Truths and Half Truths

Slipping Away

My wife's mother, Vera, passed away late on Monday night. 

The truth is, on Monday night the life seeped out of the body that once held Vera.  Alzheimer's had all but taken her away long ago.  She was past 80, and her health has been in steady decline for several years.

It wasn't unexpected, but it was a shock - as a generation, we understand late night phone calls are coming, but there's no way to be ready for them. 

She'd taken a bad turn on Friday, and the late night call came.  My wife flew to Winnipeg Saturday, and was able to say goodbye over the weekend.  Monday evening, it seemed clear that the time was at hand, and she was able say everything that needs saying. And really - what can you say that matters, other than "I love you?"

The family had held a vigil all through Monday, and by late at night everyone - including my father-in-law - was exhausted.  Finally, my wife agreed to take him home.  As so often happens, Vera waited until her husband of 60-some-odd years left before slipping quietly away , peacefully, her two other daughters - my wife's sisters - at her bedside.

Last night, when the call came to our house, I set about making the arrangements for the girls and I to join my wife, to say our own goodbyes to their Grandma.  Allison will be taking her violin, and she and Erin will play at the funeral service, which I know will make Vera happy.

It's a long way to go, and we've booked some extra time to take advantage of the opportunity to see the rest of the family, including my mom and dad, who weren't strong enough to make it out to Erin's wedding.  We'll catch up with friends we've known our whole lives.  So it will be a bittersweet trip.   

Fortunately, Allie's boyfriend Trevor is able to move in and look after Roxy and the cats and the house.  The puppies are also taken care of.  Loose ends seem to be tied up, but still today we're all scrambling to pull things together for the trip.

So, here we go.  I won't have much chance to be around here till we get back next week.  Take care of one another, okay?

C is for Cookie, B is for the Blues

For all you Oreo lovers ...

Pee Post

    The other night, I was fast asleep when my wife nudged me.  She said, "When you get up to go pee, can you check to make sure the fires are OK in the woodstoves?" 

   

I hate when she does stuff like that.

    Remember, I had been fast asleep.  I'm not quite sure what I was dreaming about - perhaps I was scoring the winning goal in the Stanley Cup playoffs.  Maybe it was the one where Paul McCartney calls and says he really needs a hot tambourine player for the next tour.  Or maybe it was the one about Sandra Bullock and the ostrich feather.  It doesn't matter.  What I wasn't doing was: I wasn't thinking about getting up to pee.

    Until my wife nudged me. 

    Then, of course, I was thinking about it.  Just a little bit, way back in the back of my mind.  Just enough so that I knew - and of course, she knew -  I couldn't possibly go back to sleep. 

  What would be the point?  I'd lay there in bed, not having to go but now alert to any signs that I might have to go, until finally I would have to go and I'd have to get up then anyway. 

    Because you can't go to sleep thinking about having to pee.  If you do, you'll end up dreaming about playing in the final game of the Stanley Cup playoffs and getting off the ice after the second period and going to the bathroom. And in your dream, the release feels sooo good , then suddenly your eyes snap open and you say to yourself "Oh, no.  Please no."  And if you're lucky, you'll still end up having to get up and go to the bathroom.  And not have to gather up the sheets.

    So I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, all snug and warm, and I knew - I just knew - that I was going to have to get up and go.  And finally, I bit the bullet and rolled out of bed. 

    And as long as I was up, I figured I might as well check the fires so the house would be toasty warm in the morning.  And as I got back under the covers, I could almost - not quite but almost - hear an evil chuckle coming from the other side of the bed.

    My wife knows she can pull something like that on me because she knows I have a bladder the size of a macadamia nut.  She, on the other hand, has been known to hold her water for several days.  The woman is a camel.  She wouldn't dream of getting out of a warm bed for something so trivial as going to the bathroom.

    This actually happened: one night, I had to get up and go.  So I did, and as I rolled back into bed, I said to her, "When you get up to go pee, could you get some bread out of the freezer for breakfast in the morning?" 

   

“Take that!” I chuckled to myself, feeling so smug.

    Her response:  "I won't be getting up till morning.  But as long as you have to anyway, could you also check and see the lights in the basement are out?"

    “Ha-ha-ha,” I said to myself, because I'm an idiot.  “She thinks I'll have to get up again.  But I don't because I just took care of business.  So I'm here for the duration.  No chance,”  I said to myself. 

    To her, I said "I'm all done.  I'm going to sleep.  Goodnight."

    "Really?" she said, because she has evil powers.  "Don't you feel just a teeny bit uncomfortable?  Not even a twinge?  Gosh, that's great.  Well, goodnight."

    So I lay there, and truth be told I did feel just a little teeny bit of a twinge. (“No!  No you don't!  Not this time!”)   And the more I thought about it ... well, the more I thought about it. 

    When I finally did go, I got the bread out and checked the lights in the basement.  They were off.

    I realize I've taken up a lot of time here talking about a rather personal topic.  So I'll stop now.  I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, going on and on about twinges and stuff.

    And frankly ... umm ...  there's something I have to do.

               
   

Alright, Already, Geez ...

I've been remiss in not updating, as anyone will tell you ... if anyone's name happens to be Laura.  So, let me tell you about the last few days.

It's been cold, then not so cold, then cold again.  I had pipes freeze, but then I went down under the house with my handy heat gun and unfroze them without incident, despite Allison's concerns.  But none of that is particularly interesting.

This past weekend, people came by to look at the puppies, which is ... very bittersweet.  I mean, we're fostering them - and after some debate (!) we'd decided no, not this time for us.  So the goal is to have them adopted by good families.  So it should feel great when that happens but ... weird how quickly you can get attached to a creature that is basically just an eating and pooping machine.

They came to us scared and timid and tentative, and now when we let them out, they go utterly apeshit - playing and pouncing and trying to get under my desk to chew at the wires and wandering over to the paper and maybe they hit the paper this time and maybe "Ohhh, just missed - but nice try."  When you let them out they fall all over themselves to lunge into your lap to be patted and nuzzled and to nip at your hand or lick your face and they're an absolute pain in the ass but dammit ...

The first people came by early in the weekend - a young woman who goes to university with Allison.  She and her husband wanted a lab, so Moody was all they had eyes for, and they filled out the papers for adoption within hours of cuddling him. 

So long, Moody.

Early on Saturday, a woman came by, and after having looked at the blog Allie set up for the pups , she was pretty sure she wanted Gilbert.  But then she got into my office and sat down on the floor (as we encourage them to do) and Charlie adopted her.

And really, that's how it happens.  We've done this a couple of times, and people may come with a certain puppy in mind, but when they get into the room, the puppies have a way of adopting the new families.

So, two down.

Since Allison is in charge of the process, and is scrupulously fair, the third visitors were problematic.  A very nice family - a mom and dad and two kids who obviously adored Teddy (well, Teddy to everybody but me - to me, he's "Bear", because he looks like a miniature grizzly).  But they were the fifth call - scheduling meant they had to come visit on Saturday, but they were in line behind two other prospective adoptive homes who were coming on Sunday.  We tried to be nice about it, but we didn't want to get their hopes up.  The two kids left, a little crestfallen, their parents trying to at once keep their hopes up ... but not too high.  We promised to call.

On Sunday, the other two callers came to look.  A lovely woman immediately fell in love with Gilbert, and promised to not only be kind to him but to raise him as a bilingual dog - she was French.  And the last couple to come and look were taken with Bear ... but were still really mulling over the whole idea of a puppy. 

(We encourage that, by the way - puppies are a bag of fun, but if you're not prepared for it, you'd be surprised how much of a pain in the ass they can be.  So if you're not ready for a puppy ... wait.  No puppies go for long without homes.  And there will be another along in a while.  Make sure you're ready.)

But fair is fair, and they'd called early on.  They left and we assumed that Bear was going to go home with them, and in truth he would have been a lucky dog if that had happened.

But an hour later, they called, and had decided maybe it was smarter to wait and make sure their life was ready for a puppy.  Fair enough.

That meant Allison got to make the most fun phone call ever - to the family with the two kids.  The mom's breath left her when she heard Bear was still available, and you just know the kids would be jumping up and down in the background.  I imagine that's one happy household tonight.  That's such a nice feeling.

So, they'll all be gone soon.  We'll keep them here till they've had their shots and checkups and have gone to see the vet to be tutored ... but once that happens, they'll go off to join their new families.  And it'll be quiet in this office again.  And sure, there won't be poo to clean up, and feeding times and yelping and whining ... but ...

                                       **********************

In other news ... I went out last week on a mission to take pictures of two signs.  This is one:

It is unclear exactly why I should be exercising caution ...  I figure if there's a gang of them, I can probably outrun them, unless they've got souped-up motorized chairs.

My friend Patti wants this sign.  She's been in a chair for 35 years or so and really wants this sign for her front hallway. 

I don't have the courage to steal it, but damn ... I've seen Patti in a mood, and yes, "Caution" is advised.

Now ... this is a local eatery ... all very innocuous, unless you try to park in the lot out back ...

Oh, dear.  I invite all of you to comment on the signs.  Bucky ... fill yer boots ...

C-c-c-c-cold

It's -21 degrees C. here ... or -2 F. if that's your pleasure.  With the windchill, it's been down around -40 degrees, which is the same on either scale.  Which is to say, freaking cold.

I'm working on a longer post, for those people who don't seem to be able to keep their pants on.  In the meantime, I am accepting pity on the temps.  Pray for me, whilst I go chip the dog off the hydrant.

Friday Cute Attack

Despite the outrageous and uncharitable accusations by certain people that I am shamelessly pimping my blog, I can't resist showing you more of these guys. 

The story behind how they got here is slowly emerging:  they were (quite literally) left in a cardboard box on a Vet's doorstep with a note saying "We're sorry - we just can't look after them."  They arrived at the PEI Humane Society, which doesn't have enough space or money for a "puppy ward" - and since puppies are more susceptible to the various illnesses to be found in a kennel, the Society began looking for a foster home. 

Enter Allison.  And, by extension, the rest of us.

They're about four weeks old, perhaps three weeks from adoption.  And there will be a line-up for them, I have no doubt of that - not only are they soon be featured on the Humane Society's website, they have a blog of their own, thanks to Allison - you can find it here.  And if you think these pics are cute, you should see the ones Allie has.

So, here's a pic of each of them -  one of the pics is a lil fuzzy (as is the subject), but I'm sorry - the expression?  Gah.

And at the end, there's a short video of the one who ... umm ... might not be available for adoption.  Negotiations are underway.  Could he be more adorable?  The moment he discovers the camera and charges?  Yikes.  Make your heart explode.

Ah, Crap ...

Brrrrrriiiiing.

Me:    "Hello?"

Allie:  "Hi.  So, I'm at the Humane Society, and I have a question ..."

Me:    (cautiously)  "Yes ...?"

Allie:   "So, you know when the puppies all left, and it was really quiet and lonely and boring in your office and you guys said that you'd do it again ...?"

Me:    "Ah, jeez ..."

Allie:  "This time there are only four.  And no mom, so it'll be easier.  And they're a month old.  And Dad ... two of them look like Golden Retrievers and one looks like a Border Collie!  The cuteness, it kills."

Me:    "We'll have to ..."

Allie:   "... ask Mom?  She says "Yes".  So it's up to you ..."

Me:     "Ah, crap."

Allie:   "See you in a few minutes.  They're already in my car."

Sigh.  They just arrived.  She was right about the cuteness.  It really does kill.

They needed to be out of the shelter because they don't have a mom and the other dogs are big fat bullies who bark at them ... or something like that.  All four are boys.

Here we go again ...

Meet ... uh ... "One" ... and-a "Two" ... and-a "Three" ... and-a "Four"

Suggestions for themed names are now being accepted. 

Evidently, this is "... only for a while."

I Love ...

... when a cat who is normally quite above dealing with the riff-raff of the world comes over to you and gets right in your face, then lowers his noggin and bonks foreheads with you.  Hi, cat.  I know the cool thing is just an act.  This moment?  This will be our lil secret.

... when you wake up and realize you don't really have to be awake that early, that there's nothing you can or even should do, and the bed's empty so you can stretch out like a starfish and pull the covers up and go back to finish that dream where you're in a hotel room and there's a knock on the door and ... well, you know the dream I mean.

... Sunday mornings, when Erin comes over after church and Allie wanders downstairs in her pyjamas and I fix my rightfully famous Sunday Morning Breakfast.  We start eating at about 11:15 (so, OK, call it a brunch, then) and we yak and laugh so much and so excitedly and passionately that we don't get up from the table till 1 or even later.  Sunday really is my favourite day of the week.

Pick a moment in your life that you love.  Make yourself smile and feel warm, then tell us about it.

A New Season

After a green Christmas, we got some snow in the past week.  On Saturday we called Roxy, paused on the back deck to slap on the snowshoes, and headed out the back of the property for an hour-long walk through field and forest.

Some of you asked if I would update the Photo Album at left with new photos as the seasons changed.  There are a dozen or so shots from the latest trip to my neighbour's woods - open the album and scroll down to the end. 

Hope you enjoy - here's one from the walk which clearly shows who is having the most fun ...

In case you can't quite pick her out, here's a cropped detail shot of Roxy in full flight ....