Granddaughters, Glitter and Grammies with the Flu.

I have this box with giant bottles of glitter glue sitting in my basement.  Awhile back, I was instructing middle-school girl's groups, and it was through that (as well as raising 3 girls of my own), that I discovered there is no such thing as too much glitter.  Ever.  Even industrial strength cardboard will roll into itself when five pounds of wet glitter glue has been painted onto it.  It also does not wash out of clothing, but will spread glitter to any other items you may have been foolish enough to toss into the washer along with the sparkly thing that used to be a garment.

Today I brought some of the stuff up for my granddaughter to try.  She liked the gold one best, but the lid was hopelessly glued shut.  I twisted the thing, turned it, twisted it some more. Brooklyn was watching me, so I had to bite my tongue and in a cheerful voice, sounding like an over caffinated cartoon character, I said, “Oh that’s okay!  We’ll just try something else!”  

 I reached into the drawer for the pliers.  Of course, they were too small to fit around the lid, so I ‘tapped’ the side of the thing with them.  Perhaps I should mention here that I have been sick all week and it is possible that my patience level might be slightly lower than usual, so it is also possible that my gentle ‘tap’ to loosen the lid, may have been a bit harder than I intended. Suddenly, the entire top of the bottle broke off and the room was awash in globs of golden sparkles.  How much glitter can an 8 oz bottle hold you ask?  I can now tell you with certainty, that it holds enough to generously cover my favourite sweater, t-shirt, hair, face and feet, the counter, wall, sink, taps, window shade and floor. I could also give a pretty solid guess as to the velocity and splatter pattern of said globules of glitter.

I was alone during the sparkle explosion though, standing there glittering in my kitchen, frozen smile still, firmly in place. With my puffy eyes, red nose, and stomach doing back flips from the flu, no one at all, was witness to my shimmering state of splendour. Brooklyn, with a typical 4 year old attention span had already left the room, happily deciding she wanted to play with her Barbies instead.

This Grammy is now heating up her wheat bag, pouring a hot cup of coffee and while I may have lost the sparkle in my eye, there is enough of it on the rest of me to last until it comes back.  Oh, by the way, I have now discovered there really IS such a thing as too much glitter.....

The Helgi Files 2 'The Bullwhip'

When my dad was 12 years old, a family friend hand braided a 16 foot blacksnake bull whip for him.  He treasured it for his whole life and was an absolute dead on shot with it.  At times when he most likely shouldn’t have been using it at all, such as when he and rest of the pack were so blasted they couldn’t even walk straight, someone would holler out, “knock this cigarette out of my mouth”.  Picture a drunkenly swaying volunteer standing, with pursed up lips, poking the cigarette out as a target.  Cringe though you should, that really did happen, more than once and he was, thank God, successful.

Anyway, the point of this story is that we grew up with this stuff and it was perfectly normal for us to see and hear,(it sounded like a rifle shot) my dad cracking this whip in the air, at times and places which might have seemed unusual for most people.

We lived in South Vancouver when I was about 10.  It was a neighbourhood of small family houses, with tons of kids and dogs and cats running everywhere.  In those days, dogs were rarely restrained or leashed and would, unfortunately pack up and there would be fights.  One of us kids would come running into the house screaming “Dog fight, dad, Dog fight!”  He would jump up, grab his whip and race outside to stand in the yard, swinging and cracking the whip in the air, “Yah! Yah! Yah”!  It sounded like shots being fired and the dogs would scatter in all directions and all would be well and safe again. It never even occurred to me until about a year ago, as I recounted this to a friend of mine, how, genuinely hillbilly-ish this might have appeared to anyone else. Particularly in Vancouver. Obviously he never 'hit' the dogs, just made a lot of noise.

Another time….

I was 16 years old and sitting on the couch next to my boyfriend at the time.  Dad came walking through the house and turned towards the bedroom which was adjacent to the corner of the couch.  He nodded his head to the boy beside me, said a tight lipped “hi” and kept walking into the bedroom.  Next thing we knew there was what sounded like a literal explosion right next to us, a reverberating CRACK.  He had cracked that whip right in the house and the echo in that closed space was almost indescribable. Imagine a shotgun going off 2 feet away from you.   Amidst much screaming, accusations of craziness, appalling behaviour, and the boy pretty much peeling himself off the ceiling, my dad was rolling up his whip slowly, casually asking the boy “Did I ever show you my bull whip?”

Sure do miss that man.

The "Helgi Files"

After my posting a memory of one of my dad’s performances, a friend of mine suggested writing about some of them on the blog.  Thank you for the suggestion Melanie.  I figure every so often I will add an entry from what I call, “The Helgi Files” ( that was his name).  My dad was a big old cowboy with a wicked sense of humour, who rarely passed up an opportunity to tease somebody, even if he had to walk on the edge of absurdity to do it.  He had a long memory and God help you, if you had behaved like an idiot and he found out, because his sense of humour would come looking for you without mercy. If you had behaved like an idiot towards him, you didn’t stand a chance.

"I'll Show you Noise" 
About 3 AM one morning, my dad got out of bed, dressed and walked to the back fence where a large group of kids were having a camping party.  He politely asked them if they could turn the music down a little bit.  They did, only to crank it back up full volume as he walked back to the house.  He didn’t respond, just kept walking.

About 6AM, when all was quiet behind the fence, Helgi rolled the metal wheel barrow right up to the boards, lifted the lawn mower into it and fired it up.  After much, screaming, hollering and questioning of sanity from the other side of the fence, my dad calmly said he didn’t think the noise would bother anybody. 

And sometimes, it seemed like it was just something for him to do....

"In the Old West, Yellow, meant Coward"
Listening to the news on the radio one day, my dad heard that a “Yellow Cab’ driver had been robbed the day before and they were still looking for the culprit. Of course the company was called “Yellow Cabs” but my dad, not only a big western buff but also never one to let an opportunity pass, called in to the radio station.  With as much fury as he could pretend, he told them they weren’t there at the time, so they had no right to call that cab driver ‘yellow’, just because he had been robbed didn’t mean he was a coward. 

The person fielding the call was stumbling all over himself trying to explain they hadn’t been calling the cab driver ‘yellow’ as in cowardly, that he worked for the yellow cab company.  Dad pretended not to understand and played it for all it was worth, wiping tears from his eyes, trying not to laugh out loud before he got off the phone.

My Brother

My older brother came into our family when he was 2 years old.  He was a beautiful blond haired, blue eyed boy and, judging from the many photos, our mom dressed him like a doll as she and our dad, showed him off to everyone they knew.  Through the years he has faced many difficult challenges, some of which took our parents to the brink of frustration, sorrow and absolute bafflement.  Still, I remember a verse my mom had read and which, in calmer times, she used to softly recite, with barely contained tears.  I don’t know who wrote it so I can’t give credit here, but I think the words are wonderful, not only for my family, but for all of the blended families out there. Whatever the circumstances were which may have led us all to that place.

 “Not flesh of my flesh or bone of my bone

But still miraculously my own,

Never forget for even one minute

You didn’t grow under my heart,

But in it.”

I don’t believe my brother has ever actually understood, or allowed the meaning of these words to soothe his heart and let him know that, while our parents may not have always understood him, they  did truly love him.

He still struggles to be okay, wandering through his life, trying to find where he belongs in this world.  His obstacles have become greater, his hurdles higher and the finish line hazier and less certain.  He may think he is alone, but I will always be here for him. He is my brother and I love him.

Perfection

Some of you have already read part of this on facebook. That was the
edited version though and this one, is from the heart.

I know that angels move among us because I have seen them. Sometimes
they walk on chubby little legs, have dirty faces and messy hair and sometimes
they love pickles out of the jar. The lessons I have learned from my own tiny
teacher are that no matter how much love is in my heart there is still room for
more.

I am struggling, right now, to learn the difference between ‘acceptance’
and’ rolling over’.  I have never walked away from a fight in my life, not one that mattered, and believe me when I tell you, this one matters. 

This time though, there arepeople saying “It’s just the way
it is”, “there’s nothing you can do to change it”, “It is what it is”.

I feel lost and helpless, and when I am alone, I literally fall to my knees screaming in
rage, in pain and in desperation, because I don’t know what to do. 

I’m not a doctor, I’m not a therapist, I’m not a nurse ....but I would give my life for this child.

If there comes a time when this dark new ‘label’ begins to look like anything like the cage, I fear it may become, I will know it is time to fight.  But will it be too late by then?

 I still see, absolute, God given perfection, in my beautiful boy and nothing will ever change that. When all is said and done I guess the question will be, will his own soft light, be enough to guide him through the scary shadows of this world that seems to have decided he doesn't quite fit?

The Cake Lady Taste Testing Party

Saturday afternoon, the Cake Lady ( Brandy), hosted a fabulous cupcake tasting party.  If I ever stop to ponder why my fitness routine may not be progressing as quickly as I would like, I need only to look at these pictures.



The Table





Black Forest with Cherry Filling
Absolute bliss





Coffee Cupcakes with Baileys frosting...
need I say more?









Peanut Butter Kisses.....mmmmmwhah!

 

Valenties Day perfection!

An afternoon, of friends, babies and cupcakes...sounds a lot like heaven to me!

Babies in the Afternoon

The wind was howling and the skies were grey. The snow was melting quickly and the day was sloppy, wet and miserable. Inside the old house, tiny, toddler feet ran so fast they barely touched the floor, teetering up on only one leg as they rounded the corners. Wild, squealing laughter, right from the belly of the baby, the touchable color of absolute love. How lucky can one Grammy be?

There simply is no more wonderful sound than uncontrolled giggles as noses are stolen, toes eaten and tummies tickled. I always dreamed of how wonderful it would be to win a lottery, but in reality I think I already have.

This is Brooklyn, trying to grow her bangs out.

This is Riley with a spoon in his mouth

This is Cameron and he might not be here in Cranbrook within hugging distance, but he is always close by in my heart.

There are three more handsome boys who no longer qualify as babies, but the sound of their voices and the sight of their faces, warms my heart every time.

Brian, Ben, Ty, Bonnie, Alex and baby Cameron

And, of course, our littlest grandson, Ryder, whose very first picture is being posted right here, right now

And this is the happiest Grammy in the world!

Seriously...why is it when someone on TV or in the movies gets sick, they look exactly the same as they do every other day? I have even see real people like that, I mean ones who are not on TV or in the movies.  I am not one of them.
When my head aches, my eyes droop and get wonky and seem to be sinking in the dark, purplish black circles beneath them.  My nose and upper lip swell when I cry or if I have a cold.  There is none of this dabbing at the corners of your eyes with a kleenex.  I use half a roll of toilet paper and I honk like a clown weilding a horn.  My husband entertains himself by shouting, "All Clear for ships!"  There is nothing delicate about the noise I make when I have a cold.
If I throw up, my entire face swells and becomes covered in tiny red dots, which fortunately match the vivid blood red that takes over the whites of my eyes at those moments.  Aside from the horrendous wretching sounds made when one throws up, there are other indignities.  I was talking to a friend of mine recently who confessed that she, as many of us who have had children, does not have complete bladder control once the yhacking process takes over.  So, not only are you barfing your insides out, with enough racket to make anyone within ear shot gag, but you are also peeing on the floor at the same time.  Not too bad if you are in your own bathroom with the door locked.  Not so good if you are on a road trip and wearing blue jeans. Or a sundress...(sorry kiddo but it was funny and I'm not using your name).
Yesterday I developed a vicious headache and now today the flu has settled in for a stay.  It makes me furious because I have way too much to do, but if throwing up is even a distant possibility, I think I will stay close to my bathroom with the locking door.

Migraine

The place is almost black, except for flashing, swirling lights trying to force their way in. The walls are pulsating, the floor shifts, all of the air is sucked from the room and my eyes burn in their sockets. Blindly crawling, I make my way toward the bed, trying to breathe, trying to think, hoping my skull does not shatter from the relentless trauma within. Like a medieval curse, migraine has settled in…again.



I have had the cursed things since I was about 6 years old and though they have become much less severe with age (the only solid advantage of old age I can think of, so far) they still remain an issue.


Mine are always right behind my eyes and seem to invariably be visually connected. Stress is frequently a factor, but not always. I wear sunglasses in all kinds of weather including snow or rain, because the light gets me every time. Reading this back, it sounds like I should be in the Twilight movies, or possibly headed to a rehab center somewhere.


Strobe lights nearly kill me. I can’t even tell if I am standing or falling, once somebody puts those on. I had one memorable incident on a dance floor, when anybody watching would have been certain I was the drunken town fool or raging addict of other sorts. I don’t even drink and never have, nor am I a drug user. I had to literally hold onto tables to find my way back to my chair. I couldn’t even tell if I was upright. What a spectacle.


3-D movies? Might as well just shoot me, as it would be far more merciful.


I have had doctors tell me to go for a walk in the fresh air to get rid of one of these episodes. Of course, anyone who has had genuine migraines will be laughing out loud reading that statement. Go for a walk???? I can’t even stand when I am in the middle of an attack. In fact, I can’t even sit. I can only lie down on my back, in a dark room, with a cloth over my eyes. Maybe he should have suggested that I ride a bull for 8 seconds or operate a jack-hammer for an hour or two. It would have been nearly as realistic.


One time during a hospital visit to emergency, they pumped me full of heavy narcotics and about 20 minutes later, as the medication was working, they told me to stand up and hold still for sinus x-rays.


Stand up? Stand still? I could hardly even move. I could still feel the horrendous pain, in spite of the drugs, but I just didn’t care as much. Having me try to stand at that point was like commanding cooked spaghetti to stand vertically.


Weeks later I met the doctor who had been in emergency that day. I was wearing the same pink sundress I had on when I landed in hospital and he came up to me, expressing shock that I was the same person. He said he recognized the dress or he never would have known who I was. I guess that is a good thing given that I looked kind of like a slack jawed, wild haired, street maniac whose eyes weren’t even level, when I first saw the man.


I have tried the ‘migraine’ medication right back to the Erogotamine products they once used. Did you know that a possible side effect for over use of those remedies was gangrene? They also failed to warn me the first time I took the stuff that I need to add Gravol with it, or risk wishing I was dead. It hadn’t been in my mouth for a full minute when I started throwing up. I seriously thought the top of my head would blow off and my eyes would explode right out of my face and roll across the bathroom floor.


The newer stuff only seems to make me aggravated (almost raging) most of the time and worsens the headache. Once in a great while they work but it is hit or miss at best and at 5 pills for 100 bucks, unless it is a nearly guaranteed fix, it doesn’t cut it.


So, dark, quiet room, here I come. Be gone evil lights, at least for an hour or two.

Bad at New Years Resolutions, but happy with new found Family Members

Okay...so I am terrible at trying to stick to my New Years Resolution to stay current with this blog.  Thing is, I LOVE writing for it, but I want to have something to say so it isn't straight up boring and it would appear that many of my days are, without question, not that exciting.
This week was different.  Through a series of really unexpected and strange online encounters, I reconnected with my American Cousins.  Turns out one of the kid cousins has been doing a whole lot of geneology the past few years and had all the information on my extended family that even I didn't have.  The way I found them was weird, through my oldest daughter and her travels through a somewhat obscure site about Sweden  The fact is though, that they are in my life again and that is pretty cool. I am grateful to Missy for doing so much work to connect everybody.  For some of us, it is a reconnection and for others it is a first time connection, and I find it all quite exciting. I am also thankful to Bonnie who first visited the unusual site and found that someone was mentioning our family.  Very cool.

Waiting for the phone to Ring

Soooo....Since the end of November, Ken has been waiting for a phone call to start work on a particular project up north.  He has now passed up three other jobs, 2 from one employer, and another one from a place very close to home.  These guys he is waiting for had better come through and make it worthwhile after all this waiting.  I swear the atmopshere around this place has been like a twilight zone of perpetual adolesence, waiting for the phone to ring.  Willing it to ring. The only thing missing from the picture are pimples and a diary with a key.

Little boys and pickles

My two year old grandson loves pickles. He will usually choose a pickle rather than a cookie, even though he is ecstatic when he has a cookie in his hand. Riley doesn't talk yet, though he is starting to a little, but he comes and grabs my hand to lead me to the fridge. He puts my hand on the fridge door handle and when I open it, he reaches in for the jar of pickles. His mom says it is a weird expereince waking up to a two year old with horrendous garlic breath from eating half a jar of pickles the night before.

He is, garlic breath and all, a sweet, cuddly little ray of sunshine in my life.

Best words ever

My 4 year old Grand daughter has excellent speech.  Still, she is just barely 4 years old and there are a few words that she has her own pronounication for.
A drinking straw...is a strawb
A Clam.....is a clamp
A bird's beak....is a beep
Polka dots are...polka nuts
Sticky tape is......stippy tape
Scissors are...snissors
Pretzels are...prentzels
Magnets are....mageenits
While I realize that in time she will learn how to say the words perfectly, as of right now, she is about as perfect as I can even imagine.

This is Brooklyn dancing with her Rapunzal doll.

January 5, 2011

Okay...so my New years Resolution didn't get too far down the road before I started fudging on the terms.  Still, here I am once again and it is only the 5th.
If any of my cousins are reading this, I am desperately waiting for update photos from some of you guys for our giant family history video.  Cam, Sandy, Mark, and Brian.  I need to hear from you guys so I can wind this thing up.  It sould be really cool when it is done and will hopefully be a place for some of our history to be kept that might otherwise be forever stored in boxes, albums, closets and memories of people who are no longer here.
It is a dreary, gray, dismal day out here in Cranbrook.  Cold and nasty. Good day to stay inside if you can.  Sadly...I cannot.

January 2, 2011

Okay, okay...I know, that because my New Years resolution is to stay current on my blog, I am still writing on the high of that promise.  Three days in a row, so far, we shall see how long I last.  New year or not, I remain the queen of disorganization and the best of intentions.
I have been feeling very sentimental today...."gonna take a sentimental journey" as the old song goes.
I think it is because of another year having passed, but also because of the loss, 2 years ago, New years day, of someone I considered to be my mentor, someone whose heart beat to the same tune as mine.  She and her sister, my two aunties on my dad's side of the family, both watched over me after my dad passed away.  I felt it with every step I took.  They are gone now and I miss them every day.  When the phone rings I still expect it to be one of them, even though their voices only play in my memory now.
I just read a facebook entry from the much loved granddaughter of my Aunty Lois.  She lives in her grandma's house now and her heart is clearly breaking from the absence of her nanna. If only she could know, that if her grandma lives on in anybody, it is in her.  She is the most like her. I hope that she is able to one day understand that the strong presence she feels of her grandma, I believe, is her nanna trying to guide her toward her own special spotlight. The place where only that one, very cool child, is meant to stand.  Even when she feels the most alone, she will always be surrounded by the love and support of her nanna.  She might not 'see' her, but if she stays open, she will 'feel' her trying to nudge her into a place where she is so desperately needed in this world.  Remember the fairy ring little one.  Sometimes the answers really do come from places of magic, especially when those places are steeped in never ending, love.