Adventures in Ukraine: Part 3 -- Wherein we learned to ask for help

In my family, we are not good at asking for help.

Surprisingly enough, we are not very good at being exposed to other people. (Unless it's like, "Surprise! Here's my butt!")

I, especially, suffer from the belief that I should be able to be all things for all people and, as a child, my catch phrase (unintentionally, but never forgotten) was, "Fine. I'll do it myself."

That phrase has served me dysfunctionally well over the years.

My therapist worked very hard with me to combat the feeling that I am responsible for everyone I've ever met and that I am the only one who can fix any problem  In fact, most of the time, she would stare at me with one eyebrow raised and ask questions to remind me this is not true.

Q: "Who are you in charge of?"
A: Myself (and sometimes the dog 

Q: "Who are you responsible for and to?"
A: Myself, the dog, and Wade. (I'm sure he was thrilled that he's third on that list!)

These boundaries that I took months to set up disintegrated the moment I got the call from Tanya. My Dad was in trouble and I took on the job of fixing it. I started making lists the second I got off the phone.

Best hospital? Check 

Respected doctor? Check 

Me present to enforce healing and effect change? Check 

Acknowledgement that I'm not in charge of whole world? *crickets chirping*  

I relate a little too hard to Lucy.

My Dad and I have a complicated relationship. It was complicated before Mom died and even more so after. I think even he will admit I have often been in the parental role more than he.

It is easy for me to take over and fix things for Dad.

It is even easier for him to let me.

*Ahem*
We interrupt this airing of family laundry to distract you to a different topic.  

LOOK A SQUIRREL!
*Thank you*

Where was I?

Tanya is also a take charge woman, so we delegated our areas of control to things we could excel in. She took over hospital directing, medical management, making sure everything was going smoothly, and all food preparation.

She did even more, but I cannot fit it all into one clever sentence.

I took over keeping Dad from getting evicted from the hospital for being rude, organizing shifts for Dad maintenance, and figuring out how to find the money to pay for everything.

I had reached out to a relative to borrow a few thousand to pay for all the medical expenses.  I assured them that it would certainly cover everything and I could pay it back once I transferred money out of my Dad's savings.

We ran out of that money after the first week.

For as inexpensive as things are in Ukraine, it costs a hell of a lot to have someone in hospital.  The family was responsible for all medical supplies.  Sterile gloves, syringes, medications, bandages, ostomy bags, tape, cleaning wipes for wound management, etc. Every day, supplies cost us between $200-500 USD.

We also had to rent a flat (look how European I am!) and buy enough groceries to live.

My sisters and I sat around a computer and Skyped with our brother to talk about our options.  There was no money. If we all pooled our resources, we could come up with $17 and a piece of lint. We could try and get a bank loan, but it seemed so insurmountable.

I mean, we come from the land of free health care.  We had never thought this would happen.

We had to ask for help.

Ugh.

We went to the internet and told our friends the situation.  We were mortified and embarrassed and downtrodden.  I mentioned to one person how much I felt like a Nigerian prince asking for money to help get my father out of prison.

But we asked.

While we originally asked for a few thousand (once again we were hopelessly naive) and the generosity overwhelmed us.  Donations came in with positive messages of love and support and prayers.

It was humbling and amazing and uplifting.  We cannot say thank you enough.



I mean, really, we had no idea how many people liked Dad.

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 old dog Dez: Post from the past

Rescue Dog

She was a runway no one wanted.

She had roamed the streets for a bit and picked up a few others like her on the way. You would think that would harden a girl, but when I got to her she was still the happiest, most carefree thing on the planet.

She looked at me with puppy dog eyes and tried to crawl under her cage door in her excitement to meet me. I named her Desdemona.

That smile

Happiness is contagious

Dez loved everyone with ferocious intensity.

She met every person at the door with a well placed two front paws to the groin and a plan to lick the heck out of them before they left the house.

She chased a lot of guys off that way.

She had an amazing ability to put your entire forearm into her mouth and lick you with both sides of her tongue. You would be dripping with dog slobber by the time you could disengage yourself.

Odd dog toy

Her favourite toy was a doll I got from Value Village.

She tore it to bits and left little pieces of baby throughout the house. You could say "Dez, go get your baby head" and she would trot off and bring back the doll's head with such pride.

She played with balloons and tennis balls and ropes, but her most favourite thing was people.

Dezi's best friends

She loved a few people more than others.

Our friend and room mate, Shannon was one of her favourites.

Shannon would get down on the floor with her and give "Dezi hugs". Dez pretended she was not impressed, but secretly she loved them. Shannon would take her running around the lake and Dez would be more energetic when she got home than when she left.

The dog was born to run.

Desdemona also loved one of Shannon's friends named Chris, our room mate Dave and babies.

Dez loved little kids. I think for lunch, but that was never proved.

Her two favourite things - babies and bath

Reluctant owner

When I brought Desdemona home, my mother was not impressed.

I hadn't gotten permission from her.

In fact, the only reason I got her was that my Dad felt that Davy (my sister, Ky's dog) would be lonely while Dad was working in Europe. As he was leaving for 3 months, he suggested I go pick a dog out from the Humane Society.

I feel like he thought that out pretty well.

I promised Mom she wouldn't get any bigger.

I lied. She was only 7 months when I brought her home.

She got bigger.

Mom's champion

Dez loved Mom.

Mom used to play with her despite claiming she had no time for it. Mom would take her out on walks and run Dez down a block and back just for fun.

When Mom first got sick, it was Dez that noticed.

She would sit by Mom's chair with her head on the armrest and whimper.

She sat for hours like that making sure Mom was okay.

Before Mom's first hospital visit, I had to force Dez to go outside to pee. She didn't want to leave Mom's side and she was none too happy that I would even suggest it.

Keeping Mom company

Neighbours

Dez met her best friend when she was 4.

She heard Lexi on the other side of the fence and knew she had to do something. So, she tore the fence down.

Lexi and she played for hours back and forth, chasing each other, eating things they shouldn't and playing fetch. They had a system when Lexi would catch the ball and present it to Dez with flair so that Dez could return it and get the praise.

Lexi was a bit over zealous at times and Dez was the only one who could keep her in line.

Lexi (left) and Dez (right)

Sports injury

One day when they were playing, something happened and Dez hurt herself.

She hobbled for a week or so and it got so bad we took her in for X-rays.

She had sliced a piece of bone off her back leg. The piece was the size of a glass shard, but held all her tendons.

It couldn't be repaired easily.

They hoped it would right itself and we put Dez in her kennel for 30 days on serious amounts of Valium. She was so sad I could hardly bear it. And, the month didn't help.

So we let her roam again, but the worse the pain got, the worse she got.

One day she ran from the house and attacked another dog.

We knew it was time.

Saying goodbye

We made the appointment at the vet's office and Lyn, Dad and I went with her.

Saying goodbye to Dez was the hardest thing any of us had ever done. I don't think I ever saw Dad cry that hard.

Mom was going to be in the hospital that week so had to say goodbye before she went.

Later Mom would say she was happy Dez had to go before she was really sick because Dez just wouldn't have understood.

Dez saying bye to Dad

Foreshadowing

I was hit with such devastation after Dez died I didn't know how to recover.

Looking back, I think it was the knowledge of what was to come.

If I had to say goodbye to Dez, it meant I may have to say goodbye to other people and things I loved.

To help me make sense of things, Mom and I went out to Mom's favourite relaxation place, the cabin by the lake. We spent the afternoon one day making a memory book and filling a shoe box full of Dez's things.

I painted it white with Dez's name in blue and lovingly placed into it Dez's brush, collar and baby doll head.

Frustrations and thankfulness

You would think that finally moving into our new house would mean I was bursting at the seams with excitement and unable to control myself from showing you everything.

Yeah.

Not so much.

We are in. That is true.

Moving issues

We went without a fridge for 5 days, our dishwasher leaked all over the floor, the closets are a disaster, and neither The Guy or I have slept more than 5 hours a night since we moved in.

Montel has cried and barked for hours every time we leave the house and the soundproofing will only be effective once the entry way is finished and isn't so echoey.

I am happy to be here, but I will be happier to be settled.


Here are the things I am able to be thankful for this week.

Family

1. My brother had a health scare the last few months, but got some good news recently.
   
   He might be a butt face, but he's ours and we don't want to lose him anytime soon.
   
   

   

   We had SO MANY matching outfits

   
   
2. My father and his wife arrive in Canada in a few days. He will arrive to my house after the middle of the month. I'm hoping I have a bed for them by then.
   
   

   

   This is a perfect picture of them as a couple.
   Dad is very pleased with himself
   Tanya is one step from rolling her eyes at him.

   
   

Life improvements

3. The coffee "bar" area in the new house is awesome. It looks that much better now that we have a fridge and don't have to go to the garage for creamer.
   

   
   
   
   

   It will be better when I get a chance to decorate more, but LOOK!!!

4. I got an award from the Women's Committee at my Union for the work I've done. I was pretty impressed - even with the misspelled name!
   
   
   
   
   
   
5. I got an accidental day off today. I have no idea why I booked it. I guess God knew I would need the break by now.

The next step

This coming weekend will have me working to finish unpacking the kitchen, starting on the bathroom, working on my private contract, taking time to hang out with Lil E and Monty, and collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Some time soon, when I can laugh about it, I will start talking about the house.

I'm not there yet.

Thankful for Monty, birthdays, women, and classic TV

It has been a week.

You can insert "hell of a" or "exhausting" or "debilitating" in there if you would like.

But the week is coming to a close and, while some things are still not great, I am trusting they will be.

That is the whole purpose of this exercise, after all.

1. Monty had a birthday today. He is 9 years old. Some days he is a grumpy old man and other days he is a spry pup. Every day he makes me laugh, gives me love, and annoys the tar out of me.
   
   I'm thankful for the day he was born in the middle of my sister's bed like a fat slimy black jellybean.
   
   

   

   Monty as a pup

   
   
   

   

   Monty as an adult

   
   
   
2. This weekend was my birthday too. A grand 38 years of age. I'm not sure I like getting closer to 40, but I've enjoyed my 30s a lot and don't mind getting older.
   

   
   

   I'm still fabulous.

3. The #YesAllWomen tag has been getting a lot of talk. It is spreading the message of awareness and mindfulness of all the things that daily occur to women around the world.
   
   I'm thankful for the openness of all people who recognize it is time to stand up and say "This is not what I want for women to ever experience again."
   
   

   

   original here

   
   
4. We should be able to move completely into our house on Saturday. I'm saying "should" because right now I'm in a rental with an air mattress and large screen TV and I have no trust left in humanity.
5. Grandma called in a panic to tell me Grandpa had died the night before (he died 8 years ago). Once I calmed her down, I shared the story with my brother. He replied with our favourite lines from Roseanne. "HE'S DEAD! DEAD!  He's fine, he sends his love."
   
   Watch from the 1:00 mark to the end.
   
   
   

My life in places: My first house

For most of my life, the only thing I ever really wanted was a house of my own.

Home

It wasn't about the picket fence and the family for me; a home of my own was about putting down roots. It was about taking something and saying "This is where I am."

I've always been a home-body. I would get homesick on sleepovers until I was a teenager. I needed that sense of security.

Stability.

My mom, my brother, and I shared that need. The rest of our family was happy planning for what strange land they would visit, while we wanted nothing more to be at home with the people we loved.

My mom and I spent hours going through magazines and the Sears catalogue cutting out pictures of things we would decorate with if we only had the money.  We wandered through the neighbourhood peering into people's windows for decorating inspiration (and sheer nosiness!)  We loved to see how others lived and talk about what we would have done instead.

For both of us, having a home where people could come and be themselves was top on our lists.

Let the rest of my family travel.  I want my own bed. My own bathroom.

When my mom died, I used my inheritance for one thing I knew she would understand.  A BRAND NEW CAR!!!!!!!

No, wait.  That's The Price is Right.

What I did was use a big chunk of it for a downpayment on a house.

Deciding to buy

My dad did what they always tell people not to do in the first few months of grief -- he made major life decisions.  He sold the house where he, my mother, and my sister lived and bought a condo.  My sister was suddenly homeless and our family had no centre.

I felt like I needed to create a new base to make up for the one we had all lost when Mom died.

So, you know, I made a major life decision.

I spent a long time looking for the house of my dreams.  I'm sure we looked at 20 before I found the one I wanted. I saw a lot of houses, but the ranged from the "meh" to the "ugh".

Finally, I walked into the house on Chinook.  It was very 70s and not the good retro kind. Old cupboards with older hardware. Wooden spindles creating room separation.  A backyard that was all garden (aka: a weed plot)  It wasn't much, but I knew it could be home.

I bought it and less than two months later was in the doors.

My very first house.  It had a ton of hydrengeas which I happily tore out.

Much to the dismay of everyone else in the neighbourhood.

My first home

My sister, Lyn, moved in with me.

We went to town picking out paint chips, deciding on room layout, painting, and decorating. I made a hundred to scale room designs complete with cut out furniture I could arrange and rearrange.

We started painting almost immediately and had a lot of it done before we moved in.

When the time came, I had a house that was almost totally me. I painted almost every inch of the house.

Of course, being the procrastinators we were (are), we decided to wait until we moved in to paint the kitchen a gorgeous cherry red.

In the 3 years we lived there, it never got done.

I left the paint for the next owners.

My living room: Eggplant on the main wall, Lilac on the other.  

I bought the blue furniture brand new and won a trip to Mexico.

Mine

I loved that house.  Every room had my touch (except Lyn's room... I wouldn't touch that if you paid me) and it all meant a lot to me.  I scoured books to learn how to do electrical work and I changed every outlet on my own.

I fixed things and built things and hung shelves and pictures.

It was exactly how I wanted it to be.

It broke my heart that my mom couldn't see it.  But, I was doing what she couldn't anymore -- I was trying to create a home for my family to migrate to.

My bedroom displaying my paintings and the plant I kept alive for 3 years.  

Thanks to Ky.  She watered it everytime she came to visit.  Once a month.

Despite all the trouble there was in that place -- a ever-renewing lake in the basement, an entire yard of weeds that were supposed to be a garden, the biggest lawn known to mankind -- it was my home.

I loved it.

Too much of a good thing

When my sister Ky moved in with Lyn and I, we were the happiest bunch of happies that ever happed. We were three sisters living the dream.

We watched a lot of So You Think You Can Dance and ate a lot of take out, but we had a great time.

Then one day,  the neighbours mentioned to me how great it was to see the place as it was meant to be.  They explained how three spinster sisters had moved to the house in the 70s and lived there until the last one of them died just before I bought the house.

I joined Lava Life the next day.

The rest is history.

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.


****************************
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.

The good things in it all: Thankful Thursday

Though I have gotten out of the habit of doing this weekly, I'm still grateful for a great many things. This week has been a much better version of life.

1. We move in to our new house in 2 weeks today. After months of waiting, we are almost there! Things are starting to look like they might actually get it all done.
    

   

   Siding! should be completed this week

   
   

   

   My bathroom of beauty

   
   
2. Being on holidays means I can work on my contract report and get a good portion of it before we move to the new house.  This is especially good as I've had 3-5 months less than most consultants have to write it and it's turning out to be very complicated. 


3. My latest physio assessment said I'm well on the way to recovery - the nerves are finally responding normally! My muscles are still tight and painful, but it is progress.
   
   This is especially good news as the week before I was a sobbing mess in her office because of pain. I'm now doing numerous things of acupuncture and massage - that plus yoga and I will be back. (Pardon the pun.)


4. I compiled a list of 80s songs for my sister (at her request).  I have over 6 hours of 80s music just that I could find. I'm sure there is more because a lot of my favourites weren't on my file! Here is a snapshot just of my 80s pop/rock mix.
   
   

   

   The good thing is, this doesn't show how often I listen to it.

   
   Sigh. I'm a loser.


5. Despite all the turmoil in Ukraine (link to: Ukraine fighting back), my Dad and my StepMom Tanya are still planting things of beauty and reminding us that life... it goes on. 
   
   

   

   Tanya's spring flowers

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.

Late night thankful

It's sad when I consider 11pm late night but it is and I'm old.

I'm on the road for 2 nights leaving The Guy and Monty home alone. I miss them already. 

1. I came home to find The Guy had purchased the painting I had my eye on at Winners. I almost cried. It's so pretty. 

It's also huge!! I love love love it. 

2. I am so thankful for our health care system and Workers Comp. My back still has it's days (like Sunday when I cried at the futility of being broken) but it's healing with the help of my chiropractor, my massage therapist, my physiotherapist, my other chiropractor, and I don't pay for any of it. 

3. I am thankful that, despite Ukraine's continued upheaval, my family is safe. I'm so glad I got to visit before this all happened. I pray for my family's continued safety and for peace in Ukraine. 

4. I am thankful that our house is nearing completion. The cupboards are in and crews are working through the weekend so we can be in as soon as possible. It feels like "six weeks from never" might be sooner than we think. 

Our kitchen with cupboards. Countertops are coming soon too. 

5. I am thankful to be snug in bed at Easter church camp knowing my friends are all just down the hall. Even being here for 2 nights is enough to make me grateful. 

The return of Thankful Thursday: Big Al, Stella, and siblings

After a hiatus last week, I wasn't sure I was going to be up for being thankful today. However, a lot of things made me smile today, so I thought I would share it.

1. My Dad and Tanya took a trip to see my sister, Lyn, and did all the touristy things while looking all touristy. I adore this picture of them.
   
   

   

   Tanya with Big Al at Big Ben

   
   
2. For a glorious hour tonight, I had a kitten. I named her Stella because she's lived a hard life, but is still beautiful.  She has gone to visit the vet and get her ear mites and stuff all checked out before she goes into foster care. ** edited: I just heard she will likely be fostered by a good friend of mine! I get to visit her all the time!!!!!
   
   

   

   Stella, the rescue cat

   
   The Guy texted me after he saw my many pictures of her on Facebook with one line "No, you can't keep her."  He's mean.
3. It is national sibling day. I'm pretty lucky to have a crazy bunch of siblings. Even though we are all over the world, we rock.
   
   

   

   Me and my bro - matching red velour

   

   Precious little sisters are SOOO big

   
   
4. Yoga has been life changing. I go a few minutes early and get myself calmed and relaxed. I sit in the quiet and warmth thankful for where I am. It helps me calm in the chaos that is everything else.  


5. I am thankful for my coworkers and my husband. When I am at my worst, they support me anyway.

My Ukrainian worry: My Dad in Lederhosen

Many of you know, my father (known as Blog Fodder online) lives in the Ukraine.  He has lived there about 7 years after he married a wonderful and tough lady, my mail-order-step-mom, Tanya.  Tanya is a Russian woman from Siberia who has lived and worked in Ukraine for many years.  Dad moved there and was warmly invited into her family of two sons (my younger step-brother passed away a year ago), two daughter-in-laws, and two granddaughters, Masha and Dasha.

Because my Dad was always a historian in his spare time, he is well versed in the goings-on between Russia and the rest of the world.  He has been fascinated with the leaders, the people, and the history for as long as he knew about them. This fascination could explain why my siblings and I played the game "K!ll the Russians" during the Cold War.  I now wish we had given it a slightly different name.

Dad could not be in a more perfect place to see this up close.  He was even in Maidan the day the fires began. His wife wanted to see what was happening up close and mentioned if she were younger, she would be right there on the lines.  Understandably, they are both worried for the people of Ukraine. The corruption that has led such wonderful, hard-working people to a bad place. The pressure from another corrupt nation that may cost them freedom, lives, and basic necessities.

I am worried sick. My family -- people I have met and love (and even my Dad) -- are in a place where there is the great likelihood of imminent danger and I cannot get them out.  Now, they live in a smaller village outside of a larger town that is closer to a larger city, so likely the fighting will not come knocking on their door.  But I don't know.

I hate not knowing.

Because I have been more aware of what is going on in Ukraine than I ever am of world events (yes, I'm an Ostrich, thank-you-very-much) I am trying to figure out exit strategies for my family if it comes to that. Somehow, in my head, I am imagining them having to flee Russian invasion like many had to flee the Nazis.

This leads me to the lederhosen.

One night, I was thinking about my dad, his wife, their son, two daughters, and granddaughters (one 9 months old) having to flee in the middle of the night with nothing but the clothes on their backs. I imagined my rather large and poorly exercised father trying to climb mountains and walk for hundreds of miles to safety.

Suddenly, I flashed to a scene from Sound of Music where the Von Trapps had to escape Austria during the night in the midst of a concert so they could get to safety.  It went from Captain Von Trapp, to Lederhosen, to my father, to my father in Lederhosen.

picture via

After picturing a 6'3" 350lb old man in Lederhosen fleeing the Nazis, I realized perhaps I was a little over worried about this.

I later told my Dad about my worry for his safety and my vision of his escape from Ukraine. He laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. He then asked his wife if they could fin Lederhosen in his size. She looked at him with the cocked eyebrow only wives can give that said "You're a special kind of stupid, aren't you?"

I've managed to keep my panic under control since then.

****
If you are interested in reading about the Ukrainian issues from a Canadian ex-pat who is also a historian and a news junkie, here you are:

My Dad's f posts on Ukraine troubles:
I break radio silence 
Winning the peace
Fascism, Russian, and Ukraine
Crimea heats up
Extreme apprehension
All talk, no shooting - so far
No war until Monday
In search of an honest man

This isn't even all of them he's written. I just caught the main ones. Hope it helps clear things up and encourages you to keep the Ukrainian people in your hearts and minds.

Irish settler: my green genetics

Today is the day of my people. No, not binge drinkers (although I have some of those in my people too) but the Irish.  I'm not just Irish, but it's the one I relate to the most.  My family is a mutt-mix of English, Irish, and Scottish. I think there is a random Dutch thrown in there, but I'm not sure.

My family has never really participated in the any cultural events, not even Irish. No scary River dancing, no beer, no violent uprisings. We were Canadian from the day we landed and fully embraced the culture of apologizing and wishing we lived in a warmer climate.

 So, happy day some weird dude played the flute and led snakes out of Ireland. Or something. 

My great-grandfather Freke's signature entering Ellis Island