Author: Diane Chartrand

Smoke, Fog and Haze (Diane Chartrand)

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As I look forward, all I see is thick smoke, heavy fog, and a glaring haze blocking my view.  My life has been turned upside down over the past five months, and my sense of direction has disappeared.

Each night before going to bed, I plan what my next day will be like, but after getting up in the morning, the plan disappears.  Instead, I seem to wander through an array of things blocking my intentions.  It’s like my mind is just walking through a thick layer of smoke, and there appears to be no way out, so I just sit.

I need to find a way to clear my mind from the things that consume me and return to life.  I set goals and break them.  I set deadlines, and they seem to create a haze on my intentions, and I change them.

It is so uncomfortable not to be able to navigate just one day as planned.  I believe that maybe the sorrow of what is taking place has a hold on me.  It is like I am living in a fog that keeps rolling at me minute by minute.

I need to deal with the feelings creating the pause but have no way of knowing how to accomplish that feat.  The thick smoke billows over my head, the heavy fog makes my eyes water, and the glaring haze is like a bright light telling me to stop.

I will try once more tomorrow to start small and try to progress from there.  No looking at bank accounts or spreadsheets about budgets every morning and set that task to a specific date and time during the week.  

No more watching television from the time I get up until bedtime.  I am going to set a few simple goals.

  1. Get dressed and go for a walk before breakfast to get the muscles moving.
  2. Listen to stimulating music while eating breakfast.
  3. Set up my computer for the day to write for at least two hours about anything.
  4. Go out after lunch again and walk the two blocks to the main intersection.
  5. Work on creative things like videos and animations for book releases.

I hope the above is not too difficult.  By going out of the apartment, even though we are in lockdown with a stay at home order, the fresh air will help clear some of the fog or clouds or maybe at least the haze in the beginning.

Also, times need to be established for going to bed and getting up.  Anyway, to try and dissolve the fog during the night in my dreams that wake me.  They create extreme stress regarding what to do about this or that.  I need to let go of things and let others involved takeover and be responsible.

Before five months ago happened, I would enjoy each day working on my writing and spending time outside or riding a bus just to be around other people.  That life is gone, maybe for good.  I had been so used to getting up at four in the morning and working until late in the evening for three full months.

That pattern became my routine, and life at home didn’t exist.  Once when coming home for a few days, I forgot which key opened the building door.  That, I think, is what created the heavy clouds, thick fog, and glaring haze in my day.  Everything just kept repeating day after day and each day blended into the next until I had to stop.So, here I am now with no way to see how to go forward and reclaim at least a bit of my life from before.  Maybe, that is not the answer.  Just perhaps, I need to start from the beginning and leave the past behind.  Just go forward and create a new normal that will make me happy and allow me to not be blocked by obstacles.

A Letter to my 14-year old Self (Diane Chartrand

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Dear Younger Me,

As I reflect on all the things that went on when we were fourteen, the now seventy-six-year-old me still has trouble reconciling all of it.

At that time, we were confused, angry, and became a rebel doing everything in our power to do the opposite of what was asked.  To try and show the grownups they were wrong, at one point, we walked over twenty-five miles to visit the boy, we believed to be our boyfriend and though we were madly in love with him.

We both know that didn’t work out well.  Getting there in the late evening, what was believed would happen didn’t.  The boy’s father immediately put us in his car and drove us home.  After that, the boy was instructed to stay away from us.  I remember how painful that was and think it led to all the following disruptive actions that followed.

Often during the years before we turned fourteen, we defended Dad even though he was an alcoholic and most times was violent when drunk.  For years he would take put us in the back seat of the car.  He would drive to the bar, leave us alone in the car all day, and then drive home once his money ran out.  Everyone called us “Daddy’s Girl,” but we both know that really wasn’t the case.

I know that being a teenager is a difficult time in life. For us, it was even more challenging to compete with six other siblings for attention.  This, I believe, was our way of getting attention.  Even the time we ran away just down the street to stay at a friend’s house.  When the police arrived, our mother made it clear to put us in a cell for the night and not let anyone bail us out.

I have a vivid remembrance of that night.  We were scared but not remorseful.  Once our friends knew the situation, they would come, one by one, and sit by the bars at the window, being the jail was on the ground floor, and talk.  It was supposed to be a lesson to behave.  Guess that didn’t work.

Okay, enough of the remembering.  I want you to know that after several years of even worse mistakes, we turned out okay.  It took a long time to get it right, but I have no fear because we are okay today.

Life is calm for the most part.  We found that writing has soothed the rebel in our soul, or maybe utilizes it because all of that can be expressed through the characters in the books we write.  It has been a great way to live adventures as someone else and find redemption in the end.  

We had many challenges at fourteen, but I believe that may be the case for the majority of teenagers trying to navigate all the changes happening with our bodies and in our life.  Going to High School, liking boys, and not knowing what to do with all that.

Life can be a challenge for many unforeseen reasons, so I want you to know that we turned out okay even though we made many mistakes along the way.

The Smells of Christmas (Diane Chartrand) 2020

~ Diane Chartrand ~ 1 Comment

Jody walked into her mother’s house on December 24th and was hit with so many memories from her past.

The crisp citrus scent coming from the living room where the decorating was beginning to happen.  Jody pulled a needle to her nose and inhaled the sweet, spicy smell taking her back ten years to the last time she came home.

“Mom, do you remember when we went out to the lot to get this?”

“You mean when you got knocked over after trying your luck with the saw?”

Jody laughed and admitted it was a lot of fun, but now realized it could also be dangerous if you weren’t careful.

The scent of sage drew her away from the decorating and into the kitchen to check it out.  Jody’s sister was draped in a red apron with a picture of a reindeer with a shiny red nose sprinkling flour into a bowl.

“What ja making, Sue?”

“Close your eyes and tell me what you smell, and then you will know.”

Jody closed her eyes as she held her nose close to where her sister was standing.

“There is a strong smell of cinnamon and fresh, crisp apples.  I know, you’re making my favorite pie.”

Jody put on a kettle of water and began to set several cups on the counter.  This was her favorite of all time.  Coloured Candy Canes melting in a sea of swirling, hot milk mixed with a packet of divine chocolate for each one, leaving off the mild scent of peppermint.

After preparing the drinks, Jody put them on a tray and carried it out to the living room for everyone to enjoy.  The children were having such a fun time.  Mom pressed the white button when the decorating stopped, and the lights came on, flashing back and forth in sequence.

At noon, everyone sat at the dining room table, and Jody’s Dad carved the turkey, and the passing began.  As each plate or bowl came to Jody, she inhaled the wonderful smells emitting from them.

Melted butter mixed with celery, sage, pork, and bread crumbs all rolled into a ball.  Special drinks covered in nutmeg’s scent. The smell of mandarin oranges, clove, and cinnamon mixed as the wick flickered lightly in the background. 

Overstuffed from all the delicious food, Jody went into the den to recover and make room for dessert.  The aroma of hickory filled the room as she sat in her father’s recliner and closed her eyes.

The smells of Christmas can be overwhelming and, at the same time, pleasant.  Sometimes we are always in a hurry and never take the time to enjoy what is right there in front of us.

Jody spent the last ten years working and not even putting up a tree because she couldn’t be bothered.  She promised her mother that from now on, she would come home every year for Christmas.  The smells were divine.  A hint of nutmeg.  A stronger one of ginger from her sister’s cookies.

Although they spent several hours wrapping presents, Jody could never figure out what the smell was coming from the paper even with her eyes closed.  Guess paper is just paper and has no scent unless someone adds it in.

Christmas is a time to re-connect with family and friends. Still, most of all, we need to re-connect with the wonderful smells associated with the holiday.  So try and be like Jody.  Close your eyes and take in the wonders given to you from your sense of smell.

This year see what smells of Christmas you discover.  Maybe some will become your favorites or those you don’t even want to be close to.  

Missing You – July 11, 2020

~ Diane Chartrand ~ 1 Comment

I think about you several times a day.  You are missed.  When I get up and make my coffee, you are there beside me, waiting for your cup to be ready.  I see your smile and hear your laugh.

One year ago today, I learned from your sister that you were finally awake, off of oxygen, and talking.  She and I had discussed earlier in the week about the e-cards the hospital had on their website to send to patients.  When they got them, they would be printed off and taken to the patient.

I sent two that very night—one from me and one from our writers’ group telling her to get better soon.  I have no idea if you ever did get to see them, especially the one from me with a cute dog on it.

That was on a Tuesday, and your sister said she wasn’t able to see you again until Thursday as her husband would be out of town.  I so wanted to go visit you, but we decided no one would like to be seen that way, so I didn’t push it.

I regret now that we didn’t’ arrange for me to visit you on Wednesday when your sister couldn’t.  I waited for another e-mail from her on Thursday to see if you had seen the e-cards, but no answer.  That day was Thursday, July 11, 2019.

The next morning I found an e-mail your sister had written during the early morning hours.  It said that on Thursday, July 11, 2019, while she was there, you had taken a turn for the worse and left this earth for a better place.

I have so many things in my house that remind me of you as I come upon them.  I have lost many people in my life, but for some reason, this time was different.  I missed our meeting every Tuesday in the food court downtown for lunch before we worked at the library for a couple of hours.

I missed our bus rides all over town just to end up at Westmount Mall to have coffee from the Tim Horton’s there.  For many months after that, I was unable to even take the bus to that area because the ride home would always go by your house.

Today is July 9, 2020, and in a few days, it will mark the first anniversary of your passing.  I find this week you are in my thoughts and I miss you even more than I did then.  I know you are watching down on all of us from wherever you are enjoying your coffee and writing.

There is a bit of good news.  I have what I was able to get of your writing.  Most of it, your sister had thrown out before I got to your house. The group did a tribute to you on our website and posted one of your short stories.  The good news is that story is now a published work.

When I was writing the third book of my trilogy, your story came to mind.  As my characters were getting their lives in order, I thought yours should also be.  After I reached the end of my story, I told my readers a bit about you and then put your story up for them to read.  Yes, I did put the copyright as yours and the year 2019.

Congratulations, my friend, on being able to have one accomplishment done even though you are not here.  We use to discuss what you were writing in the critic group from the London Writer’s Society, and I do have some of those to be another reminder of your words and wit.

I have had many friends, and still do, but you were special.  You were the sister who understood me and helped me to deal with things from my past.  I learned so much from you, but most of all, I learned a lot about you afterward.

I am missing you now as I write this and wish there could be just one more day.  The day you woke up in the hospital might have been that one.  I will remember to wear the shawl you gave me whenever I’m on the bus and get cold.  It stays in the side pocket of my backpack.

When I bake something in the oven, you are there with the oven mitts you gave me, so I would be able to pick up the hot things more easily.  I’m sure you have seen that I finally wrote that book about Buzby after you generously gave me a stuffed one after I admired the one on display at Tim’s.

We are now having a bad time in this world, and with your cancer, you may not have survived this, so I am glad you left when you did.  I do miss you every day, especially on Tuesday’s when my mind goes to making a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and going downtown to meet you.

One day, we will be back together again and maybe can pickup spending some time together.  My thoughts are your thoughts, my friend, and I am missing you so much on this day.

My First Boyfriend and My Father (Diane Chartrand)

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It was 1958, I was thirteen, and had just started high school where I met a boy that I really liked, his name was Walter Dudek.

We started spending time together at school then progressed to the movie theatre so that we could kiss in the dark, and no one would object.

When my father found out who I was spending time with, he was furious, telling me he was no good and came from the wrong side of town.

One night Walter came to pick me up at the house. It wasn’t funny at the time but amuses me now.

All I remember is my father chasing Walter through back yards, over fences, and down several hills.  As they kept running, my father was yelling, “You  stay away from my daughter, you stay far, far away from her, or it will be hell to pay.”

This is the picture I still see in my head.  My father was four foot, eleven inches tall, and Walter was five foot, six inches in height.  I never realized my father could run so far or jump so high.

I didn’t stop seeing Walter for several months afterward, but he never did he come to pick me up at home again.

Slip Up: Making Mistakes

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In life, we all make mistakes.  Sometimes small ones, but at times they are huge and can never be taken back.  My mother always told us that we should learn from our mistakes.

Over the years, I have learned many lessons from my mistakes.  First, never speak before thinking about what you are going to say.  Choosing your words may make it less painful for the person you intend it for.

Being an average teenager, believing I knew better than her, words between my mother and myself were painful and can never be taken back.  I did learn a great lesson many years later about mothers and daughters. I apologized to her once becoming a mother myself with all the same challenges.  Think before you speak is now my motto.

Second,  we should all learn to check out the facts before accusing someone of doing something we didn’t approve of.  Maybe that person never committed the crime accused of, be it little or big.

When I was with my last partner, days became stressful at times when I would be home alone night after night until very late.  At that time, I was very timid and would never ask questions, but my mind went to all kinds of reasons.

One day this person came home with a friend who was very drunk and put her up in our spare room.  I accused him of all kinds of things that day.  Later on, it became clear that I was wrong.  This person had a problem, and he was just keeping her from getting into her car and driving away.  So, facts first prevent less hurt and humiliation.

Third, remember that you are not always the one who has made a mistake.  People come in all spaces.  Some are very upfront and say whatever they are thinking, and then there are the ones like me.   I am an introvert and hold everything inside, always believing it was me who did something wrong.

Making mistakes is part of life, who we are, and what we do.  If we don’t find a suitable way to learn from what we do, the pattern will be to do it over and over again.  We should not be so troubled by small mistakes as they usually work themselves out, but the bigger ones could have consequences for the rest of our lives.

What we do and what we say is important.  How we do it or say it, could become a mistake.  An example of a mistake could be thinking you are crazy in love with someone and then find out that person has no idea who you even are.  Oops!  Now all your friends are calling you names like stupid, idiot, you are not in his league.

I have made many small mistakes, the number too large to count, over my seventy-five years, and am sorry for all of them.  I have learned to not repeat anything that was done previously.

I have made a few very enormous mistakes that have impacted my entire life, including now.  I can not take them back, I have not been forgiven for doing them, and it has changed who I have become.

One day I hope that some parts of my biggest ones will resolve at least so that the parties involved will forgive me.  One of them did many years ago, but I don’t believe the rest will get to that recognition of the actual facts and that it was a mistake on my part only, not theirs.

Tread carefully in life and be aware of everything you do, think, say, and there will not be so much pain in your heart or the heart of others.  I know sometimes we are not aware it is a mistake, and for those, hopefully, we are forgiven.

Life is hard.  Mistakes are even harder.  Everyone does it and probably will still continue on this path.  Now, after hearing my words, you might be able to refrain from being so liberal with all of yours.

“A Special Mother’s Gift” (Diane Chartrand)

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“It was just here!” Maggie shouted as she searched her pockets for the missing item.  Patting down her jacket first.

“I had it when I arrived at Walmart because before going in, I took them off from around my neck.”

Maggie had held the rosary close to her heart since the day her Mom gave them to her, just before she passed.  They were a gift given to her mother on the day of her first communion by her parents. Frazzled, Maggie started to slip her hands into every pocket of her jeans.  Nothing.

Panic set in thinking maybe they dropped out of the small hole in her top jacket pocket, but she had never heard anything hit the ground.  Of course, when she was in the parking lot, there was a lot of noise from all the cars racing back and forth, trying to find a place to park.

There was nothing in any of her pockets.  The rosary wasn’t anywhere.  Maggie started to cry. Her daughter heard her and came into the room, asking what was wrong.

“I can’t find Grandma’s rosary.  You know how I take it off from around my neck when in the stores after what that nasty lady said to me one time.  I put it in a pocket, and now it isn’t in any of them.”

“Mom, it will be okay.  Maybe we should drive back to the store and look for it.”

“Okay, but first, I have to put away the groceries that go in the freezer and fridge, so nothing spoils.”

The two of them did that together, leaving the other bags on the counter and headed for the car.  The Walmart was only a few blocks away, so they were there in a flash.

“Mom, you go look in the store and mall area.  I will check the parking lot.”

They parked in the same exact spot where Maggie had been the first time.  The two of them looked all around that area first.

“Okay, you keep looking here.  I took the buggy back to that area across from the car.  I will go inside and search.  Meet me in twenty minutes by the doors or come find me if you have the rosary.”

Maggie started her search as she walked through the mall doors and traced her path to the store entrance and all around the areas she had shopped, including the check-out she used.  Nothing, just nothing.

Maggie went to customer service and asked if anyone had returned a rosary.  “It has clear pieces on it with a silver cross.”  The lady said not while she was there and inquired how long ago she had lost it.

Tears started down Maggie’s face again as she left to go meet her daughter.  “Did you find anything?”

“Sorry, Mom. Nothing in the parking lot, and I went four rows over and back.  Let’s go back home and finish putting the groceries away.  Maybe someone will find it and turn it in. We can check tomorrow.”

The two drove back to the house.  Maggie started unpacking the canned goods and cereals.

“Mom, Mom.  I found Grandma’s rosary.”

Maggie ran over to the open door.  “Where was it?”

“Grandma’s rosary was on the floor in the back of the car.  It must have slipped out of your pocket when you were putting the groceries in.”

Maggie’s daughter slipped her Grandmother’s rosary over her mother’s head and onto her neck.

“Mom.  Please don’t take it off again, no matter what people say.  Grandma would want to be close to you all the time.”

A Lost Animal Story (Diane Chartrand)

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On the day Smudge went missing.  Calls went out, “Smudge, Sweetie, please come out from your hiding place.  Your Mummy misses you.”  

Nothing, no meow, no feeling of snuggling on a leg.  Sheer sadness ensued.  Where could that silly catbe? Smudge never went outside, never crossed the doorway, but today she bolted out the open back door.

Smudge, when I look at her, sports attitude.  She is independent and sassy in the way she moves or snuggles.  All will be lost if Smudge isn’t found.  Who will there be to pet, or talk to, or share innermostthoughts with?  Life will never be the same.

“Think positive thoughts, never give up.”  That’s what Mrs. Calm always says.

How does a person do that in a time of so much stress? Must try and follow her words while looking for the one who keeps my world level most days.

The search was widened to include the nearby farms and especially the barns. Maybe Smudge heard the cry of a friend who was in danger and went to help.  Is that even possible? Of course, it is. Animals listen tothings that humans do not.

After two long days, scouring more than five miles of land and buildings, I laid eyes on her.  Smudge was in Mr. Tub’s hayloft lying next to an injured kitten who had been bullied by the others.

Mr. Tub finally was able to put both into a nearby kennel, and they were taken home.  Two cats now live in this house. Smudge and her adopted son Trigger, who today, are bonding with this pitiful specimen of a human.  

Christmas Memory 1999 (Diane Chartrand)

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I stood freezing in the long line, at the Toronto Greyhound Terminal, for over two hours at Bay 6 with my bag beside me.  The bays were outside, and the wind and snow were blowing directly into us.

Being just a few days before Christmas, everyone appeared tired and ready to board their bus and sleep.  The time was closing in on midnight, but I was wide awake and anxious to see my six grandchildren in Ohio and their beautiful mother, my first-born daughter.

Finally, the bus had arrived.   I won’t have to change buses until we cross the border in about two hours and enter at the Buffalo Terminal.  I’m excited, and sleep doesn’t come.  I look out as the night has changed to a bright full moon and millions of stars.  As we go south, the snow is left behind us.

I envision the scene, I’ll hopefully see, in the next few days.  Getting to watch the kids open the presents I shipped down.  There will be joy on their faces along with a lot of noise as the children range in age from two to thirteen.

 As we arrive at customs, the driver says, “Make sure you take all your belongings off the bus.  Pick up your bags from under the bus and take them with you through that door to the left.  Make sure you have all your identification ready.”

I grab my backpack and a small bag from under the bus and make my way into line.  A customs agent calls up one person every twenty minutes.  At this rate, I’ll never make my connection in Buffalo.  After about forty minutes it’s finally my turn.

“ID please.  Where are you going and for how long?”

“To visit my daughter and six Grandchildren in Dayton, Ohio and will be there for five days.”

“Are you declaring anything into the country?”

“No.  I already sent my gifts to their house a couple of weeks ago.”

“Okay move on to the other officers to get your bags checked.”

Customs hadn’t started using screening machines yet, so our bags were checked manually.  This process always left a mess inside.

“Okay, you’re good to move on.  Take your bags and go back to the bus and wait with the driver.”

I was overjoyed that was over.  There were others, though, who didn’t get through as quickly.  One lady had packed sliced meat and oranges, both items not allowed to cross the border.  This caused a delay for over an hour while one of the customs agents searched for an interpreter because this lady, nor anyone in her family, spoke English.

After several more transfers along the way, I finally arrived in downtown Dayton.  I was so relieved to see my daughter and son-in-law sitting in the waiting room.  After a short drive, we arrived at the house.   All the children came up and gave me a big hug.

My Christmas in 1999 was the first I had spent with my family in many, many years.  It will always be the one I treasure the most.  It was the beginning of many more years of special occasions with them.

The Young Girl and The Math Teacher (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ 1 Comment

Please tell me that isn’t my high school math teacher who played the piano for the young girl? It was a horrible rendition.  I think he should stick to what he knows best. That would be Math. Someone should give him piano lessons.  Then maybe, just maybe, it would not make my ears hurt when he plays.

I know a way they could help each other. The young girl is having a challenging time understanding math, so he could tutor her. Knowing that the math teacher isn’t any good on the piano, and seeing the young girl perform once before, she could teach him how to play at least this one song correctly and in tune.

Today the young girl will be entering her first Math Competition after several months of being tutored. We all wish her well, and Mr. Brand will be sitting in the front row watching.

Principal Davis asks the young girl, “What is five times five?”

She promptly answers with a smile, “That would be twenty-five.”

When it was all done, the young girl had won Second Prize.  Mr. Brand was so proud of her that he took her and her parents out for a treat at the local coffee shop.

One month later, Mr. Brand was scheduled to play a piece on the piano for the same local Community Group. The young girl had taught him to correctly play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, the song he tried and failed to do last time. The young girl was so happy that Mr. Brand did it correctly and in tune. Everyone clapped afterward. The young girl was scheduled to perform next.

She sat down on the bench, all of ten years old, flexed her long fingers and began to play Claude Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1 with conviction.  Mr. Brand, having never heard her play, was mesmerized by her talent.  Had he known she was so accomplished, he would never have tried to shield her from the embarrassment that day. Him believing that someone so young would never be able to play the piano well.

Always stick to what you know best and never assume anyone is less accomplished in what they are attempting to do. The young girl will never become a wiz at math, but that is okay. Mr. Brand will never become a great pianist, but that too is okay. We all have our own unique skills and age should never be seen as a barrier.