Happy Birthday Grandma

 

My last living grandparent turns one hundred years old tomorrow. I love her so much, and I'd love to celebrate it with her, or at least phone her. So you're asking, why don't I? She's a Jehovah's Witness. 

That sucks a bit. I have to pretend it isn't a big deal. I told her I'd phone her after she turned one hundred years old, because I can't celebrate it. At least not in any obvious ways. 

I think she's amazing. She raised four boys in a time of need. When her husband broke his back, she took on THREE jobs and still kept her house and her children. Egg grader, janitor, newspaper columnist.. She did whatever.

She was the sixth born child, the first born in Canada, when her parents, Walter and Lydia P:ajunen, arrived in Canada. The first two children didn't survive.  They died in Finland, and I think two died on the journey to the new country. Lydia Pajunen became a midwife who delivered over 2000 babies, though older locals said the number was closer to 5000. I'm not sure I believe that for the simple reason that I can't picture Grandma Lydia having the time to raise my grandma, also conceiving  and giving birth to Aunt Toini and being the bread winner in the whole process Two thousand? There's records. FIVE thousand? Can you even picture that kind of number? Though I'm certain that she probably got paid in things like food. Or maybe nothing. All while taking care of a husband with a drinking problem. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't. Maybe she left him on his own while she did whatever she had to. 

Grandma told me a story... She slept between her parents almost always. One morning, she woke up in a different  place, and she had  a new sister.  They told her an angel brought her down from the chimney. My grandmother's first thought was...Why didn't the angel use the door? 

My grandma had four boys. Jerrold, Arnold, Richard (Sandy) and David. Lydia delivered all but Uncle David, who arrived  14 years after my father and at 14 pounds. 

When my father, Sandy, as he was commonly known, died, I was struck by how hard it must be for my grandmother to out live one of her children. She told me, "I used to consider it such a blessing to live this long..." My heart broke her her that day. 

She dreamed of my father. He was wearing a white shirt, so bright, it glowed. He asked her to come outside, She asked him to come in for a cup of coffee. He would not. And she wasn't coming out. It remained that way until she finally woke up,

Don't worry...I didn't out her. My relatives, even the ones who aren't Jehovah's Witnesses never read this blog or anything else I write. I'm a bit of a black sheep and they are religious in one way or another.  

This photo I have of her is the last time she came to Alberta to see everyone, so to speak. She saw my cat, Freya and she said, "Kitty is washing her face. You'll get company."

My uncle, who brought her there, and is a Jehovah's Witness Elder gave her a poisonous glare.  So I said, "Well you're here, aren't you? She's a bit late."

I love my Grandma. She's the last grandparent I have left. She can't call me, so I will call her. On Thursday. 

When a Cat Learns to Love You.

 

It's been about a year and two months since Grendel became a permanent member of our family. A year and two months since we brought Grendel inside and got his broken leg fixed.  No regrets. 

He's a sweet. happy and loud boy. I don't mind when he yells at both two and five o'clock in the morning. Okay--I mind a little bit, but it sure beats staying up late worrying and keeping an ear open for him at the door. 

Freya used to hiss at him. He was always following her around, getting in her space. 

He bonded with Dan immediately, shouting for his attention and jumping on his desk. He would boop Dan's hands while he pet him, and Dan would call him Sweetie-Doodle and tell Grendel how happy he was that he was here. 

It was me Grendel wasn't quite sure of. He liked me well enough, but I hadn't earned his trust yet. I always seemed to startle him. I'd let him sniff my hand, and sometimes he would tolerate my petting. Sometimes I'd get a kiss. Sometimes he would back away from my touch. Dan was his rescuer and I was the human that lived with his rescuer. 

I tried to give him space, tried not to be too handsy. According to Jackson Galaxy, trust equals love to a cat, and trust takes time. I did my best to learn what Grendel needed. When he sat at the window, I opened it for him so he could smell outside. When he cried and paced at two in the morning, I learned that a small snack would calm him down. If he ran around the house trilling, it meant he was bored and he wanted to play, so we learned what he liked to play with. 

His favorite toys are the green ball that dispenses crunchy treats if he rolls it right. He loves to stalk and pounce on Mr. Bug, a pink spider on a string. Dan puts the string under his shoe and drags it around the kitchen table.

I have a close friend who trapped three feral cats from her garage eight years ago. She brought them in because she was sure they'd never survive the dropping temperatures. She told me it took years to earn their trust.  They are Mama, (RIP)  Baby and Lookie. Mama eventually became a friendly cat to other humans, but Lookie still hides from company and I can count on one hand how many times I've seen Baby. 

My friend told me some cats never warm up to humans, and maybe Grendel might not accept me. I was okay with that. I knew he got along well with Dan--they make each other so happy-- and now that she feels better, Freya has started playing Chase with him. That might just have to be enough and that was okay. I love him anyway.

But something happened yesterday. It was like a flipped switch. Grendel jumped up on my desk and chirped at me and looked me in the eye. That was a surprise. He never jumps on my desk, only Dan's. I said, "Hello, Sweet Boy."  I extended my hand to him and he rubbed his face all over my fingers. I pet his nose and head and he leaned into it hard.  He let me cradle his face in the palm of my hand. I tried not to get too excited. 

But this was a new day. I opened a window for him and together we looked out at Squirrel and Bird TV.  When I looked over at him, he leaned in and booped me. I was so delighted, I kissed his nose. I worried that I may have offended him, but he didn't seem to mind. I decided not to push my luck and let him be. 

Later that night, Dan and I were sitting on the couch. Grendel jumped into Dan's lap and asked for love. It's not the first time he's jumped into Dan's lap, but it's the first time he's done it while I was sitting there too. Dan stroked his ears and I reached out and hoped my affection would be accepted. Grendel responded by purring louder than I've ever heard him and nuzzling into both of our hands. 

I'm writing this because I need to tell you, in that moment it felt like our family was whole again. For the first time since we lost Spartacus, I felt like our little family was complete and at peace.  I was hoping Grendel would eventually love me, and now I believe that he does. 

When he grew tired of Cuddletime, he crawled up on Freya's towel and fell asleep next to her, and I snapped that picture. I think he understands now that he truly belongs here and he knows how much he is loved by all of us. 

The world has become a comic book, but I have a corner of happiness.  It's a fantastic feeling that I thought I'd share. The world feels just a little brighter, just because I've earned the love of a cat. 

Dear K

 

Dear K,

You asked me for a blog, since I haven’t written one in a long time. The truth is, I haven’t found a suitable subject. I wanted to write about the things I’ve been doing this year in the pandemic, how I’m grateful to be working, grateful to have my husband working from home, grateful for a mild winter, and happy to have Grendel in my life. 

But 2020 has been a shitty year for so many worldwide, I don’t want to sound glib or insensitive, especially since death has touched everyone, including me.  I thought maybe, if I write it as a letter to a good friend, it won’t sound that way, and you are often a favorite muse for ‘Earth to Thoeba.’

Being isolated didn’t affect our lives as badly. Dan adjusted to working at home, and I’m sure he prefers it. He makes jokes about ‘the commute’, which means shutting his computer off, walking across the living room, and pouring himself another coffee. For him, this is a kind of relief. He prefers not to leave the house if he doesn't have to.

I continued to work, but the hours weren’t crazy. I looked forward to more writing time. That didn’t happen as well as I hoped. I found myself engaging in non-writing projects. I did my usual spring cleaning, yard work and gardening, and later fall-cleaning. In between, I painted a few kitchen areas in a beautiful color named ‘Enchanted Flute.’ It’s a muted blue-grey that magically works with everything around it. It took longer than anticipated. First I had to remove the wallpaper. (You were right. Fabric softener helped) That is when I learned that the previous owners of this house used wallpaper to cover about a thousand holes and badly placed nails and screws. We decided that they did what they could—Google wasn’t around back then to look up How-To home repairs. That’s how I learned how to re-caulk the tub this year too, as well as patching way too many holes.

Oh! And I made both Dandelion and Pear Wine from scratch. Can’t taste any of it until March.

Grendel was an unexpected and delightful bonus, especially after losing Spartacus Jones. (After ten months, I still ache for him, and I’m crying as I write. I loved that boy more than anyone or anything.) It began with Dan leaving wet cat food leftovers outside for birds, stray cats...anything that needed the food. If Freya wouldn’t eat it, why waste it? (By the way, Freya is as perfect as ever. Even my Mom adores her. She’s ten years old now, and still a sweetie.) We noticed it was always a black cat that came after dusk for it. He began to come earlier and earlier until one day he showed up at the door to ask for it.  We let him inside, and he’s been coming in ever since.

He hasn’t chosen us—not really. As I type this, he’s been sleeping in the basement for six hours. Sooner or later, he’ll come upstairs and howl to be let out. Dan reminds me that he’s feral and he’s not our prisoner, so we let him out. We want to get him fixed, but he stresses out when we try to keep him in, and he’s always so hungry, we don’t dare starve him for 12 hours to get it done, not right now. We’ve brought him to the vet. Vet says he’s ‘fighting fit’., and she’s right. He’s a muscular, scabby little guy, and he’s finally gaining some weight on his skinny butt. He’s about two years old, and I want to get his hearing checked. Maybe he’s just fearless, and doesn’t respond to loud sounds. Hmm.

This is another reason why I’m grateful for such a mild winter. Not just because I hate being cold. I can’t bear the thought of him being out there and not being able to find shelter. I find it funny how I can sleep like the dead, but still hear him meow at the door and wake to let him in. But what if he comes when I’m at work on graveyards? Dan doesn’t hear him as well as I do. We’ve been so lucky this winter. The temperature hasn’t gone below -10 Celsius. (14 Fahrenheit)

In October we lost my friend T, who is our friend A’s mother, to a heart attack. I was sitting here at my desk when 911 came. She lived across the street from me, and I stared out the window and counted family members, sent A a text...You know it’s bad when the ambulance arrives and the paramedics aren’t in any hurry.

I miss her voice and her boisterous cackle. I miss the way she called me ‘Doh-nah’. I’m really going to miss her rice pudding and her curried chicken livers that she made just for me because those were the bomb! I never did get the recipe, and mine just aren’t as good. T was a social animal and a giver. I made more friends through her.

On the day of T’s funeral—Halloween-- an ambulance arrived next door. Everyone watched as they took J away, and days later, we learned that she’d lost her long battle with cancer. J was just such a lovely person, and she fought hard against cancer, for over a decade. The last time I spoke to her and her husband it was in March, and we raised our voices from way across the sidewalk as to not get too close. She had given up on chemo, didn’t have the strength for it anymore, and was trying something else I can’t remember now. I can’t pretend that I knew her well, but I genuinely liked her. Such a good person with such strength and character, and I’d been hoping to see her more often after the pandemic was over.

 

Days ago, we lost TC. I met him through friends and he was awesome. He was a member of Mensa Canada, but so down to earth. He had a horrific car accident eight years ago that left him with a brain injury that confined him to hospital. I should have visited more, but I was afraid he wouldn’t remember me. He did, but I still didn’t visit more. No time, no energy, excuses. I should have, but I didn’t expect him to leave. His system gave out, and I should have expected that would happen eventually. That feels pretty shitty. Everyone feels that death. I wish I had better words. 

I’m still writing and editing. ‘Elaina’s Fate’ is actually in the second edit, but it requires so much work. There were so many missing details and wonky ones. I had to re-write several passages and erase and re-vamp entire pages. It’s okay. It’s going to be a much better book. I’m still writing ‘Her True Name: Volume Three', but I need to do a bit more research. T was going to help with that, but she’s gone. I will research the Hindi gods I need on my own. I’m going to dedicate it to her when I’m finished. I just wish she’d be here to read it.

It’s been a strange year. I wasn’t sure what to write, what to blog. I'm crying for all the loss. Sometimes I can't keep track of all the battles. There's no many reasons to be angry and so many causes to fight for. I'm hoping that when Trump is FINALLY out of office, things will work better.  It was never just feminism, I know, I've always known--but I've had to check my privilege.  It was hard, and it has to continue being hard. Otherwise, how else am I going to learn? This year has been so enlightening in scary ways.

I think of you too, more than you know. We may have met on Farmville, but I consider you a close friend. Haven’t we shared so much? And not just recipes for Beef Stroganoff.

I may have had a better 2020 than most, but it doesn’t mean I don’t think of you, and of the people I lost. I know so many people out there are having the worst year of their lives, and I feel somewhat guilty for my good fortune. So this is my new blog post, written for you my cherished friend. Drop me a note soon, and let me know how you’re doing <3. I love you. Please take care of yourself.

 

Facebook Friends and All

Two months since my last post? Time seems to speed up as we get older doesn't it? The reason I haven't written isn't just because time is in short supply. It's because I have nothing interesting to blog about.

But this post isn't about me. It's about you. I actually think about you a lot.

I'm thinking about the two divorces. You didn't come right out and say, but I noticed the changes, and the absence left behind by former spouses. You stopped talking about them.

I noticed two long term relationships ended. And when someone healed your hearts and made you happy again, those relationships failed and left you hurt and angry once more. More photos to delete.

I saw the financial struggle, and the difficult fix.

I see the grief for lost parents. Is it three or four fathers this year? A wonderful mother has gone as well.

I see the tired moms, and the PISSED OFF voters, the frustrated feminists.

Two of you are sick and yes, I've noticed your silence. You have me worried.

Someone is planning a wedding, but I don't know why you're upset. I'm still waiting for that PM.

I want to reach out and ask you all, but I tell myself that if it was my business, you would tell me.

Don't think I don't care, I do. But I don't know where to start. There's so many of you. You know how to find me, right? I'm always on Facebook, six days a week. I'm a click away, and you can have my number if you don't already.

If you see yourself here, please reach out. I'm thinking of you

The Elusive Joy.

She videotaped my wedding for me.

This is the first year I've dreaded New Year's Eve. DREADED it. I couldn't even look at Facebook. It was plastered with bright colors and sentimental drivel about wishes and opportunities and other things I knew weren't coming my way since I'm gearing up for what feels like the hardest year of my life.

Husband still isn't working. Work hours drying up. Bank account shrinking. Impending need to publish, even though I may or may not make a single cent off my work. If I can even figure out all the computer stuff I have to do to get there.

My favorite uncle came to visit, and I tried to make light of it. I don't want to worry him. He's a bit of a hero to me. When I think of my mortgage, I remember him telling me about the years he had to pay 17 percent interest on HIS mortgage. "How the hell did you manage?!" I asked. He shrugged, and said, "We did what we had to do."

We did what we had to do.

When I told him how I was worried about paying my mortgage, at a measly three percent, and that it's half my wage, he assured me, "You'll figure it out." He sounds so confident. After all, I'm his niece. I come from good stock, and a long line of feminists.

As far back as anyone can remember, we had an ancestor named Suzanna, who left her home in Lapland at seven years of age to get a job rocking a cradle for a rich family in England, so they say.  I think she was my great-great-great grandmother. My great-great-grandma was Ida, wife of Captain Mikkelson. I don't know much about her, but I can imagine being the wife of a sea-capatin meant long months alone with the children. Things they don't tell you until you are an adult: My great-grandmother, Lydia Pajunen gave birth to seven children. My grandmother, her sixth,  was her first child to live past three years of age. (She's now 93) Great-grandpa drank too much, so she took courses to become a successful midwife. My grandmother was married to my grandfather for over 50 years, despite the fact that he didn't believe in looking for work. He thought his reputation should bring work to him. They had four boys to feed, so grandma took on any job she could get, including writing articles for the local newspaper.

I want to surrender. I want to just pack in the writing thing and say fuck it. Usually, I embrace change. It's inevitable. It's the only thing in life you can consider an absolute, along with death. Why am I resisting? Because I'm not ready. I don't have the time, energy or money to embrace it. I don't want to self-publish, and I resent the fact that I have to do it RIGHT. NOW.

So tonight, my best friend Mel took me to a movie with gift cards she got for Christmas. The movie was called 'Joy', starring Jennifer Lawrence. I think the universe is trying to tell me something.

No spoilers, but a synopsis. Ms. Lawrence's character has a complicated family, and a stressful life. Good thing she's a smart cookie. The story drags Joy through hell, over and over, but she doesn't give up. She uses her smarts to invent a mop, and does everything in her power to make her product a success. She's savvy, determined and doesn't sell herself short. She stays true to herself.

I got the message.

I also got to spend time with Mel, a woman I still can't believe is my best friend. If you knew who we were in high school, you would agree that life is strange. I can spend a few hours with her, and she makes the hurts seems comical and handlable. She makes me happy, and she is good to her core. Time with her today made me realize I'm not alone. And that there are OTHER friends in my life I DO appreciate. As long as I have friends like Mel, Colleen, Kathy, Kevin, The Raju's and the Maguires and so many more, I'll be okay. I'll do what I have to do.

I'll be an armadillo. I feel my optimism returning.

That's Not Love You Smell in the Air.

I almost forgot it's Valentine's Day tomorrow. Which is odd, because I have very specific plans for my beloved troll. Which I can't divulge here because he's on Twitter and he reads this blog.

I think the reason it slips my mind sometimes, is because I remember loathing that day a lot. More often than not, I was single, for many years.

And love is such a wacky thing too. Nothing else can make you so desperately unhappy or so absurdly joyful. And sometimes it's BOTH and it's the scariest thing ever.

I'm happy now...but it wasn't always that way. I remember being 19 years old, and I was in love with a man who loved me, but not enough to stay faithful. I believed I was going to marry him. He believed he should see other people, besides me. I was stupid and naive and I worked hard to change his mind. Yes, I stayed with a cheater...a BLATANT cheater.

I remember the day I made the decision to leave. I came home early from the graveyard shift and found a pair of women's shoes that weren't mine. Instead of confronting the boyfriend and his new girlfriend, I went for a very long walk and wrote a poem, which I'm going to share.

For those of you who are alone and lonely or heartbroken...This is for you.

MOURNING

I am alone with morning,
No one for miles but the silence and me.
I long for someone to share it with,
I am alone, but I am free.

The cold chill embraces me,
The wind kisses away my tears,
And I think of home.
I am free, I am alone.

The morning sun,
The blue sky,
A marriage of this beautiful perfection,
I'm so alone in awful freedom,

But the morning offers me protection.

Fast forward 4 years later...I'm sitting in the lounge after working as a pizza cook, talking to my friends who work as barmaids. A ridiculously handsome man sits beside me and strikes up a conversation. Or at least he tries to. We have nothing in common it seems. My favorite pick-up lines, which show off the fact that I can speak 'hockey' falls flat. He hates hockey. (In Canada, a woman who understands what a GAA means and who has the best one will NEVER lack for company or drinks in the bar. For the record, it was Domink Hasek at the time with a 1.95)

So for lack of a better subject, I mention that I entered a CBC poetry contest. Turns out he LOVES poetry, and wants to hear my favorite one that I wrote. I recited the one you just read, telling him the title is about grief and the poem is about coming to terms with a painful decision. He asks for a copy, and we get along much better after that. SO WELL, in fact, that I decide this man is my next boyfriend.

A week later, I not only give him a copy of 'Mourning', but I also wrote something called "If", It described my  feelings for him and asked him "If I fall in love with you...Will you catch me?" That was September 13th, 1997, and our first kiss.

Love is weird. Who knew that a poem about a nasty breakup would bring me a husband? The moral of the story is...Love Stinks, yeah, yeah. But there's always hope, because Love Lurks. In the oddest of places and it will find you, in the oddest ways.

Happy Valentine's Day. It won't always be terrible.

Merry Christmas...or whatever. :)

Illustration by: suphakit73@FreeDigitalPhotos. net

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Holidays, Felice Navidad or however you prefer to express your year end celebrations. I don't care how you say it, but I wish you all warm hugs, happiness and the company of those you love this season.

Our Christmas will be quiet, but extended. Christmas Eve and Christmas day will mean only myself, my husband, my sister and the cats. And that's just fine.

But this Saturday, we cross the street to our friends, the Raju's. They do sweet things for us all the time...like using their Bobcat to plow our driveway. And Tara makes the very BEST rice pudding...just for me. They have nooooo idea how much we appreciate them. And they have no idea that we bought small thank you gifts...NOT Christmas presents, right?

Uncle Arnie will show up for a Christmas drink...We don't know when, but it won't be on Tuesday or Wednesday because as much as he loves us, he hates Christmas fanfare more.

Our best friend Darci is going home for the first time in years, so our dinner and gift exchange will have to wait.

We're expecting friends travelling from British Columbia and The North West Territories, but again, we don't know when. It's a LONG drive for Colleen from the island and a LONG flight from up north for Doug.

This just in...Roxy is coming over Christmas Eve! Yaaaay!

Christmases around here have long become less about the actual day with the gifts and food and more about the time spent with those we care about.

I'm pretty excited. And I hope you are too. I'm hoping your holidays are filled with happiness and love.


MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!