My Boys This Weekend

Here's some recent shots of the boys. Henry has his nail caps on...pink ones! I had bought them for poor little Via, but they arrived after she was put down. He doesn't seem to mind them much, and it has certainly curbed his scratching on my bed and wicker trunk. Stormy is "in the bag" in his photo...loves getting into paper bags, gift bags, plastic bags, you name it.

Grief & Loss: What To Do?

I can hardly write this without balling my eyes out. What do you do when there has been an accumulation of loss and you don't want any more? I know what the social worker inside me says - deal with it, and move on when you're ready.

No one has died recently (other than the talented Heath Ledger) but everywhere I look there has been loss - death, change, deterioration, and loss of a way of life. I thought I had been dealing with things well enough, but I think the final straw was knowing that the one community I had been able to call home is facing significant change, and possibly closure at some point. It wasn't like I didn't see it coming. I'd been hearing about the possibility for decades, long before I chose to live there for 12 years.

The losses vary:

• loss of so many family members to cancer - 3 sister-in-laws, all under age 50; all of my grandparents, and two uncles, not to mention several distant relatives, and family friends; and others coping with cancer right now. I hate cancer...


• pets - lost my feline friend Via in April after nearly 10 years with her - she came from that tiny community I call home; and then last fall I lost my canine friend, Penny, who lived in that community with my parents after I moved away. She was nearly 14 years old.


• my father has had some significant health issues that have affected his whole way of life and needs more care than he expected, and making changes in my parents lives they weren't really counting on.


• the potential closure of this small community.

I think back of all the memories, and how most everything relates to this small community - it has been the anchor for so much of my life. No matter where I have lived all over this country, this community has been there for me, a constant. I am now in my 30th home in 41 years, and every chance I got in those 41 years, I went to visit that community. I lived there for 12, had grandparents there for decades, and my parents retired there for more than a decade. I still have a house there (co-owned with the ex) on my family's land, granted to my great-grandfather near the turn of the century. I was married there; I raised my only daughter there; I built my house with my own hands there (with the ex) from the ground up.

The fondest of memories flood me, and I know many of my faithful readers will share in them - if they weren't there, they have similar memories:

• swimming up in Big Pond, jumping off diving point into the chilly waters. We numbed up after the first few jumps, and swam sometimes twice or three times a day (counting those late night dips in our undergarments!)


• walking in across the many frozen ponds in winter, sliding down the hills on our bums, happiest when there was a thick crust of snow and "glitter" (ice rain)...moonlit or the brilliant sun, made no difference to us - it was so good to go out, even if the CRACK! of the ice made us all screech out loud!


• the sound of outboard motor boats heading out to traps and nets in the early morning, and then returning in the afternoons; on calm days, you could hear the fishermen (and women!) talking to one another, clanging their gear around


• the blow of the "steamer" (coastal ferry) when she came into the harbour, boats like the Tavener, the Bonavista, the Coaster, the Runner...


• the sweet smell of Mayflowers on Mother's Day, picked on the hills surrounding the harbour


• the sight of an older gentleman, sitting on the counter of a local store, looking out the window, greeting all who entered the store. He used to run that store, wrapping sliced bologna in brown paper and string that my grandmother saved up in a paper bag


• going out in the boat on Sundays for a picnic on some island beach, or shoreline cove, exploring what we could, having a boil-up for supper


• parties at my house - many knew how they went...usually started with playing cards well into the night, generous amounts of alcohol, loud music, food fights, dancing on the coffee table, and the notorious "pool party" and "lipstick caper"...I can still picture S.B. with my ex's shorts on, and fuzzy slippers, doing his impression of Superman...


• picking berries on the hills, hoping the bears didn't come along and catch you - blueberries, partridgeberries, marshberries (most called them meshberries), and the elusive and much coveted bakeapples - God help you if you trampled any of those and were caught by the serious berrypickers!


• stomping the night away at the Cramalott Inn (local gathering place, for drinks, cooking up a scoff, jokes, stories, music, cards, and more). How many nights did folks fall asleep to the sound of shoes thumping the floor late into the night as things really got rocking...and how many packs of cards, radios, tables, and who knows what else got thrown over the cliff in the heat of an argument or frustration. SOOO many memories for that place - dancing in the dark, jugs of water thrown into a surprised face, my sister writing in "the book" and taking roll call, mussel boils, the "outhouse" (a funnel connected to a pipe that ran to the ocean), the stacks of beer bottles that paid for the place's expenses, the many colors of the Cramalott Inn walls...J.B. holding his beer bottle to the light to check for fingers...


• card games at the school, and getting the "booby prize"; dart games at the school and the sour looks from others when you scored well or finished a game!


• weddings at the Orangemen's Lodge, and then later at the school - another host of memories...live bands, djs, the bending floor when the crowds were up to stomp out a good jig, arguing over what music to play when there was no dj, waiting for your turn in the one toilet per gender, standing around outside with the smokers for a bit of "fresh" air, and trying not to fall into the ditch on the way home


• the two-room school where my daughter went from K-5 before we moved away. She spent all those years in a grade by herself, as did many others over the years, and their Christmas concerts - the kids were so good to remember so much, even if you couldn't understand much of it (well, I couldn't, with my "outsider ears")


• going house to house on Christmas night, for a drink, a snack, and a barrel of laughs - like when J.B. bounced his way across somene's bridge (deck) on Moon Shoes...


• walking "over around" to get the mail on mail days, and standing around while it was called out while you waited for each coveted piece of mail, parcel card, Sears catalog, or store flyer


• meeting the ferry when it arrived in the harbour and tied up at the wharf - didn't matter if you didn't have anyone coming on the ferry - you went just to see who else did, or what freight came on the boat, or just for something to do; it was often the highlight of the day, unless you were going on it, and you were ready to hurl your guts out before you even boarded, smelling the stench of diesel fumes...


• huge fires up in the "arm" on Bonfire Night in November - the kids would work for weeks prior, dragging off all the old deadwood they could find, taking down old hen houses, shacks, fish flakes, you name it, keeping the harbour tidy of old relics


• going for walks around the harbour, lap after lap, across the breakwater - you didn't dare not take it to the very end and touch the ground before turning around


• seeing O.B. out walking, day after day, making his rounds, so used to going to the power house in the days before we were hooked into the main power grid.
• playing over on "the head" and hiding amongst the rocks, climbing down "the devil's slide" or crossing "the bar" at low tide, hoping you made it back before it began to rise
• walking down to Sandbanks, where they used to keep the sheep

I could go on, and on, and on...and you know what...I feel better already, having revisited memory lane. At least the crying has stopped...for now...

Missing Heath

Heath Ledger was found dead in his apartment today. I am shocked and saddened. I loved his acting, particularly in The Four Feathers, The Patriot, and A Knight's Tale. He was 28 years old.

Oh The Idiocy Of It All

I thought I might attempt to put up the last of what I have to go on the walls tonight, which are some 4 inch tall painted wooden letters that spell out words I wanted on the walls. Off I go with measuring tape and pencil in hand to make sure they end up on straight, and well spaced on the chosen wall. I'm not real tall at 5'4" so took my trusty plastic Rubbermaid stool with me, thinking I would not need the height of a chair. After some initial measurements, I shuffled around on the stool, and before I knew it, BAM CRASH BANG OH FUCK THE PAIN! My foot had managed to bust its way through the centre of the stool. I think it was because I generally don't centre my weight on the weakest part (the centre), usually choosing to hover at the edges where the weight bearing legs are. Tonight I did not. My foot went through the stool to the floor. Given that the stools are not that wide, and my foot is an average size 8, my toes did not wish to go with the rest of the foot. Instead they chose to hang up on the jagged edges of plastic created by the foot.

After the howling, whimpering and whining stopped, I checked out the damage and noticed blood was pouring from 4 places...two spots between my middle and next smallest toes (one was a rather deep gash) a spot on the outer edge of my baby toe, and a spot on the back of my ankle, on the achilles tendon, along with a scrape on the outer edge of my ankle. Three bandaids later, and I was back to work, standing on a wooden chair instead. The stool is toast...

And oh the irony of it all...the letters for the wall? They spell PEACE, HOPE, and LOVE...

Why Does It Take So LONG???

(sent to me by my friend K. this morning)

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there was one, but there isn't - so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck,(Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!),yank down your pants, and assume " The Stance."

In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance. "To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!"

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your purse.(Oh yeah, the purse around your neck, that now, you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time).That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest, and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet."Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT.

It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear,"You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get."

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl that sprays a fine mist of water that covers your butt and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe.(Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here, you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used, and left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with public restrooms (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked questions about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door!

The Socializing and Training of Young Henry

Well, I was beginning to get quite frustrated with young Henry VIII, as he wasn't listening and was defiant as an insolent child, but in the past few weeks he has come a long way. He still has his stubborn moments, but now he responds to my voice, as long as it is short sharp commands. If my neighbors can hear me, they are probably wondering what the hell is going on..."STOP!" "NO!" "GET DOWN!" "DON'T TOUCH!" "LEAVE IT ALONE!" "GET OUT OF THERE!" and so on...

He has certainly come a long way from the defiant feline he was while we bunked in with my friend C. She would come after him with the spray bottle and he would run through it like a sprinkler...

he's come a long way from that fuzzy little kitten he was pictured here...

Da Boyz

This was the scene here tonight...the boys cuddled into one another on the sofa in their bed, and then later Henry got up and curled up on the table. With all the soft surfaces around, couches, chairs, beds, ottomans, etc, he chooses the table to curl up on...what a weirdo...but they sure look cute don't they?

Ah The Joys Of Apartment Living

or not. I turned my stereo on this afternoon and played James Blunt's 1973, which is quite heavy on bass guitar. It wasn't long before I got to meet my upstairs neighbor. I think she was hearing someone else play loud music though as she said it had been going on for a while, and my cd was still on the first track. She told me that my neighbors to the left also play music quite loud sometimes, but I haven't really heard much...haven't been here to hear much. All I know is I rather enjoy playing my music loud sometimes when I am doing household chores, so I can hear it through the house and sing along (awfully I might add, but who cares?). I also have not been in an apartment since 1999 when I moved off campus, so I haven't had to turn down the music since then. Sigh...I might have to do chores with my mp3 player on instead. If they complain about THAT, we shall have words.

It's only 4:30PM in the afternoon after all...

Diced Ham Cookies

You have got to be kidding...I pulled this from an ad next to the news...

How Much Is That Kitty In The Window?

CHEAP. For one buck in Monopoly money, he's yours. Sure, he looks cute and all, but at 6am in the morning when he wants to play...nothing is cute. His favorite form of early morning torture (there are several) is to get up on the windowsill and rattle the metal mini-blind...endlessly. I get up, I yell at him, I take him off and tell him a sharp NO! and put him on the floor again. He goes directly BACK to the windowsill. We play this game for a few rounds before I am no longer saying just NO, I am also cursing and swearing and calling him names. Then he decides he is going to bring a toy mouse into my bedroom and chase it around. Fine if he could just play quietly but not Henry. He needs to jam it in behind something so he can scratch and paw at it endlessly until I get up and turn the lights on so I can find the fucking toy and TAKE it from him. So then he goes back to the blinds again. More of that game, and he gets the message about the window. Then he decides to sharpen his claws on my boxspring and mattress. More cursing and swear and I pound on the mattress to distract him. Then it's time to get into the trashbin beside my bed, and he hits the jackpot - there is a plastic crinkly bag in there to rustle. SO I get up once again, take the trash bin and put it on top of the dresser where he can't reach it. Then it's back to the blinds. Sigh. I pull out my MP3 player and give up, listen to music to drown the little fucker out and try to get back to sleep again. He only does these things in my bedroom, early morning and late night.

I may actually pay someone to take him.

Going Home

Well, my Christmas vacation is nearly over. I fly home this afternoon and while I will miss my girl dearly, I am glad to be going home, to my own bed, my own kitties, my own mess...I can just imagine the sniff fest that will occur upon my arrival at home as I have been around about 8 kitties, 5 dogs and countless people. They will know that I have cheated on them...

It has been a great vacation, with plenty of down time to relax and veg on the sofa, which is just what was needed after such a busy fall. I didn't open my books for my new course once, actually didn't take them out of the suitcase! However that will need to change next week as the course began this month...time to spit out my gum and pay attention...

Now I'm just hoping the damn flight leaves on time, and we don't have to deal with YET another broken plane.