#33. Describe a favourite childhood friend.

My best childhood friend was Stacey.

We met at age 11 when my family made the move from the city. We had everything in common ... from the way we wore our hair, to our glasses, to our likes in boys, our classes at school; anything you can think of. Everyone thought we were sisters - some even asked if we were twins.

#9: Where did you live as a child?

I was born and raised in this city. I grew up downtown pretty well most of my childhood. We didn't move around much and most of my memories up until age 11 come from living in the apartment. It was a low rise; only 6 apartments in the L-shaped building, and situated on a corner lot. It was a small 2 bedroom unit, and Wee and I shared a room.

There was no yard to speak of. I remember the activity of choice was digging in the rock hard dirt out back. Gramma used to get mad at me a lot for losing all of her spoons out there. Wee and I weren't allowed to play anywhere but in the back yard, because Gramma was afraid we'd either get hit by a car or abducted (seriously!). I was quite content to play out back as long as my friends were with me, but they were allowed to venture around the building and when games like tag or hide and seek were being played I would lie and say I didn't want to play because I didn't want anyone to know I wasn't allowed out of the yard.

My favourite activity had to be building forts in the crawl spaces and cubbies in and around the building. We lived right across the street from a corner store and they had the biggest selection of penny candy ever!

When I turned 11 we moved to the outskirts of the city, and I've been here now for 30 years. That was an exciting time!

My own room!

Freedom! I had to take the bus to school and even though Gramma followed behind the bus in the car ... I was still on the bus by myself!

We moved to a small townhouse complex, complete with tennis court, swimming pool and playground. It was honestly the fanciest place I had ever seen. It was full of kids my age and I made friends quickly. My time was soon spent rollerblading, swimming, playing jumpsies and baseball. Just hanging out. I was the perfect age for the move and I took advantage of every opportunity I was presented with. Back then, there were still farms in the fields around the complex and one of my earliest memories about moving there was a huge barn fire one spring. The entire area now is of course of shopping plaza.

I've driven you all through the area many times over the years and shown you my house, my hangout, my friend's house etc. One day it will mean more to you then it did then or does even now.

One day, I'm sure you'll drive your kids around showing them where their Gramma grew up. Only then, when you're older and have kids of your own, will you appreciate my now-boring stories of my childhood.

And then you'll drive my grandchildren around to show them the area that YOU grew up in.

#53: Tell about learning to drive a car.

I couldn't wait to turn 16 and get my 365! (I know, Lou - now it's called a G1)

Driving meant freedom. Driving meant independence. And as Grampa was always quick to remind me, driving meant responsibility.

Grampa taught me how to drive, and that worried Gramma tremendously. She was against me learning to drive; insisting 16 was "far too young." Gramma, I believe, was in her early 30's when she first started to drive and has always been a nervous driver. She's a nervous passenger as well. It was no surprise she was a nervous parent of a newly licensed teenage driver.

I studied that driver's handbook more then anything I'd ever studied in school to date, or since. When the day of my 16th birthday arrived, I was nervously excited (and slightly nauseous) all day with anticipation of the written test after school. Grampa was waiting proudly out front when I got out of school that day, and I still remember climbing in the passenger seat and looking at him beaming with excitement as he asked if I was ready.

When I passed the written test without a single error, I thought the hardest part was over. Grampa and I headed towards the long line to book my road test. It was November and the next available road test date was December 4th. I laughed. December 4th? Are you serious? You do know this is only November, right? Grampa looked at me confused, and asked what the problem was.

"I'll never be ready by December 4th!" I insisted.

"Yes you will," he said calmly and confidently.

"No way," I again insisted - this time with the angry defiance that teenager's tend to sometimes have.

The clerk stood patiently while Grampa and I bantered back and forth and then he informed us that the next available date after December 4th was February 4th. This time Grampa was able to convince me to book it, telling me that if worse came to worse and I didn't feel I was ready then he would bring me back to the exam centre to reschedule. That made me feel better and February 4th it was.

We walked out to car and Grampa proceeded to walk around to the passenger's side. I looked at him with one of those what the hell are you doing kind of looks, and he shot one right back at me. "You're driving," he said as he tossed me the keys to the family's Aries K-car station wagon.

And I drove everywhere and anywhere from that point on. If someone had to go somewhere - Grampa made sure I drove. If the car needed gas, oil, air in the tires - Grampa made sure I did it. Even getting me out of bed on a Saturday at some unreasonable hour to go gas up. If we needed milk, had shopping to do ... anything. And everyday we was waiting for me outside of school at 3:15, and he'd be offering all my friends rides home. All so I could get the driving experience I needed.

He taught me the responsibilities that accompanied the privilege of driving and I learned how to put gas in the car; check the oil, brake fluid, steering fluid; change the air filters and spark plugs; wash and vacuum the car. He even had me pull over one night and said "you're going to learn to change a tire." We spent hours and hours and hours practicing parking. There was no such thing as Sunday shopping back then, so the mall parking lots were a perfect place to practice and I spent most Sunday mornings doing just that. Grampa made sure I could pull in, back in, do 3 point turns and most importantly (in his words) learn to parallel park. I learned to drive on the highway and he made sure I understood the importance of merging on and off and lane changes. Even know at 40, there are so many times while driving that I still remember and hear his teachings and words of encouragement to me as if he was sitting in the passenger's seat beside me.

I learned to drive over the winter months and there was many an argument at our house with Gramma. She didn't want me to drive when the weather was sunny and the roads were clear so just imagine how she felt about her 16 year old daughter out on the roads in ice and snow. Grampa said "if you can drive in the winter, you can drive in anything." He was adamant that I had to learn to drive under all conditions that our wonderful seasons had to offer.

I'm not exactly sure who was more proud the day I passed my road test. He was right - I would have been ready in December ... and he still reminds me of that to this day. But I credit my success to Grampa. He made the time for me. He made my interests and goals his interests and goals. He stood up for me with my mom and tried (mostly in vain) to get her to understand that this was something that was important to me. He refused to let mom instill her fears in me. He made it fun. He believed in me, and never let me stop believing in myself.

I hope he enjoyed our time and accomplishment together as much as I did. I hope he knows how special the experience was to me.

Grampa has already taught bg how to drive, and my hope is that each of you girls will get to share that same experience with Grampa.

#73: Write about the best day you ever spent with your mom.

Wow. This one's a tough one.

Having never been close to Gramma growing up, we didn't spend a lot of time together. It's only been in the last few years as you guys have gotten older that Gramma and I have what could actually be called "a relationship."

I guess if I had to pick a day, it would be the first day I really started to understand her. The day I became a mother. When I became pregnant at 18, Gramma was, to say the least, upset. She became pregnant with me at a young age and of course had hoped I would learn from her mistakes. I, on the other hand, liked to challenge authority and prove it was "my life; my choice." However, as someone told me early in my pregnancy, a baby brings it's own love - and sure enough, by the time I was ready to give birth Gramma was excited at the arrival of the new baby.

Mid way through my pregnancy, bg's father and I had already parted and gone our separate ways. My best friend's mother had been very supportive to both me and Gramma during this time and had graciously accepted my request to be my labour coach. She went to the birthing classes with me and arrived at the hospital ready to do her job when the big moment arrived. Gramma didn't leave my side during the entire labour and when it came time to be taken to the delivery room, Marianne leaned down and gave me a hug. She told me she would absolutely follow through with what she had agreed to do 6 months prior .... but told me that my mom really wanted to be there with me. She asked me if that was ok, and to be honest at that particular moment I really didn't care. I was in too much pain to worry about who came into the delivery room and who waited outside.

I just wanted that baby out!

Gramma did come in with me, and we cried together after the birth of my first born.

For as much as I had been warned, my life really did change on March 14th, 1988. Slowly, and with a lot of resistance at times, I started to see Gramma differently from that day forward. Understand her a little more.

Respect her a lot more. Love her, for perhaps, the first time.

The best day ever spent with my mom.

Memory Jar Moments

Lou brought home a Journal Jar from Sunday School, some 8 or 9 years ago. Nothing fancy. Just a Mason jar with a plain white label and Journal Jar scribbled in crayon. Inside, skinny strips of white paper.

Not much to look at.

And for years, I didn't.

Then one day, I took the jar down from the top of the filing cabinet where it had been collecting dust. Opened it up and started reading the skinny strips of white paper. I'm a little slow (yes, just a little), so it took a few strips to realize what it was all about; this Journal Jar.

Well, I've renamed it; it's a Memory Jar. And from what I can tell, there are just over one hundred different questions. I started to answer the questions one day, in a binder, and wanted hubbz to do the same. I answer the question with my history, then he answers the same question with his.

Now, instead of the binder I'm going to randomly choose and answer a question here.

Between the two of us, our kids will have a taste of where they come from.