Tag Archives: love

Act II

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This post will be about my second phone call with Fanny, where I found out the name of the birth mother (along with some other tidbits). When Fanny set up for us to have this call in mid May, it came to my surprise to hear that she would be leaving her job position.

My first thought: fuck. I won’t get everything I need.

Yes, that was selfish. But I have been waiting for so long to find out this information, I was a bit scared that my case would get shuffled back into a long queue, not paid attention to the same way she did. We had our first call together before I went to the London Marathon and she gave me some rich background information. She wanted to have this call occur before she was leaving her job, so she could give me the birth mother information that she had confirmed.

Clothilde Lemay.

That is my grandmother’s name. Clothilde. Lemay.

Just like in the first call, she couldn’t release exact birth dates or death dates, locations, etc. And now that this call happened back in May, I don’t remember exactly what we spoke about. One interesting thing was brought up, thought-she hinted that maybe I could find something regarding Clothilde’s father, as there was a documentary put out by NFB (National film board) that included him. He was a musician. She couldn’t directly share his name, but she must had found it in her search and made sure I looked it up to put it all together. So I did. It’s a bit odd and interesting all at once. I have watched it and have all sorts of thoughts. (Here is the link too: https://www.nfb.ca/series/le-son-des-francais-damerique-english-version/season1/les-gens-du-plaisir-en/ )

Clothilde was an only child. She never had any other children other than my dad. It appears she may have gotten married again, but never had another child with her husband. In my Ancestry.com searches, there is no more paths from her name. Cannot find a grave. Cannot find a burial. What I have is below:

Died young. Close to my dad’s age. What I can piece together on ancestry is below. And if we put this all into perspective, she died before I was even born. So in a way, it is comforting knowing that I didn’t ‘just miss out’ on finding her. I wasn’t even here. My dad hadn’t even met my mom yet. Finding her wasn’t on my dad’s radar.

I have found no pictures of Clothilde online. No obituary. No photos shared on ancestry. She is a mystery. I do, as you saw above, have video of my great-grandfather though. Which is absolutely insane. And what I did four weeks ago is more insane: I decided to google up one of the directors of that documentary. His name is Andre’ Gladu. And according to the internet, he is still alive.

I found him on Facebook and sent him a message. He has not replied yet, or read it. So a few days ago I sent him a friend request. I have no clue if he will read it or acknowledge it. If someone wants to help a girl out and see if he’ll read this, work your magic:

So. I learned my grandmother’s name. Clothilde Lemay. My dad’s biological mom. This was always what I wanted to find out. I was met with so many emotions over those first days of finding out. I cried. I felt sad for her and her story. To have a son, to have to give him up….to get married but never have a second chance at her own family…dying young….it’s crazy. I was always on the search for my dad’s birth mom and I was worried that now, with now knowing the name and even now months later not knowing much about her at all…that this was all for nothing.

But trust me. It only gets better from here.

And that will be part of Act III.

Husband Guest Post 2 – The Night Before Vancouver 

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Andrea watches a lot, A LOT, of shitty reality television (note – all reality television is shitty, but her shows are generally, the worst of the worst).  The thing that drives me most insane about these shows is when one of the characters (usually a dumb blonde or no-longer-relevant actor) talks to the camera, and says something preposterously overdramatic and entirely untrue like “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life” or “I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life”.  

Now I understand it’s TV, and that drama sells.  But it’s bullshit.  Complete bullshit.  In generations past, before reality TV, I think these grandiose statements were actually meaningful.  Those phrases were reserved for the few times in life that actually mattered.  So for the people in the world that actually do something of great merit, I find it insulting towards them for people clinging to their 10 minutes of fame on TV to try to bolster their appeal with this fake drama.

For Andrea’s sake, and for the sake of everybody that truly puts their heart and soul into something they love, let’s appreciate the following statement for what it’s worth, and not just take it at face value:

Andrea has never worked this hard towards something in her entire life.

That’s not just words.  She has walked the walk.

She changed her diet (among many things, she gave up ramen noodles… RAMEN F-ING NOODLES!!!).  She changed her step and stride (she went to a foot doctor specializing in athletes).  She signed up for every race possible (and won most of the local ones).  She hired a trainer to write her a training schedule (with the goal of 3:35 in mind, and the training difficulty was increased concurrently with her time improvements).  And more than anything, Andrea stuck to her training schedule and ran.   It was, and still is, unbelievable.  I honestly can’t imagine putting in the persistence, time and effort that Andrea puts into her running.  I don’t even think it’s fair for me to attempt to describe it, because I don’t know that level of grueling commitment.  It’s every damn day.  She runs, at an insane pace (usually at 7 minutes/mile… for comparison, I ran a 10 mile race at an average of 11 minutes/mile and that was giving it everything I have).  While she never does a full marathon distance during her training, it’s not uncommon for her to run 15 miles.  And then, after 15 miles, she just goes about her day, like that 15 mile run was just a 15 minute walk with the dog.  That might be the craziest part to me about her training.  She’ll run these super-long distances, and then still want to walk downtown for dinner, or walk the beagle to the dog park. 

So I am proud of my wife, and of all her accomplishments.  She has pushed herself beyond what I thought was possible.  A hobby has become an obsession, and her pace and race times reflect her hard work.

So my dear… Go.  Get it done.  You can do it, you’ve proved it to yourself.  You put in the time, you put in the work.  You owe it to yourself.  I love you, I’m with you, and he’s watching.  This is how you remember.

Dan

 


Throwback Thursday….Disney Style

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In anticipation for my RunDisney experience of my life, the Dopey Challenge, I decided to ask my mom to dig through the old albums and find a handful of “ugly” Disney photos from my trips back In the day. Now, her response immediately was “I don’t want to do this tonight….” Followed by “You weren’t ugly!” Then I restated it as “awkward” and she decided to do the searching.

She sent me 7 photos, in no particular order. However, I will sort them by years in order for your viewing enjoyment. The first photo is from my first Disney trip in October 1991. I was 7.

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This is fun and funny because 1.) I have a coordinating lavender and white tank with corduroy shorts. 2.). I have on a giant fanny pack with I am sure just a mini pack of Kleenex and room for my autograph book. 3.). My Mickey Ears don’t fit over my Afro. But I still love the cuteness and innocence of it all

Next up is also from October 1991. Enjoy me posing like a loser on the bridge in the Japan Pavillion at EPCOT:

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After 1991, we went again in 1993. That trip provided these gems:

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From what I can gather by looking at these two photos….I enjoyed wearing MC Hammer Pants, windbreaker, hats that fit over my Afro, fanny packs were still cool, and I still enjoyed coordinating colors and plaid shorts. :::sigh::::

1995. Family trip #3. Short “Jerome” haircut that fits nicely under a hat, big bad glasses, and a cheesy grin. I think the Evil Queen says it all:

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1997 brought the times of shortalls and plaid tank tops. Did I think I was country? Or southern? Or cool? Sweet big pewter LOVE earrings too. This photo makes me smile, though, as it catches my dad and I sitting on the now defunk Mike Fink Keelboats. My Afro is grown out and I’m sporting a middle part. And dad is sporting an embroidered Disney Muscle shirt like it’s his job!

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After 1997, my looks and attire got less awkward. Who knows…probably in 5 years I’ll be laughing at crap I wore this year. But at least I grew out of my short Afro hairdo and bad glasses and fanny pack stage. Please note….my mom DID NOT send any photos including shots of her back in the day with us. I think I got my fanny pack skills from her 🙂

In closing…2000. Now in high school and too cool for posing for photos, so instead I’ll sink into the tube at Stormalong Bay at Yacht & Beach Club!

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