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
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