Goodbye my sweet friend Wendell

Goodbye my sweet friend Wendell.

I could not bring myself to write a farewell to you because I cannot fathom that you are gone. We met at a Goan Convention in Portugal in 2007 and quickly bonded over a conversation about our dogs. Until that moment I had never heard of you and was ashamed that most Canadian Goans born outside of India were in the same boat although we took pride in knowing many International designers.

I left determined that I would make your name a household presence among our community.

Before we parted you promised to attend and be a speaker at the Global Goan Convention Kevin and myself committed to bring about in Mississauga/Toronto in 2008.  

True to your word you were here and gave your time to do a 3 day fashion workshop at the Convention, and a presentation on the influence of Goa on your designs. You covered all the costs for your trip and did not burden the committee for any expenses.  Many people learned from your generosity and were left inspired. We in turn paid tribute to your creativity by showcasing you and your fashions in a one-night showing* in a boutique-store in Yorkville.  I wanted every Goan to know the name Wendell Rodricks. 
While here in Mississauga for the Convention, we picked you up for coffee and treats whenever you were available to "share conversation and laughter" at our favorite Portuguese Bakery or our home . Our friendship bloomed on our common interests and loves which were many. 

In 2009 when we last visited Goa you made a promise to make sure we were never alone. You and Jerome showed up at the Marriott where we were staying in Miramar to pick us up (sometimes by boat on the shoreline) and make us feel so at home whenever we were free. From moments at your home in Colvale or Panjim, to a boat ride, to moments of exhilarating fun and laughter at Bogmalo or private parties I fell in love with you my dear friend Wendell. 

You came with me to see our home in Uccassaim and the family was thrilled to meet you.  They pulled out their cell phones and sent messages to their grown children abroad or living outside Goa.  You were so gracious and insisted on accompanying me to visit the neighbors as I made my rounds to dear ones.  

In my Uccassaim home with family and friends

At My mum's best friend's house in Uccassaim, the late Lia Correia

When our holiday ended I stressed over what I could get for you that you did not already have. I settled on a red passion flower plant that I had seen in the local nursery. I think it represented your beauty, depth and a passion for life. Every year you would send me a picture as this plant grew and thrived under your care. You even took a clipping to your new place and sent me pictures as it continued to grow. 

Picture sent from Wendell 2020

I am sad. I am saddened for Jerome who was a devoted and loving partner. The world has not only lost an artist but a dear soul, a humanitarian, a friend, and a rebel for a cause.

Goodbye sweet friend!

* Credit to Placido Dias and the late Olinda Fernandes for the creative genius and hard work to pull together the Fashion Show and reception for Wendell at the 2008 Convention

Dear John...

John at the 2008 Goan International Convention (photo by Bosco D'Mello )

Dear John,

I never thought that I would have the opportunity to write a Dear John letter in my lifetime, but I find myself writing a goodbye note to the most endearing John of all.

I will miss you. Every time we met, you had a few nuggets of wisdom for both Kevin and myself.  I always left your side learning a little more about my community and with a renewed look of wonder in my eyes for you.

When Kevin and myself returned from an International Goan Convention in Portugal in 2007 with a commitment to see the Goan Organizations in Toronto host the next International Goan Convention in 2008, you were the only one that encouraged us to see it through. The intention was to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the first International Goan Convention held in Toronto in 1988.

During that stressful time when all Goan organizations remained aloof and indifferent you were silently championing us to carry out these plans on our own.  You checked in on me all the time and spoke with determination that translated into motivation and sometimes panic on my side.

With your motivation and the coming together of like-minded individuals and strong supporters of the community we were able to bring that vision to fruition. We had a Convention celebrating the arts including fashion, literature, architecture, music and language. You helped us coordinate with the seniors so that they took on the responsibility of having a Konkani workshop at the convention.  The seniors also produced a Konkani language handbook that came to be used by many interested participants long after the event.

But that was not enough for you, every time we met thereafter you showered us with your admiration and insisted that I write up the event and all that went into it so that it could be properly archived. You my dear friend were my guardian angel always standing by our sides through out the event, not in a showy way but in the shadows quietly showing us the support and strength we needed. I will miss your presence in so many gentle ways.

On a personal note you spoke so kindly of my mum and dad.  Always looking out for them at the senior events at Square One.  When my dad could not attend a particular event due to ill health and I accompanied mum, you always insisted I take home some food for him. Later I learned so much about my dad that I did not know as a child. You had taken a shining to dad and would always talk to him about his days in Nairobi with the then East African Railways and Harbors.  You were amazed that dad had such a high position and that he supervised and had the “white men” report to him when he was so young and in a climate where it was unheard of.  Of course my dad was very modest and never talked about himself as having achieved something grand, but you made me see that side of him.  When dad started to lose his memory you kept insisting I document his past because he came from an era of change that would soon be forgotten. You shared our sadness when dad passed away and in your quite demeanor and glossy eyes I found some comfort.

I do not know how many people knew you personally.  You were such a big part of the seniors community but never took credit or lauded your contributions.  Unless one had the privilege of being your friend they would never know that you were truly affectionate and had the biggest heart of all.

Dear John....I hate to say goodbye

2017- Ghosts of Christmas past, present and future

Christmas Eve was always spent at my Mum and Dad's home. A tradition that spread over our growing years into adulthood, marriage and children. There was so much joy, anticipation and laughter as we ate traditional foods and waited for midnight to open all our gifts. Dad was the biggest child of all asking every two minutes " Is it time yet"?  The household was bright with Christmas lights and decorations. The Christmas tree was decorated with many ornaments that came all the way from East Africa  and held so many precious memories for us.  As children we would watch as mum and dad decorated the tree, carefully taking out the fragile ornaments that were wrapped in tissue paper for safekeeping. We were never allowed to touch them and amazingly we complied.

For Christmas Eve dinner mum always made her traditional Goan bone soup to start with. A clear beef broth lightly flavored and made satisfying with small pieces of beef, potato, carrots, rice and macaroni. I recall growing up at home when mum would make dad drive her to grocery stores until she found the perfect bones for the soup.

 As we left the household to make our own homes and raise our families we would each bring a dish to help mum out on this special night.  However, no matter how much we tried to lessen my mother's load we always arrived to find that the soup, pilau and sorpotel were already prepared. My mother had Christmas cake and Goan traditional sweets to add to the desert table as well. While we lived at home these delicacies were made and carefully stored away for Christmas.  I would always hang around mum for the deep fried delicacies like kul kuls, angel ribs and  neurios as she took them out of the hot oil. My patience was rewarded with a sampling of the goodies hot off the stove, thereafter not to be seen until Christmas celebrations.

Growing up in a Catholic Goan household with four siblings and a ten year gap between the oldest and the youngest, was a Bollywood movie in the making.  I cannot comprehend how six people lived in a four bedroom townhouse with only one full bathroom, and still managed to shower, dress up and be punctual at all events.  On Christmas Eve the household would all get ready for the Catholic Mass, which entailed fasting one hour before mass and donning a smart new outfit and looking your best. The bathroom should have had a revolving door as the litany of residents at 4oo Bloor Street East took turns taking their showers. Banging the door to hurry the current occupant to yelling for your parents to intervene was a normal occurrence. Unfortunately to add to the mayhem, my dad had raised us all to be toilet readers so trips to the bathroom were never short or swift! Having three girls and a boy as children also added to the chaos of the bathroom rituals. I often wonder how that tiny bathroom with one sink managed to house all those hair dryers, curling irons, toiletries and all the paraphernalia young girls and boys need to boost their self esteem!

Never-the-less half hour before Mass time the Vaz family of six was making their way to their 1972 Ford  Gran Torino parked on the driveway. Much to the neighbor's amazement all six of us would disappear into the waiting car. Three of us older kids in the back and my youngest sister in the middle of mum and dad in the front. Of course since I was the expected peace keeper in the family I was placed in the middle. My older brother on my left and my younger sister to my right. This is when all the fun began. 

If my siblings were in a happy mood we would all be laughing and cajoling in the back.  However if my siblings were holding a grudge or in a bad mood I would be elbowed, poked, pinched and shoved as the siblings on either side of me tried to best the other with angry whispers and rumblings so the elders did not hear them.   My mum and dad had perfected their role of being blind, deaf and dumb to the activities in the back seat and in the event they ever reacted we knew instinctively that we were all in trouble.

There was something therapeutic about our one hour visit to Church.  Suddenly the angels and saints worked their magic through us and the Vaz children were a pinnacle of virtues as we walked up the aisle and sat together in harmony as a family. Our mouths moved to all the prayers and our bodies kept up with the ritual kneeling, standing and sitting when called upon.  This did not give away the fact that our minds and thoughts were often miles away on other activities and had to be consciously moved back to the rituals on hand every so often.

After our evening Mass all the family was in excellent spirits as we drove home to the start of our Christmas Eve dinner and celebrations. Over the years our dinner table grew with spouses and grandchildren. My mum and dad would light up at the sight of each of us entering the house.  We all knew that the grandchildren were now the new source of light and sustenance for my parents. 

Christmas dinners were held with grandchildren sitting on my parents laps while they gave us a short respite from our parental responsibilities.  Eating a meal with no interruptions was always a luxury when the children were small.  

Through the years my parents carried on this Christmas Eve tradition even though not all the children or grandchildren were present at all times due to various reasons. Their eyes and words would reveal how much they wished everyone was present to share in their family meals. The ghosts of Christmas Past have been beautifully woven into memories of three generations that have learned to love and laugh and cry with each other.

 In the ghost of Christmas Present we live with only memories of my dad  since he passed away in 2016, and a courageous mum as she rallies around her children and grandchildren and looks on as she relinquishes her role of hosting the Christmas Eve Dinner.

The ghost of Christmas Present reveals a promise of new tomorrows.  This year my son Alex and his wife Gunit hosted the Christmas Eve dinner and we exchanged gifts at midnight as is our tradition.  I too have taken on the role of making the traditional Goan sweets since mum can no longer prepare these sometimes tedious recipes.

As we wind down our 2017 Christmas celebrations and look forward to bringing in the New Year, I cant help but wonder what the ghost of Christmas Future will bring to us. I do know without a doubt that the ghost of Christmas Future will promise to make new memories and miracles in the traditions that a once young man named Larry and his bride Clare did when they fell in love and married in May 1954.  They went on to have four children, a boy and three girls with whom they never failed to make Christmas a time of joy and laughter for the family. 

So I wind off with a cheer to the ghost of Christmas Future, and look forward to sharing another year with those I love, while re-living memories of those whom I have lost!

Happy Mother's Day..... May 14, 2017

For a child and mother, every day is "Mother's Day".   Even as an adult I cannot imagine a single day without my mother.   My mother was always there for us, selflessly giving of herself to provide all the comforts a home should have. I always felt safe and loved, so much so that even when I thought I was all grown up and independent I found myself running home to regenerate my "wholeness". 
She is the one life-line I have known all my life, never wavering in her love for me and always there like a candle in the night.

I recognize that my first human connection to life on earth was through my mother.  Unbeknown to her, I inserted  myself into her very being and hung on for dear life.  In those early moments of my beginning I knew my mother before she was even aware that I existed. I found the perfect niche in which to incubate myself for the next nine months.  Unselfishly her body accommodated me and provided the nourishment, nurturing and footing for my new life to grow.  If only for that reason I owe my mother everything that I am today.

In my generation a strict upbringing was what was expected in parenting.  My mother was strict and we had to abide by her rules and schedules. We did not grow up in a household of "I love you's" and talking it out when you misbehaved.  We knew we were loved because our parents were engaged in our day to day activities.  My mother was always there to put us to bed and wake us up in the morning. She made sure we had good meals and that we ate well.   She hovered over us ensuring our studies were done and we were prepared for every day in our school year. Our laundry was always done, clothing laid out for us, school work ready the night before, lunches packed in the morning and my dad would drive us in to school or on the rare occasion he was not available, my mother took us in. When we were sick she coddled us and nursed us with tenderness. All in all my only obligation was to be a good mannered child and do well in school.

Of course there were times I was scared of what my mother's reaction would be to my so called misdeeds, naughtiness, or simply forgetting to do what I was told. In my world, my mother's house slippers were an item to arouse mortal fear.  We were mortified of her rubber slippers and even more horrified when she started wearing leather slippers in the house.  It was a time in the past when parents did not spend many frustrating moments talking it out with a kid lying on the floor having a tantrum, or simply refusing to do as one was told, instead a quick and swift remedy got the message across and was not soon forgotten by any child.

There was no malice in the quiet pinch I got in Church as I fidgeted endlessly trying to get my fluffy skirt to sit the way I liked it, or as I turned to look behind at the parishioner who loudly sang out of tune.  All these moments were wrapped up in many more moments of warmth and family solidarity.

In the evening dad would come home from work, and I would quietly peep around the wall as they embraced and stole a kiss. By this time we had  all done our homework, had outside playtime and were now getting cleaned up for dinner.  As young children mum would feed us first and then as we watched the early TV children's hour, she and dad would have dinner together in the dining room.

Eight o'clock was bedtime and there was no negotiating on this rule.  I know, because I was the child that negotiated everything. I was the dreamer, the absent-minded professor, and the child who always asked "why"?.  Education was important, and you had to do well in school.  This was the mantra of our generation.  Thanks to my mother's involvement in our daily lives we excelled in our studies, and went on to make our own niche in life with the confidence she instilled in us.

My mother lost her dad when she was young, and as the oldest sibling felt an enormous responsibility to her own mother and siblings.  She was  loyal, devoted and always acted selflessly to accommodate those around her. I was  amazed at her deep friendships that overcame distance and time to remain intact and loving over the years. Mum and dad were destined to be together, meeting as teens and slowly forming a friendship and love that endured many obstacles.  Their combined devotion and love became a model for many other couples who often spoke to me of their strength. This love mum and dad shared was the cocoon that sheltered and enveloped each of us as children. This was the stuff fairy tales were made of.

As I grew into my teens, my relationship with my mother turned to one of friendship and conversation.  We would spend many hours talking about her childhood, her grandfather and in all those stories were lessons of family values, traditions and principles to live by.  She reveled in my tales of High School activities and we bonded over girly giggles.

Last year my mother gave me another life lesson as we lost dad in June 2016.  While we all leaned on each other and worried about mum, she made her way back with dignity, strength and grace.  An amazing woman, my mother.  She is still there to listen to all our troubles, achievements and stories.  We have shared many memories over a cup of tea, a meal or just seated on that oversized brown couch that dad bought when we first came to Canada.

My mother has taught me and my children life lessons that cannot be found in any book.  Her devotion to us is returned many times over in our love for her. 

Shamefully I admit that no matter how grown up I am no one can kiss my "boo-boos" and make them better in the way that only my mother can.  My boo-boos became more challenging as I grew older, but my mother was always up to the task.   I thank God everyday for her presence in my life - Happy Mother's Day Mum

Me - the dreamer

Childhood innocence..

Christmas 2016 - Remembering my dad

I have learned that we each have the power to map our own lives.  It is an enormous power gifted to us at birth and if we journey with love and kindness at our very core, we will be rewarded with the same. Therein lies the secret of happiness and joy!

Larry Vaz (dad) 1930-2016

This year I lost my dad, who was a pivotal anchor in my life.  2016 will be the first Christmas we sit without dad in our midst, and my mother endures the season without the love of her life.  My love for dad is indescribable, but it has filled my mind, heart and soul with a warmth that has sustained me through his loss.  Through my journey with mum and dad I have grown to appreciate and understand that life is a process, and even when we cannot see the silver lining, dad showed me that we can move forward with dignity and courage right up to the very end.  These thoughts are dedicated to my dad who made me smile....

 

Perhaps....

Perhaps some day we will find the secret to combining longevity with good health.

 

Perhaps some day we will all be able to grow old with dignity and not be dependent on others as our limbs give out, our memory betrays us and we feel obsolete, afraid and ashamed.

 

Perhaps some day we will all give more appreciation, honesty, kindness, love and friendship to those we call mum and dad - those special people who have loved us and made incredible sacrifices for us in their lifetime.

Perhaps some day we could know only how to be kind, compassionate and loving, and reject the very idea of cruelty, judgement and hate.

Perhaps some day we will all smile at each other knowing that a smile has the ability to lift the human spirit.

Perhaps the life lesson is that when we love we live well.  Love is not measured by how much we receive but how much we give.


Remembering my darling dad whose last words to me were "I love you too".  What an amazing ride you shared with me, I will carry you forever in my heart.

Our last Christmas together - 2015

Matthew's story....

She walked to the drug store across the street with her hands tightly clasping those of her 2 year old son.  There was a bounce in her step as she imagined happily what might lay ahead for her. Today she kept up with her young boy's pace as he chatted incessantly about cars and trains.  She smiled and asked questions which he eagerly answered.

Once inside the store she went straight to the aisle and selected her item.
"What's that ?" her son inquired
"I'll tell you when we get home.  We can do an experiment together, would you like that?
"Yup"

When they got home she sat down beside him and opened the package.  She read the instructions carefully and then looked into the eyes of her curious toddler and smiled.
" There may be a little baby in my tummy, would you like that?"
"Yeah !"
" Well we can do a little experiment to find out if its true."
"Yeah !".
" If there is a baby in my tummy, he or she can send a message to us in mummy's pee."
"How?"
" Well first I have to go to the bathroom and when I come back we will put a little drop from the dropper right here on this spot.  If there is a baby the spot will show a plus sign"

When she returned she used the dropper as he looked intently at the spot.
" We will have to wait a bit now, do you want to go and play while we wait?"
" No mommy I will sit here and wait for my baby to send me a message"
"Okay I will be right back, do not touch anything"
She left the room for a few minutes and was soon jolted by a loud screech
"We're having a baby! um...can I tell Daddy please!"
"Sure can"
"I love you mom"

Her doctor confirmed the pregnancy and there was a joyful anticipation in the family.  The little boy would start each morning with a "hello baby brother or sister" mouthed to his mother's stomach and a sweet goodnight at bedtime.

Three months later after a routine blood test she got a call at her office from her obstetrician's receptionist.
 "The doctor would like you to have an ultrasound and he has scheduled one for tomorrow."
"Why? Isn't that done much later?"
" Do not worry, why don't you just take the ultrasound and let the doctor take it from there"

A few days later, she received a call from her obstetrician, once again in her office.
" I am referring you to a specialist and he will be able to see you in two days. Will that day be okay for you?'
A pause on her side
"The date is fine , but I'd like to know why you are sending me to a specialist.  Will you no longer be handling my pregnancy?  Please tell me everything I need to know so I can be prepared when I see the specialist."
A pause and a deep breath before the doctor responded.
"I am so sorry to tell you this but the specialist may recommend that you terminate this pregnancy"
"Thank you doctor"
She turned her office chair away from the door and looked out of the large picture window behind  her desk. In the background were lush trees, bright sunshine and birds, but she saw none of that as the warmth of her tears flowed unchecked down her face.

A week later in the genetic specialist's office the couple sat silently as the doctor spoke.  She watched his moving lips and tried to make sense of what he was telling them as they viewed the ultrasound together.  The deep crease that naturally formed between her brows when she frowned was fully engaged as she concentrated on each word.  The words came as swift blows to her heart, and still she kept her mind engaged.

The fetus showed a slight flap on the back of the neck which was most likely indicative of a genetic anomaly.  She was told  that it was advisable to terminate since the probability of a "normal" baby was very small.  Her mind raced with questions, and her heart was filled with fear and anxiety.  After answering a stream of questions the geneticist referred her to a doctor specializing in the study of specific syndromes.

The couple headed to the elevators with a great weight on their hearts, holding hands and walking in silence.  In front of the elevator they paused, tears held back and her husband quietly said " Whatever you want to do, I will support you".  She fell into his arms sobbing.  There were no more words to be said, but the gift of love, respect and understanding from her husband at that moment was exactly what was needed to see them through this sadness.

In her sixth month, an ultrasound revealed that the fetus had died.  An induced labor was scheduled  at the hospital, however after a period of intense pain the delivery happened naturally before the scheduled date.  In that moment she took some time to understand what had just happened, but she had the courage to hold what would have been her baby in the palm of her hand.  She saw it was a male curled up in the fetal position. He was so small and as she looked at him his head fell back and she saw a perfectly formed face and head. The eyes, nose and lips had formed and he was a perfect miniature baby only four or five inches long and looked so much like her first born son.  She named him Matthew and through her tears she told him how much she and his dad loved him, and that his older brother would be heartbroken because he never had a chance to grow up with him. 

That day was November 22, 1989.....






 

Mother Teresa

Mother Teresa. (Image by Evert Odekerken, CC)

Canonization  is a celebrated event in the Catholic Church.  Most recently a very public, internationally known "Mother Teresa" was granted Sainthood.  While this was received with joy by many Catholics, it was stunning to hear harsh and negative criticism of Mother Teresa.

Several years ago when Christopher Hitchens published his book "The Missionary Position" I was astounded at the negativity hurled at this saintly figure.  Today I have had time to think and approach the subject with a little more objectivity.

At the end of the day it is a personal choice we make to believe in someone's goodness.  I have never met Mother Teresa or visited her homes.  I have never even seen the streets of Calcutta.  Instead I chose to believe what I had been told about the subject and what I had read and seen in the media.

Today I have read many articles both favorable and unfavorable, and have come to the conclusion that Mother Teresa was indeed human.  She was not a God or a Saint in her lifetime on earth, but she left an impression that has moved many hearts.  Keeping in mind her humanity, I was able to understand she could not live up to every body's standards or expectations, not even her own. Her humanity also has to include her moments of darkness when she felt alone and abandoned by God as she outlined in her many letters to her confessors.

In the book Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light  in which her personal letters of confession have been published (although she asked that they be destroyed), the following excerpt reveals her struggles with spirituality

"If I ever become a Saint—I will surely be one of 'darkness,'" she wrote. "I will continually be absent from Heaven—to (light) the light of those in darkness on earth."

Faith is a choice. Belief is a choice. However, I have come to understand that we do not have to deny a person's vulnerability because of our innate desire to believe they were supernatural.  Mother Teresa has become for me an astounding figure of endurance, tenacity and courage.  A courage to carry on even though she herself had lost faith and even hope in her many moments of darkness. 

My understanding of Mother Teresa's ambitions was that she felt called upon by God to give dignity to the poorest of the poor, the abandoned, the sick and dying.  I can only imagine how over a period of over sixty years this kind of ministry would be dark, depressing and overwhelming.  However, she carried on till the end.  

Although she has been criticized for becoming a celebrity of sorts, this was our doing not hers.  We, the masses put her on a pedestal, spoke of her as a living saint and were moved by her presence.  She continued in her ministry, living humbly and working alongside her helpers.  I remind myself that Mother Teresa started off on her own.  She left the comfort of teaching at a Loreto Convent to begin her works of Charity single handed and without any funding or support.  A humble story that starts with a little known nun with a vision and ends with her world wide status as a saintly figure to many.

I look at Mother Teresa as a symbol of endurance.  Her haunting religious doubts and dark days serve to remind me that not only was she human, she made a super human effort to carry on with the work she believed in, even though she did not see light and joy in her daily efforts of reducing the  suffering of the poor.  It is to this end that I see her humanity, and it is her humanity that moves me.

Mother Teresa's life and death can be summed up in these words written by Kent M. Keith and published in 1968..... ( often misrepresented as being said by Mother Teresa)

People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway.
If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway.
For you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light: The Private Writings of the Saint of Calcutta

A Saint’s Dark Night By JAMES MARTINAUG. 29, 2007

The Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice Paperback – April 10, 2012