Tag Archives: compassion

Mom & Dad’s Martinis

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Today it is my pleasure to welcome Jacelyn Cane and her memoir, Mom & Dad’s Martinis.

Author’s description

Jacelyn Cane’s mom and dad liked their martinis dry: straight gin on the rocks with a dab of vermouth and a hint of water – and they liked them often. They also liked to party; they danced, socialized, and drank – they were good at all three. Sometimes this behaviour led to humorous situations – antics in the pool, at the club, the cottage or in the car, for example. Other times, however, the experiences were not so funny – family fights and times of neglect, trauma, and abuse. By weaving together a series of episodes that take the reader to light and dark places, author Jacelyn Cane tells a poignant cautionary tale for anyone affected by alcoholism and/or family struggles. The author is using a pseudonym and most of the names in the book have been changed to protect people’s identities. “Mom and Dad’s Martinis: A Memoir” is a great read for anyone who has experienced a childhood mixed with joy as well as sorrow. It is a story of love, acceptance, forgiveness, and hope.

About the Author

Jacelyn Cane was born and raised in Toronto. She lives with her husband, and near her three children and step-daughter. She is a retired elementary school teacher who also worked in social justice education with the United Church of Canada. She has worked in theatre and as a reporter. She was educated in Toronto, earning a B.A. in Political Science and an M.A. in Canadian History from York University. Later, she earned a B. Ed. at the University of Toronto. She is passionately involved in numerous social justice issues such as climate crisis concerns and Indigenous rights. She loves meditating, writing, reading, music, laughing, and being around nature. She is motivated by a deep sense of spirituality. Her number one love, however, is being with family and friends.

Find the Author

Website: http://jacelyncane.com

Buy the Book

Amazon — https://amazon.com/dp/0228805104
Amazon –https://amazon.ca/dp/0228805104
Amazon –https://amazon.com/dp/B07T7Z818H
Indigo — https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/mom-and-dads-martinis-a/9780228805106
BN — https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mom-and-dads-martinis-jacelyn-cane/1132123904
Kobo — https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/mom-and-dad-s-martinis
Smashwords — https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/944724
Apple — https://books.apple.com/us/book/mom-and-dads-martinis-a-memoir/id1469160761

Yes, there is a giveaway

The author will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

Enter here to win.

This post is part of a tour sponsored by Goddess Fish. Check out all the other tour stops. If you drop by each of these and comment, you will greatly increase your chances of winning.

An Exclusive Excerpt Just For Us

My mom grew up on Tarlton Road in Forest Hill, Toronto. For many years, she lived a charmed childhood. Every day, my mother swallowed her molasses and cod liver oil and strolled to school with her neighbours and lifelong best friends, Mary and Sue. Off they went, down Tarlton West, onto Chaplin Crescent, through the park, over the railroad tracks and on to Forest Hill Jr. School. It was a long walk for little girls – and they came home for lunch every day.

In the evenings, after supper, Mom would bounce outside to play with the neighbourhood kids – hide and seek, cowboys and Indians, and red rover. Along with her girlfriends, my mother tried to master “double Dutch” skipping and threw a rubber ball against the house singing “Ordinary Moving”. On the lawn, the girls muddled through cartwheels, back bends, somersaults, and even some Russian dancing.

On rainy days, Mom and her girlfriends gathered in her basement to dress up in outrageous costumes – hats, high heels, and jewellery. Thanks to my grandmother, everything was packed in an old trunk and a dress up closet. One Sunday night, together in their dresses and high heels, my mother and her girlfriends paraded around to music played on a wind-up Victrola – “String of Pearls,” “Perfidia,” and more. And while they played, smells of my grandmother’s roast beef wafted to the basement.

“Dorothy,” my grandmother called down.

“Yes, Mommy.”

“It’s time for dinner. The girls need to go home now.”

“Already?”

“Yes, dear. You’ll see them after dinner.”

Every Sunday night, they had a scrumptious roast-beef dinner in the dining room with the family, including Aunt Geraldine, my grandmother’s sister.

“This plate is for you, Dorothy,” said Mom’s mother, as she scooped some roasted potatoes onto my mom’s plate. On Sunday nights, they always ate off Grandma Duncan’s good china – made in France with two exquisite blue and green birds sitting on branches. “Hold it carefully, dear.” Mom’s mother loved that china, and so my mom loved it too. They always had wonderful conversations in the dining room and Mom looked forward to those meals. Her mom was a great hostess and my mother became one too.

Soon, my mother and her closest girlfriends – Mary, Sue, and Helen – were labeled “the Tarlton Road Gang.” Eglinton Avenue was just beginning to be a place to hang out – and the soda fountain at Kresge’s discount store was a favourite destination.

“Let’s go to Kresge’s for a cherry Coke,” my mom said one afternoon.

“I’m gonna get a banana split,” Helen added, fixing the large bow in her curly hair. They’re the best in town.”

Thank you!

Jacelyn Cane — we appreciate your sharing your book Mom & Dad’s Martinis with us! Best of luck with sales, and with all of your future writing.

What is that Woman with a Taser Thinking?

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I had one of those worst ever travel days yesterday, with three separate you’ve got to be kidding incidents. Okay, by the end of event two I wasn’t at my best, but at least my belief in trying to put myself in the other person’s shoes got me through the first, and potentially most serious of the three.

You see, I’m not a person who likes to be told what to do. I’ve had a problem with TSA and airport security since the start of this millennium, largely because of what I considered petty enforcement of rules taking priority over common sense. (You’re going to take away my tube of mascara? Why? Oh it’s a 3.6 ounce container and 3.4 is the limit. Right.)

Yesterday I got the full body scan thing and it showed something suspicious around my chest. Turns out my shirt had sequins there. None-the-less, the lady had to feel around my boobs. Okay. Protocol also required her to check my hands for explosive-making residue. Much to my surprise, and hers, I came up positive.

“Have you been around fireworks? Fertilizer?” she asked. I hadn’t. I was taken aside, and two other women were found: one to do a considerably more thorough pat down of me and the other to make sure the first one adhered to policy.

This is the point where I normally would have started to loose it. But for some reason, I noticed the person doing the patting was as nervous as I was. This was all happening at a little airport in South Carolina, and I bet they don’t get a lot of women setting off alarms. This woman was being so careful, trying so hard to do it right. I started to see the incident through her eyes. What exactly was she supposed to do? Say “Oh you seem like a nice person, so just go ahead and get on the plane?”

You know, they don’t have the greatest job in the world. I don’t want people with bombs to get on planes either. It’s good they have some protocols in place, and good they’re trying to do things right.”

I started to talk to both women a little, even joke a tad. They weren’t exactly chatty back (protocols, right) but the situation became less tense. I figured out the one woman was not only checking me for devices (of which their were none), but her gloves themselves were part of the process, as they would be checked at the end for suspicions residue, too.

The gloves were checked, and they triggered a second, more serious alarm. I was baffled, but it was clear to me the TSA people realized they had “A Situation.” All of my carry-on luggage was emptied and closely examined. All my electronic devices were wiped with cloths designed to detect … something. Once all my possessions were cleared, I was taken away to a small room with three women. My entourage was growing.

One began asking me the sort of questions I’d ask if I was trying to figure out if someone was lying. “Who are you going to visit? How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

Then we began the serious pat down. The patter had obviously been told to explain everything before she did it. “I’m now going to run the inside of my hands down your buttocks.”

“You don’t have to tell me. Just do it.” Actually, hearing about it first was creepier than having it done.

“No, I do have to,” she said. That’s right. Protocols, partially designed to protect suspects like me. I should be glad they’re being followed.

“How about I just take off my shirt and pants,” I offered. “Seems like it would be a lot simpler.”

Three sets of eyes widened. “Oh no. Please don’t do that. That’s not the procedure.”

Right.

Luckily, this third exam was deemed to be negative, so I’ll never know what the next step in the procedure was.

They were very polite as I gathered myself back together. The whole incident took about half an hour. Had I cut it closer, I could have missed my flight because of this. No one apologized to me, but I guess they had nothing to apologize for. They were doing their job. Their job has a noble goal.

Also, no one could tell me why I’d set off a residue alarm twice. I haven’t a clue.

I do know that if my fascination with empathy hadn’t led me to try to see the incident through their eyes, it could have gone quite differently. That particular headline reads “Woman Ends Up in Federal Prison Because of Incident Caused by Sequins on Shirt.”

Of course, if they’d been belligerent or mean, all that empathy stuff on my part could have fallen by the wayside. Lucky for me, all three of them seemed to be trying to see it through my eyes too. Funny how well that works out.

 

 

 

Building Peace on Blue Mountain

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I’ve just spent a week in Paradise. Okay, technically is was Costa Rica and my paradise was created by a genuinely loving but also savvy retreat center. I was fed fresh picked fruit, gently steered away from news and conventional entertainment, and encouraged to walk through lovely gardens and reflect. It worked and I did.

I also knew I was in a paradise created for those with the cash and support system to allow them to go on this sort of retreat. The idea of having people less fortunate than I conspire to create an idyllic week for me would normally give me at least some first world heartburn, but it didn’t. Here’s why.

I’m lucky enough to know more about this place and the people who run it. Human beings simply don’t come more compassionate. Employees are rewarded and respected and most have become family even if they didn’t start out that way. The degree of affection they have for each other is well beyond what any staff could be coached to fake.

The center, known as La Montaña Azul, is dedicated to sustaining the local environment. Located along the Talari River southeast of San Jose, the retreat has allocated 95% of its land (116 acres) as a natural sanctuary to protect the river and its flora and fauna. In addition, its proceeds support the local schools, help maintain the roads, and allow the center to provide free classes for the community. It’s hard to argue that you are doing harm by forking over your hard earned vacation dollars to this oasis of love.

IMG_5816This visit was my fourth one. I come here to study qigong, an ancient Chinese form of moving meditation that emphasizes energy flow and has helped both my writing and my wholeness as a human being over the last five years. I’m a different person without qigong, and not nearly as pleasant a one.

At this particular visit, I wasn’t surprised to learn that the center has taken on a new cause. They wish to bring about world peace. One might argue they’ve been slowly working at that all along, but this new approach is rather specific.

They have joined forces with an international group known as Peacebuilders. This amazing organization is striving to use restorative practices like meditation to keep young people out of the criminal justice system, to assist those of all ages in prisons and to further social justice. Though it has a presence in many countries, Peacebuilders is based out of Toronto and most active in Canada, where the organization began.

In Costa Rica, efforts are concentrated on the prison system. Inmates with sentences of forty or more years are trained in meditation, voluntarily spending hours a day in the program. The results are amazing. Recently, several such prisoners were certified to instruct others, as the program grows.

La Montaña Azul’s involvement began when the diminutive older woman who is manager and part owner of the retreat center walked, without guards, into a locked room filled with some of Costa Rica’s most hardened criminals. She laughs as she confesses she thought the guards were coming in behind her. The prisoners listened to her offer of an alternative, and today the retreat center provides instructors, resources and funds for the program. Guests at the retreat are asked to provide funds also.

You know we all did. After a week in Paradise, world peace seems like a totally reasonable goal. I hope the feeling will last.