Chasing the 'funnies' on a Sunday afternoon

I grew up with an abundance of reading material... what about you? 

My best memories of reading go back to when my three sisters and I were still all living at home, so probably late 1950s. Comic books like Archie, Blondie and Dagwood, Little Lulu, Richie Rich, Superman, and Uncle Scrooge were hot commodities to be traded between friends in our tiny townsite of Bradian. 

After finishing our chores, Saturday afternoons were free and clear to visit friends, trade comic books (some that were more prized than others and commanded a two-for-one price), and return home to devour our new reading material. However, our dad was also a big fan of comic books. We had to share with him, sometimes giving up the best ones for him to read first! 

But the real fun happened on Sundays. The Vancouver Sun always arrived in our town a day late. The travel time between Vancouver and Bralorne was twelve hours of hard driving, so getting the newspaper, pre-television, pre-internet, was a big deal. 

The thick weekend paper would hit the front step, and the chase would be on with my long-legged father running up and down the streets holding the Saturday 'funnies' hostage while his four daughters pelted after him. We hollered and laughed and yelled like banshees. 

Some of the neighbours would cheer on Dad, others would be rooting for one of his daughters to snatch the prized weekend funnies out of his hand. 

Being the youngest and the shortest, I never had a chance so I resorted to subterfuge. I would hide in the one and only bathroom in our company-owned home. Dad would return triumphant and dash into the bathroom, the only room in the house with a locking door, and ta-da, there I was ready to claim my share of Donald Duck, Little Abner, Henry, Jiggs, or Nancy. 

Sometime in the mid-1950s, when I was four or maybe five, my parents purchased an extensive collection of sixteen encyclopedia-sized books from a traveling salesman. 

The series started with nursery rhymes and progressed to more complex stories, intended for readers at a grade twelve level. 

I don't remember what the series was called, but I do remember the spines of the books ranged from light blue to deep blue to dark green as you progressed through the stories, gradually reading more and more difficult material. 

Then, when I was nine, my dad gave me his copy of the Springhill, Nova Scotia, mining disaster. On October 23, 1958, there was a 'bump,' a shift in the earth that resembled an underground earthquake. 

It killed 75 men and trapped 99 more. By November 1st, 1958, the last of the survivors was found. After that, the search only recovered bodies. 

So, yeah, a little light reading recommended to me by my dad.

My next conquest was all of the Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Trixie Belden novels ever written, plus Little Women and Little Men. By the time that we moved from that tiny mining town in 1961, I had blown through all of the reading material in our house. 

When we moved to a larger city, Chilliwack, BC, Dad introduced me to the concept of a library and being able to choose whatever I wanted to read. My favourites included the entire Zane Grey collection of western novels and anything written by Farley Mowat.

My voracious reading habit has followed me throughout my life. 

Fortunately, both Lawrie and I shared a passion for reading, and for the most part, read the same authors. Occasionally, I veer into historical novels, and he would find a thriller series that interested him.

When Lawrie and I moved to Mexico in 2008, we made the switch to electronic readers. Books in English were difficult to find, and books in English that we hadn't already read were a rare find. 

Our reading habit became quite costly. We typically ordered an e-book a day from Amazon and devoured it before bedtime. 

Now, I live across the street from a fabulous public library. I can indulge my passion freely.

What are you reading today?

Cheers 

Lynda, and The Sparkinator

Murder and mayhem, revenge and romance on a tiny island off the coast of Mexico! 

Grab your copy today! 

The second anniversary - Widowhood 101

In Paris, 2012

It has been a rough few days leading up to September 3rd, the second anniversary of Lawrie's passing. My emotions have been like a ride on a soon-to-be-condemned roller-coaster. Up, and down, and slamming sideways around the corners.

Over the past two years, I have made some progress in managing my grief, although the special occasions continue to be a problem. Halloween was our favourite fun celebration, and Christmas. Other dates, such as the anniversary of when we moved in together, our wedding anniversary, my birthday, and Lawrie's birthday, continue to haunt me. 

San Miquel de Allende

I also made some life-changing decisions this past year. First, I sold our home on Isla Mujeres to a very nice couple from Wisconsin. Then, Sparky and I moved to San Miguel de Allende in December 2019. San Miguel is a beautiful colonial city in the mountains north of Mexico City. It is a paradise for writers, artists, and historians. I thoroughly enjoyed exploring my new surroundings, camera in hand, for hours at a time. It seemed to be the perfect place for me to heal. 

But the world had other plans. COVID-19 arrived in North America, creating economic and emotional hardship for millions. As a new arrival to San Miguel de Allende, and without a strong support base like I had on Isla Mujeres, things could get a bit tough. So, I packed up my few belongings and returned to Canada on March 20th.

For five weeks, my best friends since elementary school days, let Sparky and me live at their house in the Vancouver area. Their two doggies played with Sparky, while the three humans tried to remain sane during the lockdown. We entertained ourselves with good food, wine, and numerous 'remember when' stories from our high school days.

Fortunately, son John and his family live nearby, and I was able to sneak in a few visits during the lockdown, and more regularly since the rules have loosened up a little. It's fun to spend a bit of time with an adult granddaughter and two grandsons. Where have the years gone?

Naramata Bench, Okanagan, BC.

In late April, I decided to move to the Okanagan Valley in British Columbia, where we had lived for many years before moving to Isla Mujeres. It's peaceful and beautiful here. Vineyards. Orchards. Lakes. Rivers. And people who remember both Lawrie and me. The transition was easier, and my heart has been slowly mending. I am finally able to savour a cup of coffee on my own and listen to music without turning into a mess. 

In the meantime, I kept writing and self-published three more novels: Temptation Isla, Terror Isla, and Twisted Isla. I am now working on the next idea. Writing keeps me from endlessly obsessing over my loss.

But then something happens, and my emotions run amok again.

A very nice man, whom I only knew tangentially, recently died from a rare bone cancer. He and his wife were happy together for twenty-one years, and now she is a widow. Her grief has sharpened my grief.

And, more recently young woman that Lawrie worked with years ago at Magnum's Restaurant in Penticton wrote to tell me of her chance encounter with him in April 2018 at the Penticton Regional Hospital. 

We had returned to Canada to double-check the medical diagnosis, and the specialist had just informed Lawrie that he had only a few months to live. The young woman was on her way to visit a family member in the hospital and accidentally got off on the wrong floor. She didn't know we were in Canada, or that Lawrie was sick. When she saw him, she stopped to chat, and he told her why he was there, sitting in the hallway of the hospital, contemplating life.  

This is part of her email to me, "When we were finishing up the conversation, I asked the woman at the desk where the room I was looking for was, and she told me I was on the wrong floor.

Lawrie and I just looked at each other. I said, "Well, I guess that it was meant to be."

He said, "Life's funny like that, isn't it?"

Had I not followed another nurse off the elevator that day, I would've never seen him or known he was ill. I was so unbelievably grateful for that serendipitous moment."

The young woman went on to tell me of the good memories she had of Lawrie as her boss and her friend. How he had been a strong and positive influence on her life. Lawrie told her that he had had a very full life and had no regrets, and how much he loved me. Stories like this are treasures.

My Widowhood 101 posts have connected me with others who are also suffering and just want to chat. It's good to talk and not keep the pain bottled up inside.

The downside is, my frankness rips open the partially healed wounds of others who love Lawrie and miss him.

It's difficult.

Lynda

Sparky and Lawrie, Isla Mujeres Mexico