It started 43 years ago, in 1981. I think I was 17 or 18 and I had a little crush on Jimmy Garfinkle’s brother David (brothers who live with type 1 diabetes and are members of JDRF’s Montreal-based founding families). So when Jimmy asked me to do the Bike-a-Thon, one of the first JDRF fundraising events, I obliged. I took a few girlfriends with me, and we were all eager to help and support the type 1 diabetes T1D community.
Article by JDRF Canada
I love ice cream. I run in the direction of ice cream. I walk in the direction of ice cream. I cross country ski in the direction of ice cream. I will do just about anything if there is ice cream involved. I eat it all year long, especially on the coldest days in the winter. Truly, nothing stops me from eating delicious ice cream, except those disgusting wooden spoons!
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It’s spring time and you know what comes along with that, baby? The official launch of my Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation (JDRF) campaign to raise funds to help find a cure for Type 1 Diabetes.
Am I the only person who fears stepping into dog poop in the spring time? It seems to be everywhere. Believe me when I tell you, the fear is real! A funny Noonie story is upon us…
I think I’ve become my dear Auntie Bella: Thick glasses, over bundled winter wear, sensible boots, carrying a shopping bag, hat hair, and always with lipstick on her teeth. I’m really serious!
The word schmatta (rag) can also translate to something or someone being worn out. Such as in this example: “After cleaning out the garage for hours, she was feeling like a schmatta.” Another example: “His clothing was so worn and torn, he looked like a schmatta.” But what is a schmatta cake and why is it so good? The best way I can describe a schmatta cake is in its simplicity.
Cleaning out my filing cabinet usually takes me a few days to do. In every file folder there are things I need and things I don’t. But what slows down the process are the trips down many memory lanes.
I sometimes think about how hard it was for me to become a teacher. Then, I think about how grateful I am to be a teacher. At 23 years old, I got my first teaching job at Trafalgar School for Girls in Montreal, Canada. The year was 1986 and I was really nauseous on my first day of work. I loved where I was working, however, the teacher who was supervising my teacher’s probation loved to watch me fail. Every time she supervised one of my lessons, she drilled me and said I should find another profession as I wasn’t cut out to be a teacher.
It all started with a hat. A soft, slightly woolly hat. “Ladies, I’m going to pass this hat around. Please put in anything you want. Maybe $5 or $10 or even $20.” On that Christmas Party night, we collected $125.00. Following that evening, the WHHS Gals donated the funds to The Gazette Christmas Fund. Collectively, we felt wonderful about making a difference.
Truth be told, I don’t follow a recipe very well. Perhaps it’s my need to improvise all the time? Maybe it’s the methodical time involved in carefully following the steps? Maybe I just can’t “FOLD IN THE CHEESE?” Although, this week my son said, “Ma! You made a fantastic, the best ever Mac N’Cheese.” So, perhaps I do know how to “Fold in the Cheese?”
Like many people during these difficult times, I too, am looking for happiness. I’m searching for peace and resolve. Could it be found in a dinner date with friends? Could it be in the act of helping others? Could it simply be found on the back of a truck? Is this truck smiling?
In the last weeks, my love for humanity has been shattered, battered, and scattered. I’ve felt hopeless, lifeless, and joyless. I keep asking myself, what can I do? What is my role? How can I help? How can I rise? I do believe there is a light, if we reach far within ourselves to find it.
Once in the canoe, we don’t speak for the first 10 minutes. We are both taking in the exceptional views, smells, sounds, and feel of the water. Shhhhhhh, you can hear the loons, the breeze, the water droplets falling off my paddle into the water. The stillness isn’t still, but it feels of the moment. When we are floating into the middle of Lac Monroe, I asked the yearly question. “Noonie, what’s the lesson from the canoe?”
In the car with our bags packed, we headed to Camp B’nai Brith in Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, Quebec in the Laurentian Mountains. Part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this, which was both in my comfort zone and really out of my comfort zone. But with each year of life, I commit to trying something new. Actually, I was thrilled to be going back to camp and so looking forward to teaching the workshops, Writing by Candlelight and Journaling for Wellness at “The Wellness Weekend”.
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