Back to Black

In April 1993, I was already going through my own personal hell. Events unfolding had just pushed me... sorry SHOVED me off a precipice that would require years to recover from but I didn't know that yet. I was standing on the stairs at a boutique I was doing wardrobing and buying for when the news came over the radio that Kurt Cobain had been found dead. Everything stopped and I stood paralyzed not able to take in and process what I'd just heard. I remember feeling like someone had just punched me in the ribs - hard - and I was winded. Getting enough breath back to speak, I asked an equally shocked co worker if they had just said what I thought they said.

That night, I went to a friends house and the group of 7 or so of us just sat in stunned silence watching Much Music who had been covering the event since announcing it earlier. After Erica Ehm started making mistakes on simple details like how many albums Nirvana had released, we left and went to a pub around the corner and had quite a few drinks.

To this day, if I head "All Apologies" I am usually reduced to tears. For most Gen Xers, he was our John Lennon.

Fast forwarding to early 2004, I am engaged and one of the things my future brother in law sends is a copy of a CD by an Amy Winehouse called "Frank". It had been ten years since I'd been excited about a new musician. Not anything like I normally listened to, it spoke to me and I'd crank it and sing along at the top of my lungs. The day Back to Black was released, I had my copy soon after the store opened and I was blown away. There are several tracks I love on it but my hands down favourite was Back to Black. LOVED the video - black and white had always spoken to me with it's detail, shadows and crisp lines.

In the video, she is burying her broken heart. It plays like a funeral you'd see in Britain and is by far one of the most beautiful videos on my favourites list. Her make up, hair and clothes spoke to the style hungry design student in me... a huge fuck you to mainstream and expected and to me, this was exactly what was needed in music and fashion at this point.

She met her Blake and seemed to fall into a wild kind of love you first experience when you're young and haven't had your heart beaten down a few times. He was her soul mate at the time and by the way they looked at each other, you knew that it was mutual. He introduced her to crack and cocaine. He loved her THAT much.

At first, the press seemed to jump on the old heroin chic bandwagon of years before and any photo of her would show how wonderfully skinny she was becoming. It was funny to them... go to rehab? No no no. What's funnier than that, right?

The thing is, she DID go to rehab. In fact, she was in rehab when she won her Grammy. After being granted permission to leave and perform for the Grammys via satellite, she was shoved on stage, propped up likely shot up and made to perform. Her reaction to winning artist of the year was genuine and fresh. I sat and cried happy tears.

Then the bottom fell out and suddenly, heroin chic was not so chic any more. As if the media needed reminding there is NOTHING chic about being that addicted or looking like that... nope... all of a sudden any unflattering photo of Amy was worth more than a flattering shot. Fabulous. Just what a struggling addict needs... another blow to the self esteem.

All of a sudden, Blake filed for divorce and she was falling farther down the rabbit hole but this time, Wonderland didn't exist.

My mobile phone went off in the middle of a 'look around' trip to Toys R Us. It simply said "BBC is saying Amy Winehouse was found dead" from my husband. I froze. This was too familiar, suddenly. I literally could not move. I could feel the lump in my throat growing and I looked around the store and saw people going on about their day not knowing she was gone. Knowing my husband was likely busy, I texted one of my best friends who had internet on her phone at work to please check to see if this was true. Confirmed. I needed to leave.

"Why are you crying, Mommy?" I told my two girls that Amy Winehouse had died. "why?" Why indeed.

Over the next two days, I witnessed a huge amount of vile opinions and lack of compassion. I got sick of seeing "she deserved it" " it was obvious, a matter of time" and the holier than thou crowd telling the rest of us it was a lesson to just say no..., like that lesson worked the first time. People with Buddhas as their profile pics on facebook were proudly declaring their lack of compassion... it wasn't a tragedy. Like I argued on a friend's status... my cousin died at 20 from an overdose. Three times in rehab. Do YOU want to call his parents, sister and brother and tell them it's not a tragedy? I'll more than oblige you with the number. I dare you. No one took me up on the dare. Big surprise.

No I didn't know Amy personally. I wasn't that lucky... or maybe I was. How much her family and friends have felt all these years knowing there was nothing they could to to help her other than going through the motions of attempting to get her to accept help. The addiction wasn't going to let that happen though. The addiction owned her and she wasn't making any decisions without checking with it first. I didn't know her yet I am heartbroken. Too young, too talented, too under appreciated to go yet. But she IS gone and yes it IS a tragedy.

Back to black. Rest well Amy and if there are such things as choirs of angels, show them how it's done.

The Killer Next Door

We live in a semi detached house. Not our first choice by a long shot. It's in the suburbs, it matches all the other houses on the street.... in fact, it matches quite a few other houses on other streets in this subdivision. Somewhere in the very far recesses of my mind, I can remember when this was all a farmer's field. The farmhouse to it was around until the mid 80s I think but this subdivision was built in the mid to late 70s.

In 1979, my mother's best friend moved in to what was then a new house on the crescent which backs on to our street. I remember going out exploring one night with her son and some of his friends and running around some of the houses in the process of being built. At that time, they were framed, floored and that was about it. If memory serves, the one we went into was right across the street from where I live now.

We moved in December 2005. A few days before Holly was born. We had come to the point where getting a house downtown that we could afford and liked was impossible so it is remaining our pipe dream. The day we moved in, the neighbour guy came right over and introduced himself. Nothing was in the house... I was waiting for the appliances, nine months pregnant, no where to sit and unable to help do ANYTHING. I saw his little daughter once in the backyard a few weeks later and then they were gone. As Adam says "pulled a runner" and left nothing but a huge pile of garbage that kept getting visited by seedy characters in beat up trucks until it was carted off by the garbageman.

It was empty a long time. The actual owners would come stick up hardware store signs that read "for rent" and they'd no sooner be gone than it would either fall over or be stolen. Finally, a family moved in. There was a lot of yelling and cursing outside, bratty kids hopping the fence all the time which resulted in my husband becoming "that guy" who goes out to shout at the kids not to hop the fence.

There seemed to be a million kids living in the house ranging in age from 15 down to 5. The mother would appear the odd time but mostly it was her boyfriend outside yelling at the kids or her. One day there was a huge fight and soon after, the for rent sign reappeared.

Next was a family from North Bay. They had a huge German Sheppard dog named Roxy and Holly was in love. EVERY dog she saw was "Roxy Dog" be it real or plastic or stuffed animal... Roxy Dog. These people seemed much calmer but no less white trash. There were loud, outdoor fights and music that shook the walls in OUR house. They had a little girl who blissfully slept through it all or wandered off . The dog got out on a regular basis due to a lovely dog sized hole in the fence.

Adam announced one day before Christmas that he had agreed to look after the house when they were 'back up north' for Christmas. I asked him the usual "for how long" " did you get a number they can be reached at if something happens " etc and all I got in return was a blank stare and "no". They left a note in the mailbox the morning they went saying they couldn't find the key so they were leaving the side door unlocked. Lovely. No contact number, no instructions, no nothing. At the time, I was babysitting a little girl the same age as Ava so it was me and three kids under 3. One morning it was cold and pouring rain and I noticed a guy in a jeep parked in front of the house in the middle of the street with his window down and yelling something. I went outside and he informed me the dog was sitting on the back stoop. Sure enough, there was Roxy. Socking wet and happy to be let back in. I have no idea to this day how she got out but scant seconds later, Animal Control drove slowly up the street. Did I mention Roxy's license was expired?

Another night, it was bitterly cold and windy as hell. No snow, just the wind. Adam went over to feed the dog and take her for a walk. He was gone longer than usual and when he DID come back, he was out of breath and frozen. He had gone out to tend to Roxy and she had met him on the front steps with the front door wide open. Roxy saw Adam and thought she would have a bit of fun so took off running. Adam ran after her for about three blocks until she dashed across Sarnia Road ( a four lane, busy street) with Adam hot on her heels. She almost made it the block to the railway tracks but decided to let Adam off and take her home. I came over to help him figure out what the hell had gone wrong with the door. In the door jam, there is a steel plate that the deadbolt part fits into... well this was gone so the slightest push would open the door even if it was locked. We piled tons of shit behind the door to keep it shut. Weights, bags of dog food, anything we could find. All the while, Roxy is asleep on the couch... occasionally opening one eye to watch.

The spring came and one day we came home to three police cars on the street and the neighbour's boyfriend being hauled out in cuffs. Soon after a real for rent sign went up with an estate agent and everything.

It sat empty for a few more months until a family moved in with teenagers. They were gone just as fast but not before a loud party.

Finally, the Muslim family moved in. There were three little boys, the father apparently did research with breast cancer at the hospital and the mother stayed home with the kids. Other than the live from Mecca prayer music that was loud enough to come through the walls a few times a day, and the noise of kids there was finally peace. They would wave, no yelling and screaming, no cursing or hopping fences. Polite kids and the mom was nice to talk to while we waited for the school bus. Ava being Ava was a bit shy and would play side by side but not with their youngest who was a few weeks younger than she. Finally, they started playing together. Malik would be lifted over the fence and run around in our garden with the girls. His older brothers looked like they wanted to come too but were too cool for younger kids AND girls at that. We knew they were moving. He didn't get along with his boss and quit. Being a muslim man, it wasn't surprising. They tend to be a bit of an authority on everything and do not take well to authority. The family was to go back to Jordan for a few weeks then come back and move. The wife told me the family moving in was Indian and were very nice with two little boys.

I thought GREAT! More quiet, respectful neighbours. I was wrong. They are not Indian. They are from Sudbury. There is a joke I always tell when someone is going anywhere north of Barrie... I'll say "Sudbury (or where ever)? There's nothing up there but whores and hockey players" ha ha ha we all laugh. Well I am not laughing now.

My first inkling there was something odd afoot was the number of pickups that arrived with the family. Some kind of converted horse wagon as a moving van and a huge trampoline. This was quickly accompanied by one of those big, blow up swimming pools. There are more indoor chairs outside in their yard than are IN my house and now a huge... and I mean HUGE tent is stuck up in the middle of the back. There are two 'rooms' on either side of a main "room" in this tent. I've never seen a thing like it. There is an older guy... maybe somewhere in his 40s with that white blond scraggly hair and ruddy complexion... he always ALWAYS has a trucker hand on his head and a beer in his hand. His wife... seems nice enough but has smoker voice. A younger girl... maybe her younger sister... and a guy that wears shorts large enough for the entire family to fit in, no shirt huge gold chain around his neck. He is usually seen with a smoke hung out his mouth and is usually doing wheelies up the road on his bike or in the back with his smoke, a beer in one hand and a water gun in the other... spraying the kids and women alike. They yell over the fence (chain link, came with the original house) to me when I am BBQing and say how they don't like the fence as it keeps the kids apart. Little do they know my plan for a nice big privacy fence. As my dad always said... "good fences make good neighbours. " Truer words, my dear father... truer words.