32. I am known to family and friends, as “The Carpet Nazi”.
33. I am a stepmother to two boys (now men)
34. My astrological sign is Cancer.
35. My sister in law and I share the same birthday.
36. I am an experimental cook and will try to cook anything from any culture.
37. I make excellent Sushi
38. I love the colour red.
39. I look good in the colour red.
40. I wanted to be an Artist (See: #13)
41. I got married in a small Chapel on a private estate in Niagara on the Lake (the snotty part of
Niagara Falls)
42. The Chapel only had 4 pews and seated only 4 people.
43. Our wedding party was photographed by 30 Japanese tourists (I have the video to prove it)
44. I witnessed Tropical Storm Dean in St. Maartin.
45. I am fascinated by storms.
46. I was almost sucked out of a moving vehicle when the door flew open when I was 8 years old.
47. I love children.
48. I am outspoken and it is often perceived as abrupt or insensitive.
49. I am an uncomplicated person and am happy with simple things.
50. I don’t like knick knacks or girly, girly type things.
51. I hate clutter.
52. I love paper and pens. It’s the only thing that excited my about the first day of school when
I was a kid.
53. My first job was in the Midway at The Canadian National Exhibition.
54. I was 14 years old.
55. I love to read.
56. I don’t have time to read that much anymore.
57. I spend more time reading on the computer now.
58. I listen to books on tape in my car.
59. I love Mounties.
60. My favourite movie is “To Sir With Love”
61. I really loved my Grandfather and think about him often.
62. The last time I saw him, I knew I’d never see him again.
63. I hate winter.
64. I once accidentally killed a chicken by throwing a snowball.
65. My family ate it for dinner. I couldn’t.
66. I once cornered a Turkey and found out that Turkeys are mean animals.
67. I once stared at a gypsy woman breastfeeding her child in front of a colourful caravan in the
Pijaca (open market) in Petrovo Selo and got slapped in the head by my grandmother for
doing it.
68. I had a tobacco case that my grandfather had with him while he was in a concentration
camp and couldn’t keep it when I saw how my uncle held it when I showed it to him.
69. I always try to do the right thing. Even if it makes me look bad or it’s easier not to.
70. I am a Big Sister.
71. I have learned more from my Little Sister than she has from me.
72. I once gave blood for a Leukemia victim and really hoped that I would be a match.
73. I was on television donating that blood sample.
74. I was sick with an ongoing illness for over 8 years.
75. I hid that illness from almost everyone.
76. I hate sucks and whiners.
77. I won’t get into a public pool.
78. I have no feeling in my right hand ring finger.
79. I prefer salty things to sweets.
80. I love fried food.
81. I love East Indian food because they even fry their desserts.
82. I am in an interracial marriage (He’s not East Indian in case my love for Indian food and Sari
fabric has you misled).
83. I didn’t tell my uncle about my husband until 2 weeks before the wedding.
84. My uncle didn’t know about my stepchildren until the reception.
85. My husband has many of my uncle’s qualities.
86. I can sew.
87. I would rather sew an entire outfit than alter a pair of pants.
88. Tetka Ljuba taught me how to sew, but she doesn’t know it. When I tell her that she did,
she denies it.
89. I love food.
90. I love food from other cultures.
91. I am freaked out about getting fat.
92. I fluctuate between a size 7 and 10.
93. My shoe size is 7 ½
94. I wear a toe ring in the summer.
95. I dye my hair…but not blond.
96. I am losing my first language.
97. I speak Serbian with a Canadian accent.
98. I have the 4C’s hanging from my rearview.
99. I prefer gold to silver.
100. I feel naked without my crucifix.