Memorial for my Maternal Grandparents

Life is an adventure.
Many of us have heard the expression:  "It's not about the destination; it's about the journey."
Their lives were many series of journeys.  They had wonderful adventures ... and a few misadventures as well.

For example, my grandmother is the only woman I know who would decide to do battle with a cricket ... and lose.  I learned from her that no ideal was too small or insignificant to attempt to go after, even in the face of certain failure.  With determination, anyone can "fail" with dignified purpose.
Again, it wasn't about killing the cricket (although, I'm sure to her at the time that was the desired outcome); it was about having a story to tell afterwards.  That if you never even try, how will you ever learn that not only can the cricket get away, but that it can also draw blood and almost knock you unconscious.
See, she had the cricket cornered in the basement and, with 2-by-4 in hand, she stood up straight suddenly to deliver the killing blow.  Only she hadn't noticed the metal water pipe running directly above her head.
I also learned from that particular encounter that even something that seems like a sure thing might actually not be.  That life has a way of throwing in unexpected curve balls, and when it does, you carry on anyway.  My grandmother was fond of clichés and the one in particular she would often quote to me is "no use crying over spilled milk."  And I can't recall a time when either of my grandparents ever did.

It's not that they were cold, uncaring and distant.  Far from it.  When I lived with them, every morning when I'd get up to go to school, I'd come downstairs to the kitchen to have breakfast.  And every morning, without fail, I would find a setting at the kitchen table.  They'd have a place mat set up with an empty bowl,  a spoon, a box of cereal, and the sugar bowl.  On the counter the kettle was filled and ready to go, and a mug with a teabag in it sat next to the kettle.  Everything was set up just waiting for me.  I never asked them to do this; I never expected them to do this.  I think they were mindful of the journey I was on and they wanted me to know that not only were they thinking about me, but that they were also willing to do even little things to make my journey just a little bit easier.
From that, I learned that no gesture is ever too small to show kindness and consideration to another.

I remember several years later being invited over to their home for Christmas dinner.  I arrived on Christmas Eve after having spent a long day at work whereby my co-workers and I were celebrating the upcoming holidays with some wine tasting.  By the time I got to my grandparents' house, I was quite tipsy.  And I did not feel very well.  I remember entering their home and saying hello and then announcing that I was, in fact, drunk.  Even though my grandmother often gave the impression that she was concerned about appearances and "being proper," she was also someone who had a lot of common sense.  Without missing a beat, she asked me if I'd like to go lie down and take a nap.  Oh, yes, please!  Like I said before, I was not feeling very well.
After I slept for a couple of hours I came out into the kitchen where my grandparents had, again, set up a mug with a teabag in it and beside that was a little plate with two tylenols sitting on it.  They never said another word to me about it.
From that, I learned that sometimes natural consequences can be a better teacher than a lecture.  I also learned from them that there is no point in kicking a person when they are down.  They saw me on one of my
"misadventures" and didn't judge me for it.  They respected me enough to have the confidence that I'd learn from my own mistakes.  And I did. Mostly.

They travelled the world and through life together.  We should all be so lucky to have lived so well and have someone to share that with.  From them, I've learned how to journey well.
Even now, I don't believe they've reached their destination.  They've just embarked on a whole new adventure.
I wish them "Bon Voyage."

Taking My Ass for Granted

"Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got till it's gone ..."
The butt is a part of the body that one doesn't necessarily think about how important it is.
Sure, older people sit around and discuss bowel movements (frequency and consistency), but I'm not just discussing function, but also form.
I've recently lost the use of my bum (inability to sit) and I can tell you I sure missed that.
Lying around all the time may sound like an ideal way to live, but I can assure you that it isn't. Okay, it might be if it were a lifestyle choice ... with "choice" being the operative word. It's not so great when even if you want to sit, you can't.
So I just wanted to say "Sorry, ass. I always assumed you'd have my lower back. I didn't understand that you are vital to my happiness. I miss you. Please come home."

Dancing Man

Recently got back from a week's long stay at Gabriola Island. It's so beautiful over there. The photo above is a picture of some arbutus trees taken from the beach. This photo has NOT been retouched at all. It's kewl how it kind of looks like a black and white photo with a splash of colour [when it's actually entirely in colour].

So on the third day we were on the island, I was sitting on the beach with my DH and, as the sun shone down on us, I turned to him and said "You know what would be perfect? Getting a tattoo of dancing man. I wonder if there is a tattoo artist on the island. Would be lovely if they could do it on the beach." [although I knew that the chances of getting it done ON the beach would be pretty small (no power for example)].

Dancing man is a petroglyph that can be found on Gabriola. There are quite a few [roughly over 8,000 years old, done by the First Nations]. But dancing man is the one that I fell madly in love with when I first saw it, oh, so many years ago.

This is a photo of a replication of the dancing man petroglyph. They have replications of the petroglyphs at the Gabriola Island Museum so that folks can go and do rubbings on those [thereby helping to protect and preserve the originals].

Anyways, from the beach we ended up heading over to a relative's home on the island. I asked her if she knew of any tattoo artists on the island. She said she didn't, but I could try asking another relative on the island as they tend to be more up on that kind of thing. We had a nice visit and then we left. On the way back to our cabin we decided to stop and get some ice for the cooler. As soon as we parked, I turned my head to the right and what should I see? A sign that said "Pretty Devils Tattoo." Naturally, I had to run up and into the place and harass the poor artist. Thankfully, she turned out to be a very sweet (and patient) talented woman who answered all my questions and let me know that she'd have time in the next few days to do the tattoo. I left the shop and called her the next day (okay, I called her a few times - perhaps I should have gotten a tattoo called "stalker woman" instead of "dancing man"). I finally went in on the Friday and got my dancing man tattoo on the outside calf of my right leg.

This was taken not quite a week later - still in the healing process. As you can see, it's absolutely fabulous. It kind of has almost an Aztec or Mayan feel to it (at least to me). He's so happy and so gosh darned cute! I'm very pleased with how he turned out.

So if you're ever anywhere near Gabriola and you want a tattoo, be sure to give Sue Addison at Pretty Devils a call. Check out her website: http://prettydevils.net/ and see for yourself. She's not only a wonderful artist, but a wonderful person too. I can't wait to go back and get another piece done by her (I'm thinking something to do with stylized Arbutus).

Arrrrrrrr!!!

Pirates Ahoy, Matey!!!

Today we took the boys on Variety's Boat for Hope tour. We got to dress up as pirates and climb aboard a boat that was all decorated up as a pirate ship. The weather was horrible: rainy, cold and windy. But we had a GREAT time. We sailed around False Creek and had a few "ports of call" where, basically, we were "attacked" by some pirates in little dingy boats. We had to brandish our swords and the kids were armed with powerful water guns that they got to "shoot" at the invading pirates. One of the invading pirates was eating a weiner and Mike squirted him right in the hot dog. Once we had "subdued" the invading pirates, we were given some "treasure" to collect. All the kids were completely soaked [from the rain and from squirting water], but they didn't care because they were having too much fun. It was a really good day and I can't wait until next year.

All the boys getting ready to get on our pirate ship.

Mike is keeping an eye out for invading pirates.

Luke joins Mike in scouting for pirates.

Luke is inspecting the ship for any damage.

Some "invading" pirates trying to shoot us with their (water) canons.

How a Couch Destroys PS2 Controllers

I had been puzzled over the last few months on how it is that we seemed to be going through PS2 controllers faster than rolls of toilet paper. In the span of 10 months, we had gone through over half a dozen PS2 controllers. They simply stopped working. Oldest son commented on how it was only after youngest two sons were playing that the controllers were getting wrecked somehow. Inspecting the controllers showed no obvious signs of destruction: they hadn’t been yanked on or smashed; the cords hadn’t been chewed on [as youngest would do several years ago – but the things still worked]. Observing the younger two at play, they weren’t pushing the buttons any harder or doing anything to the controllers any differently than they had over many years of play. We replaced the whole PS2 system thinking that perhaps the console was to blame. Nope. Within a week of the new system in place, two more controllers bit the dust. So what on Earth was going on?

We finally figured it out. It has to do with the couch. See, we bought a new couch just under a year ago. It’s a really nice couch. A large sectional covered in a nice wine coloured faux suede type of fabric. It fits the whole family with room for a couple more.

But, how, you ask, does the couch have anything to do with the destroyed PS2 controllers? I’ll tell you. We discovered quite by accident one day that second-youngest son gets quite animated when playing video games. He wiggles and squirms and flops around on the couch. When he does this, electrons are pulled from the surface of the couch into his body. As soon as he goes to touch anyone or anything, *ZAPPPPP*. It turns out that he was building up large amounts of static electricity and frying the controllers when he’d touch them.

I went out and bought a special bracelet for him to wear when he’s playing on the PS2. It has a rubber part that goes around his wrist which is attached to a wire that we then clip to the metal frame of the coffee table. In essence, we have to “ground” him in order for him to be able to play. We’ve had the bracelet for over two weeks now and we’re still on the same controller.

A Pox Upon Your Home!

Happy New Year one and all! Informal polling of friends and family came up with a pretty tame holiday season this year. Very mellow for most. Our holiday season was no exception. I ended up with a nasty cold that just got worse as the day wore on on Christmas Day. But I managed to get through most of the day before retiring to my bed at around 7:00 p.m. Then two days later, my third son asked me what the hard spot on his lip was. At first I thought it was a wart, but couldn't figure out how it got there so quickly. When he "mentioned" that he had another spot just like it on his stomach, I knew what I was dealing with. A quick inspection of his body confirmed my suspicions, and I knew I was dealing with chickenpox. Thankfully, we really hadn't gone anywhere and everywhere we had been, everyone had already had chickenpox. We've quarantined ourselves to our home voluntarily until he isn't contagious any more. He is pretty mad that it happened now during the winter break from school and he's not going to have to miss any school for his suffering [any other time and he would have been off school for a week]. Oh, well, we'll all survive.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow ...

Well, we've had quite a bit of snow fall around here the last few days. No snow today, but is bitterly cold. We're supposed to be getting more snow tomorrow. You have to keep in mind that while snow is common around here on the mountains and more into the Interior, it's not something we usually get a lot of in the Lower Mainland. Naturally, I couldn't help myself, so I've taken some pictures of our winter wonderland.

This is a picture of the younger boys playing in the snow in the front yard the night it started falling.

Here younger boys and dad have just come home from school on Monday. I didn't quite get the van completely cleared of snow.

This is a photo taken from the front of our house looking down the street. I just happened to catch a truck sliding sideways on the icy road.

This picture was taken from the little bridge we have to walk over to get to the kids' school. The slough looked so pretty.

And this picture is taken from our livingroom window looking out across the street.