First off, my husband and I want to express our appreciation to all of our friends for their support during our recent tragedy… and always for that matter.  You all mean more to me than you will ever know.  Thank you.

We were due for some fun and some sun and fortunately for our sanity this weekend provided both.  My husband got off work at 6 AM on Thursday morning so I got up at 5:30 to start getting things loaded and my gardens watered.  He showered and got ready and we hit the road.  

My girlfriend Jack was coming out to spend the weekend which lit a fire under our (his) butt to get the cabin sleepable.  We moved our bed in and while my husband slept I puttered around our site watering plants, painting an old bedside table and prepping veggies for the stir-fry he requested for dinner.  I just have to say here that I don’t like cooking at the lake, I am happy with sandwiches and salads but somebody prefers “real” food so once in a while I must appease his stomach and make an effort that does not involve the lips and arseholes of cows and pigs stuffed into tubular casings.

By about noon I had all of my chores done so I took the dog for a stroll.  She had been bugging me all morning to take her swimming which involves her dancing around me and heading for the water every time I move.  I am not sure why she won’t go by herself, she always waits for one of us, maybe it’s a security thing… or she just wants to show off her mad diving skillz.  We walked down to the dock and I dangled my feet.  It’s been hot out so the water was lovely.  I thought I might like to take a dip but didn’t feel like making the trek back to camp and didn’t want to wake my husband in order to put my suit on.  I could just strip down and go in my skivvies, I thought.  There was nobody around.  The water was so inviting I was about to shed some clothing when I glanced up the hill and saw my husband staring down at me.  He laughed, it was like he read my mind.  “Go ahead.” he said as he walked down toward me.  “There is nobody else out here.”

I didn’t need a lot of encouragement.  I slipped out of my garments and dove into the water.  It felt fantastic.  My happy place is in that water (as cold as it can be) and add to that the freedom of nudity and I am a joyful, carefree girl.  My elation however was short lived.  I heard a quad.  Someone was heading in our direction.  FUUUUUCCCKKKK!!!!

It was a young couple from the other side of the causeway, they were touring around just across the small harbor from where I was fluffydipping (because when I do it there is nothing “skinny” about it).  I imagined the view they’d get if I did have to scramble from the water.  Without a ladder on the dock I would have to drag my fluffy white arse up onto the wooden structure like some sort of seal begging a fish from the trainer… lovely.  Before I had a chance to panic and send my husband for a towel to at least shield me from the mortification of getting caught naked, the quad turned around and headed in the other direction.  I wasted no time getting out of the water, in fact I exited so quickly I ended up with a couple of slivers in some not so comfortable places.  I threw my clothes back on and just as we began to walk back to the cabin my aunt came around the corner in her Jeep.  Apparently the days of frequent island nudity are over… and with that goes the picnic table sex.  *sigh*

That first night in the cabin was heavenly after a year in the Bluebird Hilton.  The bus was stinky, cramped and the temperature was too hot on warm days and too cold at night.  Our new bedroom has a lovely cross breeze and it’s well insulated so it stays relatively cool during the day and a little heat goes a long way.  It’ll need little more than a candle to keep it warm even on cold days.

On Friday we did the flooring and wainscoting and moved a futon in for Jack.  By the time she arrived we were beat so we all went to bed early.  Jack has been having a rough time lately too, she and her husband are splitting up and their house goes on the market tomorrow.  She needed a weekend of fun and relaxation as badly (or more) than we did.  There has been nothing but basic civility between her and her husband for a very long time, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she flicked a bug off my boob and told me that was the most action she’s had in years.  

We hung out all day on Saturday, mostly in the water, and got in some real visiting time (and some sunburns).  Jack only lives a few hours away and we do talk on the phone regularly, but nothing is like real face to face conversation.  I always forget how much I miss her until I spend time with her again.  She is as close to a sister as I have.

On Sunday Trix and her family arrived, they had spent the majority of the weekend out of town but since we all love Jack we all took Monday off in her honor to spend that extra day with her.  Trixie had had a rough weekend and was looking forward to a few paralyzers.  A bottle of Kahlua, a bottle of vodka later we ran out of milk so we completely freaked out my cousin Dee when we asked her if we could have some of hers… we tried to convince her that we needed it more than the baby did.  She left shortly after that, I hope she didn’t really think we’d milk her.

It got a little drunk out after that.  My husband has a pair of shorts with little white skulls on them.  When the shorts get wet the skulls turn blue.  I took great joy in splashing him at every opportunity and excusing my behavior as “Look at the skulls turning blue!”  It wasn’t long before Jack and ten year old John got into it and the water fight was on.  John switched teams from Jack to His Highness depending on who was winning at the time and it was after a short chase down to the dock that all of the skulls turned blue when my husband got pushed in.  When he got back to camp he chased John with a lighter threatening to torch him (nice!) and swatted Jack’s ass with a fly swatter.  She did admit that it was almost as exciting as touching my breast.

As Trix and I stumbled back from one of our many trips to the outhouse that night we discovered a can of yellow spray paint at her brother’s place.  She picked it up and proceeded to “paint” my toe nails.  We doubled over laughing as I reciprocated by painting hers. .. Though technically I got more of her feet than her toes.  Then, giggling like the drunken fools we were, we raced back to the outhouse to ambush Jack’s toes too.  There we were all three of us with fluorescent yellow spray painted feet.  Somehow I doubt our pedicure clients would have appreciated the artistry.

I was surprised to wake up without a hangover yesterday morning and my day started with more giggling when I got out of bed and saw my glow-in-the-dark piggies.  Sadly Jack didn’t fare as well.  She got up, threw up and went back to bed three times before she managed to keep some Gatorade and some Advil down long enough to feel better.  “Never again!” she wailed, “I am too old for this!  And how the hell do I get this shit off my feet?!”

The panacea for our collective woes was a weekend of fun and frivolity and limited responsibilities.  

The remedy for said weekend was some Gatorade, Advil and paint thinner.

To say it has been a rough couple of weeks would be a grave understatement… pun intended.  

My husband’s brother Karl returned to Ontario on Saturday July 4th leaving us alone with their dying mother.  We spent all day every day by her bedside, leaving only to grab a quick meal and to sleep when Sal came in to spend the night shift with her.  The nurses brought in a cozy recliner for him to nap as he was able and he often awoke covered with a blanket that they had placed on him in the night.  They offered him a cot but he wanted to be able to get to her quickly if she woke or needed anything so he refused the bed.  It was sweet to see him so devoted.  He was able to get a little sleep during the day knowing we were with his beloved Katy.

My mother does therapeutic touch.  We have always referred to it as “voodoo” and I’ve never been much of a believer.  I prefer to mock that which I do not understand.  My MIL believed in it however and often when she was unwell or recovering from something or another my mom would stop in and give her a treatment… which consists of a transfer of healing energy without actual physical touch.  Yes it’s odd but I look at it the same as I see chicken soup for a cold, it might not help but it can’t hurt.

Saturday evening my parents came to the hospital to see Katy, mom did a little voodoo and left the room crying.  I went outside to see if she was ok and she told me that my MIL was ready to die but someone was holding her back.  “Sal?” I assumed.  

“I’m not sure but I think it might be Ken.” she said.

When I returned to the room I sat next to my husband and took his hand and said “Honey, are you ready to let her go?”

“No.” his voice was small and pained.

“You know she is not coming back from this right?  You know that there is no miracle and no chance that she will survive this?”

“I know.”

“Then tell her it’s ok to go.  Promise her that we will take care of Sal and each other.  Let her know that she will find peace where she is going and that her god is waiting for her.  There is nothing left for her in this world and it is unfair of us to keep her.  I don’t want to lose her either but it is not about us, letting her go is the kindest thing you can do for her.”

I left the room to let him take some time with her.

When I returned he was kissing her goodbye.  I did the same and told her I loved her, knowing at that point that it would be for the last time.

The phone rang at 6:00 the next morning.  She was gone.

Two minutes later the phone rang again, it was Karl letting us know he was home.  My husband had to tell him not to bother unpacking.

We got to the hospital by 6:30, Sal was by her side, still holding her hand.  We spent a few minutes with her before they took her body downstairs and then we all went over to their house to start making phone calls.  

Monday we met with the funeral director and since my husband and Sal were both pretty out of it most of the decision making was left to me.  We kept everything fairly simple, cremation (her ashes will eventually be buried with Sal), a service at her church and a tea courtesy of the Legion Ladies Auxiliary (she was a member).  Still there was a lot to do, paperwork, choosing a guestbook and an urn, deciding on the little funeral flier thing… I spent hours going through photos to find just the right ones and I happened to know who her favorite poet was so I had to find something suitable from her too.  We spent the entire day on the details and I even borrowed a large electronic photo frame from my aunt and I scanned and loaded tons of pictures of Katy on it for the tea.  It turned out to be a really nice touch.  We also placed bread, salt and water on the table with her ashes and the flowers.  The trio is a Doukhobor tradition (custom?) that signifies “Toil and peaceful life.”  I think she would have appreciated that.

Tuesday we cleaned our house from top to bottom and I cooked the world’s largest lasagna.  It is imperative that I am the consummate hostess even in stressful times.

Wednesday night my Boy, Karl, his wife May and their son and Earl all arrived together from Onterrible.  

Thursday was the funeral.  It was also our (uncelebrated) 21st anniversary.  The service was lovely albeit a bit churchy (imagine that!).  I laughed when the pastor said that Katy wanted him to talk about Jesus during her funeral.  The brothers rolled their eyes thinking it was just the clergyman’s way of throwing a little religion into things.  I told them I wouldn’t be surprised at all if their mother had actually said that just so her boys would be force fed a dose of God since they were a captive audience.

There were so many tears.  I couldn’t make eye contact with anyone in the church and I couldn’t look at her photo.  And then my mother started singing.  Not just her, that would have been really weird.  My MIL’s favorite hymn was Just a Closer Walk With Thee and as the congregation began to sing I immediately distinguished my mom’s larger than life voice.  I leaned over to my son and whispered “Can you hear grandma?”  He started to giggle.  I started to giggle.  Fortunately we were in the front row so everyone else thought we were sobbing.  I think Katy would have gotten a kick out of it too so I can’t feel too bad about it, besides, it felt good to break the tension.

Friday was family day, we hung out here, visited and looked at old pictures.  My husband had the biggest glasses in the world when he was a teenager, Karl had a perm that made him look like Alex Trebek and Earl had the shortest short shorts ever… with his mullet.  Whenever I need a laugh I now know where to look.  I even scanned their nightmare fashions onto my computer so that even if they destroyed the originals I still had a copy.  Fun is fun ’til we’re looking at photos of me!

On Saturday the clan went home leaving us with a too-quiet house and more flower arrangements than we know what to do with… and no leftover lasagna, obviously it was a hit.

I was going to write a tribute to Katy but I can’t, at least not yet.  I wrote her obituary and it took all I had just to do that.  I think I did right by her, and her sons.  I hope I made her proud and showed her what she meant to me.  She is in my living room, between Buddha and the gargoyles.  It’s still hard to believe that in such a short time this woman, this mother, this true Christian, this kind, generous, honest, gentle, charitable, reliable, humble person has been reduced to eight pounds of ash in a cherry wood box.  I hope there is a god and that she is with him, she deserves that much at least.

As for us, we’re alright.  We miss her but they tell us it gets easier.  Beyond that we are simply exhausted.  Drained.  Sad.  

She’s not going to make it.  I want to stay positive and when I am with her or Sal or my husband I work hard to keep my chin and their spirits up.  Inside though I know that this is progressing way too swiftly to be anything but bad.

It was supposed to be a simple laparoscopic ‘kidneyectomy’.  Katy (my mother-in-law) just had a small lump and it was to be a quick and easy surgery, the doc didn’t even think she’d need more than a day or two in the hospital.  That was just six weeks ago and now everything has changed.

Two weeks after that first visit to the surgeon Katy returned for some more tests which showed that the single tumor was now three.  In two weeks it tripled.  My warning bells went off, why didn’t the doctor’s?  It’s going to be very easy for us to be angry with the docs at this point, to us it feels like they dragged their heels but realistically it has only been six weeks.  We only have one patient to worry about and sadly they have so many more.  We get it, we’re just not happy about it.

It took some time for the surgeon to talk to the oncologist about what treatment route would be best and last Wednesday they finally got their shit together and she was scheduled for her pre-op assessment.  She collapsed in the waiting room.  

She was admitted to the hospital immediately and every day the news gets worse.  Her heart is all fucky so they have her on something for that as well as blood thinners.  Surgery at this point would kill her so they have to get her strong enough and her heart rate under control first.  She was taken off her pain meds and went into withdrawal… if it wasn’t so sad it would have been funny to hear the doctor tell my husband that his mother had the DT’s.

When we got to her room for the first time I sat down beside her, she grabbed my hands and started sobbing, “Brenda, I am so scared.”  I choked back my own tears and assured her that everything would be ok (I even believed it then) and that we just had to be patient but it would all be just fine.  My husband had to leave the room several times.  He is her baby and they’ve always kinda stuck together.  It’s killing him to see her this way.  Katy is a shell of herself, she has lost a lot of weight, she is pale and her usually bright and smiley eyes have become vacant.

We were still hoping for the best but the news this afternoon didn’t come with a side of hope.  They did a chest X-ray to find out why her breathing is so laboured and they found more spots.  The doc said she couldn’t say anything for certain until radiology filed their report but she is quite certain what those spots mean.  A death sentence.

I wrote the first part of this post on Monday.  On Tuesday they sent her for a CT scan and they discovered that the cancer has invaded a bloodstream and is now into her lungs and beyond and they have told us she only has a matter of days, to give her a week or two would be overly optimistic.

Now we wait for her to die.

My husband’s brother Karl flew out from Ontario, he’s a lawyer and thinks everyone is beneath him and he’s more than a little bit of a douche but I think it helps my husband to have him here.  It relieves a bit of the burden and pressure that he’s been under to be able to share it.  I am relieved that The Boy is not here.  As much as we would love to have him home right now, I am glad he won’t see his Baba this way.  She would not want him to remember her in a hospital bed.  If he can’t come home for the funeral, we’ll do a private family memorial when he does come home in August.

I want to do right by her.  I want to make sure everyone else does right by her too, she deserves so much more and nothing less.  All we can do is keep her as comfortable as possible.  She doesn’t seem to be in any real pain but they have her on a slow morphine drip to keep her calm.  She hasn’t spoken (coherently) in two days but she is restless and agitated and she is developing some nasty bedsores.  

I am dealing with all of my fears of death, dying and hospitals.  I do my best to keep her mouth from drying out by swabbing it with lemon sticks and giving her sips of water or juice when she can take it.  I hold her hand and talk or read to her even though I am sure she doesn’t hear me, I keep a cool cloth on her brow and repeatedly put vaseline on her parched lips.  There was a time not too long ago when doing these things was not only foreign but also unimaginable and frightening to me.  I don’t normally deal well with any of this, it freaks me out, but she means so much to me that my own hangups have ceased to matter.  

My husband sits beside her bed, his arms folded on the bars and his chin resting on them, he watches her intently looking like a little boy, forlorn, waiting for his mommy to wake up.  

It kills me.

I hate this.

My world in bits and bites.

-My mother-in-law still does not have a surgery date and I am getting pretty pissed off about it. In two weeks she went from having one spot on her kidney to having three. They know where the cancer is, they know what has to be done and someone is still dragging their feet. She refuses to let me call them, she is trying to be patient and is probably afraid that I will make someone mad and prolong things even more but she is feeling lousy and getting very frustrated. She sleeps a lot and she cries a lot and nobody deserves that, least of all her. I might be forced to kick some ass… and I might take a great deal of pleasure from that.

-My husband’s brother Earl came out to see his mom (Katy) a couple weeks ago. He put on the big altruistic front but he is nothing but a selfish, self-absorbed, cockknocker with a god complex. We went for dinner and all he did was complain about staying at his mom’s… her home was small, stinky, noisy and he doesn’t like the man she’s been with for 20 years. I told him repeatedly “Suck it up (princess) it isn’t about you!” I could see that Katy and Sal were uncomfortable having Earl at their place so after two glasses of wine I offered to let him stay at our house. My husband’s eyes got really big. He was on graveyard shift that week and he knows I can’t stand Earl and he would never have made such an offer as he knows better than to put me in the position of playing hostess to his asshole brother. One more glass of wine and I might have invited Hitler to come for a visit. Shockingly, my bil immediately accepted my offer. I was mortified and about to break up with wine for betraying me but as it turns out it was a cathartic experience. I am not the 21 year old he walked over and mistreated 21 years ago at my wedding. I am not afraid of or intimidated by him in the least and having him here allowed me to vent and speak my peace about all of the mistreating he has done to me as well as his family. I did not attack him, but when a topic came up I spoke my mind and let him have it.

One conversation went as follows:
“You know what I remember about your wedding?” he asked.

“That you spent the entire weekend telling everyone that we shouldn’t be getting married? Or that we were too young, or that you claimed I was trapping your brother by getting knocked up? Ot that I was just after his money… which I am still looking for by the way.” I struck fast and hard.

“I was going to say the mosquitoes.” He winced a little.

Of course he retracted much of what he had said but he also defended himself. I expected no less but I felt better about it. I was far more angry about his treatment of his mother and how he could come all the way out here (for the first time in 21 years) and be so cunty toward her. I made it very clear that his actions were unconscionable and unacceptable at any time but more so given her current condition. I told him he was a bully and his intensity and narrow-mindedness are not what she needs right now (or ever) and that he should get the fuck off her back and accept that this is who she is and how she chooses to live her life. He took most of my criticism well but the sad fact is that in his mind everything (and everyone) should be a certain way and anything less is worthy of his scorn.

My husband was appalled at some of his brothers words and behaviour and stated matter of factly “He needs medication.”

I told my son of my experience with the houseguest from hell and all of his OCD and ADD and twitchy high strung actions and The Boy said “Oh my god, he is dad times ten!”

Earl was sadder to leave than we were to see him go but I am relieved that I got the opportunity to purge and defend my MIL. Earl is, was and always will be, a dick.
Dick, dick dick dick of Earl.

-Speaking of purging, I also recently had a small (but powerful) breakthrough with my mother. She got snarky with me over a comment I made about childhood responsibilities, “Oh here we go, all about your horrible childhood.” she rolled her eyes in exasperation. I (very calmly) explained to her that I did not have a horrible childhood but that I felt neglected by her as a kid. My younger brother got a lot of attention because he was sick for his first three years and a badass as he got older and my baby brother was the golden child and perfection in a diaper so even as a teenager I (felt like I) didn’t matter. I was a sad child who became a pissed off teenager who turned into a bitter adult. For the first time I was able to defend that little girl who felt unworthy, unaccepted and often unloved. I got to stand up for the injustices she felt.

At first my mother was defensive but I kept my voice soft and was very clear that despite all circumstances it was how I felt at the time and whether or not they were justified or exaggerated they were MY feelings to feel. I think she got it. At one point she admitted that she didn’t feel like I needed her. My mom thrives on being needed, it’s like her purpose and gaining that knowledge spoke volumes to me. We both gained some understanding that day.

When she left she hugged me hard and said “Don’t ever think that there was ever a moment that I never loved you.”  
We may have turned a corner.

-Without going into too much detail (because I don’t know if he’d have issues with me sharing) my baby brother is not well. He’s lost a lot of weight since February and not because he is trying. His belly is a mess and he has panic attacks when he eats making him unable to eat much at all. My SIL is afraid, she doesn’t know how to help him and the tests that their doc is doing are taking too long and thus far nothing is improving. They were here this weekend and I hardly recognize my brother, he neither looks nor acts like himself. I am very concerned and would do anything for my brother but there is nothing I can do and I am feeling horribly helpless.

-In lighter news, I have lost 41 lbs since February (although unlike my brother I have to work at it every day) and I am desperate for some clothes that do not hang off of me so my husband is taking me to the city for a bit of a shopping trip for our anniversary and my birthday and to shut me up about not having anything to wear.

-In even better news, MY BOY IS COMING HOME!!!! He finished his exams in the middle of August and then he has almost three weeks before his next term begins. I am beyond excited that I’ll get to (s)mother him for that long when I haven’t even seen him since Xmas. I am counting the days!  52 to go!!

I have a little known form of Attention Deficit Disorder that I refer to as my Short Obsession Span (SOS).  I discover something I love and I love it and love it until I smother the crap out of it and then I move on to the next thing.  Some of my fickle fascinations and fleeting preoccupations have included; certain boys (I was a stalker before stalking was cool… or a crime), Russian history (I convinced myself I was a lost Romanov),  crotcheting (there are seven unfinished afghans in my basement), entertaining, crafting, home repair, Scrabble and most recently poker but I lost $400,000 dollars in fake money so now I can’t even afford fake boobs and suddenly I don’t want to play anymore. 

 I have moved on to gardening now, cause that’s how I roll.

My husband is exempt from the SOS, I figure he has some kind of multiple personality disorder that continually evolves him into yet another insane guy I love.  For almost 21 years he’s kept me guessing and on my toes (and occasionally on my back) so we have a good balance and we gel so I don’t get bored with him.

Music is where the SOS (and not the ABBA song) really manifests itself.  I listen to something I like over and over again ad nauseum until I hate it because I have heard it too much.  The radio makes this process a little speedier but it never fails that if I love a song I will inevitably sicken myself on it like a kid on too much candy… except I don’t think any song has ever made me throw up though “Who Let The Dogs Out” might have come close.

I worked at a music store for many many years.  I had access to hundreds and hundreds of CDs and I listened to almost everything… for a little while.  In 1995 All of that changed.  That was the year that Collective Soul released their self titled disc and music would never be the same for me.  The world I know changed the day I slid that yellow disc (I have since gotten the blue variant as well) into the machine and pressed “Play”.  There was something about that first album that grabbed me by the ears and would not let me go.  I played that CD endlessly, at home, in my car and at work.  I knew it by heart and sang along with every lyric… when nobody else was around to hear me of course, I might know all of the words but Ed carries a way better tune.

My son, who was seven at the time was as much a fan as I was, he has always been a smashing young man with great taste in music… he gets that from me.  Some people however were less than thrilled with my perpetual Soul train.  My boss would roll his eyes at me when he’d walk in the door and customers would chide me, “Brenda, there are other CDs you know!”  

It was then that I backtracked through the catalogue and discovered Hints Allegations and Things Left Unsaid.  And so it went, Collective Soul had created a monster.

A couple years later I was working at Blockbuster Video and at that time the rental giant sold CDs.  I was ecstatic to discover that CS was releasing a new disc so I badgered and begged the manager to order a copy for me and to phone me immediately when the freight came in and I would pick it up.  I literally bounced into the store when the boss finally called me to tell me my disc had arrived.  He knew how anxious I was for the CD so he had it ready for me to pay quickly and get out so I could give it a listen.  He handed the disc to me and it took all I had to hold back the tears.  He had mistakenly ordered The Soul Collection… Motown hits.  I nearly had an undisciplined breakdown of my own.  I only had to wait a few more days for the correct CD but the funny thing is that I actually ended up buying The Soul Collection as well.

Collective Soul has been a constant in the soundtrack of my life over the past 14 years, I have every disc (and two of the self titled) and they are the predominant players in my car, on my computer and on my iPod.  In fact when I am having one of those days where nothing makes me happy musically and I am skipping from song to song trying to find something that doesn’t bore me, inevitably it is a CS song that makes me stop and listen and say “Oh I’m feeling better now.”

All that I know is that I am counting the days until their new disc comes out (August 25th)… yes I still buy CDs, I am a purist, my general attitude is that I am happy to pay for music and I like to have my own copy and the liner notes.  I am also totally excited that they will be playing in Calgary on July 1st (Canada Day) it’s a long drive but it is the closest show to us and I am trying to convince my husband that he couldn’t give me a better (21st) anniversary gift than to take me to see one of my favorite bands live (as opposed to all the bands I see dead?! ?) Where there’s a will there’s a way and it would be a dandy life if I could finally catch their show.  I promise I will breathe, I might scream and my panties won’t find their way onto the stage.

So here’s the simple run-down, If you have adored this band like I have or just want to know more about them, the tour is on now and the details are at http://www.collectivesoul.com/live/, I also highly recommend following them on Twitter at http://twitter.com/collective_soul (they actually follow back, interact with their fans and they even have contests!) and for all other news and band info check out this link http://www.collectivesoul.com/blog/ and this one http://www.collectivesoul.com/news/.

On that note (get it?) I take my leave with a favorite lyric that is appropriate to this post and my longest running obsessions, music, love, gardening and of course Collective Soul.

So plant a little seed
Soon it starts growing
Shed a little light
Soon we’ll be glowing
Hear a little tune 
Soon we’ll start singing
Give a little love 
Then love will start breathing

Yes, it’s that time of year again, the season when I jabber incessantly about the lake… suck it Trebek, it makes me happy.  

May long was our first full weekend at the harbour (May Long is also a good Chinese name) and my friend Jack came out to spend the three days with us.  Jack and her husband are in the midst of separating so she appreciates the time away from him and the city almost as much as we enjoy having her hang with us.  Even Trixie’s kids get excited to see Jack, they make her signs welcoming her and they love to get things prepped for her arrival, they even put a mint on her pillow… although it would not surprise me in the least if they licked the chocolate off it first.  My husband enjoys Jack’s visits almost as much as I do, she’s probably as close to a sister as either of us has ever had.  In fact he was the one who gave her her manly monicker over twenty years ago.  Everyone loves Jack, everyone looks forward to Jack.  I lamented that just once I’d love to have anyone be as happy to see me as we all are to see Jack.  If I didn’t love her so much I’d be bitter.

The weather was as decent as May weather can be in the Canadian Rockies, which means we got stripped down to two layers of clothing during the day but needed full winter gear at night.  Getting out of that bus cannot come too soon for me.  Two mornings we woke to sub zero temperatures, I felt like I slept with my shoulders wrapped around my ears trying to turtle into myself to keep my head warm… and that was with my toque on!

It was however fairly warm and we were busy enough on Sunday that we both got a little sweaty… and one of us was stinky but I won’t say who. I insisted that he at least have a whore’s bath or a PTA (pits, tits and arsehole) wash or he could sleep outside.  I suggested he go shower at Trixie’s but he decided he’d rather bathe in the lake.  “Alright.” I cringed.  “If you can hack it, I can too.”  

The water was 42F which is 5C… that is precisely FIVE degrees from frozen.  That’s the kind of temperature that’ll stop your heart instantly if you just jump into it… and it could very well freeze you like cryogenics if you hung out in it too long.  We eased in.  It wasn’t too bad to the knees, the thighs were chillier, the crotch was numb in seconds.  Ken’s boys retreated and we haven’t seen them since.  For me it’s the pits and tits that are the toughest to dip.  Those are some sensitive bits and they don’t fancy the cold.  I plunged neck deep and tore out of the water, I soaped quickly and splashed more than rinsed to take the froth off of me.  My husband submerged and washed his hair, apparently he has bigger balls than I do… at least he used to before they ran away.

We’re hardcore.

Other lake tidbits…

One rainy evening the adults gathered in Trixie’s trailer for a movie… apparently they don’t know that there are no TV’s (and satellite dishes!) in camping.  I didn’t bitch, i was busy soaking up the indoor heat.  We decided to watch Mamma Mia even though we had all seen it before.  We set the DVD to show the lyrics to the songs and His Highness ‘sang’ along.  We were more entertained by him than we were by the flick and our faces and bellies hurt from laughing as he droned in monotone through every ABBA tune.  I wish I had videotaped him.  People wonder how our marriage has lasted so long, it’s because the dude makes me laugh.  He is not afraid to have fun and make a fool of himself and I love that he dances (almost as badly as he sings) to his own beat.

Ten year old John is a hot dog freak.  He would eat them three meals a day if his parents would allow it.  He had eaten at least six throughout the day on Saturday and sure enough he arrived at our campfire with two more (of the kind that are joined together at the end) for a bedtime snack.  “John, you are not having more hot dogs!?” his mother begged.  “Nah,” he said swinging them around, “these are just nunchucks.”

Nana has no more cheese on her cracker so she won’t ever be going to the lake again, at this point the poor thing doesn’t know if she’s Arthur or Martha.  Last year when we cleaned out her place I found a box of seeds, some in packages and some she had saved so I kept them.  On the weekend I drove up the road a bit to a rock pit and I hauled a bunch of rock down to the island.  I found a sunny spot, cleared it and made a weed barrier out of newspaper and set about circling the rocks for the garden.  When I was done it looked like a fire pit.  Fuck.  I disassembled the entire thing and started over with more of a rectangular shape this time.  Now it looks like a grave but I’m not taking it apart again.  I hauled buckets of sand and mixed some dirt and planted the seeds.  It is my Nana Garden but I am sure that due to the shape people will think it’s her final resting place.

In cabin news, we are hoping to finish the loft this weekend.  I found maple laminate flooring for 97 cents/sq ft which is a screaming deal.  I bought enough to do the whole place for just over 300$.  My husband traded his cabinetry services (at least he said it was cabinetry services) with a local guy who does tongue and groove panelling (oh there has to be a tongue and groove/service trading joke in there somewhere) that we’ll put on the ceiling.  I have already painted the upstairs so with a little luck we’ll be able to sleep in there soon.  Yay!!

And speaking of the cabin, here it is.  This photo was taken last fall which explains all the crap on the deck.  Our bedroom is in the top part and the main floor has a bathroom and a kitchen/eating/living area.  It’s no mansion, not even a cottage by most standards but it’s cute, cozy and plenty of room for the two of us.

476 square feet of happiness

My 72 year old mother-in-law hasn’t been feeling right for a couple months.  I have to admit at first I thought it was just Baba being Baba.  When I call my MIL and ask her how she is she always tells me exactly how she is.  “Well, I got a little headache this morning and my knee has been a bit sore and there’s a pain in my back and my bursitis is acting up but other than that I’m alright.”  

I guess it should come as no surprise that her doctor dismissed her symptoms as well, I imagine she hears about the many minor ailments far more than I do.  Still though it is more than a little frustrating when docs dismiss everything as “old age” once your teeth are of a certain length.  Old people can get seriously sick too, it’s not always in their heads or the usual aches and pains of maturity.  It wasn’t until after she fell down that the doctor really started to pay attention.  Katy (my MIL) was taking out the trash the first time she tumbled.  She didn’t slip, she just fell.  Her entire side was bruised and she was in terrible pain for weeks. She confessed to me that she was crying a lot… but not to tell her son because she didn’t want him to worry.  It was however fine for her to make me fret apparently.  A few weeks ago while walking downtown she tumbled again, she said she didn’t get dizzy or woozy or anything, she just dropped like a sack of bricks.  She was fearing for her sanity and feeling more than a little beat up when she went to her doctor and complained again.  They ran some tests to be sure that Katy hadn’t damaged anything when she toppled and it was one of these that showed the spot. 

Last week she was diagnosed with cancer.  The tumor is on her kidney, they are hoping they can remove the entire organ and so far it appears that it has not metastasized so hopefully she won’t even need chemo or radiation. The other problem (as if cancer were not enough) is that she also has something wrong with her heart… some murmur or something.  In a young person apparently a murmur is no big deal but when an older person suddenly gets one it can be a serious issue.  In two weeks she has an appointment to see the surgeon and hopefully by then they will know more about her heart condition so they can proceed with the operation.  With a little luck they will be able to remove her kidney laparoscopically so the organ removal will be less traumatic to her body and her recovery should be considerably easier.

When she told my husband all he heard was the “C” word and not a thing after that.  I called Katy back for the details and had to explain to him that his mother’s situation was not as dire as the word implies.  She actually sounded very optimistic and she is prepared to face whatever comes with a tenacity I knew she possessed but I had never seen.  She is relieved to know what is wrong with her and that she is not losing her mind and that the cancer explains the falling down… apparently it has something to do with inadequate blood flow and it messes up everything else.  She seems better than she has in a while and informed me that her God is also with her and He brings her courage.  I am not a religious woman (no really, I know that is a shocker) but I am grateful that people like my MIL can take the kind of comfort and ‘support’ that a faith in something beyond themselves can provide.

I am not writing a tribute to my MIL because she isn’t going anywhere, at least not for a good long time.  That said, cancer is still scary and despite what I tell my husband I am afraid for his mother and I worry about both of them.  I feel like I am the one who has to stay strong and on top of things and ask the right questions and remember the details.  She is old school and doesn’t always understand things and my husband gets pretty worked up at the idea of her being sick and that renders him a little scattered sometimes and understandably.  He would do anything for his mom… short of donating his own kidney that is.  He has a horseshoe kidney (the two are attached) so if for some reason her remaining kidney doesn’t function properly he can’t give her one of his because technically he only has one as well.  I told her this is a pretty convenient situation for him and assured her if the need arose she is more than welcome to have one of mine. 

Yes, I love my MIL that much.  

There is a thin woman inside of me is screaming to get out… I ate her.

I’ve been on a constant diet for the last two decades.  I’ve lost a total of 789 pounds.  By all accounts, I should be hanging from a charm bracelet.  ~Erma Bombec

I have a confession to make.  

I’ve been dieting.  I am loathe to use the “D” word because it has all kinds of negative and starvation connotations and the implication that this is a temporary adjustment to effect permanent change.  “Dieting” also implies that I’m following some fad and dammit I am no follower… except on Twitter and I don’t follow many people on there… though I am discovering that if I follow someone who is also following me we’re probably not really going anywhere.

But I digress (also a D-word).

It is no secret that I have weight issues, I have spent my entire life on one diet or another.  I was a chubby child who became a fat adult.  One look at my family proves that we either all have terrible eating habits or there is something to weight and genetics… my guess is both are contributing factors.  As a teenager my mom had me on some weird thing that had me taking about four thousand vitamins a day and drinking the most putrid chalky shake and some aloe vera drink that the thought of still gags me.  I did my time on every diet imaginable, Atkins, South Beach, Cabbage Soup, The Zone, Slim Fast, low fat, low carb, etc. etc.  I even went so far in my effort to lose weight that at 18 I had my stomach stapled.  Vertical Banded Gastroplasty they called it.  They literally staple off a portion of your stomach so that you feel full on less food.  This is great if you eat because you are hungry for food, too bad they couldn’t staple off the part of the brain that tells you that food is love.  I lost about 60 lbs after the surgery and before I met my husband and got knocked up.  I gained it all back with the pregnancy… and then some.  My results were always the same, every time I lost a little I’d gain even more back.  My weight wasn’t a yo-yo, it was a super ball, the faster it went down the higher it bounced back up.

By last fall I felt completely out of control, I had basically given up and being depressed about it only exacerbated the problem.  You know you’ve hit a low point in your life when you talk to someone on chemotherapy who has lost a lot of weight and you find yourself thinking “Maybe cancer wouldn’t be so bad.”  I know I’ll probably pay for that thought but I was in a very bad place at that time.  Self loathing takes many forms, food was my friend, my enemy and my comfort, I stuffed all of my emotions down my throat and was disgusted as I did so.  I was like a cutter but I used a fork instead of a knife.

I hit my highest weight ever then… and what I hope was rock bottom because if I get lower than that point again I’ll be underground.  That hopeless, helplessness is about the worst feeling in the world.  I understood suicide at that moment, all I wanted was to be out of this body. 

It was about that time I mentioned to my friend Jeremy (the blogger formerly known as Originalism) that I couldn’t deal with it all anymore and that I needed to find a real solution… or die.  He told me that it’s all about the math, calories in versus calories out.  At first I poo-pooh’d the idea, I was convinced that I didn’t actually consume a whole hell of a lot of calories to start with and there must be some trick to losing weight be it eating only in the dark, main-lining colon blow or hiring a wildebeast to gnaw the fat from my body.  As usual I was looking for a shorter route to success… no matter the cost, difficulty level or pain.  We live in a fast food society, we want everything immediately, we don’t want to have to work for it and spend the time it takes to do things properly.  We want what we want and we want it now, a magic bullet.

I went back on Atkins.

After a month of eating little more than meat and eggs I had lost about six pounds and was miserable.  Woman can not live on meat alone.  Then Christmas came.  More misery, and try sticking to Atkins in the face of massive quantities of chocolate, breads and potatoes.  By January I began to realize that livin’ la vida low-carb was not working for me.  I went through all of my diet books and sadly they weigh more than I do and all I have ever lost with them is the money they cost me.  None of the options were even remotely appealing.

In the back of my head Jeremy’s words gnawed at me, “Do the math.”

It was late January when my brother told me he was on Fitday.com.  He explained the site to me and said basically it is a way to keep track of your calories, consumed and expended and tracks your progress.  This was exactly what I needed… someone to do the math for me.  I did a little research and discovered that if you consume 1/2 of the calories you burn you will lose 1 pound every two days.  Two or three pounds a week seemed pretty reasonable so I thought I’d give it a go.  I had nothing to lose and a lot to lose.

I honestly thought I ate fairly low calorie until I started doing this.  Denial is truly a big fat bitch.  The first week astounded me.  A slice of bread is 170 calories???!  A tablespoon of butter is 102 and the cream in my coffee is 157??  I’ve had 429 Calories and I haven’t even started my day!  To say I have amended my eating habits is an understatement.  Just being able to see where the calories come from and how empty some of them are made me feel not just accountable, but in control, for maybe the first time in my life.  I am the master (mistress) of my own domain.  I can do this.

I spent a lot of time researching my low-cal options and adapting my recipes to make them more ass-friendly.  Instead of regular bread I eat rye bread (at 60 calories per slice) and I am forcing myself to be a fruit person, though I mostly stick to watermelon and bananas.  Most fruit and dense vegetables (as well as rice and beef) do not sit well with me since I had my gastro and if I eat them the chances are pretty good that they won’t stay down.  I also have to be careful about bulk, my stomach can’t hold much for volume but by the time I realize that I have eaten too much or too fast it’s too late.  I’ll spare the cookie-tossing details but I do want to clarify that when I throw up the food has not yet been digested (it’s like it’s in a holding tank that leads to the stomach and that is where things get held up and consequently backed up) so it’s not the acidic vomit one would imagine.  In reality most things taste the same in both directions.  

So since I am unable to eat a lot of the usual “diet” fare I have become more creative which works for me because it allows me to eat versions of the things I love.  I make a lot of homemade soups (cooked veg are far easier for me to digest than raw), I snack on rice cakes (which I have actually come to enjoy), I use low fat and light mayo’s and dressings and wherever I can stand it I skip the fat all together.  I know that sounds kind of bleak, but I don’t feel deprived at all and the reason for that is because I am not.  I eat exactly what I want but it has to fall into my 1200-1500 calories a day.  If I want a piece of chocolate cake I have it knowing full well that I have to cut back somewhere else.  Same goes for wine.  On the days when I know I will be having a drink (or six) I eat a lighter day to make up for it.  I have also learned that I can eat (and drink) more if I burn more calories.  Fitday also keeps track of calories burned so when I spend three hours gardening I can burn an extra 900 calories which gives me a spare 450 that I can consume (or not).  

I hate exercise, you will never catch me in a gym and my helliptical has been the bane of my existence since I bought it.  I don’t even like going into the basement because that fucker mocks me.  Walking (or hellipticalling) to nowhere and back is pointless to me but I have discovered that I do love exercise with a purpose (EWAP).  I can accomplish things while working out.  I shoveled the driveway all winter and truly enjoyed every sweaty second of it.  I am happy to plug into mipod and putter away mowing the lawn, raking leaves, painting or gardening.  EWAP is allowing me to eat what I want, it’s peeling off  the pounds, making me sleep better (more fresh air) and it’s made me incredibly productive.

I know it’s only the start but at least this time (and maybe for the first time) I think I am on the right road.  I am feeling better about myself, not just because my clothes are hanging off me but because I am in control, I have the power (of Greyskull?) and I don’t feel so helpless and hopeless anymore.  As of yesterday I have lost 31lbs but the positive state of mind that I am gaining is almost as rewarding.

Speaking of recovery (no I am not joining AA although I’m really not interested in wine today) these past few days have kicked my ass… and my arms… and my legs… and my back… but it appears my body is either getting used to the abuse or simply gone numb.  I have overexerted and no relief appears to be in sight.  Dummy. 

Friday we went out to the lake and spent the day working on the cabin.  I cleaned out the Bluebird Hilton (the bus) so we’ll have a place to sleep until la cabina is livable, we finished stapling and taping the vapour barrier in the loft and began to put the plywood up for the interior walls.  There is no power out there so everything we did had to be done by hand or with cordless tools so it’s a fairly slow and laborious process.  I spent the majority of the afternoon painting.  I don’t think I mentioned what a wicked deal I got on the paint.  A client of mine and her husband have a building supplies store and since she knew I was in the market for some paint she mentioned to me that occasionally they have mistints that they sell cheap.  I told her I was looking for a light blue and if she ever had anything even close to let me know.  She called me last week to say they had four gallons of a pale blue mistint and I should check it out.  The color was exactly what I was looking for so I bought all four gallons for $40.  That my friends is what real networking is all about. 

Have I mentioned I enjoy painting?  It’s another one of those gardening-like tasks that brings me peace and allows me to see the fruits of my labour.  We were completely exhausted by the time we got home and showered.  We didn’t even have enough energy to cook supper so I had Cheerios and he had a sandwich.  We were asleep by 9PM which naturally meant we were awake with the birds by 6 the next morning.  

Saturday was (finally) sunny and (finally) warm so we got busy outside.  When I say we got busy I mean we were productive not re-productive.  My husband did some landscaping in the front yard while I planted and transplanted and made dirt.  Yes, I have to make my own dirt.  Our ‘topsoil’ is that fine layer of dust on top of the rocks and not even weeds grow in that.  Years ago we bought two loads of ‘topsoil’ that was really more clay than soil so I mix that with some peat moss, sand, sawdust, compost and the manure that my neighbors brought me.  I have the best neighbors in the world, they give me shit and I dig it. 

I really have to give a shout out to my best friend at this point because if it weren’t for him I wouldn’t get anything done around my yard.  Who is my best friend?  My wheelbarrow of course, I call him Clyde as in Clyde Barrow which together makes us…

wait for it…

Benny and Clyde.  

As if hauling, mixing, planting, weeding and transplanting wasn’t enough to do for the day, I felt the need to start a new garden project as well.  During one of my geeky garden girl internet searches I discovered a fun use for old tires.  I thought the process looked easy enough so I wandered up to my parent’s (junk) yard and found some (piles of) old tires.  I asked dad if I could take a few and he said that was fine but he had to make sure I wasn’t taking ‘good’ ones.  Can you hear my eyes rolling?  There isn’t a good… anything in all of that junk.  When my parents die my inheritance is going to cost me money.  Sure, my brother’s and I will get the land but we’ll have to pay someone to haul away all of that scrap metal and old machinery and dead dump truck and bits and pieces of crap and garbage that my father can’t bear to part with.    

a tiring project

I will spare (get it?) you the details and the how-to’s, there are some great sites that step it all out far better than I could.  I do however want to say that while I have never wrestled a Grizzly bear I would guess that trying to turn a truck tire inside out is about the same degree of difficulty and pain.  I have the bruises to prove it.  That said, by the time we got to the third one we were either getting stronger or the tires were getting weaker.  When we were finished I looked like I’d put in a double shift in a mechanics shop, I was filthy from the eyebrows down and I was completely…

wait for it…

tired.  

Sunday I went in search of something else to do.  I walked up to the folks (junk) yard again to see what I could rescue/recycle for potential planting purposes.  There in the long grass I found a rusted headboard and footboard.  I dragged them over to my dad and told him I was taking them.  “I’m collecting my inheritance, one piece of garbage at a time.”  I told him.  “The boys can deal with the rest of your crap.”  To which my father scowled and grumbled “If all of the stuff around here is no good, why do you keep taking it?”  

He had a point.  Thanks dad.

I sanded and spray painted the old metal and then I gathered a bunch of scrap wood  to build a frame.  I kept nailing 2×4’s around the perimeter until I had the depth I wanted but when I was finished I didn’t like the way the big box looked on the outside.  It wasn’t pretty and it looked like every other raised bed in my yard.  Once again I trudged up the road to see what else I could scavenge.  My dad has a small sawmill where he cuts logs into lumber and the edge strips that are sawn off the logs are called “slabs”… these are the bits with the bark still on them.  I found a few slabs that I thought might work and Clyde and I hauled them home and I used them to finish the outside of my flower bed so that the entire thing looks (to me at least) like it is made of logs.  My boy thinks it’s kind of tacky but I think it’s adorable… or at least it will be once I figure out what I want to plant in it.  

flower bed

I slept like a rock last night. It might have had something to do with all of the Advil and Tylenol I took after working in the yard all day yesterday. My body was screaming out in agony telling me that either I am severely out of shape or that I am meant to be a lady of leisure. I’m going with the latter.

So in my drug induced REM state I had a dream that I was waiting for an elevator. I dream about elevators a lot and there is always something wrong with them. Sometimes they stop half way so that I have to jump down into them or crawl up to get inside (I am always afraid of getting cut in half if the thing starts moving unexpectedly) and I’ve even had dreams where they go sideways or up on an angle. I am sure Freud would have a lot to say on the matter, the old perv would probably tell me this means that sexually I am off balance and he might be right. I did check out some websites on dream analysis and apparently if your elevator is going up and down it means your sex life is boring, if it goes down you’re heading for a crash and if it just goes up you’re on the fast track to wealth and success. The Otis in my dreams is always going up (though whether or not my elevator reaches the top floor is debatable) but it’s always awkward to get on it for some reason. While it would be lovely to suddenly be wealthy and successful I’m not sure that it’s accurate especially given our current state of economic despair. Maybe the dreams are trying to tell me that with a little effort I can reach the top or another higher level of consciousness. Or maybe if the elevators symbolize vajayjays it’s a sign I am on the right path career-wise. The hoo-hoo will take me to the top?

It was test week this week and I didn’t have to study for either of them. I am way past due for some new specs so I went to the eye doc to get my peepers checked. It had been four years since my last check-up but only my left eye has changed and very slightly at that. They have this camera thingy that takes a picture of the entire eyeball and then he brings it up on the screen magnifying it to the size of a basketball. I get a little excited about stuff like this, I ask a lot of questions about what things are and what they signify. I am sure I annoy medical professionals with all of my queries.  There is a mole on my left eye, how bizarre, I didn’t know such a thing was even possible but it was cool as hell to see it. He said it’s no big deal unless it grows or changes and it’s no different than the ones on my skin… assuming that they are not melanoma. He also put the drops in to test for cataracts but I promised him I don’t have a cataract, I have a Ford. *slaps knee* I left his office with the new script and dilated pupils that had me feeling like a Japanese cartoon character.

I also went for my first mammogram. I was supposed to go for this when I turned 40 (unless there is a history or lumps to worry about they don’t suggest getting the first screening before 40) but I am lackadaisical about booking anything medical (see four years between eye exams) so I kept putting it off. I know now however that as far as procedures go, this one was a walk in the park. We have a mobile breast unit (you’re totally picturing a giant boob on wheels aren’t you?) that comes through here every six months to screen the more rural populace so we don’t have to travel three hours to get squished. They set up the machines in the hospital ER and book appointments via an 800 number. They asked all of the basic questions over the phone so when I arrived all I had to do was fill out a short form and wait for someone to tell me to take my shirt off. It was like high school with more paperwork. The tech called me into the room, confirmed my identity and had me strip… slowly and with purpose. Ha! She adjusted me in the machine and squashed me first down and then across and that was it. My appointment was for 9:50am and I was back in my car by 10:00. It could not have been easier and I highly recommend it. There was some slight discomfort due to the pressure (also like high school) but the worst was that it was cold in the room.  I am happy to announce that my girls bounced (hung) back into shape however and that my c-cups did not become c-cubes. I think it’s the first time I ever flashed my tits sober to a woman.  Seriously though, if you or a woman you love is over forty please have or get her to have a mammogram and for the record, nobody knows a woman’s breasts like her partner so here is a great opportunity to cop a monthly feel… just make sure you get permission first and don’t offer to perform the exam on strangers.  You’ve been warned.

And speaking of puppies…

A client has a papillon who got busy with the neighbor’s pomeranian/mini pinscher. The litter was born a few days ago and she wants to give them away (once they are old enough of course) and she offered me one if I’d like. My dog is nine years old, her hip has been bugging her and we know that this is just the beginning of old age and we have to start preparing ourselves for the inevitable. My husband always said we should have a five year dog plan, if we get a new pup every half decade then it won’t be so hard when one dies, there will always be more so it will be less devastating. I’m not sure if I agree with that part necessarily but in theory he might be right. I can’t really imagine not having a dog but I don’t ever want Mika to think she is being replaced or that we love her any less. This is precisely the reason why our son is an only child. I also have fears that this could be a really ugly mix of breeds… which was slightly less of a concern with us having more kids.

And finally…

Another Trixie moment.

She’s been telling everyone that when she moves out here everything will be better and that it is my responsibility to teach her the way of the boonies and make her life peaceful and enjoyable in the sticks.  

I said “So you want me to be your personal Yoda?”  
To which she replied “Yeah and I’ll even rub your belly for luck.”
I was pissing my pants as I said “That’s Buddha!”
She gave me a confused look and said “So what do you rub on Yoda?”