June 18, 2011
Several days ago, my brother sent us an email inviting us to the unveiling of a memorial bench, to commemorate the passings of the people in his small community over the year.
The funeral home organizes such a memorial event every year. I don't know if the memorial marker is a bench every year, but it was this year.
It was a short, but lovely service.
The funeral home was packed.
Literally.
Afterwards, those of us who went to remember Kathryn drove to Sussex and had lunch at Smitty's.
I think there were about 17 of us.
For a couple of hours, people who knew and loved Kathryn, family, friends, coworkers, came together, laughed, told stories, enjoyed each others company before we dispersed and returned to our everyday lives.
It was a very good couple of hours.
Of course actually getting there was a whole other story.
The service began at 10.30.
It's about an hour's drive in good weather.
Today it was raining, foggy, miserable.
So more than an hour was needed.
Further, we had asked my father if he would like to come with us.
He isn't a morning person.
The drive isn't long, but it is through some of the most forgotten roads in New Brunswick.
As an aside, there was a CBC New Brunswick news report recently, reporting the results of an Atlantic Canada poll regarding the worst roads.
I was gobsmacked the 695 wasn't one of the roads.
I guess not enough people voted for it.
Anyhoo. . . .
Environmentally conscious as we are, it seemed silly for my father to drive, alone, use gas, risk an accident driving while not fully conscious, when we had to drive to the same place and had lots of room in the car.
So stopping to get Dad added another element to our journey.
The early morning hour, getting Dad, driving in the miserable weather, traversing horrific roads. . .
None of that was as challenging as the very first task I had to face at 8.00 am this morning.
Waking the Kracken.
Okay, Stephen.
But at 8.00 am, they are one in the same.
And this picture is actually a happier representation than what I had to face with Stephen.
The gentle cajoling, "Stephen, it's time to get up. . ." quickly elevated to me bringing in the canine reinforcements for their assistance.
Somehow my shaking him as if he's a martini is no where as effective as a couple of licks from Frankie and Tikka.
Go figure.
He gripped, whined, complained, but he did get up, shower and shave.
However he did so slowly.
I'd like to think it was because he is so challenged first thing in the morning.
Almost obtuse.
But a small part of me thinks that he was just being obstinate; punishing me, the showered, coffeed, breakfasted me for being awake and lively in the morning.
So. . . .
Instead of picking up my father at 9.15, as planned, we arrived at 9.35.
I know, I know, twenty minutes doesn't seem like that long, but remember, bad roads, miserable weather. . . .
It meant a lot of me.
Couple Stephen's unpleasant break of day demeanour with the bad roads, miserable weather and my father's own less than sunny daybreak disposition and you had all the makings of a what could have been a potentially gloomy journey.
But for some reason, you put together two-don't-wake-me-up-before-noon-wretched people and they manage to converse with one another.
Pleasantly.
Leaving me to my thoughts as I negotiated and maneuvered through the hills and valleys of rural southern New Brunswick.
I could have never predicted it.
In fact, if I hadn't of been in the car, listening, present and accounted for, I wouldn't have believed it.
Title Lyric: Early in the Morning by Eric Clapton
June 17, 2011
Summer mode has finally been achieved.
I woke up at 6.45 am and didn't know what day it was.
Let the summer commence!
All exams have been written and at this moment, my Emily is warm and snug in her bed.
Very different from her being in the shower, or sitting beside me telling me how much she doesn't want to go to school.
Quieter, too.
She is confident about every subject except math.
So we're keeping everything crossed for that one.
It's been a movie going couple of days.
My kind of days indeed.
Wednesday Em and I saw Super 8.
Think E.T. meets District 9.
It was a very good movie, just not as good as all the hype I heard.
Which usually means another viewing is in order to assess my less than stellar perspective about a film that is garnering much attention.
Yesterday Keith and I bonded over X-Men.
Absolutely amazing!
THAT is a movie I'd see again just because it was so good.
But it wouldn't matter what movies I watched, so long as I was with the kids, all was good.
Now I'm hoping to see the very easy on the eyes Ryan Reynolds in The Green Lantern with Mer on Sunday.
Three kids, three movies. . . .no paying for tickets. . . .I can live like this.
Yes I can.
Yesterday was all about doing things with the kids.
Em won a $25.00 gift card to Relish, so we went there for lunch.
Couple this with the Father's Day feast coming Sunday and I may have some major worries for Monday morning's weigh in.
Or I'll just have to behave myself on Sunday.
After lunch Em chauffeured me around Fredericton in her car.
We stopped at work, then the law library.
I admit, I am liking being driven around.
Perhaps too much.
Home for 15 minutes and then off for mother-daughter time with Mer before she had to work.
We had a good time.
My evidence?
After 20 minutes no one wanted to leave.
She ate KFC, I drank coffee, we chatted.
Making time with Mer is important to me.
We have to figure out how to love one another. . .
. . .the easy part. . . .
and be able to be constructive parts of one another's lives.
A bit harder.
We're simply too similar.
We both need to experience things.
Telling us it isn't going to work, or something is a bad idea, just doesn't work.
Knowing this doesn't make life any easier, though.
It would be nice if it did.
We also both believe we are always right.
Only for one us is that an actual truth.
Plus Mer is living in a state of cellphoneless until she can pay her bill.
That was my doing.
She understood.
No tantrums.
No over the top freak outs.
Just as I'm sorry for putting you in this situation.
Nonetheless, it's hard for both of us.
I can't get in touch with her except through Facebook.
It reminds me of times when I would ground her and along with punishing her, I was punishing me.
If Em isn't in school this morning, how come I am up at 6.45 am?
Because I woke up.
Because Frankie's bladder was singing Ave Maria very loudly.
Because Stephen had shuttled me to the very edge of the bed where I awoke clinging for my life and seconds away from falling into a not so comfortable pile of books.
And because I have to meet my dad at 8.00 am at the place where he takes his car for it's annual stem to stern cleaning.
Inside and out.
His car must remain at the car cleaning place until 3.00 pm.
Far too long for him to have to hang around.
So I'm driving him home and then picking him up later to collect his car.
The easier solution would have been for him to come here.
Which wouldn't be a problem except for one thing.
Frankie.
And that Stephen and I both have to be on campus today.
Meaning the kids would have to reign in our catastrophic canine while Dad was here.
Um, no.
Leaving Frankie in his crate and my dad in the living room for 7 hours just doesn't seem like the nicest of things to do.
And there were some pre-Father's Day covert ops at the mall last evening, before the movie.
I wonder, I wonder?
Title Lyric: Telephone by Lady Gaga
June 15, 2011
Today's exam: Math.
Confidence level: low.
Math is our genetic nemesis. . .at least for the women in our family.
My brother.
My son.
No problems when it came to quadratic equations, trigonometry, plotting slopes, and the always dreaded algebra.
Just as an aside, letters belong in books, stories, poems, plays. . . .
NOT equations.
I failed math in grade 10, putting me a year behind mathwise for the remainder of my highschool career.
Meaning I spent my grade 12 year learning grade 11 math so I could graduate.
Didn't matter how well I did in anything else.
Math was a must.
The hurdle that dogged me all the way into graduate school.
Em is in the same boat.
So this morning will be all about facing the math demons and conquering them.
Because I know she doesn't want to go to summer school.
All she needs is a 57% on her exam to pass.
I know she can do this.
She has risen from the depths of mathematical hell in the past.
She can do it again.
Plus, I promised we'd go to a movie this afternoon to celebrate slaying the evil math demon.
X-Men First Class or Super 8.
Doesn't matter to me so long as it's a movie.
And she passes her math exam.
After her exam yesterday, Em asked if she could go to McDonalds.
She was driving.
What was I going to do?
But first we called Keith to see if he wanted anything.
Because Em coming home happily carrying her aromatic, salt filled, lucious McDonalds with none for Keith was not going to ensure a happy home.
Of course he was more than up for some artery clogging hamburgers.
In the drivethru line up, just managing not to hit the two cigarette smoking McDonald employees ambling, and I do mean ambling through the parking lot, Em successfully maneuvers the car in line with the sadistic drivethru speaker.
Where they yell.
Not speak.
Yell.
Em starts her order with Keith's request.
Two double cheeseburgers, a large fr. . . . .
. . .and she was cut off by the sadistic speaker box.
Cut off.
Her lips tightly purse.
Her jaw tightens.
And then the anonymous always-sounds-the-same-static-y- voice comes back at her.
IT'S NOT 11.00. WE'RE STILL SERVING BREAKFAST.
Well.
Em sits for just a second, and then puts her foot less-than-delicately on the gas pedal and storms out of the line up in as much vehemence and indignation as a not-fully-class 5- licenced-driver-who-has-to-have-her-mother-with-her-when-she-drives as she could muster.
And went, instead, to Wendy's.
I am so stiff and sore this morning.
Overindulged myself yesterday with weeding, shoveling, putting in new gardens. . .
Balance.
The elusive balance.
Perhaps part of the reason for my vigorous attention to the gardens was my inability to pay attention anywhere else.
I went to work.
Sat in my office.
And could not focus on a thing.
Nothing.
Fidgety.
Flighty.
I felt like some oversized, overweight, clumsy honey bee gracelessly hauling herself from flower to flower to flower.
Except I was moving from project to project to project hoping that something would sink into the the sludge that was my brain and take hold.
Nothing.
And it remained like this for the entire day until I could take it no longer and came home to take out my frustrations on the gardens.
Coupled with a sighing and impatient Stephen sitting in my office with the unspoken question looming over us:
Are you ready to go, YET?
Which is why he should have been in his own office.
And did nothing for my waning abilities to concentrate.
Frankie has started a new "thing."
As soon as I sit down to have my coffee and write my blog, he comes into the office, throws himself on the floor. . . .
. . . and I really mean throws.
He does the same thing on the bed.
No laying down quietly and gently.
It's as if he just lets his muscles go and lands where ever.
Always a big sigh for his finale.
I am starting to see some similarities between Stephen and Frankie. . . .
He'll stay on the floor for a few minutes.
Staring at me.
And then he starts whining.
Soft, almost imperceptible whines, tuned only to the frequency of the coffee-needing, blogging-happily mother.
And when I don't respond, he whines louder.
And when I still don't respond, he hauls himself up in a manner that suggests back-breaking servitude, comes over to me, and sits to the side of me, whining louder and staring harder.
At which time I know I have about two minutes to get him outside for his post-breakfast activities.
I don't exactly know when the sound of computer keys became a trigger for the releasing of the poop.
It is supposed to sunny and 23 degrees Celsius today.
Right now it's cloudy and 10 degrees.
The sun had better come out.
Or people are going to have to start recycling their underwear.
Laundry desperately needs to be done.
If you see the waistband of a pink thong peeking from the tops of Pookie's shorts, you'll know why.
Title Lyric: The Math by Hilary Duff
June 14, 2011
First day of exams went off without a hitch.
Three more to go.
Today: psychology.
Worry level: low.
Reason according to Em: psychology is easy. I don't like it, but it's easy.
Yesterday, because of the weather, I stayed at the university library for the afternoon.
Or at least until Em was finished her exam.
It was cold and raining, so I wasn't as tempted to dash home, throw on my gardening rags and start playing in the dirt.
That's fine.
The staying at the library wasn't the best idea, though.
By the time I arrived home, around 3.15, I was so grumpy and crabby I forced myself into confinement.
Had a nap.
Mumbled a few choice words during dinner.
Removed myself again. . .this time back to our home office, where I thought the knowledge that I would soon be watching the first three episodes of the new season of the British sci-fi drama Primeval would certainly cheer me up.
But that was interrupted by the "can we PLEASE pick up my car now??????" pleas coming from Emily.
Fine.
Got her car.
I'll come back to that later.
Home.
Again.
Settling in again for some Primeval.
When suddenly, a kleig light turns on in my head.
Movement.
I need movement.
In the library all day.
No gardening, no yoga, no movement.
At home Sunday, doing little to nothing.
No gardening, no yoga, no movement.
I was suffering from Frankieitis.
Having excess energy and no where to put it.
Apparently, in the words of Homer Simpson, All work and no play make Dawne something something.
Luckily, the cure was simple.
Leash up Stephen and the dogs and head to the farm, in the drizzle but at this point I didn't care, for a brisk, energy expelling walk.
And then all was right with the world of Dawne.
Except that I had to wrap a scarf around my neck and I was wearing two sweaters because it was so bloody cold outside.
Scarves in June.
Whodathunk it.
I possess almost no "girly-girl" genes.
Vomit, poop, dirt, bugs, don't bother me.
I'm not into frilly things or sexy things.
However, my teeny, tiny girly girl influence prohibits me from enjoying getting wet.
I needed the walk last evening, but I didn't enjoy the misty drizzle we had to walk through.
On the other hand, it didn't kill me.
This afternoon, rain or shine, warm or cold, I will be outside.
Planting, removing, digging, weeding.
Because spending the afternoon in doors is just about more than I, my moods, or my family, can handle.
I was talking about this with my Simply for Life counsellor yesterday.
That I had all sorts of new found energy and if I don't get rid of it, I am miserable.
He called it normal.
I call it Frankieitis.
But hey, I'm normal!
Picking up the car had become Em's new favourite obsession.
So yesterday, when I told her we would be heading over to my cousin's after supper to pick up the car she practically wept with joy.
And me with relief.
No more pleas, begging, whining, whinging about getting the car.
I get it.
First car.
New driver.
I really do understand.
What I don't understand is how she came to the conclusion that making me bonkers with her incessant hyper focusing was going to make anything even remotely better.
Clearly, I have forgotten what it feels like to be a 17 year old girl who wants something.
And the look on her little face when she slid behind the wheel of her newly repaired 2000 Hyundai Elantra was one of supreme joy.
I don't think I've ever seen her look like that.
Not even where there's been a sale at American Eagle.
As soon as I was buckled in, Lady Gaga blaring as low as Em would allow, we were off.
But not until she commented she had no gas.
And looked at me.
With that happy look on her face.
Gas it was.
But it won't be a habit.
Your car, your gas.
The last thing this little car needs is a good, thorough cleaning.
By professionals.
Cost $130.00
Value: priceless.
The car is filthy.
It desperately needs cleaning.
A sign of Em's love for this car?
She doesn't seem to notice.
But I do.
Stephen has spoiled me for clean cars.
And once you've become accustomed to clean cars, it's hard to be comfortable in anything else but.
That's next pay.
The cost of Em's becoming a driver just jumped to $1400.00.
I don't know if I could afford any more children wanting to drive.
Title Lyric: My First Car by Jason Blaine
June 13, 2011
The high today, 12 degrees.
It is June, right?????
I took the dogs out for their morning relief in my standard pjs and slippers get up, and my body went into shock when the cold morning air engulfed it.
What the hell is this all about???????
Know what I did yesterday?
Nothing.
Or as very little as possible.
Tired, worn out, no energy, I spent time in bed reading, sleeping, I blogged while I had my breakfast of cereal and blueberries with my standard venti sized cup of coffee, I thought about gardening, I read and slept some more. . . .
And it would appear that a slow, lackadaisical day would be the norm until I logged into Netflix and found the fifth season of Waking the Dead was available.
A BBC production.
British crime drama.
The perfect means of perking up a slow, dreary Sunday.
But I couldn't just sit in front of the computer and watch television.
I had to justify my inertia.
So I started reading a textbook I am considering for my Advanced Qualitative class.
Taking notes.
Working, it would seem.
And I didn't even plan to.
Funny how lazy can become productive with the mere additional of a British crime drama.
And the remainder of the day was just as exciting.
My grandmother on my mother's side left me her silver tea service.
It is stunning.
But it's silver and as we know, over time, with exposure to air, silver tarnishes.
And it can be a bitch to clean.
Given the turn of the day, it seemed appropriate to try a little science experiment a la Kim and Aggie.
Tinfoil in the bottom of a bucket, baking powder added to the bottom of the tinfoil, add the silver and then the key ingredient.
Boiling, and I mean boiling hot water.
Make absolutely certain the silver is in direct contact with the tinfoil.
Voila!
Tarnish disappears!
Not however, without a bit of stinky smelling gas created from the tarnish, tinfoil, baking soda
All those hours I spent as a kids polishing that set, teapot, coffee pot, sugar bowl, creamer, another silver bowl whose purpose I've never been able to ascertain, and the tray itself.
I knew I should have paid more attention in chemistry.
I was so excited by our silver polishing experiment that I was late getting to the nursing home.
No Antiques Roadshow or All Creatures Great and Small aired last evening, leaving Mum and I to watch Matt Damon in The Rainmaker.
I'd forgotten Mickey Rourke was in this film.
And that it wasn't as bad as I thought it was.
After taking her meds, but before she became so tired she couldn't remember anything, she reminded me to make reservations at The Diplomat for Father's Day.
In fact, she called while I was on my way to the nursing home, because remember, I was late, to make sure that reservations were made.
I was so distracted during Mother's Day that I was late in trying to make reservations at the Dip, which is where my parents always want to go. . .
. . .and the Dip is fine, I like it, but it isn't the only restaurant in Fredericton. . . .
. . . so we ended up at The Garrison, which was lovely.
Lots of room for Mum's wheelchair.
But my father wants The Diplomat's Chinese buffet for Father's Day.
And luckily for all of us, he'll get it.
I was able to get a reservation for 4.00 pm.
Early, I know, but the only other options were 6.00 or 8.00.
Six pm wouldn't work because my mother is so regimented to eat at 5.00 that if she eat after that, she gets anxious.
And by eight pm, she's already been medicated.
So four o'clock next Sunday it is.
And if past family dinners are any indication, it should be as exciting and frustrating as always.
On the upside, they are having a lobster buffet.
My dad will be in heaven and too busy eating to stir things up.
Em starts her final exams this morning.
Biology and then after lunch, history.
This is going to be a long week.
Good luck Bunny!!!!!!!
Title Lyric: Bump the Exams from High School Musical
June 12, 2011
Yesterday was a most busy day indeed.
Once all of the feline/canine expulsion of bodily fluids issues had run their course, we were able to progress with our regularly scheduled programming.
First on the agenda was the annual Family BBQ at the nursing home.
For reasons I simply cannot remember, we were unable to attend last summer.
A grievous error, believe me.
So this summer we made certain we would be available to participate in this year's festivities.
Everyone had to bring a salad.
I brought our families offering, a salad with chick peas, kidney beans, celery, peppers, green olives, carrots, garlic and fresh basil in a red wine vinaigrette.
We arrived after my father and brother, to find my mother sitting in the shade, four chairs lined up beside her.
I know my mother doesn't like to sit in the sun, and apparently, neither does my father, but within minutes of settling in for an afternoon of local singers, bagpipes and someone with six albums and a letter from George Bush thanking him for writing a song in support of the troops, I was freezing.
I was hoping that once the weather warmed, my newfound abhorrence for the cold would subside.
No such luck.
Meaning I had to leave frequently to warm up.
It never occurred to me to wear a sweater.
Knowing my mother's proclivity for shade, I should have realized.
Alas, all my mental energies were consumed by the salad.
The actual BBQ was very nice.
We are still barbecue-less in our house, so any opportunity to partake of meats cooked outside with propane are always welcome.
After sampling some of the savory salads, I lined up for a hamburger.
I cannot tell you the last time I had a burger.
Mustard, pickles and cheese. . .
I was in heaven.
We'll see how my heavenly adventure pans out Monday when I go to Simply for Life.
And then there was the ice cream.
I only had a smitch.
Because it was have a little or run off the with entire container, when no one was looking, to hide in my mother's bathroom with me, the container and a plastic spoon.
Dad tried to get his plate and Mum's and it was evident within a short time that he was struggling, so I took over preparing Mum's plate.
She ate everything but the burger.
Why?
Because it wasn't cut in half.
Off I went in search of plastic knife to cut it in half.
So she could give my dad the other half.
He isn't supposed to be eating red meat.
In fact, he brought fish with him to ensure he wouldn't eat any red meat.
But habit overtook commonsense when my mother thrust a half a burger at him.
I kept my mouth shut.
I'm learning that for some occasions, a shut mouth can be your best friend.
One of the staff at the nursing home lives across the street from my father.
She happened to be working yesterday.
And joined us for a little while.
It was very nice to catch up with her.
And to know there's someone who watching the house.
So if my father tries to do anything asinine, like climb ladders to the roof, I'll know about it.
Post BBQ, we had to make a stop at the Superstore for some supplies.
At least that's what I told Stephen.
Really, I wanted to go to the garden center.
My gardening activities of the week have provided space for new plants, and I wanted to fill in those spaces asap.
Peonies, oh how I love peonies. . . .
. . .were purchased, along with some annuals, as I noticed our gardens are missing the splashes of color I love in gardens; marigolds, not all that fond of them but Stephen likes them. I think they stink. . .
. . . two echinacea plants. . .
something that looks like a pink daisy, geraniums. . . .
. . .forget me nots
If these plants don't add some color, next I will resort to painting what's out there.
. . .and the vegetables.
Keith wanted to plant vegetables this summer.
The tomatoes we bought a couple of weeks ago were planted with this little hands just a couple of days ago, but he was clear in his desire for more veggies.
We bought, then, red and orange peppers, broccoli and cucumber.
He had them all planted 30 minutes after he arrived home from work.
Now all that's missing are some jalapeno plants.
You know what I'm on the hunt for next.
As soon as we returned home, I raced (well, race is such a subjective term) upstairs to change into my gardening clothes.
I wanted things planted.
The peonies and perennials are planted.
I didn't get to the annuals yet.
To plant those required some serious removal of incredibly invasive ground covers that had taken over our front gardens.
Meaning I spent the remainder of my gardening time removing the offensive ground covers and planting them in the back yard where they are free to expand as much as they want.
Provided it doesn't rain this afternoon, I'll get the rest of yesterday's purchases planted.
Next: rhododendrons.
To round off our busy day we were treated to a lovely dinner with our friends Lisette and Michel.
On their back deck, sun keeping me nice and warm, a lovely glass of wine and good conversation proved to be the perfect end to a busy summer day.
And a lovely way to spend a summer evening.
I was loathe to leave after a sumptuous dinner of the perfect BBQ steak, rare to moving thank you very much, veggies, a delicious salad and ice cream, cake and fresh fruit for dessert, but Em wasn't going to make it home from work on her own.
When we arrived home, it was apparent that Keith had succumbed to peer pressure and went out with his friends.
He stuck a note in between the window and screen of our front door apprising us of his whereabouts.
The note began. . .To whom it may concern. . .
Family closeness.
What's not to love?
Title Lyric: Summer Day by Sheryl Crow
