Andrea Mulder-Slater

by Andrea Mulder-Slater They say dreams are when our minds sort through painful emotional experiences, and by dreaming, our brains work out solutions to problems we didn’t even know we had.    Several months after my dad died, I had two dreams that gave me strength during a pretty dark time. 

by Andrea Mulder-Slater I was a weird kid. I liked my parents. Although, things did get iffy when I was thirteen and both of them went through a non-stop polyester-pants-wearing phase. But I liked them before that. And after, you know, once they were introduced to denim. When I was in my early twenties, I declared that even if I weren’t related to my mom and dad, I’d still choose to hang out with them. I didn’t find out until years later that this statement made my father so proud, he shared it with damn near everyone he met. It’s been four years since my dad passed away . Unexpected loss. Four years of sliding headfirst into a new normal. Four years of mom, Geoff and I getting used to it. My dad was a tall, handsome, witty and thoughtful man who made an instant impact on everyone he met. He was a teacher – not by trade, but by behavior. He always seemed as though he would have been right at home in ancient Greece, wearing robes and flip-flops as he engaged in discussions wit...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater When I was a kid, it was a family tradition to pick up the national newspaper on Saturday, find the Dave Barry column, sit down with a giant cup of acidic coffee and listen to my dad read the words that made him laugh so hard his eyes would fill with tears. My entire family (all three of us) loved Dave from the time we discovered a little piece he wrote entitled "How to Build a Board", or something like that. It was in the back of Popular Woodworking or Popular Mechanics or Popular Science or some other popular  magazine. The column talked about how best to construct a plank of wood so it would be useful for killing spiders. The color of the wood stain was key. What occurred to me, is the awesomeness of what I'm about to share with you. Last year, as part of my ongoing commitment to take on projects that help everyone in the world except me, I organized a fundraiser for our local arts centre. I called it " Guess Who ". It wa...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My dad and I shared a love of words… especially flowery, elaborate words. Though his vocabulary was far, far greater than mine, he always appreciated the bits of stuff I came up with and I always endeavored to understand the things he wrote. It was quite by chance that I decided to incorporate my father’s words into my latest works of art. Paper, canvas and glue are the media of choice for me at the moment, and as I began to work with these materials, the pieces begged for words. My dad wrote - a lot - and upon his death, left behind, oodles and oodles of words. I kind of like the idea of keeping his memory alive by, in a sense, illustrating some of his sentences. I plan on (at some point) using my own words in this new series I am working on – but for now, his just seem to fit. Galileo Galilei pursued an interest he had developed in natural motion and the behavior of bodies of water. Words by Henry Mulder, 1939-2009 | Art by andreams (Andre...

by Andrea Mulder-Slater My father Henry (Hank), was born Hindrik Mulder, in the Netherlands in 1939. He immigrated to Alberta, Canada in the 1950s with his parents, sisters and brother. As a young man he was lured by and lived in the hustle and bustle of large cities like Vancouver, Edmonton and Toronto. He spent his 20s and 30s, climbing the corporate ladder. His 40s and 50s were spent running a successful small business. He attended university, built his own house, designed computer programs and wrote fascinating articles. However... these were things he did – this was not who he was. I’m quite convinced my dad knew everything, regardless of the topic. My mom and I often referred to him as our walking encyclopedia. He read, all the time, and he sought out every opportunity to learn more because as he often said, “ A true sign of intelligence is admitting that you don’t know it all .” And, he could fix or build anything. Literally. At the ag...

Like most sayings - Time Heals All Wounds - is rooted in truth. Although my emotions are not nearly as raw as they were a year ago, the feeling today is as surreal as the day I watched my father pass away. My cousin, who experienced the devastating loss of her younger sister, was my pillar a year ago. She gave me such sage and sound advice, not the least of which included, to not turn special days into miserable ones. To put it bluntly, she said, "He was dead yesterday, he is dead today and he will be dead tomorrow." This helped me tremendously in getting through this year of "firsts". I don't want to create some sort of sick anniversary to commemorate his death. I think of him daily, not just on birthdays, New Years Day or the day he died. Friends and family, with the best of intentions, called, emailed and spoke about "it" - the elephant in the living room - yesterday, while others looked at us, painfully - without comment. I spent the day repeating...

by: Andrea Mulder-Slater It's been 11 weeks since he died. Now, the weather has turned to spring -- it's been rainy and warm (for the most part) with the odd cool day in between. The grass is a vibrant green and leaves have popped out on all the trees and plants. We even have tulips in the garden that are on the verge of opening. It's a bittersweet time. My dad loved this time of year because to him it signaled that even warmer weather was on the horizon. Mom and I always hated the rain but he loved it - he often said it was "cozy" to sit inside or on the porch and watch the sky open up. Really he liked it because it meant that the lawns would be lush and green instead of dry and brown :) Geoff is working on artwork for folks in Tallahassee Florida, Jan is working on Sunbury Shores stuff as well as trying to get through mountains of general paperwork. I've been doing Sunbury stuff as well as trying to keep on top of KinderArt. My daughter is busy ...