Ok. So jokes on me. Yesterday I was outside fretting about a caterpillar 🐛 lying helplessly vulnerable on the cold barren concrete step. It’s common knowledge by now that I’m a hopeless romantic when it comes to Mother Nature and all her little creatures.
My 1st attempt at “rescuing” her from potential predators was to carefully place her in a flower pot while balancing her furry little body on a thin slab of stone. This, however, was not very successful as you can see by her hasty escape. But still being fully committed to the rescue at this point and time, I then plopped her down below the towering concrete steps into a voluptuous array of flowering plants. That was it, my job was done. I was a hero 🤔
Within 24 hours this is who showed up right back on the front step. Now how the heck did she get back up there. That had to be quite the trek for her short stubby little legs.
My goodness, what resilience and determination in one scruffy little caterpillar.
So after several minutes of deep and at times heated consultations “we” finally agreed on a compromise. She could stay on the concrete steps but she had to accept some form of leafy camouflage – which involved a much juicier hibiscus leaf.
Sitting peacefully on my front porch with my new found friend, I figured out why the little bugger wasn’t fearful of being gobbled up at all with the help of Mr. Google. It seems the birdies and other critters in the neighborhood were well aware that my bright little yellow needle sticking out caterpillar was no other than a poisonous (only mildly I think 🤔) Acronicta Americana – American Dagger Moth.
Yup. Jokes on me 🦋 I do not think that Cati P was scared at all. (I had to give her a stage name for her international online debut)
I am writing a MEMOIR of growing up in Newfoundland as a ward of children services in foster care and I am looking for assistance in compiling pictures for a photo section within my book. I’ve started this “missing pictures” campaign, with the hope that folks who may have grown up around me or went to school with me, may have pictures that they wouldn’t mind sharing.
One of the pictures that you see here, was an image that I found one day posted on Facebook by a childhood friend living in the United States who had actually grown up right next door to me for years in Torbay Newfoundland. This gave me hope that there could be more.
I realize many years have passed since my growing up in St. John’s, Newfoundland, people have moved and photo albums have been carefully packed away in dusty forgotten attics or hidden in cobwebbed corners. Which is why I’m asking any and all, to share this post with as many people as you can.
Back then, we didn’t have the amazing social media platform that we do today that helps keep us all connected.
I am also keeping in mind, that perhaps not every household in Newfoundland is secretly stashing an actual picture of me (smile) – but if you do find me somewhere hidden among your own buried treasures, please do share.
My gratitude goes beyond words.
I will be self-publishing “The Match Still Burns” in Winter 2019 and I will be posting updates on both my social media platform and on my website, so please do feel free to either pop back for a visit or subscribe to our mailing list.
Do you know me?
From 1961 to 1967 I lived on Howe Place close to St. Joseph’s School in St. John’s as Judy Mallard.
From August 8, 1967 to December 30, 1968 I lived at 2 Norma’s Avenue in Mount Pearl – with James and Mary Francis Dinn.
From December 30, 1968 to 1983 I lived on Manning’s Hill Torbay – both as #judynolan and as #judymallard.
I welcome any and all images that
you may have to help me recapture these memories of my life growing up in
Newfoundland. Any information about your picture submissions with respect to
content and timeline would also be greatly appreciated.
There are several ways you can send me your pictures:
You can also upload your digital pictures via my website Contact page at:http://www.judithmallard.com/contact/– there is a form with the option of attaching a copy of your picture. – I’m also including the same Contact Form below. You can even take a picture of your picture with your phone and just upload it via our website or email it; AND
I was kind of lost the last time we spoke. Somehow our positions had gotten reversed.
I’m not really sure when or how that happened.
You were always the strong one. You who never forgot a single birthday or any other special occasion for that matter. Christmas, Easter, even Halloween, believe it or not (laughing). And to be honest, I didn’t always understand why. Because, I wasn’t even your child, and you were not my mother.
Over the years you watched as another foster mom would take me into the store where you worked standing behind the counter in your spotless white coat. You told me many times how you would tell your own mom how much you wanted me for yourself. I never understood that either. No one else seemed to want me, so why would a complete stranger even look at me like that. I was just a dirty welfare kid.
But love is like that, isn’t it Mom. She is not concerned with where you have come from, what you may have or how you may look. She wants to show you great things and limitless possibilities. She sits in the beat of your heart and rises in the precious air that we breath into our bodies. She is always there and everywhere. You cannot measure or restrict the depth nor breadth of her reach. She is omnipotent.
I am so sorry it took me so long to understand how much you loved me or why. I really didn’t get it. I was so broken. My scars cut so much more deeper than I had thought they did. But that didn’t stop you, did it? No one else had loved me the way you did. No other mom came to my rescue. Even though I spent so many years waiting for one to come riding in off the sunset.
I’m sad sometimes, that you couldn’t find me earlier. But I have you now right, so that’s all that matters. That’s all that should matter. Because regardless of how much time we were given, I got to love you and be loved by you. It is the quality of that love that truly matters, even though our hearts will always ache for the quantity too.
You must think I’m silly. Talking to you so much. Saying goodnight to a picture frame. If Dad is sitting next to you, he’s probably just shaking his head saying, “that’s our little girl.”
Come on now Mom, you have to see the irony in all of this. I talk to you more now than when you were alive. What’s up with that? Am I a silly human just being human, or a woman who is just coming into her own.
I understand that so many of us struggle with the passing of a loved one but I find solace and comfort in honoring your life, by keeping you here with me – in as many ways as I can. Don’t get me wrong, It still hurts, very much, but in a different way. It’s a heaviness now more so at times, rather than that initial piercing through the core of ones’ very being. And I’m learning to be okay with this, and in time I will be. But not just yet though.
That day I walked into the hospital to see you, was the day my heart broke in two. I cry each time I go there in my head. It makes my heart hurt so much. No more would I walk into the house on Marine Drive. Dad would have my ham in the oven, already half cooked and you would be fussing all about. Lord help us if Dad or I left something out of place. You walking around like a sentinel making sure we didn’t.
Do you remember that one time I purposely put a candy wrapper in the ashtray in the living room? I had a friend with me there that day. I told her you would catch it within seconds (laughing). And sure enough, in you came, walking through the house – and before you even had your coat off – there you were scooping the candy wrapper out of the dish. You pretended to be affronted when I first told you but I could see you holding back the laughter. You loved when I teased you like that.
But that day in the hospital room was so very different, wasn’t it. I started crying as soon as I saw you, then your niece starting crying, then you began to cry and then the other lady in the room started crying. I know they were crying because you and I were smiling ear to ear while bawling like babies. But it was beautiful wasn’t it mom. They were tears of joy and love and, and……
That was also the day I learned why your arm was hurting you so much. It wasn’t the diabetes was it? Cancer had spread to your bones. It was in your arm, your hip and even your shoulder. Cancer that we didn’t even know about. It was supposed to be diabetes remember? You said it was just your diabetes and the doctors just wanted to do more tests.
It seemed to happen overnight. Just mere months to announce a life must now come to an end. That seems so cruel, don’t you think? But then again we all live with not knowing when, don’t we? Why is it we seem to believe that death only comes to those who appear ill or frail? None of us are immune, are we Mom? The one thing none of us can escape.
I could see that it was causing you so much pain, so much unnecessary crippling pain. We come into this world kicking and screaming and sometimes it seems we must leave the same way as if it were some bad cosmic joke that none of us really gets. Is it the universe getting its wires crossed or is it just doing its own thing.
You lay there propped up in bed – looking so frail. A beautiful tiny porcelain doll in her pink cotton PJ’s with soft white lace trim. You looked so fragile, so small. How did you get so small? When did you get so small?
I sat on the bed facing you. I was very careful not to sit on you, because you know I can be a total klutz sometimes. I just wanted to scoop you up and squeeze you so tight, but I knew I couldn’t. It would cause you too much pain. So I sat next to you, gently holding your hand, trying not to break in two, trying my hardest to be a mom for you. You looked up at me with the saddest most vulnerable expression I have ever seen and asked me, “Judy, am I going to die?”
And without any hesitation, and tears sliding down my face, I whispered, “no mom you’re not, I promise.”
Maybe you have gone on to a different place or time – who knows, sometimes I can’t make any sense out of it all. Life, death – they confuse me. But as you can see – to me, you didn’t die and you never left me.
And I will continue to celebrate loving you and being loved by you each and every day.
Because mom, a promise is a promise. And you taught me that. And whenever I have any doubt I will always do what you told me to do…
Several years ago – I remember sitting with a good friend and mentor as he shared with me his own personal wisdom of the many do’s and don’ts that exists within the business world. I was just about to launch my own Recruitment Agency and I figured I could use all the help I could get.
I knew if I ever need help with anything at all – I could go to him – he would know the answer. He always knew the answer. And he was never too busy for me. He just wanted to see me succeed and that’s just the way he was.
One day in particular stands out more vividly than others. We were sipping our Tim Horton’s coffee in downtown Toronto, right at the corner of John and King, my friend was telling me about an upcoming surgery he was going to have.
“The doctors think I have carpal tunnel syndrome,” he said “they figure it should help.” I remember taking his hand in mine and running my fingers along the smoothness of his skin – I told him he had baby soft skin and we both started laughing.
I could see how the muscles on his hand seemed to cave in, “that doesn’t look like any carpal tunnel I’ve read about,” I mentioned to him. We both shrugged. Maybe because we didn’t want it to be anything else. Isn’t ignorance supposed to be bliss?
Why is it for such an intelligent species, we tend to put on blinders when it comes to illnesses and dying. Why do we believe that we have all the time in the world to do whatever it is we desire. And more importantly, why are we so afraid to even talk about it. But therein is the reason, isn’t it. We are afraid. And if we don’t talk about it – it won’t be real. How’s that for naiveté.
And while we all will vehemently state “everyone has to die one day”, it is with reckless abandonment – that we try to distance ourselves from actually feeling this and the weight that often comes with it. In some childlike way, we rationalize that even though we are aware of it – it just happens to everyone else around us.
Then one day it happens. The “around us” gets closer. And we’re shaken to our core. We get scared, we get angry and sometimes we even hate.
We feel insulted when we have to go about our regular day as if everything is the same or dare I say it, normal. We want to scream and yell at the injustices – something to mark the occasion – something that brings attention to the fact that, “this isn’t just another day.”
We get up the next morning; go about reviewing our same daily tasks, perhaps in between booking doctor’s visits and some other mundane appointments. Most within our circles or network of connections are none the wiser. Because you see – it is just another day. And life does not stop when you are handed a death notice. In fact – in my opinion, you are never more alive, or aware of it.
I’ll be very honest, it was hard to see my friend. I was often at a loss. I didn’t have any magic words – I didn’t have anything that could make it better. And that made me so very angry and very scared.
We chatted, as best as we could – he would get frustrated sometimes – but dear god who wouldn’t, with the battle he had before him. I couldn’t always make out what he was trying to say, which also frustrated me, because I didn’t want him to get frustrated – but between the two of us, we did the best we could With each passing week – it was harder, and I was often unsure what to do. I wanted to fix it – and I knew I couldn’t. You just feel so damn helpless.
At times, I just wanted to rip this evil thing out of him. And that is the only way I can describe it. I wanted to take away his fear when he would tell me how afraid he is, especially when he knew what his future was going to be like. I listened to him when he would tell me how much he worried about his wife and how he was so amazed at how much she actually does. He was aware of this, every single day. I smile when I think of that. She’s such a tiny lass. Yet her strength in facing such devastating adversity was simply beautiful and inspiring and so filled with love. At times it did knock her down, and even though it was not easy to get back up, she always did.
And still our daily lives go on. Emails are answered, messages are texted and appointments are confirmed.
One thing that initially caused me a wee bit of confusion with my friend, was how persistent he was in wanting to make sure his business kept moving smoothly. I’ve had to wrestle with that one, and still do at times. My instinctive reaction was, “what the hell, forget about it, how can that be important now.” But for so many of us, it is. I know his motivation was also based on watching his wife. He had to look after her, he still saw that as his responsibility – I saw that in everything he pushed himself to do. And that’s just the way it is. Life goes on – for everyone. No meanness meant or cold heartedness. Regardless of what a doctor may tell us – there are still things that have to be done. And we have families that we will worry about until the day we take our last breath. That is who we are and that is life.
There were times when I thought there was such cruelness afoot, some bad cosmic influence. How can one be expected to go about their day when given such horrible news? But people are doing this every single day. They get up each morning – put one foot in front of the other – when possible, and they face their day. Because they know what the alternative is, and they choose to live first and foremost, as painful and as difficult as that can be. To me they are true heroes, they are the magical markers in our lives.
And the first thing that we should do, is applaud them – recognize them – and help whenever we can. And never, ever, dismiss the obvious elephant in the room. Some things cannot be hidden, nor should be.
I didn’t know how to tell my friend how much I hated his ALS and how it made me angry. It confused me in ways that I can’t really explain, even to myself. So I would tell him how much I love him – I would make him laugh, he would make me cry – and we would also make each other strong. I never say, it’s not fair. I understand – it just is. Once you realize this, it’s then that you can try to make a difference, no matter how big or how small. You help out, you listen and you try not to get caught up in thinking that you have to fix something that can’t be fixed.
I don’t see my work day like I use to. I don’t see any day like I use to. Is it my maturing age, or is it in the fact that too often I see my friends and family just not being there anymore. What we do each day, work or otherwise, is supposed to be a choice and not a chore. We can find joy and choose joy. Even amidst the pain, the trauma and the not so fun parts. It’s also a day where we should never forget to reach out and let others know they are being thought of. I try not to take anything for granted. I cannot reiterate enough, that life is so short, but you can do a lot with the one you have, you truly can. Just open your eyes.
“Understand your WORTH. Value your LIFE. Appreciate your BLESSINGS. Be GRATEFUL.”
As much as there is sadness afoot, there is also an abundance of love and joy around us. You have to believe this. No job placement or new business will ever replace that. And it is with that humility and gratitude that everything else just falls into place, and begins to make sense.
If I could wish anything for anyone – it would be to find that balance.
I sincerely believe we all do have a purpose and that we all can make a difference, no matter how big or how small. It is up to each and every one of us to choose to make that difference.
For myself, I find that I am no longer searching for those definitive answers to “why this or why that happens.” As corny as it may sound….”it just is.” I’m actually astonished that I find peace in such three simple words.
I remember an interesting passage I once read in a book, called Laws of Attraction, it makes more sense to me now.
” If contrast were to cease, so would expansion. We need expansion for eternity. Without it there wouldn’t be more. There wouldn’t be us.”
And I am so thankful for “us,” in whatever shape or form.
I’m not writing this article to point out emphatically what is right or what is “more” wrong. I can only write it from a perspective that I have nurtured and grown over the years based on my experience in the Recruitment industry and hopefully it may provide you with some additional insight.
As you can see – my own LinkedIn profile pichas somewhat of a business casual flair (moreso than a night out with my buddies at the local watering hole). However I have to be honest, I’ve never been a fan of sitting in front of the camera. Ask any of my friends and family who have tried to take my picture over the years and it’s close to impossible. But I really do believe it can make a difference, especially when you are out there trying to promote yourself.
This particular picture for me was an accidental snapshot – which ended up being my profile pic. Because to me – it does represent that this is how I feel when I am doing what I am passionate about. And yes – that is running my own recruitment agency. If you ever want to see a real life sample of that passion – just ask me about my company.
And that is how I determined which profile picture to use when presenting myself in the business world. Which one makes “me” feel comfortable.
Don’t put up one because someone tells you that you have to, or you will just end up grabbing the first one you can think of, which may not always be the best route to take. You have to be motivated by presenting YOU. A picture truly can “paint a thousand words“. Not to mention it’s also a good exercise for you to practice putting yourself out there with confidence.
I’ve also spoken to both friends and colleagues about their views with respect to the infamous profile pic. One colleague gave me a very interesting story. She said she would never post her profile pic because she fears judgment based on her skin color and her personal style.
I didn’t like hearing that.
But she had a point – and it really bothered me that she did.
Regardless of how open and diversified we may think we are – there will always be judgement based on personal bias. Yes – even in the business world. There are just more places to hide it.
I can only hope that with an awareness of this, that “ we the people,” will perhaps hesitate in passing immediate judgement.
As a recruiter I do prefer to see profile pictures when searching for new candidates and talent. But even though it is my first preference, I do not dismiss a potential applicant if their profile is strong from a content perspective. Content really is King in my business, especially in the early screening stages.
At times I have had to wrestle with my own perception of “what is right or wrong”, especially from a societal perspective. Something we are all often influenced by.
And my deciding opinion is – yes, put up a picture if you are comfortable with it. We all have that one picture where we have to admit “yes, I do look good in that one.” That one picture that makes you smile and say “that’s me.”
You can also base your picture selection on what industry you are in and/or what seniority level you are currently at. I for one do not want to see a senior level executive seeking new opportunities, with a picture showing him or her out dancing with friends or “having a few”. Even though I have absolutely no issues with either social function, I do believe there has to be some level of decorum.
Keeping in mind, I would also have no problem seeing a profile pic that reflects a funky kick ass illustration, if I happen to be looking for a 3D artist.
My final recommendation – is whenever possible – try and put your best picture forward and particularly one that reflects who you are and maybe even what you do. Find a balance that best supports both aspects.
I wrestle with this. A lot these days.
Especially the death part.
And not out of any morbid
I try not to think of what if,
what if it has all been in vain?
I want Him, It or Someone to tell me,
tell me it’s going to be ok.
He hasn’t done that yet,
or has He?
Then one day, you get a call.
She fought a brave battle.
Your heart sinks.
The pain. The confusion.
This fear that you feel inside.
You can’t see it. You can’t touch it.
At times you can’t even describe it.
But you know it’s there.
You stumble around in the dark,
this maze of broken glass.
Every turn, every step
more painful, than the last.
We try to help each other.
Whispered collections of jumbled thoughts,
I think, I hope. I pray.
Maybe I can wear it down,
this albatross of affliction,
this spectre of death.
Its mere mention makes my skin crawl.
The confusion, the fear,
as we stand on this precipice,
of death and dying.
Would I change it?
And then I look at her.
Knowing what I know, would
I take it back. When I press pause,
rewind – or even delete?
just wipe it all out.
Take away the memories,
her memories, her love,
No, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t.
She is the air that I breathe,
she is the beating of my heart
she is the light in my life.
And therein lies the secret
of who will win this race
of David and Goliath
the fear we fight in spite.
If you can choose love, every single time, even when you’re hurting,
I’m pissed off and I’m angry. We all should be angry. Why aren’t we? Just take a look at today’s news headlines – see where the final chapter of a precious little girl’s life is finally laid to rest, stacked up against the other headline stories. It seems there is more of a kerfuffle over things such as – “Trump’s idea of buying Greenland” or “Harry and Meghan branded hypocrites for using private jets.”
Really? This is what is monopolizing headlines today?
I have never been a mom. But I have so much deep respect for all women who give everything that they’ve got to be the best possible mom they can be. I have heard countless stories of mothers working multiple jobs, raising children primarily on their own – and still never even consider giving up. I envy and admire their resilience and strength and I stand in awe of their courage and unfaltering love.
I have read that it “takes a village to raise a child” – but what happens when the village cannot – or chooses not to. What happens to those children then?
I will admit – I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I think I have more questions than answers. But maybe, just maybe if enough of us, keep asking more and more questions – than perhaps we can finally find answers that mean something other than a headline that triggers a million likes or whether or not Harry and Meghan are using a private jet – and who cares if they are. If I had access to one I would probably use it too.
As a child, I was one of many who was put into a very flawed and broken foster care system in the ’60s and ’70s on the east coast of Canada, St. John’s Newfoundland. Over the years I have heard random indications of “oh it’s because of the times, etc.,” which totally pisses me off. That’s like saying assaults against women and children is more acceptable “based on the times” – and THAT pisses me off even more.
I was one of five children and the only little girl. I had thought that would make me special – but it didn’t.
When I started writing my Memoirs, The Match Still Burns – it began as a journey of healing and trying to find answers. I just wanted to try and put back together all the broken pieces that kept popping up as I grew older. As I got deeper and deeper into my writing it became so much more. As a young child growing up in an abusive and neglected environment – I never felt I had a voice. But I do have one now. And even though I could not speak up for myself then – perhaps I can find a healing space and a place of courage in speaking up for other children.
There were so many of us left unattended and forgotten. We were the lost kids. And from what I heard – it paid well too. It had all the remnants of an easy and profitable cash and grab. Get the kid, grab the money and with little or no quality checks or operational monitoring. I’m sure there were people signing up in droves.
And it was not “because of the times” but because of the individuals and organizations that failed in their tasks and responsibilities to look after the vulnerable children that came into their care – and a responsibility that should always be held to the strictest and highest standards of accountability – but it is not. Or we would not be still telling these stories time and time again.
Where is our anger? This isn’t something that should be buried in one report after another that touts of all the amazing things that can be done and should be done. This is a call to action.
And still the stories come – day after day. One more horrifying than the next. When will it be enough and why hasn’t it already been seen as such?
Last week through many of my off the wall chats and conversations I heard someone casually make mention that “ohthat was back then” – as if it was most likely just because of those times. Does anyone really believe this?
Which brings me to an article that I discovered on my newsfeed today, August 19, 2019.
I can’t begin to say how many types of wrong and who to blame is peppered throughout this article. I wouldn’t know who to shout at first. The tremendous sadness of it all just sucker-punched me right in the chest. Hours later and I’m still trying to process it. How could this happen?
Then I came across another section in this heartbreaking story:
“Baldwin had strong words in her decision for the Children’s Aid Society, pointing out that the organization was supposed to see Kaylie at least every 30 days, but at the time of her death they had not been to her home in three months.
“Despite knowing Kaylie’s medically fragile condition, and being told directly by Meredith and Kaylie’s school that Meredith was struggling, the children’s aid worker allowed Meredith to cancel five appointments,” said Baldwin.
“These canceled visits should have been alert signs that all was not going well with Meredith and Kaylie. On two occasions, Meredith canceled, reporting that Kaylie was sick. What more information could the children’s aid have possibly needed to take action in this obvious crisis?”
Baldwin said the children’s aid had a responsibility to see Kaylie and had the authority to take her to a hospital for medical care if required.
“They failed to act upon their mandate in this tragic case,” said Baldwin.”
This tragic incident occurred in 2017 and was brought to trial in 2019.
From my own personal story, the first holding home that I was placed in was with foster parents James and Mary Dinn of Mount Pearl, Newfoundland. Go ahead – do a Google search – if you don’t know what you’re looking for, you will have a pretty hard time finding out anything about them. They too are buried down in one of those infamous “what we are going to do now” type of reports.
But perhaps these next few images will give you some insight.
So ask yourself this question – how can a foster home go from being “an excellent home & all children placed here improve greatly” – to being closely supervised and then closed – all within a one to two-year timeframe?
As you can see in this newspaper excerpt below – where there is smoke – there is definitely fire.
And remember to keep in mind – this woman had 46 children in her carebefore they decided to close her down.
When I sought further information from my so-called legal guardians under the Freedom of Information Act – I received numerous documents that had me wondering if they actually took the time to read what they were sending me.
But the one section that stood out the most that had me shaking my head in complete and utter disbelief and boldly typed on their official agency letterhead was a section that read:
“Records indicate that you did eventually become a ward of the province. Where, When and under what circumstances is unknown.
You were in the care of James and Mary Francis of 2 Norma’s Avenue, Mount Pearl from August 8, 1967, to December 30, 1968.
Why you were placed here before eventually being placed with the Nolan’s of Torbay is unknown.”
Unknown? I can honestly say that I have no response to that – even now, years after reading that two-page letter that summed up my life in five tiny bullet points. How can you not know how you took legal guardianship of a young child?
My story began on August 8, 1967. And the sad thing is – even as a young child of six, I do remember how I ended up in that wicked woman’s house – I guess Children’s Services forgot to update their files.
So excuse my skepticism, if when asked if I believe that things like this still exist today, I will reply without hesitation and with a profound sadness – yes, most definitely I believe they do.
One of my all time favorite writing, soulful experiences I have had to date. The connections and the wisdom inspired by so many within this group – will stay with me for a life-time. Thank you Martha Beck – and I will be back for another class session!
I will also be adding posts and links of some pieces of my writing that I was able to produce during this amazing course. I love being able to recommend writing programs once I have been able to experience it first hand and to be able to talk about it with others from a first hand experience.
I would be lost without all the wonderful writers, thinkers and philosophers who share their wisdom and knowledge every single day. It would be remiss of me not to pass that along.
“WRITE INTO LIGHT is the most intimate project I’ve ever created, and the most ambitious. You will learn the art of mining your own experience for wisdom that can genuinely help other people. It’s going to transform you. It’s going to create culture and community. It’s going to change the world. I’m not even kidding.” Martha Beck