Yip yip yip yip yip yip
Discovered in Navid j’s Flickr photostream.
…uh huh, uh huh.
Man, the thing you can find, on Flickr.
April 2007
Shakespeare’s Birthday
This was the front of our wedding invitations:
…Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no! It is an ever-fixèd mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, though his height be taken.
In case you’re worried that I was all squidgy and romantic, they said, inside, “RSVP or else”. You can do anything when you make your own invitations.
Flickrblogging — IMG_3318
IMG_3318
Discovered in JennyHennyPenny’s Flickr photostream.
Drunk I got. Remember nothing after making out with Charlene on the dance floor do I. Ashamed I should be, think I.
But not as bad as they say is waking up in a ditch. Worse, it is.
Remains of Earth Day
So yesterday there were a bunch of people on campus, celebrating Earth Day. Today there was a sculpture left behind, and I can’t honestly tell if there’s a statement being made by the sculpture or not. It looks to my non-connoisseur’s eye like someone threw a bunch of small objects and bits of string in the air, and on the way down it all collided in such a way that the strings tied themselves around the objects. Then it all kind of landed on some twigs stuck in the ground. Sort of like a reversal of time’s arrow, a denial of entropy.
If I remember my camera tomorrow–and if someone hasn’t removed the art projects–I’ll take some photos, so you can see what I mean.
Of Funerals and Family
The real tragedy of funerals, of course, is that the guest of honour doesn’t get to enjoy all the familial good times.
On April 11th, my grandmother died. It was one of those unexpected-expected deaths: you kind of knew it was coming, someday, but you didn’t know it was going to be today.
Grandma
Two days ago, at about 8:30 in the morning, my mom called me at work. It took me a few seconds to recognize her voice; she sounded very, very down. Before she said it, I knew what she was going to tell me.
My grandmother had gone into the hospital the night before. Now Mom was calling to tell me that she had died.
It still hasn’t really sunk in for me. I think that’s partly because I don’t have a lot of memories of Grandma here in Brandon. When I get to Winnipegosis, where the funeral’s being held, I think that’s when it’s really going to sink in that she’s gone.
One day I’ll write about some of the memories I have of Grandma. Right now I want to share something Mom told me.
I’ve been working on a project called Everything that Never Happened. It’s an online serial novel, and it’s been running since March 20th. Grandma and Grandpa don’t have a computer, so Mom’s been printing off the chapters as they appear and taking them out to the farm for Grandma to read. The other night, I think Monday–just before Grandma went into the hospital–she was reading the latest chapter. She was very tired–she was usually tired, these days; she wasn’t sleeping well. Mom said, “You know, you can have a sleep, and read that later.” But Grandma insisted on finishing it first. Mom went and got her camera, and snapped a photo of Grandma reading my story. Grandma was so absorbed she didn’t even know till later that Mom had taken her picture.
It’s the last photo they have of her, Mom says.
Last night I was feeling a little down. I knew that if I want to stay ahead on the novel that I’d have to write a chapter, but I just wasn’t really into it. Then I thought of the woman who was one of my biggest fans, and the words just kind of flowed. I love when that happens; it makes me feel like I’m on the right track, and nothing can move me off it.
Good night, Grandma. Sleep well. I love you.
Godspeed, Grandma
Love,
Ol’ Number One
Flickrblogging — IMG_5900
IMG_5900
Discovered in Ian Hampton’s Flickr photostream.
This is one more to file under “I” for “It seemed like a good idea at the time”.
A couple of brief notes
To: The local rock radio station
Hi guys,
Ok, I think it’s official now. I’ve heard “The Black Parade” often enough for one lifetime. Time for you to find another song to overplay till I automatically switch stations on hearing its first few bars.
To: The great toe on my right foot
Look, it’s been, what, three years since I broke your neighbour doing judo? I mean, for cryin’ out loud, once he healed up, I never heard another peep out of him. You weren’t even broken—just jammed back a bit. I think it’s time you stopped getting it in your mind (whatever a toe has that passes for a mind, that is) to cause me pain.
Seriously. How long are you gonna keep this up, anyway? What? The rest of my life. Not cool, man. Not remotely cool.
To: self
Ok, it’s time to write a few more chapters in Everything that never happened. By the time Thursday rolls around, I’d like us to be at Chapter 24, please. If not further along than that, even.
That means no Star Wars Lego till you’ve got another thousand words tomorrow night, bucko. Trust me. I’m doing this for your own good.
Don’t you give me that look, Patrick.
Easter
Easter found us at my inlaws’ farm, enjoying a chilly spring day with my wife, her parents, and her sister and her family. Mr. M, who is two and a half (if I recall correctly), entertained us all, especially with his hoarse and throaty shout-out to a ceramic Cookie Monster figurine. (“Coooooooookie Monster!”, quoth the boy, and my wife fair doubled over with laughter. Oh, what a day.)
We drove out in the morning on Easter Sunday, since K had to work till 10:30 on the Saturday, and we came back on Sunday night, since I had to work on Monday. We arrived at church, and waited for the rest of the family to show up (we were surprised to be there first, since we got there at about 10:25, and the service started at 10:30). They made it in before the beginning of the service. Mr. M entertained everyone in the church when he escaped and scampered up to the front, his father in hot pursuit. As he was being carried down the aisle to the back of the church, he was in high spirits: “Hi Pat!” he called, waving to me. “Hi Mimi!” (which is his name for Kathleen, something that she brought on herself, and perhaps a story I’ll tell you another day).
At the farm, we had lunch, and then the order of the day became variations on the theme of “Naptime”. Mr. M went downstairs, E sacked out on the couch, Grandpa R snored in his chair in front of the TV, K flaked out on the hide-a-bed in her old bedroom, and I read magazines and let my mind go idle. J eventually went downstairs and joined his son; Grandma M did up some dishes.
Supper was chicken and all the trimmings, which included mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffin’, broccoli, buns, and (last and definitely least) turnips. I devoured a couple of servings, and then dessert hit the table, and by the time I was done eating I felt like my eyes were crossed. Mmmm mmmm good.
We did dishes, went outside with Mr. M and looked at the cows and the tractor (and he slyly tried to lead J and me toward the trampoline, but we convinced him otherwise), had some more visiting time, and then we headed home, full of chicken, Easter chocolate, Swedish tea ring, Jell‑O and fruit. It was a good weekend.