RIP Arliin Caster
October 8, 1959 - January 3, 2008

It was my friend Arliin’s birthday yesterday, so I invited a bunch of her friends to meet at someone’s house and we toasted her life and good times together.

Some people put aside their extreme dislike for Guinness for a few sips in Arliin’s honour… "Only for Arliin!"

I used to be one of those people who didn’t celebrate birthdays much, but that changed when I met David in 2004. Now I celebrate any dates that are special or significant to me: birthdays, anniversaries, etc., and commemorate the more sombre yet meaningful occasions in some way, even if it’s very low-key. I don’t think it’s morbid to celebrate the birthday of someone who has passed away; it’s an acknowledgement of his or her life, after all.

When David’s birthday and our wedding anniversary disappeared off the family calendar after he died (I still don’t know whose idea that was to remove them), my reaction was one of utter disbelief. I didn’t see the point in making that change — it’s not as if I wouldn’t remember those dates if they weren’t on a calendar. With one fell swoop — on paper, at least — it was if he never existed and I never married him.

Arliin wasn’t the kind of person who would throw big birthday bashes for herself, but she could always be counted on for celebrating the joys and significant days in other peoples’ lives. She was always there for her friends: baby showers, moral support, catsitting, nights on the town, the downs as well as the ups — anything and everything. Celebrating her birthday is the least we can do!

I have a bit of Arliin with me every day, in Xena and Beano. They are a constant reminder of the compassionate person who was Arliin, who loved cats and all animals, and who would go to great lengths to make sure they received good care.

So every October 8th, it’s a pint of Guinness in memory of our dear Arliin!

Today I pulled my wedding dress out of its storage container, hung it up, and took a few photos of it before I sent it on its way.

There’s a lot of emphasis on the wedding dress as a symbol of marriage, because for the groom a tuxedo can be worn for other occasions. A wedding dress simply can’t be mistaken for anything else, especially if it has a train. Anyone can spot a wedding a mile away once that dress comes into view.

When I was at The Brides’ Project over the weekend, they told me as with all private donations I could write a letter to accompany the dress, which would only be opened once the new owner claimed it. Every dress has a story, and mine is no exception. But mine is such a big story that I don’t know if I could tell it in a letter format. After all, I’ve been writing in this website for years and I don’t think I’ve finished telling our story.

I was thinking I could write an open letter here and just put the URL in the letter with the dress. Maybe other brides-to-be will see it, and think about what it means to walk down that aisle. I don’t believe you have to get married to make the commitment to love and care for someone the rest of your lives, but if you choose to get married the highest level of commitment will be expected of you, and only you will know if you can live up to it.

Three years down the road, I can honestly say I would probably pick the same dress if I could do it all over again. The shop owner told me flat out that it was all wrong for me, but I didn’t listen to her and tried it on, anyway. Once I saw myself in it I knew this would be my wedding dress, and once she saw I was right about the dress she stopped trying to talk me out of it. There are some things in life I am certain of, and choosing that dress was one of them.

The other was marrying David Fielding, in spite of everything that happened since. My only regret is not meeting him sooner, because then we would’ve had more time together. Maybe we would’ve even had a child together by now.

It’s taken three years, but I’m finally ready to let the dress go, to make someone else happy on her wedding day, and benefit a child or adult dealing with cancer. It’s taken me a while to find a sense of purpose again, and now the dress can begin its own new journey, too.

This year the Terry Fox Run will take place on Sunday, September 14. I need sponsors!

Last year I did the Terry Fox Run with Arliin and her friend Esther, in High Park here in Toronto. This year I will be doing it in Stanley Park, Vancouver.

(Reposting from last year:)

Any Canadian over the age of probably six knows the Terry Fox story because the whole country participates in the annual runs, from coast to coast. The schools I attended had the entire student population do the run every September, as part of school.

Of course, even if I’d never heard of Terry Fox, I have my own personal reasons to support cancer research.

If you’d like to add your support, I’ve got online pledging set up through the Terry Fox website. The site accepts donations in any currency, and has a currency converter.

Yes, I’d like to support cancer research and Gail needs the exercise! Take me to the pledge page.

Where does the money go?
I want to find out more information.
I’d like to do the Terry Fox Run, too! Where else in Canada is it taking place?
I live outside of Canada, are there Terry Fox Runs worldwide? (From Flickr: there’s a Terry Fox Run in Hyde Park, London, every year.)

Please give generously! Thank you!

I can hear fighter jets flying over my house because this weekend is the annual Canadian International Airshow, as part of the Canadian National Exhibition. It takes place every Labour Day Weekend over Lake Ontario.

Last year I joined my friend Arliin in her usual viewing place with friends on the patio of the National Yacht Club. The next day we watched from the dock of the Argonaut Rowing Club and later I drove us to the Canadian Warplane Heritage Museum for a visit. I won’t be doing that this year, as next week marks nine months since Arliin’s passing. (I learned this morning the recently-released results of the toxicology report, which didn’t surprise me at all: the results showed nothing. Absolutely nothing. Arliin went to sleep and never woke up, and no matter how much we speculate, we will never know why she died. The conversations we had on New Year’s Day still run through my brain like a videotape rewound a thousand times.)

I also found out this week from the Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome website that one of their pilots, Vinny Nasta from Long Island, NY, died when his Nieuport 24 replica biplane went down at the end of the airshow on August 17:

Rhinebeck, NY, August 21, 2008:

Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome confirms the loss of Aerodrome pilot Vincent Nasta at approximately 3:45 PM on Sunday, August 17. Mr. Nasta was flying a replica of a Nieuport 24 bi plane in a mock dog-fight with the DR1 Fokker tri plane in the final event of the air show when it went down in a wooded area just south of the Aerodrome.

“Vinnie Nasta had experience flying both restored originals and replica Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome airplanes like the Nieuport,” said Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome Air Shows President, Hugh Schoelzel. “He was a great pilot who flew in air shows throughout the region and he was a certified commercial flight instructor in addition to his work with Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome. The loss of this fine man is devastating for his family and to his extended family at the Aerodrome.”

Vincent Nasta made his home in the Long Island community of Wading River, NY with his wife, Kathleen. He was a teacher and noted illustrator of children’s books. Mr. Nasta was 46 years old.

I’ve been to ORA so many times that I’m sure I have a picture of Mr. Nasta somewhere in my archives. He was connected to many people through being a teacher, a musician, a pilot, and a volunteer that it’s no wonder the guestbook on the website set up in his honour has 21 pages and continues to grow. I couldn’t help but read through some of the entries and be struck by how much he influenced young people, much like how David had with his Civil Air Patrol cadets.

I am truly torn over where to be the next few days. Honestly, hearing all those planes going by overhead right now is making me choked up and I don’t know if I want to be here, because I’m just a spectator. I want to go to the Aerodrome and fly in the biplane — which I haven’t done yet this year — but I had such a fantastic flight last Saturday in the Beech D18S Expeditor in Hamilton that I’m feeling a tad greedy. Maybe I should postpone Rhinebeck ’til later and stay in Toronto this weekend.

I can’t seem to make up my mind!

This date is significant to many people, especially the Chinese. Eight is supposed to be a lucky number, for some religions as well.

The Summer Olympics in Beijing starts today.

My friend, Arliin, told me on several occasions that her 38th anniversary with her employer (a major Canadian bank) would be August 8, 2008. She was looking forward to it, and we joked on New Year’s Day — our last time together — that it was now her lucky year. But she never made it to 08/08/08, she died of unknown causes sometime in the early hours of January 3, 2008.

Whether you’re superstitious or not, don’t put off living or wait for your ship to come in or hold out for your day in the sun. [Stop buying lottery tickets!] There is beauty and life even under clouds. Make each day count, even the grey ones.

I’ve processed and uploaded a batch of photos from Uncle Mat’s memorial service. (I’m about halfway through the ones I selected for upload, so if you check back later, there will likely be more.)

The photo album of the memorial can be viewed several ways:

1. as thumbnails
2. a slideshow
3. or in the Pictobrowser below. Just click on the picture to advance to the next one.

I gave out a bunch of my MOO Minicards to relatives and friends of my uncle over the weekend so they can view these photos. If that’s how you have arrived here and would like to have any or all of these photos, please email me and I’ll send you a URL where you can download the whole set in a zip file.

I went to a BFO reunion today. It was, in a word, hard — for all sorts of reasons. I brought my camera and had planned to take more photos, but I only took this one. Aside from a bit of motion blur (James was playing, after all), it didn’t turn out too badly.

It’s been quite the Saturday. I dropped Philip and his gear off at his new place before I went to BFO, and afterwards I drove up to North York to deliver my HP laser printer which I’d sold to someone through Craigslist. We ended up having a very interesting four-hour discussion, most of which was standing up until he offered to cook something for me. An unexpected way to conduct a transaction, but the food was tasty and the conversation was a welcome turn from the gut-wrenching afternoon. (Grieving obviously hasn’t killed my appetite.) Thanks, W.

I didn’t go to San Francisco this weekend, for obvious reasons. Arliin’s memorial took place yesterday afternoon at the Argonaut Rowing Club, which is where Arliin and I were last together, on New Year’s Day. It was really the best place to hold the event, since rowing was a major part of Arliin’s life and she’d spent so much time there. We hung out on the dock in the summer, and on Labour Day weekend to watch the air show on the second day. I’m glad Erin and the others were able to secure the rowing club as the venue for Arliin’s memorial, because I couldn’t think of any appropriate alternatives.

The Henley Room was filled with Arliin’s people — people who worked with her, rowed with her, ran with her, and knew Arliin through her various activities. As a guesstimate, around half of the hundred or so attendees were from Scotiabank, where she’d worked for nearly thirty years (08/08/08 was her 30th anniversary, she told me).

I spent Friday night working on the memorial handout, a single-fold 8.5×11 double-sided page, which can be downloaded here*. I was hoping Erin or someone could proofread it before I printed it — all those years of working on economic and market research reports has ingrained this habit in me — but there simply was no time.

That wasn’t the important part, anyway, it was the fact that people could come together and talk about Arliin and the impact she made on our lives. Erin took the reins of welcoming the crowd and thus began the storytelling.

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Posted in the Toronto Star on Monday, January 7, 2008:

CASTER, Arliin Louise
Suddenly on January 3, 2008. Beloved daughter of Pat and Tom. Dear sister of Diane. She is survived by many aunts, uncles and cousins. A private family service has been scheduled with cremation to follow. Donations in Arliin’s memory to The Toronto Humane Society or The Terry Fox Foundation would be greatly appreciated. Arrangements entrusted to the Murray E. Newbigging Funeral Home, 416-489-8811.

There is currently a guestbook hosted by the Toronto Star online, although I’m sure there is an expiry date. Click here to view the guestbook and here to sign it.

This is a broadcast notice for anyone searching for a memorial service for Arliin: a memorial is being organized for this weekend by her friends currently/formerly of the Argonaut Rowing Club:

I was going to post my picture and some stories of Arliin tonight, but I think the events of the past few days have sucked the energy right out of me. The cats and I are going to hit the sack and try again tomorrow.

tired Beano

Well, the ordeal for the cats is over and I can breathe a little easier now that I’ve got them here and they seem to be doing OK. Once I get Beano to the vet for an assessment tomorrow I’ll feel less anxious about his overall health, because I know he’s off his injection regimen right now.

I ended up missing the family member by a few minutes when I went nearby to grab a takeout coffee after getting to Animal Services first, but the paperwork was completed speedily. The only thing I had to pay for was the two licenses at $15 each because I wasn’t adopting them directly from Animal Services, they were given to me by the family. I told the Animal Services worker that I had put a photo of my friend on CD to give to them, but said she would mail it for me.

The cats were pretty stressed out in their cages and in the car, so I got them home quickly with only a very brief pitstop for a litter box as it had completely slipped my mind to get one beforehand and I knew the stress would probably make them want to do their business as soon as they were released.

Beano says gimme gimme some lovin’

Thankfully I kept the bottle of Feliway from when I moved to Toronto with Hugh and sprayed it around the apartment — by their food bowls, litter box, wall corners, furniture, etc. When I first brought them in they stopped meowing, which was a good sign. After some spraying and laying down of food, water, and litter they conducted their Kitty Investigative Services for an hour or two before they discovered that I was more than a piece of furniture to rub against. Hey, I rubbed back!

Xena, sitting pretty

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