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| Deb and Laurel |
She used this chance to speak from the heart about what
being a woman means to her. She asked me if her speech was too long to publish
to the blog—and I answered, as we often do, that people can read as much or as
little as they choose. But I can’t imagine anyone choosing to skim it (although
you can skim the (unexpected) parts about me ;) ); Deb’s speech is fantastic.
Of course I am always aware of how amazing Deb is, but she still manages
to surprise me and take it to a whole other level. She makes me so so proud. So here is Deb’s Women’s Day
speech in all its unadulterated glory!
Deb: In honour of International Woman’s Day, I want to talk
about the joy of the female presence in my life. I say “female presence” not
only because of the women in my life, but because I am blessed to have in my
family two men who are very much in touch with their feminine side. I am
married to actor Colin Mochrie and we have one beautiful 21-year-old boy, Luke.
Colin, for his part, cries like a girl during So You Think You Can Dance. It is sweet—and yes, I got his
permission to share that.
When we had a boy, we thought, “Okay, here we go, hockey,
baseball, soccer. But the boy had other plans. Ballet, jazz, musicals, modern
art. When he was around ten, he decided to add a game to family game nights. He
called it: Luke Goes on a Date. I would play his “date” and my husband would be
relegated to play bus driver, chauffeur, waiter, cab driver, and that ilk. He had to reconcile himself to being a “special
business extra” in our son’s dating life. So we would play the game and Luke
would take his part very seriously, as would I (Oedipal implications aside).
At the end of playing our very first time, our son broke
down in tears. We were shocked, especially Colin who felt that he had
particularly excelled at the role of the valet guy. We asked the boy what was
wrong. God bless him, through tears he said, “It’s just that, some day, some
day it’s going to be real!”
One day when playing the date game, he stopped in his tracks
as we fake-walked into a restaurant, “Mom what do I do about the door. Should I
open the door for my date? Will she like it; will she be upset?” And I said, “Luke,
here are the three stages of opening the door in a woman’s life. In her teens
she will think it is sweet and romantic because she is all squishy about the
prospect of love and romance. In her college years she will reel on you. ‘Why
the hell are you opening the door for me for? Am I helpless, am I an idiot? Do
I not know how the damn handle works?!’ In her middle years, she will be
comfortable with her equal role to men and be grateful for the thoughtful
gesture, secure in the fact that masculine and feminine have nothing to do with
equality.” He soaked it all up like a sponge and, although he is only going on
22, he has had a great relationship with a beautiful young woman for three
lovely years. I’d like to think I had something to do with that. Me and his
cab-driving dad.
I am a lucky woman, my friends tell me, as my husband does
all the cooking, grocery shopping, and laundry. I know what you’re thinking:
What the hell do you do? I think my son said it best when asked to describe
what his parents did for an essay at the age of 6. After listing Colin’s jobs
for two long pages, he finished with: “Mommy lights the candles and pours the
wine.” He was exaggerating a little, of course. I now use battery candles that
are on timers, leaving me extra time to allow the wine to breath.
But in my defense, my husband LOVES to cook. It is his hobby
and his joy. And he does the shopping because he does the cooking. He does it
alone because he says, and I quote, “You just slow me down.” And he does
laundry because—given the vastness of my wardrobe—I need only do laundry twice
a year, during summer and winter solstice. My husband on the other hand has
enough socks and underwear to last exactly two weeks. That is the way he likes
it—and who am I to argue if a few of my items get cleaned in the mix. I am just
that kind of collaborating partner.
And believe me, I do plenty. Believe you me. I know it
sounds like I doth protest too much and I admit that my list would sound lame
if I spouted it off, but I do what every other woman I know does, I keep our
family afloat; I keep all the cogs greased and turning; I keep all the balls in
the air. Okay I know that sounds like I am generalizing because I have no real
list, but it’s not. All I know is, I never sit down. You are going to have to
trust me on that.
So, branching out from the TESTROGEN in my house (just
invented that word), I am surrounded by a wealth of wonderful women. I have
tons of dear friends, some that I have had from the age of five whose
relationships I still cultivate. But I have also come to friendships later in
life that surprised the heck out of me. One such relationship is my guest here
today. My wonderful and charming friend and writing partner, Barbara Radecki.
We have collaborated on TV scripts, movies, and the project closest to our
hearts: our blog, The Middle Ages. When I met Barbara in 2001 doing a film
together I was instantly struck by her charm, gentle manner, energy and
haunting beauty. But I had no interest in pursuing a friendship with her—and not
because she was a shade taller than me (6 inches) and a tad prettier (waayyyy
prettier). You know how it is when the friend roster is packed to capacity and
you barely have enough time for the friends you currently have? Well, that was
the case here.
Barbara and I had started shooting a film called Expecting
on the unfortunate start date of 9/11 and the day after, Barb went to her local
mall to get some school stuff for her girls. The short story is that as she sat
in the parking lot chatting with her husband on the phone who was in Windsor on
business and she suddenly found herself the target of an attempted carjacking.
Suddenly she was kicking and screaming as she fought off her aggressor, a man
wearing a scarf around his face demanding the car. She kicked his ass from here
to there. The next day I asked her how she did it? Wasn’t she scared? How could
she kick and scream and win? She simply said, “After 9/11, I was not going to
be a victim.” And I thought, “DAMN, gotta make room for this one in my life.
Gotta. That girl is the whole package and I need this special gal in my life!”
I think woman are stupendous creatures and not just the
stuff of the online poems and platitudes that I get in my inbox every day. Now,
make no mistake, I am not casting aspersions at the Irma Bombeckian
bombardment. On the contrary, I love Irma. She was one of the great broads. But
I will warn you. If you send me one of these, I tell you in advance that I will
not be forwarding them to 5 fabulous women I know and sitting by the computer
to see if I get five back. Apparently getting five back in the yard stick by
which my worth as a fabulous woman is measured. My reasons are this: I am
secure enough at this stage of my life to know that I am fabulous and insecure
enough to sit waiting all day, staring at my inbox, obsessing over how many I
am getting back or not.
Because of our blog, The Middle Ages, I am now lucky enough
to also be warmly surrounded by women from all over world. These women come in
the form of teenagers and grandmothers, and everything in between, with every
point of view imaginable. My world of woman is branching out thanks to our
blog. Oh, and if you are thinking of joining the party, keep in mind that
typing “blogspot” is imperative after “The Middle Ages”, unless of course you
are interested in medieval forms of torture and tales of scurvy and the plague.
Because of all my women, young and old, far and wide, family
and friend, with their voices secure in my heart and in my everyday life, I
really don’t need the little daily reminders of what women are. I know what
women are, as I have seen the stuff of which they are made every day throughout
my life.
The women in my life are the people who drop off coolers of
food to my 85-year-old parents to lessen their load. They arrive at my doorstep
when they know I need a face-to-face and can’t ask. They sit at deathbeds
ushering a fellow human out of this life when others can’t take it. They plant
gardens and send flowers. They keep the family traditions going year after
year. They emphasize the beauty in this world when it is threatened by the bad.
They keep their relationship conversations going in good times and bad and
refuse to be silent and let issues slide. They stand up for other women. They
do not paint all men with a single brush. They judge each human as a human
first. And yes platitudes abound as we laugh till we pee while we eat chocolate
and watch An Affair to Remember.
Thank God there are plenty of those good times. But when times are bad, these
women are the people I turn around and see in front of me. They are the one’s
asking, “What can I do?”
