A Stranger Among Us

Husband can play the ukulele and makes my tea just the way I like it. He can dance and sing and erect a tent in under 10 minutes with almost no bits left over. He giggles at words like erect. 

Last weekend he decided to erect a deck in our back yard and I foolishly agreed to help. Thankfully I was saved from that fate by an equally foolish friend who had nothing better to do. 

Now, normally such an exercise (I just couldn't bring myself to use "erection") would be filled with humourous moments involving meaningful glares and sotto vocce swearing while tools were sought, boards were re-cut, or dogs were shooed firmly out from underfoot. DEFCON 3  would usually be declared before lunch time. Marriage vows would be tested to their limit. At least one extra trip to the hardware store for more/forgotten supplies would be made, aggressively and at great speed. 

None of this happened. I have absolutely nothing worth blogging about because the deck was beautifully and perfectly built in 4.5 hours, including a stop for lunch. 

I don't mind telling you that the dogs and I are completely unnerved by this, having pre-emptively and, as it turns out, unnecessarily moved the sofa to a safe location (the roof) for the event. I can only hazard a guess that it was the presence of an Outsider, that is to say, one not of our clan, which helped things go so smoothly, for which I am eternally grateful. It begins an interesting line of speculation regarding social norms and male bonding and other stuff which I am really not interested in researching now that I have 144 square feet of extra deck space. It was either that or the lunch time beers and surprise delivery of doughnuts and frappuccinos.

Yeah. It was probably the beers and doughnuts.

The One About The Cat

I have some very fond memories of my childhood, courtesy of my parent's efforts to "battle the evil inside" me, memories of warmth and laughter and joy. This is not one of them.

I don't really recall exactly how old I was when I was struck with cat fever. Probably around about that age when other little girls started loving horses and unicorns. Not me. I wanted a cat so badly I would pretend to be one. Friends grew exasperated when we would play Star Wars or Hide and Seek or Checkers and I would declare, "I'll be the cat."

My parents are caring and wonderful people. I want to establish this early so that you will forgive them for what happens next. One day, after ages and ages of begging and insisting I would only drink milk from a bowl, they agreed to get me a cat. Not just any cat, a kitten. Perfectly snow white from nose to tail with one big blue eye and one green one. 

He was perfect. We named him Buttons and the moment I heard him purr I was in love. I finally had a cat of my very own and I was in heaven. Ooo, his wee paws, his wee nose.  

My parents were in hell. 

Little blue-eyed Buttons was deaf, you see, and so none of the regular training (essentially shouting "Don't climb that! Don't pee there! GET OFF THE CURTAINS!") was working. My mother's newly refinished furniture, shredded. The living room curtains, shredded. Every last ounce of my parents' not inconsiderable patience, shredded. 

Finally, it was all too much. I know they struggled with the decision, one they did not take lightly, so I am certain it was with relief but also great sadness that they bundled Buttons and I into the back of our little red VW Rabbit, drove back to the farm they had adopted him from, pried him from my tiny fingers, stuffed him out the window and left in a spray of gravel and my heartbroken tears.

It was one of those difficult decisions that parents must make for the greater good of the family. Buttons really was a very difficult cat to train, especially for people who had never trained a cat before. I was sad for a long time, but my parents knew eventually I would move on and I did. I eventually forgot about playing the cat in every game, learned to climb trees and began pretending to be a bird.

That's not where the story ends.

You see, less than a year later, and not that long after my little broken heart had mended, came Christmas. I would like to reiterate that my parents are decent people. Really. So I have no explanation why, on Christmas morning, they handed me a small package and watched closely while I unwrapped... a photo of the very cat they had forcibly ripped from my arms, but not from my heart, never my heart, earlier in the year. 

As psychological scars go I have to tell you, that one took three different types of the wrong boy to heal.

If the rest of the family is snickering at this, or tutting to each other at this tragic tale, then ask yourselves why each and every one of you felt it was necessary to shower me with cat figurines and stuffed cats and adorable little kitten play sets for the next 12 tormented years. 

I am not attempting to start a new Mother's Day/Dad's Birthday tradition by airing grievances. I hoped to remind everyone that not every childhood memory is a Hallmark moment, not every parental decision works out as they hoped and not every child is easy to parent. I know my mom and dad pulled out their hair in frustration, stayed up nights wondering what to do about me, and still loved me as hard as they could. I love them, too.

This is your day, Mom and Dad. It's yours to share, together. I hope it's wonderful.

She's Right Behind Me, Isn't She?

Mother's Day #1

I just ran across a list of things I had jotted down that my mother-in-law has said to me which make me fairly certain she's messing with me...

1. In reference to the fact that Husband can and has leveled small cities to the bedrock in a fit of pique. "He gets his temper from me."
2. After listening to my diatribe on Oprah, her books and her book club. "You should read Nicolas Sparks. He's great."
3. On our wedding day. "Welcome to the family."

This list is meant in no means to indicate that Mother-In Law is anything other than a saintly lady and I am not just saying that because she is standing behind me holding a frying pan.

"I know where you sleep."

For Alexina, who is a lovely and loving mother-in-law, and who has almost certainly never threatened me from behind with a cooking utensil. I happen to know that when she means it, she'll make certain I am facing her. 

The Dog Who Nearly Wasn't

Some time ago a friend asked why we had sturdy loops of reinforced webbing attached to the roof rack on The Van. Gather closer to the fire little ones and I will tell you why these little loops are there...

Once up on a time, yesterday, Husband and I decided to take our dogs for their evening walk at a local provincial park known to many as French Bay and known to Jesse and Meeker as The Place With The Ducks. Remember the ducks, little ones, they are important.

Bright was the sun and high were our hearts as we set out on trail, marvelling at the Albertan spring (-1 C) and enjoying wearing our shorts and swim trunks for the first time in 7 months. That actually did not happen. Instead we congratulated ourselves on remembering toques and mittens because the trail led us above the (still frozen) lake and the cold updraft from the ice was slowly freezing our nips off. 

As we walked along we compulsively head-counted our dogs, as anyone walking Meeker will inevitably find themselves doing.

"One... two. We're good."

"One................... two. Still good."

"Jesse, stop rolling in the dead bear!..... two. We're good."

"One..."

"One..."

(In unison) "MEEKER!"

Normally the absence of Meeker is not cause for concern. Normally the absence of Meeker is briefly followed by the reappearance of Meeker with the leg of a moose or deer in tow. Normally we tell him he is a good boy and remind him that "he is absolutely not bringing that in the van."

Normally we are not walking next to a partially frozen, 2k wide stretch of Alberta lake, peppered on the opposite shore with ducks, loons, moose, beaver and many more creatures besides.

By the time we had reached the end of the trail by the boat launch, a small crowd had gathered.  A helpful bird watcher loaned us his binoculars and sure enough, there was our boy, 2k away on the opposite side of the lake, gleefully chasing ducks and beaver and blissfully unaware of the fact that he had just stranded himself.

Husband and I looked at our fool dog capering far away in a small strip of open water and I won't lie, we briefly entertained the notion of explaining to Jesse on the way back to the van that she would have to be very brave now because Alberta had swallowed her brother.

As the sun began to set, Husband took off for home and our canoe. (Ah, remember the loops? The loops are for tying down the canoe, quickly and efficiently, when the weather is bad or your dog is an idiot. That's called continuity, little ones.) I stayed to keep a watchful, if distant eye on the dog that is seriously turning out to be more trouble than he is worth and who had better get a job if he intends to keep up these sorts of shenanigans.

Husband returned and paddled around the floes to the opposite shore and retrieved our retriever who, by that time had worked himself into quite a state of distress. He was also mildly hypothermic and possibly suffering from shock which meant he got to spend the night snuggled between Husband and I, wrapped in a sleeping bag like the world's furriest burrito.

It is hard to watch someone you love become frightened. It is painful to watch as your best friend slowly realizes they cannot help themselves. It's is terrifying to hear their distress echoing off the dark trees, and to be powerless to help them. 

Meeker tried for the better part of an hour to cross the bay, as I stood helplessly on the far shore, begging him to stay put. Each time he swam to the ice pack and scrabbled for purchase, more of his strength was gone. Each time his tired body went under on his way back to shore, my heart would stop. 

Then Husband did what he does best and rescued our idiot dog. His quick thinking and strong back saved one of the precious heartbeats that make up our little family from dying alone and afraid, in the cold. 
Thank you, sweetie. And thank you to Reg "The Bird Watcher", for his company, kind words and reassurance while I watched my puppy from too far away.

I regret nothing.