I can hear the bells, well don't you hear 'em chime?

December 1, 2011




Emily has an app on her phone that counts down the days, hours, minutes until Christmas.


Oh goody.


Every once in a while she'll voice a reminder about how much time remains for unfettered consumption of goods, many of which will be under-appreciated, returned, ignored.


There was fascinating article on the cbc.ca/nb website about the use of gift cards, which apparently provide extensive gifts for retail establishments. 


http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/new-brunswick/story/2011/11/30/nb-consumers-association-gift-cards.html


I strongly recommend reading it.


And then reconsider the use of gift cards.


Or at least only give them to people you KNOW will actually use them.


















If I wasn't already aware that the end of the term is near, yesterday would have provided the eye opening revelation.


Crying students in my office.


Twice.


Personal issues impacting academic performance in both cases.


And me, again with no counselling degree just to reiterate, attempting to sail through the murky, choppy waters of ex-boyfriends who just don't understand "GO AWAY!!" and working to the point of exhaustion to be in school to work to the point of exhaustion.


Resulting in nothing good on both the paid work and school fronts.


I was actually thrilled to escape to my mother's handbell choir performance.


















This time, I even remembered to take the camera.


Which I then left in my office amid the rush to get out the door to somewhere for supper before the nursing home.


We walked in at 6.25 pm and the relief on my mother's face was palpable.


As if I wouldn't show up.


I value my life more than that. 


She was resplendent in red, as were the other nine members of the ensemble. 


Two men and eight women, all with their handbells sitting in front of them, their choir director introducing each piece before directing them with her ruler when it was their turn to ding.


My mother never missed her turn.


My mother is also a stickler for doing things well.


And when others don't do what they're supposed to do, she can get a little perturbed.


Coupled with her inability hide what she's feeling, she is literally an open book.


Consequently, when the woman at the end of the table had to be repeatedly reminded to ding her bell, my mother's countenance reflected what she was feeling inside. 


At one point, Em leaned over and asked me why Nanny looked so sour, I replied, "No control over others."


Afterwards, the activities co-ordinator for the nursing home told me that before the performance, my mother was praying to God that Ethyl didn't fall asleep and Bertha didn't announce during the performance that she had to pee.


Although there was one resident in the audience, with a particularly deep voice for a woman, who kept asking the nursing staff if there was someone who was going to be able to help her get ready for bed because she was really worried that being out so late would prevent her for getting such help.


Towards the middle of the performance, a male resident decided that he'd had enough and started to leave, causing an impromptu intermission as the other residents, and some members of the ensemble, had to be moved to make room for him and his wheelchair.


All in all, an enjoyable evening.


I can't wait for next year!






Title Lyric: I Can Hear The Bells by Nikki Blonsky