GPS

“The GPS is a bit pricy, but such a fantastic help for directional challenged,” says the girl with the piercings in the ears, nose, lips and who knows what else. The thought of getting to the desired destination without the trouble of pulling over and buying coffee to ask the way, justifies the price.

Armored with the little screen in my window and Lee’s American-English-voice, I hit the road. It’s not a good time, I might add, where construction workers frantically try to beat the snowfall of the coming winter. Lee recalculates the moment I skip the turn onto the restricted road, but much to my surprise Lee takes me around the block and after ten minutes of driving, ending up at the same NO ENTRY sign. Lee yells at me and I yell back, later turning Lee off and once again buying coffee to ask for directions at the nearby gas station.

Not willing to call it a day, I pull over and turn the GPS on, only this time I change the voice to that of a woman. She might be more sympathetic, less recalculating, but Suzy is even more persistent. “In 800 meters turn right” she says. I can’t. I feel bad for her having to recalculate every time. She must think I’m a total idiot or getting the impression that I don't care to listen.

“Mom” says my daughter two weeks later. “You take this way too personal. You can use the DETOUR-option you know?” She takes the GPS and scrolls down the tool-button. “Let’s try another language,” she says. “Ry veertig kilometers en draai regs op die Guelph lyn” says Jan in Boer-Afrikaans. I laugh. “You’re kidding me.” Jan gets displeasured, but continues to give directions as if he sits next to me.

When I see the girl with the piercings again I’ll thank her for giving me direction. However, it will be of interest to know if she has a GPS with the option of choosing between a pleasant voice and a demanding one.  

MEANDER -- FOR JC

An empty nester, according to the Mac dictionary, is “a parent whose children have grown up and left home.” It sounds so straightforward that can one can hardly imagine the complicatedness thereof.  Or is it that simple?

The youngest is first to leave the house. Plays the violin and sings in the men choir; does yoga, his paintings and photos hanging in diverse locations, special treats comes from the waitress at the Sushi bar and he spends his vacations in Vermont and Mexico. On top of all this he's a student at Western and decides to join the Naval Reserves.

The not so easy part is to come to terms with the Naval Reserves. Does the child need some kind of challenge? Has life in a First World country become tedious, compared to always-eventful Third World where ducking the bullet is part of your day?

Does a parent have grounds to interfere in the twists and turns of a child’s choices when s/he seemingly has it planned out?  Is it about the parent or the child? The parents cashed in their pensions and retirement plans to purchase flight tickets for the family, restarted their careers at the bottom and often at minimum wages, gave up the close circle of friends and family to ensure the children’s safe and unhindered maturing. Is it then regardless the outcome?

After doing extremely well in his basic training in Victoria, he decides to join the Regular Force.  To come at peace with the possibility of a child going to Afghanistan is almost unbearable.

He spends seventeen weeks in Quebec, catches up with the French language and gets promoted to a Logistic Officer. How can a parent not be proud?

The youngest child is soft-spoken and kind. He’s an artist and musician. He still comes to visit, but he’s climbing the steps in a country he refers to as his home. He looks stunning in uniform amongst the appreciable, exceptional circle of friends. The youngest child landed a family, near and dear, where he can anchor and explore.

He’s a trooper, besides he’s the one who spread his wings long before the other two even considered to leaving the nest so empty.