My summer vacation: friends, family, and farts

Unintentional hiatus 

It's been almost a month to the day since I wrote anything that was for fun. Apart from my usual Facebook statuses (Bronwyn_MayB) I haven't put pen to paper (well, fingers to keyboard) to write my thoughts, my stories, or my insanity.

I did write a 60 page report for an Agency review. So, there is that.

But it just doesn't have the same feel. Or the same sarcasm.

They frown against that in the professional world. Bah.

Inspiration, but no time

I've been writing in my head the whole time. Brilliant and witty pieces about my life, my dog, and my house.  However, between the house guests, a friend's wedding, a week away, a visit with Grandma, and actually writing words about the research I've been doing for months, I haven't been able to share them.

Here are some highlights:

• My friend Jamie drove my father and my step-mom from Calgary to Regina and she's still speaking to me. 

• My dad stayed with us for a whole week and I'm still speaking with him

• My dad stayed with us for a whole week and The Guy is still speaking to me

Photo by Ky
Dad, Tanya, Lil E, and Monty

• My step-mom made the greatest borscht in history and I will eventually share her recipe here

• My sister came to visit me and we had all the fun

• I passed a group of pre-teen boys lined up along a wall and when they pretended I had farted I did not defend myself even though I was incensed! (Had I farted, I would have laughed uproariously because they were all sitting in prime fart trajectory)

• My closet was redone (almost complete) and the deck is now done (except for rails... don't fall) and someday this house will be done

• My sister Ky and I visited Grandma who knew who we were until she nodded off for 5 minutes. I'm not sure who was more freaked when she woke up thinking strangers were in her room!

photo by Ky

I'm trying to be back now. Writing more often and getting my life back on track now that I don't have 3,004,524 things to do. We shall see. I do have one main task to complete...

Napping.

My life in places: North Battleford Church Camp

Yesterday, I described my childhood home and what it meant to me.

Today, I want to tell you about my home away from home. North Battleford, Saskatchewan.

Church Camp

I have to admit, when you think of a great place that impacted every moment of your life, North Battleford is not the place you normally go to first.

It is a small city (two small cities, really) on the road to nowhere.  It is a beautiful community with lots of greenery, a river flowing through it, and the worse options of restaurants in the province.

I mean, unless Pizza Hut and A&W are your thing.  Then you're golden.

For my family, North Battleford was the epicentre of our summers.  It was not the town itself; it was the little section of land off Airport Road where we grew up: Sharon Schools.

Originally grounds housing a bible school and orphanage, this quiet little community made up of old airplane hangers and pilot barracks holds church camps at least twice a year.  My grandparents moved there in the 60s to take over supervising the orphanage and never left.  Grandma stayed nearly 50 years until we had to move her to a care home in Lloydminster.

Family

My mother grew up here.  Her childhood is here.  My grandparents adopted my two uncles and all but adopted my auntie.  They impacted more lives than we can ever know with their love and open door.  My grandpa built the hockey rink every winter and tended flowers every summer.  My grandma spent time in the gardens.

Every hug my grandfather ever gave me is here.

Every piece of advice my grandma gave is here.

My family spent a lot of time there and it is where my heart feels at peace.

The church at Sharon Schools.  Where my mom and dad got married.

As I planned to write this piece, I looked through all my photos for pictures to show.  I have none.  I went online and found some a friend had taken and he graciously allowed me to use them here.  Of course, he has none of my Grandparent's home, but he looked for me.

Sometimes, you are in a place so long, you forget that you might want to see pictures of it in your future.

Every year for a weekend at Easter and a week in July, between 300 - 500 people arrive to go to church meetings.

Togetherness

Everyone stays in the dorms that boast retro décor -- retro meaning that everything is from the 40s.  Not much has changed except the mattresses are no longer stuffed with straw.

We all go to church twice a day, eat together at the dining hall, play sports on one of the many areas dedicated to it, sit around the camp-fire, snack at the canteen, and soak up as much time with each other as possible.

The H building (it's built in the shape of an H -- clever) and the men's dorm.

The girls all stayed in the girl's dorm at the far east end of the grounds.  From 13 years to married, we all crowded into 6 rooms with two plug ins and one mirror each.  One large bathroom to share and a furnace room that held all late night conferences.

I have so many great memories of that place -- staying up all night talking, singing as loud as we could, exchanging clothes, and laughing past lights out until the dorm mothers came to yell at us.

Grandma

Once I was too old for the dorm, but not yet married (stupid old person biases on the importance of having a man in your life bollocks!!) I returned to my grandma's home during those weeks.

It was then I got to rekindle my relationship with Grandma.  She has provided me with a lot of amusement, wonder, frustration and love.

The main road from the centre of the grounds looking west.

This small area outside of the little city has been where I have experienced so much.

I have met life long friends, most of my old boyfriends, and people who have been my mentors and guides. It has been a part of my life before I had life and will continue to be important to me for many years to come.

I know every inch of this land and have spent hours exploring every building and piece of grass.

It is the home of my family.  The home of my friends.

It is where I know I belong.


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Please note: all photos used here have been generously provided by my friend Dale.  He's a good chap.

Counters, lucidity, and family: thankful on a Friday

1. After initial heartbreak and extreme frustration this week, our countertops were installed today. We are slowly inching closer to done.
   
   

   

   Our choices, almost ready for reveal




2. There are 7 days until we move into our new home. Whether or not they are ready for us!
   

   

   Excuse the mess

   
   Talking to my Grandma this week, she asked why we weren't moving in on May 15th like we planned. She couldn't remember my name, but remembered the house. 


3. My dad and my stepmom Tanya are coming back to Canada for an extended visit. That means Ukraine is stable enough for them to travel here and back. 


4. This kid melts my heart. She makes rough days better with her antics. She isn't mine, but I get to borrow her and return her when she's bad.
   
   

   

   When asked what her shirt is, she replies "Bot"



5. Tea with friends to honour our friend who has been gone such a short time and yet much too long.
   
   
   

Up next week: My life in places

In preparation for moving into our new home, I am posting the 5 most important places I have lived or visited.

Dogs on a plane - how Vicki travelled cross-country

Montel and the women (Madison and Vicki)

Before I got married in 2009, I had to go from 3 dogs down to 1. Somehow, this occurred all within a week. I'm still not sure how it worked out.

This is the story of taking one dog, Vicki, on a plane ride. Vicki has since moved from my house to my sister, Ky, to my Grandma, and finally has settled in with my uncle.  She is no less trouble.

I prepared the best I could. I bought a travel carrier. I went to the vet and got medication to help calm Vicki during the flight and make her sleep as much as possible. I assured myself I could do this.

Vicki loved the airport. There were new sites and sounds and people to adore her and children to growl at. Everyone oohed and aahed over her. She was in her glory. She sniffed and snorted, growled and wagged. Finally, she got a bit dopey and settled down.

Of course, our plane was late and her drugs wore off before we even got on the plane.

At the boarding call for our first flight, I tried to get Vicki into the carrier I had purchased.

I had tried once before to put her in so she would be prepared for the trip. She hated it, so I decided not to traumatize her until the plane ride. So -- smart person that I am -- I am standing in the middle of the airport trying to shove a dog into a small bag.

At first I thought I could coax her.

Not so much.

Then I shoved. She put her little paws on either side of the carrier and strained for all she was worth.

Another passenger took pity on me and helped. I put Vicki's leash on her and threaded it through the bag. The lady pulled the leash as I shoved Vicki's bum.

Finally, I just tipped the carrier on one end and dumped Vicki in there. She was not happy with me, but it worked.

There is a time and place for finesse and patience. That wasn't the time for either.

We made it onto the plane with little problem. I thought "This will be a piece of cake." Then they started the engines.

Vicki peed.

She then tried to scratch her way to freedom through the mesh of the bag. By the time we took off, she had three good holes made in the bag. I spent the entire flight bent over at the waist with my hand in the bag alternately soothing her and pushing her paws away from doing any more damage.

This is when the man in front of me decided to lean his chair back all the way.

We stopped in Edmonton for 30 mins. I took Vicki out of the carrier for a bit and then went through the same process to get her back in. I gave her another dose of meds (praying I wouldn't overdose her) and went back on the same plane we had just left.

Once again, takeoff scared 3 years off Vicki's life. But she did marginally better for that trip.

Vicki with "fly away" hair

The lady sitting next to me realized I had a dog with me and took the carrier onto the seat beside her. She then unzipped it and spent the rest of the flight giving Vicki kisses and saying "I wish I had known you were giving her away!! I would have taken her."

Um, lady... we just met.

The crew gave us a little bit of grief for having Vicki out, so I put her back on the floor and the lady spent the rest of the flight in the same position I had been in for the first flight.

While we were in the air, they announced we were going to have yet another stop over. They felt they did not need to tell us this prior to the flight as most of us wouldn't be getting off the plane. So, my little flight with my jumpy dog turned from one stop to 3!! Had I known I would not have picked that flight.

The third flight was a lot less problematic. A guy who looked just like David Crosby sat next to me and made small talk while Vicki slept. The meds had finally kicked in and she was stoned as a hippy. We made jokes she needed Doritos.

Finally, we landed for the last time. Vicki was alive and the carrier was all in one piece.

Also, we determined that the dog can pee at least three times in the carrier without it smelling until after you take the dog out. This is important information.

Vicki a little dopey
(pic by Ky)

Vicki's eyes finally cleared from the meds about 7 hours later. She settled into her new home and seemed to enjoy it. However, the cat from upstairs came to visit (at the window) and Vicki made her unhappiness known. She spent the next few hours on cat watch and shaking.

After a couple of months, my sister's landlord asked that Vicki go live somewhere else. Her decision to bark for hours and hours while Ky wasn't home, made for an interesting soundtrack to their life.  She went to live with my Grandmother and made the next 3 years a joy for all the old ladies in the complex.

Grandma and Vicki 2013 Grey Cup

Vicki now lives with my Uncle and is spoiled rotten (yet never better behaving). She goes on sleepovers with Grandma every once in awhile at the care home and looks foreword to her half of everything Grandma eats.

I will never take a dog on a plane again.

The wonderful roller coaster that is aging

I'm not afraid of growing older. I don't know if I have ever been, but for that 3 month period before I turned 30 when I realized I'd be a grown up.

My mom used to say I'd been 42 since I was 6, so I guess my body has just been catching up with my soul. I'm okay with that.

I don't fear death, so I gather that is why I don't worry about getting closer to it. I'm not itching to get there, by any means, but I approach it with the curiosity of an anthropologist in another culture. "Oh, that's what it's like!"

My mother was afraid of getting older. She had good reason - she had watched her father spiral into Alzheimer's and become someone none of us recognized.  It's difficult to watch the person you knew die before your eyes and be replaced with a confused, angry, helpless old man. Mom dreaded becoming that -- losing herself.

I wonder, had she known she would never age beyond 55 years, would she have been able to relax? Knowing my mother? No. Relaxing wasn't in her nature.

I've now watched the life cycles of two important women in my life come to an end or near the end in two totally different times of their lives. My mother at 55 and my grandmother in her 90s. Grandma is still going relatively strong, but it's been interesting to see how she has forayed into this end of her life.

Aging isn't graceful. However, the person going into aging can be. My mother transformed at 50. She blossomed and became the woman who she had always meant to be but was hidden under a surface of insecurity and worry.

Mom and Dad circa 2000

Mom turned 50, said "Eff it!" and exploded into herself. Sure, she had sagging skin, chin hairs, and hot flashes, but what physically was occurring in her aging process was completely overshadowed by her self discovery.

I think Grandma has always been herself. Or, she has always been who she knew she needed to be.  Grandma is so much "Acts of Service" she would temper herself to be what we all needed.  That being said, her sense of humour and rebellious nature that lay just below the surface would peek its head out, say something outrageous, and pop back in like nothing was out of place.

photo by Ky

Physically, though Grandma was wee, she was mighty. Walking up and down 20 stairs to and from her apartment numerous times a day kept her strong. Even today, she can out lift, out run, and out work anyone I've ever met.  Mentally, she has slipped bit by bit into forgetfulness. (Or, as we call it - 5 second memory reset.)  Grandma is still who she ever was (unlike her husband at the end) but forgets people, places and things for brief or extended periods of time.

I don't worry that memory lost or physical deterioration will get me. Each - if they occur - will be an adventure. Sure, I might not remember the adventure, but it still will be! I'm not looking forward to wetting my pants regularly or forgetting where I live, but that's how life goes and I plan to enjoy all of it.

I figure, if I make it past 55, I'm good until I'm 90.  Ride on.

Conversations with Grandma: lamp shades, spinsters, and fat aunts

I had a great post almost ready to go, but I got called in to work an extra shift. All good intentions? Out the window!  Instead, I put together a compilation of Grandma stories. Everyone loves Grandma stories.

Grandma, Auntie Jeanne, and Aunt Margarette

Speaking about a woman who died one winter. "You remember that woman? She wasn't quite right. But everyone was nice to her. Even if she was a little off."

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When I told her I didn't mind whatever she wears to the wedding. Even if it's a lamp shade. "Well, it's decided then. That's what I will wear. You can introduce me to all your friends."

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"You shouldn't eat so much cereal. You'll get rickets."

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Talking about bonds she gave to me to hold for myself and my sisters. "When the others got married, I realized I might die before you and your sisters got married. So, I put the money I would have given you as a gift into bonds. Then you could have the money when you got married or turned 30. It's a good thing you waited to cash yours!"

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For years, my grandmother has had a saying we've heard with a fair amount of regularity. "Fat as Aunt Annie" became something we took for granted as a saying said all over the world.

One day, Ky asked her directly "Grandma, where did the saying 'Fat as Aunt Annie' come from?"

Grandma looked at her kind of puzzled like and said, "I had an aunt named Anne. She was really fat."

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The other night, we heard Grandma talking on the phone to one of our aunts. She was talking about how grateful she was that Ky and I were able to come visit her. She then noted that I had taken her grocery shopping earlier and she had bought some treats. She closed the conversation with a typical Grandma-ism.

"I shouldn't have bought all those snacks. These girls don't need to gain any more weight".

The best of me: What readers liked most in 2013

Tis the time of year again where bloggers around the world make lists of their accomplishments in writing. I'm no different. Mostly because I'm lazy and I follow the crowd.

The following list tells of the times I bitched about sex, showed you my ability to craft, wrote some fiction, told stories about my Grandma, shared our experience with infertility, and how I fared on a polygraph (spoiler alert: it didn't go well).

I hope you enjoy the read and stick around for the new year. I have goals in 2014 and the main one is to kick it's butt.

I, MayB's greatest hits:

The over-sexualization of EVERYTHING

Slap a pair of boobs on something and you will sell way more items than you might have otherwise.  You'll get more attention for whatever you're pushing.  Selling more, getting more attention is good.  I get it. 

I don't know about you, but I'm tired of it.

Ivory Hawk fingerless mitts

Since I learned how to knit almost 4 years ago, I have adapted many a pattern to suit my needs. 

It wasn't until I had a handful of gorgeous yarn and a friend requesting some fingerless gloves that I decided I just needed to do my own thing. 

These gloves were the result.

Anna's last year - Fiction Friday

Anna smiled and turned back to the kitchen. She started the kettle for tea and went back to the entry way to retrieve her purse. On the way, she looked about the house which was half unpacked and still a mess of opened boxes. Though she was starting to feel more settled here - in The Spinster House, she thought wryly - she was instantly reminded of the reason she came back.

Childless by chance, childless by choice

Almost 2 years ago, The Guy and I learned we couldn't have children.  This was after months and month of doctor's visits, needles, probings, stadiums filled with spectators of my lady bits, and finally the ultimate disappointment. 

We aren't going to have children and I'm okay with that.

A list of things I like to do 

You would think it would be simple. Write a list of 20 things you like to do and when the last time you did them was. Easy, right? Well... not for me. 

Problem is? I don't really like to DO anything. I'm lazy and unmotivated. 

But it's one of my favourite things about me!

Liar Liar: My experience with a polygraph

The procedure for this test is to fill in a 31 page questionnaire prior to attending. It questions everything you have ever done that is wrong, illegal, immoral, or a mix of all three. Then, you stew about and remember even more. 

When you enter the polygraph area, you then sit down with the administrator and go over it all again. In detail. With examples. And you spill. EVERY. LITTLE. THING. All those things you wanted to keep secret? You don't. All those things you are embarrassed about? You tell. All those things you didn't realize were actually crimes? You admit to doing all the time. 

You talk and talk and talk. AND TALK.

Tales of Grandma: Stubborn runs in the family

I wrote it in November of 2009, when Grandma moved from her apartment of 40 years to a smaller apartment down the road. Now almost 5 years later, after 2 years at an independent senior's lodge, Grandma is moving in with my Uncle Dean as she is requiring more and more care due to her failing memory. 

This post makes me both happy and sad - happy she was always such a tough old lady and sad that she has changed so much even in the last few years. 

As Gram says "It is a terrible thing to get old."

Anchor - Four Years of Love

I thought this post was fitting for this week. Today is our 4 year anniversary.  I wrote this 2 1/2 years ago on March 29, 2011. 

Since then, The Guy has become more to me than I could have even imagined.  Four years of marriage has been an adventure.  I'm thankful he came into my life every day.

Customer Service: How to do it right

Now, I know, you're thinking I don't work in customer service; I work in a crisis centre.  However, being a crisis worker is all about customer service -- in the worst way.  People who come to see me (or who have me show up on their doorstep) are either: 1) embarrassed to be there, or 2) furious and full of hatred.  But I have a service that I am there to provide and that is that.

Me in a shell of a nut: Now with pictures!

I thought I would take you on a tour of my week. It's been a busy one of no consequence. 

You seem to like that.

I hope you stick around for the upcoming year. I have more in store for you!

Letter to my Grandma on her 94th year.

Grandma's birthday is on January 5, 2014 -- she will be 94 (a feat in itself.) My sister compiled a book of letters to Grandma to share what she meant to us all.  This is my submission.

Grandma and I in 1979 and The Guy, Grandma and I in 2009

Dear Grandma,

I was your first grandchild, born to Ella. Mom used to tell me how happy you were to have a granddaughter and how you doted on me. If you look at the picture, you will see we even dressed alike.

I have to admit my memories of you in my childhood revolve around food. I remember the ham you made that was so good I wanted to eat it all. I remember you making us Dough Dogs for special occasions. I remember travelling with you and Grandpa when I was little and I know how lucky I was. I am sure I saw more of the country than I realize and it was all because of you.

It wasn't until I was more grown up that I got to know you better as a real person and not just my Grandma.  I was lucky enough to stay with you every time we were at church camp. You let all my friends come spend time in your house and you always treated us like adults. You sat and talked, you laughed, you caught up on who was dating whom.  I loved staying at your place and how easy you made it for me. I loved getting to know you better - whether while doing dishes or puzzles or visiting with the steady stream of visitors who dropped by. 

I get my love of words from you I am sure. You are the only person I know who reads as much and as passionately as I do.  I love that you taught us to love books and encouraged us to read.  I love playing Scrabble, doing crosswords, word puzzles, and playing Boggle because of your love for words.

You showed me that to love someone was to serve them. Your giving heart always took care of the people around you. I am always in awe of how much you gave to others just by making sure they were included, well fed, and listened to.  You were a true role model -- someone I wish I was more like.  You worked hard your whole life to make sure everyone else was taken care of and I know how difficult it has been allowing others to care for you.

I am honoured I have gotten to be more a part of your life in the last few years. I miss my monthly visits to your home and wish our phone calls were more regular. But I am so grateful for all the time I've been able to spend with you and wish I had taken advantage of that when I was young too.  I love your sense of humour, how you will tease and be teased with such dry wit. I am glad you haven't lost that part of you even when you feel you've lost so much else.

I love you so, my Grandma. You are the type of woman I would be if I could.

Love, Bronwyn

Working hard or hardly working

My 93 1/2 year old grandma has always been a worker. She is happiest when she is doing something productive.

This fall, Grandma was in her element.  She got to help my uncle get his yard ready for fall. She had assisted him in planting the flowers and talked about that for week, so when it came time to rake and mow and tidy, she was all over that.

Uncle sent me a couple of pictures of Grandma and included a video of her pushing a lawn mower twice her size. It was adorable. I haven't seen her as happy as that in awhile.

Wee Grandma loading a recycle bin that is bigger than her.

I was telling The Guy all about the picture and showed him the video. I told him how Grandma has always been happiest when she is working.

The Guy looked incredulously at me and said, "How are you related to her?"

Me, in a shell of a nut. Now with pictures.

I thought I would take you on a tour of my week. It's been a busy one of no consequence.

• I have knit, torn out, knit again, torn out, etc., the same hat 4 times this week. I finally finished it and am happy with it. First Christmas present done!
• I accidentally wrote "hate" when I tried to write "hat" and that might tell you about this week and how things are going.
• Positive note: Our house is getting somewhat closer to looking like a house. Frame is up for the main floor and the garage frame is almost ready. 



I love the trailer looks like a boat from this angle.

• I ate pie, ice cream, and salt & vinegar chips for supper tonight. Because I'm a grown up.
• I finally finished the first season of Orange is the New Black and now I'm mad the second season isn't out yet.
• Grandma doesn't know who my brother is when he visits, but can still trump most the family in a game of Scrabble. The mind is a funny thing.



Grandma showing my Uncle and cousin how to do puzzles correctly.

• I was grumpy earlier and it really hasn't gone away. I'm trying to suffocate it in carbs.
• I have had 5 cupcakes in 2 days. I don't even feel guilty.
• I had the following conversation with The Guy. He's my favourite.

• The only reason I have walked the dog is because he has guilt tripped me every night until I give in. He stares at me and sighs and looks at the door longingly. I hate him.
• This little girl caught my eye. She was too adorable, so I took a picture. I'm that creepy person.



Her little coat was adorable. 

• I was in meetings all weekend and they were the best part of my week. That is sad. 
• I have two night shifts this week and then I'm off to see Pink in concert. I'm rather looking forward to it. Though, I'm not sure I know more than 3 of her songs.

Grandma Anecdotes: Posts from the Past

I always love stories about my Grandma. Every once in awhile, I go through old things she has said or done and I still laugh. Here is a compilation of stories.

Picture by Ky

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I walk with purpose.

People have a hard time keeping up with me regardless of the length of their legs (heaven help them if they are short). I don't wander or stroll, I walk every where with purpose and determination... even if I have no where to go. I also walk heavy. If I were a teacher, I would be the type who could be heard coming from the other end of the hall with loud clicks from my shoes.

One day, I came into Grandma's apartment from outside. She had been at her normal perch in front of the window watching everyone go by and trying to figure out which two people were couples and which ones would shortly be so.

I came into the house and Grandma turned to me and said "You know I love you and want to see you marry a good man. But could you walk like a girl, for goodness sake?"
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I brought my wedding dress with me so that I could show Grandma. I knew she would be excited and want to be apart of it. I put it on and modelled it for her and my aunt the first afternoon I arrived. Grandma was thrilled by the dress. Less thrilled by the shoes. She was horrified that I would be wearing red.

The next day, I put the dress on to show my sister and my cousin. I walked out into the main room and showed the girls. Grandma came out from her room behind me. "Are you wearing that again??", she exclaimed.

Grandma and me on my wedding day

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Grandma is always trying to feed us. She does not take no for an answer. She pushes cookies and cheese puffs like a dealer with crack cocaine. Then, as though she isn't force feeding us everything in her fridge, she innocently asks if we've been gaining weight.

As I was packing to leave, she came into my room offering me a tray full of butter tarts. I had just had lunch moments before (including pie!) and so declined the dessert.

You don't want a tart?
No, thank you. I'm good.
You don't like tarts. (This was not a question. It was a statement -- of indignation.)
I do like tarts. But I'm full. Thanks anyway.
Okay. I'll go get you a muffin.
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Tales of Grandma -- Stubborn runs in the family: A post from the past

I thought this post was apt for this week. I wrote it in November of 2009, when Grandma moved from her apartment of 40 years to a smaller apartment down the road. Now almost 5 years later, after 2 years at an independent senior's lodge, Grandma is moving in with my Uncle Dean as she is requiring more and more care due to her failing memory. This post makes me both happy and sad - happy she was always such a tough old lady and sad that she has changed so much even in the last few years. As Gram says "It is a terrible thing to get old."

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Pic by my sister, Ky via Flickr

This weekend, Lyn and I will converge at Grandma's place.  It has been a busy month for Grandma and we're going to visit in order to do a quick check on how things are going.

Not only did Grandma get a new dog this last month, she also moved from her home of over 40 years.

Grandma lives on the common grounds that is owned by our church.  It started as an orphanage and bible school and years later exists as a meeting place for the "universal church"(though as far as I know only people from Earth attend) a few times a year.  My grandparents helped oversee the orphanage back in the day and my mother spent her entire youth there.

Grandma lived in a building that was once the orphanage and was later adapted to be a rooming house of sorts.  She and her family inhabited the entire top floor of the building that sat on the east end of the grounds.  For the last few years, the building has been empty but for Grandma and an occasional renter of the small apartment next to hers.  It has almost 20 of the steepest steps known to man and is a feat to climb even for the fittest person.  Grandma has been kept young by those stairs.

In the last few years, we've all realized Grandma would need a change soon.  She will be 90 in January and, even though she could still beat me for hardworking stamina, she is getting older.  She can still care for herself -- food, cleaning, bathing, etc -- but she's a little forgetful and she's a worrier.  We thought about moving her from one city to another (to be closer to immediate family) but this is a woman who's been wearing the same clothes for 30 years -- she doesn't do change well.

Grandma and her 4 sisters in 1976

The perfect solution presented itself awhile ago.  A small apartment on the same grounds opened up.  It is in the same building as two of her dearest friends and is above her nephew and his wife who do more to take care of her than time or patience would allow.  Grandma has worked towards this slowly.  One day, the idea of moving is excellent.  The next?  Not so much.

A week or so ago, none of the family could get a hold of Grandma.  Days went by and she was no where to be found.  Calls between siblings went back and forth until Ky got Grandma on the phone.  She wasn't dead and being feasted on by "the little black dog" as we had feared.  She had moved.

Grandma got it into her head she was going to move to the apartment and so she did.

By herself.

She packed up all her clothes into her suitcases and walked them down from one end of the grounds to the other.  She unpacked them there and returned for another load.  Then she loaded up dishes and books into boxes.  She carried those boxes down the flight of The Stairs of Death.  And then, she loaded those boxes into her wheelbarrow.

Her wheelbarrow.

My almost 90 year old grandmother transported all her own items down to her new apartment in a wheelbarrow.  None of us had any idea she was moving.

Grandma with Monty (left) and Vicki (right)

I talked to Grandma as she was cleaning out her old refrigerator.  She was standing on a chair, using a butter knife to defrost the freezer.  She chatted amicably about washing her windows before she moved out for good and contemplated how she would wash the outsides of them.  After I made her promise not to hang herself out the window, she casually mentioned that she wondered how to get the rocking chair downstairs.

I called my uncle who lives just over an hour away and let him know.  He went down that weekend and helped her move the rest.  When he was done, she burst into tears and said "Can we move it all back?"

I'm going up this weekend to make sure she didn't do that herself too.

Conversations with Grandma: I'm not the favourite

Grandma loves me. Of that I have no doubt.  However, if I was ever going to have second thoughts about it, this visit would have been the time. 

Grandma had a health scare in July and her already terrible short-term memory issues have become a bit more concerning. Knowing Grandma has a 15 second recent button on her memory (it's like a conversation with Dory from Finding Nemo) I decided to call her the day before I was to arrive for a visit.  I spoke with her and was pleasantly surprised she knew exactly who I was and even remembered to ask questions about our recent move.

Forward to 16 hours later.  I walk in the door of her apartment and, after 30 mins of visiting, she tells me my sister Ky called yesterday and said she was on her way to visit so I couldn't stay long.  Being that Ky lives in another province and I hadn't heard anything about an impromptu visit, I realized right away Grandma was now confused about my visit.

When I assured Grandma it had been me who had called yesterday, she looked very serious. "Oh. I guess I shouldn't have said you could come. I was sure it was Ky."  

Grandma with her two favourite girls: Vicki and not me.

Post from the Past: Successful marriages are built on a freshly made bed

This story was initially posted on July 30, 2009 on Buggering Crap Monkies.  Since I am going to visit Grandma this week, I thought it fitting to repost one of our finest moments together.  

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While in North Battleford, I had ample opportunity for Grandma to give me all kinds of tips on marriage, living together, and a successful life of a wife. Oh Grandma. While this was very helpful in the 1800s when you were born, but a fair bit of it doesn't much apply now. For the most part I would nod and smile, but after 2 weeks I was getting just a little cranky.

One night as I was getting ready for bed, Grandma came into my room at the end of the hall and tsked at my room. Bed unmade, clothes scattered everywhere, books askew, pillows on the floor, dog dish leaning precariously on a high heeled shoe.

"You will try and keep a better house when you're married, won't you?"

I explained to Grandma that likely I would be tidier in my house because I would have places to put things and I would be able to do so easier.

"And, you'll make the bed every day?"

"No, probably not."

She gasped audibly as though I had announced I would be feeding The Guy baby seals for supper every night and lining the yard with their little, bitty seal bones. She flung a bony hand to her chest and clutched at her nightdress. "But you must!"

I have to admit, I have a little rebellious streak that encourages me to torture Grandma by being more disagreeable than I would normally. It is the streak that prompted me, at 23 years old, to announce I was not only not getting married, but would shack up with a lesbian. I like to give Grandma the vapours. Sometimes it is out of amusement to myself and sometimes it is just plain meanness.

"Grandma, if he wants the bed made every day, then he's going to have to make it."

Grandma was horrified. I think she was a little heart broken. She looked as though she had personally failed at making me a good woman. She fluttered around the room at a loss for words. She asked again. Was I sure? Yes, I was not going to make the bed every day. Grandma looked defeated. Finally, she pleaded with me -- for the sake of my marriage.

"But, if it really pleases him, you will change this thing for him, won't you?"

I tried to explain the way The Guy and I planned to handle things. Things that were important to me in the house, I would do. Things that were important to him, he would do. The things we hated, we would share. It would be a participatory thing. We would compromise. We would only change things for each other under agreement and with discussion.

Grandma just stood there staring at me. You could see the words forming in her mind "How will they ever make it?" I conceded defeat. I knew I could have this conversation in circles for hours and she would never understand why I wouldn't just change something because it was what The Guy wanted.

In a soft and reassuring voice I said "I will make the bed more often, Gram. Don't worry."

Now, every morning I wake up, I am in a constant struggle between rebellion forcing me not to budge a sheet on the bed and utter guilt because Grandma is convinced we're heading down a long road where The poor Guy will have to deal with a disastrous wife and a messy house.

One with wrinkled sheets even.

My little Grandma

This week, I am taking an excursion to see my Grandma.  She is 93 years old and we never know how much longer we have with her.  She's a spitfire of a woman with a stubborn streak a mile wide and a need to feed you every moment while you're with her while simultaneously commenting on how much weight you've gained since you were 19.  She's a kindhearted woman (whose filter has all but disappeared in the last decade, hence the weight comments) whose home served as a haven for most of my mother's generation of friends and mine. 

Grandma's response: Why do people insist on
taking pictures of old people? We're so wrinkled!

I've always teased Grandma and told stories about the bizarre things she has said and done (I come by these weird things honestly.  I swear it's genetic!) and I have taken her under my wing as best I could since my mom died.  She's become precious to me and makes me regret the teen and early twenty years when I was too cool to sit and visit an old lady.

The only real disagreements between her and I have been - me working in a career I didn't want to give up to have babies, and the time I told her my husband would have to make his own bed in the morning if he wanted it made so badly.  Now every time I don't make the bed, The Guy tells me he's calling Grandma to tattle.

In the last decade, Grandma has become more and more forgetful.  First it was just stories she couldn't remember telling you, so she told you them a lot.  Talking to her was like talking to a goldfish -- 15 second reset button.  However, up until the last 2 or 3 years, she lived alone and had no problem taking care of herself even if she couldn't remember her own dog's name.

Grandma is an old school lady.  Grandma is all about house and home and making friends into family.  Everyone calls her Aunt Bea and she used to know every single person, who their parents were, who they dated, and what was going on in their life.  Now, she's not entirely sure who anyone is and this frustrates her to no end.  I tell her it's more important that we remember her, but she's not convinced.  

Her health has been more precarious lately and she's been very down about it.  Between my sister and I, we call her a few times a week just to check in.  My brother and his wife went up to visit her recently too. My sister in England and my dad in Ukraine are just hoping she hangs out until they get back, but she warned them she wasn't making any promises.

I am so glad she is part of my life and that I can be part of hers. I hope she hangs around for a long time.  Knowing how stubborn she is, she will be here long after the rest of us are gone.  She won't know what's going on, but she will tell you the story about how someone keeps finishing her puzzles while she's at lunch and she's maddest because they are really good at it!

Grandma always hopes to leave an important legacy behind when she goes.  Little does she know, it's going to be in the form of a tell-all book my sister and I plan to write about her and her more outlandish enterprises.  She will haunt us both!