Kym and me.

One can say a heck of a lot about Kymberli Barney. Beyond her family and friends, Kym touched many people with her gifts. I'm sifting through my memories of her and it actually blows my mind not only how much she accomplished, but also the precious communities she blessed with her heart. It's not a surprise to see how loved she was. I only met Kym in person once, but I first got to know her as a fellow blogger, and so that's what I'll spring from here.

To be a blogger, and to spark and nurture the very specific kind of friendship that exists on the Internet, is a new and divergent behaviour in the realm of human connection. It's a relationship that can expand very quickly from casual witticisms to sharing the intimate intricacies of our lives. Like pen pals on steroids, thanks to technology. Quite often bloggers share the subtle nuances of hopes and fears with their blogging community that they may never feel safe or comfortable sharing with In Real Life loved ones. The intensity of such a friendship has baffled those who exist in-person; how can you feel this depth of caring for someone you've never met?

How, indeed? The written word is powerful, and so are drawings. Words and pictures open doors. And that's pretty much what happened with Kym and me.

It was 2011. There I was, happily blogging my drawings right here, when some lady called The Smartness started waving at me on Twitter. She said she'd drawn me (usually it's me who draws people) and put it on her blog and was terrified that I'd be mad. 

I
Kym's drawing of me, on a mug. I'm actually terrified to break it now.

Well. As if. LOL.
I clicked the link and promptly fell in love.

Kym had dubbed me an Honorary Gangsta in her drawing, complete with baddass attitude and hefty bling. Gangstas and Bling were identifiers she often invoked in her writing to connect her readers, and sometimes as a trope to push a point, as only a Black woman could. Kym's sense of humour was both mightily sophisticated and steeped in the Brew of the Potty; damn she was funny. I can't count the number of times she showed herself out. 

That's how it started. Kym drew me, and in so doing, drew me to her. I drew her right back and sealed the deal, Gangsta 101. 

As Kym would say: WORD.

What I saw in Kym was a kindred creative spirit. Her humility, thoughtfulness, curiosity and sheer brains, it all shone through in her writing. She was a natural leader, organizing fundraisers and support for others. We put our heads and hearts together on projects, as friends and bloggers, as teachers and artists, as mothers and wives. She inspired me. Kym was generous with her light. 

The rest was history. Eight years of comments on blog posts and social media, advice asked and given by email, endless meandering conversations via private messages. Always there, just one click away. Even when she got sick. I did my best to make her laugh.

Radio Kym!

Kymotherapy!

I told her I loved her. She said she loved me too. And then she was gone. 

*****

Kym had often ninja-posed for photos after some of her cancer treatments. When her mum asked me to draw a cartoon of Ninja Kym to print on their Celebration-Of-Life t-shirts, I thought about drawing her in the usual way: cute, hilarious and kicking cancer's ass. Kym was funny but she was beautiful too, and so much more than a simple stick-figure cartoon could convey. 

So I went with my super-hero style; classic ninja pose, ascending with dreamy heart-shaped radial wings, and a halo, the ultimate Bling.

Did you know Kym?

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Audience Participation.

I'm sooooooo late in cutting this video together. Sorry. It was the "audience participation" segment of my Opening Keynote at the Aiming Low NonCon in October 2012. I wanted to empower the crowd while paying tribute to Anissa Mayhew, who leads Aiming Low.



Anissa Mayhew and everyone from Aiming Low are pretty special in their outlook. The incredible irony is that as I post this video, Anissa is recovering from breaking the wrist on her stroke-affected arm. And in her inimitable style, she jests that she "wasn't really using it anyway".

Here's the simultaneous "I can. #noncon" tweet stream generated.

Dare to dream; the world needs more of it.

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The Driving Lessons.

“You’re having a baby? You need to learn how to drive.”

I was 4 months pregnant and living in London when one of my more practical friends hit me with this. It was true that I’d never got my license and was happy to sit in the passenger seat while everyone drove me everywhere. But Vanessa pointed out that once that baby popped out, I would become increasingly dependent on The Huz and what if he wasn’t around? What if I needed to get somewhere in a hurry? What if I couldn’t manage the Underground or bus?

I had to admit she had a point; I might become isolated.
That thought scared me. But there were obstacles.

“Well, we haven’t got much money and driving lessons are expensive.”

Vanessa simply said, “I’ll pay for them.”

She insisted; she said it would be a gift. You couldn’t argue with Vanessa…well you could try, but once her mind was made up, that was that.

I considered it. As she was financially stable it wasn’t going to put her in troubles. So I decided to graciously accept what became known as The Driving Lessons.

* * * * *

I got my license three weeks after my baby was born. I loved zooming around London in our 1969 VW camper van with our little sweetling and our giant Newfie.

When The Huz went away on tour, I could easily shop for groceries, visit friends, and head for the doctors if the wee one ran a fever. When I suffered from post-natal depression, and everything overwhelmed me, my driver’s license got me out to mother/baby playgroups every day.

Vanessa had been right. I was ever so grateful.

* * * * *

Years passed and we moved to Vancouver and eventually Montreal. I was working full time as a producer and had a decent salary. I began to think, why not pass Vanessa’s gift on to someone who needs it? I began to search for suitable candidates…someone whose situation would mean they’d benefit from the ability to drive but who couldn’t afford it financially. I approached several people but it wasn’t so easy! You’d be surprized at how many people are actually unwilling to learn to drive.

They say they want to, but if you put it within their reach, they will shy away. They may prefer to be driven, or the responsibility of being behind the wheel is too much. People have their reasons, I guess.

And then I met Martin. Martin and Colleen were the parents of our daughter’s kindergarten BFF. We became good friends with them; we hung out, we went to the countryside together with our collection of kids and dogs, and we had some pretty great dinners. Martin rocked a fantastic salad with baby spinach, lemon and salt. Good times!

Martin did all the driving in their family as Colleen was a NON-DRIVER. Actually it was kind of a bone of contention between them.

As our friendship grew, the closer we became, the more certain I was that Colleen would be the ideal recipient for Vanessa’s gift.

You see, Martin had terminal brain cancer. It’s strange to become friends with someone knowing that you will one day lose them completely. By the time we met he’d already survived a couple of brain surgeries to remove tumors, and all kinds of radiation therapy and chemo. He’d lived longer than modern medicine said he would, managing to help raise two daughters from babyhood to children. He was doing okay… but I knew that someday he wouldn’t be able to drive anymore and that Colleen could be stranded…and isolated. The family had little money and their collective ability to work was becoming sporadic. I decided to offer her The Driving Lessons.

Colleen resisted at first, perhaps not wanting to accept a charity. But I asked her to reflect on it; I said that someday, if she ever was in a position to do so, she could pass on The Driving Lessons to someone else. And that way Vanessa’s gift could keep on giving. She agreed.

Several months later Colleen got her driver’s license. She eventually took over all the driving for her husband, their two children and two large dogs. Martin, once an Ironman triathlete, lived as long as he could and when the cancer took too much, he gently passed away at home. He is missed. I made some spinach salad yesterday and it made me think fondly of him.

Our kids are still great friends, and well into the throes of their adolescence.
And Colleen? I just saw her in her car outside our kids’ school and she honked at me.

Thank-you Vanessa.

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Death of a child.

Tomorrow I will attend a memorial for the daughter of my friends, lost to leukemia.

The death of one's child is possibly the most profound loss that one might have to endure.
Does it make it any easier if the child is grown up? ...I think not.

I could barely draw this.

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YOU...logy. Dame ELIZABETH Taylor.

I'm having an emotional reaction to the passing away of Elizabeth Taylor. I can't explain it. 
She was an inspiration to me for so many reasons. And she had beautiful eyebrows.

Dame Elizabeth Taylor, you've done so much good. I pay tribute to you and your vision.

The Elizabeth Taylor Aids Foundation.

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YOU...logy. @AnnaMaryse

@AnnaMaryse has passed away. I'm real sad. So I'm thinking a lot about her. And I'm remembering....

When I met Maryse, the first thing I noticed was her mouth. When it was at rest, it was pursed.

And when she smiled, it was tickle-me wicked. Flared nostrils added to the effect.

Her eyes were very dark and soft. She was voluptuous, like a new-romantic Mae West.

It was the early eighties. Maryse was the Queen of the scene. She was cool and wore tons of make-up and big earrings. She moved into my building, and that's how we met. She was a little older and wiser than me.

She used to say things like "Coffee. Hurry. Emergency." or "Cigarette. Hurry. Emergency." She'd laugh so hard it would make her wheeze and turn into a coughing fit. I adored her.

She would pose for pictures by deliberately not looking at the camera and she'd pout. It was one of her favourite things. One day I stopped by at her place on the way home from Art school, and there was a guy hanging out there. The guy turned out to be an animator! It totally changed the direction of my life. You get what I'm saying here?

Maryse and I became very close over a ten year period. She was my Queen Bee.

We lost touch when I got married. These things happen I guess. I didn't hear of her for almost two decades. I missed her from time to time, but I had small children and there was no Facebook back then.

And then just this spring, we found each other again. We were both pretty happy. She mentioned she was taking it easy, that she'd had something "really f*cking scary" happen to her. But she didn't want to make a big deal about it so I didn't press it. I assumed it was going to be ok.

I didn't know she was dying. That she was being brave.

We did some catching up. She'd had a great career as  a producer. Her son was all grown up and she was so proud of him. Maryse was planning a trip to Montreal and said she was  "THRILLED to know I'll be seeing you if/when this happens. I can't wait to inspect your brood :)"

She wrote some really nice things to me. She said she was proud of me and always knew I'd prevail. I'm so glad I have these FB messages. For a moment yesterday, I was in a panic because I thought I'd lost them. But it was just a little FB fail.

Late on the night of the 26th, I heard from a mutual friend that she'd gone. And here I am drawing this tribute. I think she'd have liked it. I can still hear her laugh-wheeze-coff.

Good-bye my Queen Bee! I'll never forget you.

Maryse liked cats.

This is the second in a series called "YOU".  I draw YOU. Read the rules.

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