are all older men crazy, or is it just my father?

First, some background, so you understand who my father is:
Years ago, my parents went through a bit of a drinking phase. My sister calls this time period "the years of never-ending embarrassment" because my dad loved to order Sex on the beach (as in the drink). At any rate, they went to some all-inclusive resort in the Caribbean for a 7 day holiday, and on the 5th day, my father woke up blind. My mother (quite understandably) freaked out and wanted to take him to a doctor. He not only refused to go, but he also refused to go home early. He insisted on making the most of the rest of their holiday while blind.

Finally, my parents came home and my dad went to see a doctor, who told him that he was actually a diabetic and that he had gone into diabetic shock because of all the sugar he was drinking. But the diagnosis isn't the point of the story; my father was crazy enough to spend two days in a foreign country, blind as a bat, without getting help, of his own free will. Crazy person, no?

So here's the story of this week:
My parents have a cottage where they spend most of their summers now. Of course, this cottage is in the middle of nowhere and they refuse to get a landline, Internet access, or a cell phone. Since I hadn't seen them or spoken to them in a while, I decided to pack up my bruised tailbone and spend last weekend with them.

Saturday was a great day, but then Saturday night I was woken from sleep at around 2:30 am by a big thump. My father had gotten up, lost his balance, fallen over, and hit his head on the wall. Insisting he was OK, he went back to bed. Well, the next morning he was so not OK. He couldn't stand up on his own and refused to eat because of nausea. I know enough about medical stuff to understand that that could be just an inner ear infection, but a voice in my head kept saying that it also could be a stroke (especially because I'd just read this). I called around to a bunch of doctors in the vicinity but nobody was working on the Sunday of the long weekend, so I suggested that I take him to the hospital in the area, if only to get him a drip so he would feel better. He reacted violently to the suggestion, insisting that he was OK. This went on all day, and I don't think I slept for more than 20 minutes that night.

The next morning, when he was no better and asked me to walk him across the house, I lost my mind. I told him that the only place I was walking him to was my car so that I could take him to the hospital. He refused to go, so I packed my bags and left. Yes, I left my sick father in the middle of nowhere with no means of communication, and, since their plan was to stay until Wednesday, I spent the next two days waiting for my phone to ring, hoping that my dad wouldn't be in intensive care somewhere. No sleep was had.

At the end of the day, he apparently got better, but then, he didn't go to a doctor at all, so who knows?

Is this how men get when they get older? If I end up with someone who's seemingly normal now, is this inevitably what I'm going to have to deal with once he reaches retirement age? Or is my father just a crazy person?

guilt trips should be reserved for the guilty

So today I got up super early for a running date, showered and picked up a friend to go hiking. I got home from hiking, showered, then went out with friends for an early dinner. I got home at 7:30.

Today coincidentally was Father's Day. I spent a day with the parents last weekend so didn't feel the need to visit today. My plan was to call after I got home from dinner when I could actually talk to my father, rather than just yelling out "happy Father's Day" and having to hang up. And let me just reiterate that I got home at 7:30, which I think is a respectable time to call one's father on Father's Day.

Well, apparently that was not good enough for my mother, who felt the need to call me at 5:00 today and ream me out. "It's clear that you don't love your father," she barked at me.

I give up. I am a bad child.

my parents will drive me to drink

I visited my parents this weekend. You know, my parents the compulsive alarmists. Now, I must state for the record that they are fabulous people and that I love them. However, sometimes they make me want to scream loudly, into a pillow, for several minutes at time.

Although my parents are complete alarmists when it comes to me and my life, they seem to enjoy rolling the dice when it comes to their own well-being and safety. I think I've complained before about how they have a shack in the bush at which they pass much time in the summers, and they refuse to get a phone. Not just a landline, they also refuse to get a cell phone. They tell me that if anything happens, they can always go to the house next door. Getting to that house actually requires sturdy shoes and I swear there are cobwebs in their front door. Of course, the distance and absence of signs of life does not bother my parents one bit.

Here is the latest conversation that made me want to poke my ears out:

Me: Hey, mom, what do you have on your nose?

Mother: Oh, no big deal. I had a pre-cancerous spot on my nose that the dermatologist had to burn off.

Me: Pre-cancerous? What?

Mother: Oh yeah, you know when your father and I were away we spent a lot of time in the sun. I thought since I've never burned in my life that it would be OK to not wear sunscreen. But then this happened.

Me: You were out in the sun all the time and you didn't put any sunscreen on, even on your face?

Mother: I don't know what you're getting so upset about.

Me: Pre-cancerous, mom. C-A-N-C-E-R.

Aaaaaaah.

my poor mother

My mom and dad just got back from a trip down south. As always, I bought my dad a few good books for the trip. He has this pesky habit of reading huge parts of the book he finds interesting out loud, to anyone who will listen. When they're in town, he can usually find some other unsuspecting person to read to. I for one have learned too much about several of his books because I've called and interrupted him in mid-read. On vacation, it's all about my mom.

Judging by her tone of voice on the phone just now, I don't think she appreciated my choice of books this time. Maybe next time I should give him some girly choices and see how that goes.

RainyBow

whew, christmas is over

Ah Christmas. In my family, it's always fraught with conflict. This year, my I-take-entertaining-very-seriously mother cleaned her house and cooked up a storm for a bunch of people my sister invited over at the last minute - all while she had food poisoning. Yes, you read that right, my mother hadn't been able to hold food down for almost three days when all of these guests arrived. She put on her usual happy face, as she always does.

My extremely-self-centred sister, on the other hand, didn't have the courtesy to arrive early to help, nor did she bring a dish for dinner.

How can I not be angry about this stuff, especially when my parents are getting older? Whenever I speak up and try to explain to the sister why it's not right, my parents shush me, saying that "it's just the way she is." I can't even blame my sister now, since my parents enable her behaviour.

So frustrating. I can't dwell on it because I just get angry.

In other, more exciting news, Sunny's far away, in the desert in a country where nobody would insure her for travel. Sketchy but fun.

facebook foolishness

My cousin got a puppy recently. Let me explain about my cousin first before I get into this post. She is quite possibly the vainest, most selfish person alive. She is also one of those people who is constantly complaining that she has no money and can't afford anything. You might be feeling sorry for her about now, except that she makes about $1oo/hr, has no kids, and her car is fully paid for. She lives in a apartment that is super cheap while she is waiting for her condo to be built. She's a label whore. A pauper she ain't.

All I have been hearing from her is how expensive dog food is, how she doesn't want to pay for a dog walker, how expensive it was to leave the dog for a week while we were away and on and on.

Anyhoo....Her sister was telling me that she got a 'poke' on Facebook from the dog. errkkkk. Rewind. I must have had a 'what you talking bout willis' look on my face cause she repeated herself. Turns out that the vain cousin has put up a Facebook profile for her dog. The dog sends email, updates his page, and has 29 friends. I am not making this up.

In case you need a refresher, I detest Facebook. I cannot, for the life of me, understand why a dog needs a facebook profile; I have enough trouble figuring out why a human does. What is this world coming to.

For the record, my dogs do not have web profiles or email addresses.

SunnyShine
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RainyBow note: Ah, delightful facebook. Last week I was poked by someone I apparently went to school with when I was seven. I say 'apparently' because I recall neither his name nor the name of the person he says was our teacher, most probably because I was seven. At any rate, I clicked through to his profile out of sheer curiosity. Although I have no idea who this person is, it's great that he's gay, out and proud of it. His page is littered with photos of and references to his many conquests. This is lots of information, given that I really have no clue who he is.

(And I'm not gonna lie; I shuddered a bit, thinking of what a similar page would look like for me, should I ever succumb to facebook tmi syndrome. Ugh.)

jinxed

I am in the country where I was born to attend a funeral. Here are a few highlights of my trip since I left yesterday morning:

1. They no longer serve food on the plane - it's a 5 hour flight. You can purchase beef sandwiches for the low price of $6 if you feel like eating that at 9:30 in the morning. No thanks. I was starving when I landed.

2. You have to purchase a blanket if you want one. I was sitting in the exit row so it was extra cold but I refused to buy a blanket just on principle.

3. Halfway into the flight, I stood up between the pass-through to stretch my legs. A man walked by and reached out for me and then his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed. He then lost consciousness and when he regained it, threw up for 30 minutes straight. Despite the urgent calls to see if there was a doctor on board, none appeared. The flight attendant brought out the biggest first aid kit imaginable and tried to help him. I was sure we were going to have to make an emergency landing but they made him lie down in the last row and he was able to last the rest of the flight. I think he's ok.

4. We landed just after two gigantic planes from Europe so I spent an hour in the line up for customs. This foiled my plan of not checking luggage and breezing through with my carry-on.

5. My father picked me up and asked me if I wanted to go to A (where I was staying) or B (to visit). I said A because I wanted to nap, shower, and change before I had to go out later. He said 'why don't we go to B'. Great. Turns out, I didn't make it to where I was staying until midnight and I had been up since 5:30 for the early morning flight.

6. When I finally got into bed to go to sleep, my sister decided it would be the right time to have an msn conversation with who knows who. She tapped away for a good 20 minutes through my incessant pleas for her to go into another room. She doesn't have a drop of common courtesy in her body.

7. Migraine

8. I fell down the stairs this morning. I didn't just fall down the last stair, I fell down the full flight of stairs. My sister, of course, asked me to hurry up.

9. Funeral

10. Earthquake. 7.3. I could not make this up. We could barely stand up, much less run away from the house. It felt as if we were on one of those things where they make you stand on a surfboard and it moves all around. We stayed out on the lawn for a very long time, and even now, I'm right beside the door in case we get some more tremors.

I'm leaving tomorrow. Hopefully I'll make it home in one piece.


SunnyShine
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RainyBow note: Harumph. I'll stop trying to garner sympathy for myself while you're gone.

please don't call me at work

My father's one of the smartest people I know. He multiplies five digit numbers together in his head for fun. He disassembles then reassembles things just to see how they work. He loves physics and often drones on about the forces that cause objects to act in certain ways. However, he is unable to perform the basic yet essential task called listening.

This makes my dad officially the most frustrating movie companion in the world. Because he doesn't listen, he picks up on major plot revelations or twists long after every single other viewer, including small children and dogs. Halfway through E.T., he actually said, "Oh, I get it, E.T.'s trying to phone home." I wish I were kidding.

Although I have repeated the work phone rule 40 million times, he apparently has not listened to that either. The rule is this: I work in an open concept office and I listen to other people's personal issues ad nauseum. I know, in great detail, who is fighting with his/her spouse/significant other/child/parent/shrink/dog groomer/investment banker/hairstylist. This has become so tedious that I have begged friends and family to email or IM me if they need to reach me during work hours. In case of emergency, I've asked them to call my cell phone, so that I can take the call in a boardroom or on a walk outside the building. Under no circumstances are friends and family to call my work landline.

Today my father called my work landline. I immediately thought this to be the biggest emergency ever.

Me: What's wrong?

Father: Nothing, I'm just calling to see how your car is.

Me [forgetting that I had a brake job on the weekend and thinking that my dad had somehow divined that one of my lights had blown this morning]: Oh, well, you know, it's just a blown headlamp. I'm going to go pick up a replacement after work.

Father: Blown headlamps? Oh no! You didn't drive to work, did you? You can't be driving around with no lights. You're going to get hit! Tell me you didn't drive yourself to work. You need to get the car to a garage. DON'T DRIVE ANYWHERE.

Me [cringing at my obvious error and trying desperately to get out of this conversation that is clearly descending into my father's usual paranoia. Also conscious of the fact that every one of my work neighbours is listening to my end of this conversation]: Dad, stop talking for a second and listen, please. I said ONE blown headlamp. It's my front left. Everything else is still working, OK?

Father: I can't believe you drove to work! What were you thinking? Your car is clearly broken! I saw you on Saturday and all of them were working and all of a sudden you have no lights! You need to take your car in! There is something wrong and you're going to get killed on the roads! You need to leave work now!! Drive your car to a shop near me right now and I'll come pick you up.

Me [voice rising in frustration]: You're NOT listening. I said that ONE light has blown. I'm only missing my front left headlamp. I'm going to pick up a new one.

Father: What do you mean "going to pick up??" You CAN'T drive like this. I can't believe you're telling me this. What's wrong with you? You never listen to me. You think the rules don't apply to you. You're going to get yourself killed and then we'll see who's right!!!

Me [practically yelling, and speaking very, very slowly]: You're the one who's NOT LISTENING. They're ALL working EXCEPT ONE. Everything is FINE. Please LISTEN to me. ONLY THE FRONT LEFT IS BROKEN.

Father: Oh, it's only your front left headlamp? Well, you can just stop by the store and pick up a replacement. That's no big deal. Why didn't you just say so? And you don't have to yell at me, you know.

Me: I have to go. Bye.

In typical open concept office style, three people came by afterwards to chitchat about this conversation. One said, "Wow, I've never heard you raise your voice like that before. That had to have been family."

Why, dad, why?

RainyBow

throwin' up in my car

I have now officially thrown up in my car twice. I'm not counting when I was little and used to get carsick on my parents every half hour. Strangely, they were determined folk and continued to pack me into the backseat for long road trips around North America. I believe I owe my mother for that.

The first time happened two years ago on Christmas Day. I managed to get whooping cough, which is apparently a disease only found in the developing world. Oh yeah, and in me and the one person who I know got it from me (a colleague at work who wasn't so keen on me after that). Whooping cough was one of my favourite strange ailments. I learned that "whooping" actually means something: it's what one does when one is coughing so hard that it's impossible to breathe. Good times.

Christmas Day is non-negotiable in my family. The unspoken rule is that if I fail to show up at my parents' house, instant exile will result. So, while I was so ill that eating was an impossibility, I drank half a bottle of cough syrup and got in my car to drive out to the suburbs. To be fair, my father offered to come pick me up, but I'm a teensy bit stubborn and was certain I could make the half hour drive myself.

Halfway home, in a stretch of the high-speed route with no shoulder, I had a coughing fit so severe that I wound up vomiting in my left hand. Since I had been drinking Buckley's, my vomit was a purple, foamy mess, which made me want to throw up more. There was nowhere to pull over. I was driving at a high speed so I couldn't roll down my window and scrape it off my hand outside. The tissues in the backseat were too far to reach with my other hand. And I was driving standard. I drove all the way to my parents' house with one hand full of purple vomit.

The second time happened yesterday morning. I was driving back into the city after visiting my parents (do you sense a pattern?). A car cut in front of me in the middle lane and swung over to the left lane at a ridiculous speed. Shortly after, with a huge bang, the same car smashed into the back of a tractor trailer about six or seven car lengths in front of me. From my vantage point, the only possibility was instant decapitation. A wave of nausea hit me and I pulled the car over (this time there was a shoulder), jumped to the passenger side and threw up out the door onto the side of the road.

Three times won't be a charm.

RainyBow

my sister is crazy (do you sense a theme?)

The only time I hear from my sister is when she wants something. Usually, the request is to look something up on google because she is in the car or away from her computer or too lazy to do it herself.

Last week, she called to tell me that I needed to come to her house as soon as possible so I could fix her vcr. VCR? Do people still use those? Apparently, they do. To give you some context, my sister lives about 40 minutes from me and I was not in any hurry to drive there to fix some mysterious problem with her vcr. She said the tv was fuzzy when the vcr was on, so I concluded she hadn't hooked it up properly.

I asked her to pull it out and look to see how it was hooked up. 'The guy did it so it must be right'. Sure. She then continued to argue with me that it couldn't possibly be hooked up incorrectly because the 'cable guy' had hooked it up. She also didn't want to pull it out because that would have required some effort on her part. It's much easier to have me drive for 40 minutes to check. I told her that 1) I wasn't about to drive there 2) if she didn't want to pull out the vcr, she could find someone else to help her or continue to live with a non-functional vcr.

She wisely decided to pull the vcr out and told me that it was hooked up correctly (not that she would know this in the first place.) I asked her to tell me where the cable wire was going in. She said it was in the 'out'. Shocking. I told her to move it to the 'in' and then she complained that she now had to move more things to be able to do that. I reminded her again of her options. She again repeated that the 'guy' did it so it should be correct but decided to humour me and move the wire. Miracle of all miracles, it started to work. She was amazed. I heard several times again how the 'guy' hooked it up but I'm not sure I heard a thank you.

SunnyShine

my mother is crazy

My mother is crazy. I know I said that in the subject line but it bears repeating. She lives about 5 hours from here and I speak to her every other week or so. It takes me about two weeks to work up enough energy to get through the conversation, and even then, it wears me out.

My mother has never been the motherly type and probably shouldn't have had children. Such as it is, I don't ever expect gifts or celebrations or holiday festivities. I am always amazed when I see houses full of holiday cheer or hear my colleagues stories of rooms full of gifts and multitudes of family celebrations. This is all foreign to me.

A few years ago, my mother passed through town when I wasn't here and left a gift for me with my sister. She called me to let me know that she was giving me a very expensive ring that she never wears because 'someone should wear it before I die. Merry Christmas.' She's 62. She's not going anywhere any time soon, believe me.

Since that time, she has left other baubles for me with similar fanfare. I have to say that I don't really wear a ton of jewelry. I barely ever put on earrings. I sometimes will wear a necklace or a bracelet but mostly, I wear a ring that I bought in South Africa and that's it. She has, over the years, purchased a ridiculous amount of expensive jewelry and now it seems she doesn't want any of it. A lot of it is now in my possession whether I want it or not.

One of the other things she gave me is a ginormous ruby pendant. The stone is so big, and the setting is so small, that it doesn't sit properly and always turns itself around. I wore it once and got so annoyed that I haven't worn it again. It now sits in a drawer in my kitchen with the rest of the hand-me-down jewelry that could pay off a good portion of my mortgage. Note to self: get safe deposit box.

I'm now getting to the point of this post. A few weeks ago, my mother called and requested the pendant back. Not an issue. She said she would give me a ring instead because she doesn't feel like wearing rings any more. I told her I didn't need anything but if she wanted the pendant back, she could have it back. The rest of the conversation went something like this:

mom: Well, I don't want you to think that I am taking it from you.

me: I don't care. You want it, so take it.

mom: It's not that I want it back, but I would wear it.

me: It's fine, you can have it.

mom: Well I don't want you to think that I gave you something that I am taking back cause you can keep it if you want.

me: It's fine, I don't care.

mom: Well you can have the sapphire ring instead but it's not worth nearly as much so I don't want you to think that I am taking it. You can keep it if you want.

me: You can have it. (putting hot needle through eye to dull pain)

mom: Do you wear it.

me: No, it's too big for the setting.

mom: Well why don't you get it reset and wear it?

me: I thought you wanted it.

mom: I don't want you to think I gave you something and I'm taking it back.

OMG!!!!!

me: Just come and get it.

mom: Well, does it need to be reset?

me: I just said that.

mom: Well, if you know someone who can reset it, why don't you get it done so I can wear it?

me: OK. What kind of setting do you want?

mom: I don't know. Do what you think would look nice.

me: ok

mom: But nothing too big. And, I don't like white gold. And, no funny designs.

me: ok

mom: Do you still want the ring?

me: gotta go.


I had two migraines in the past week, is it any surprise?


SunnyShine (all blinged out)
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RainyBow note: I'll bet my dad has some articles on the perils of resetting stones in a pendant. He's probably got others about how jewellery can kill (who knows how?) and about how mothers and daughters who don't speak frequently die earlier than those who do. Please let me know if you'd like him to orate on such topics.

I also think it would be highly amusing to put your mother the crazy and my dad in the crazy in the same room. Of course, I'm not sure I'd want to actually be in that room.

are there rules of etiquette for hanging out with a widow?

You know when you know someone really well and you have this picture in your mind of what his or her significant other would be like? And how sometimes you meet that person and you're just shocked?

My cousin was an incredibly flashy person. His life was about stuff: bigger and better stuff, flashier stuff, stuff that he could show off to anyone and everyone. He was the closest thing I'll ever have to a brother, but he wasn't exactly my kind of person. But then this year he married someone so interesting, so smart and so down-to-earth that I couldn't help but wonder why she'd want to marry him. And I wanted to be her friend.

And then my cousin died a few months after marrying her. He was very young and it's horribly tragic. It may seem like I'm glossing over all of this, but it's a whole other story. This story's about what happened next.

Now she's a widow and a very recent one. She's still in the stage where she's afraid to be out in public for long periods of time because she may just start sobbing. She and I have gotten together a few times since the funeral. Tonight we went the opera (a fantastic one) and then out for a drink.

Over the drink we were in the midst of a great conversation when she broke off and started to tell me that she didn't just marry my cousin; she married the whole family. She said she didn't think she'd ever remarry since she already had all of us. She also said she was thinking about artificial insemination because she really wants to have a kid but she's never going to be with anyone else. I told her that she shouldn't make those kinds of definitive statements when she's in her mid 30s, especially when she's still in the midst of the grieving process. She wasn't having any of that.

I feel somehow responsible for this, like I haven't given her enough space, and maybe if I just left her alone she'd snap out of it and talk like a normal person again.

And this long and potentially incredibly dull post brings me to my question: is there some sort of etiquette for hanging out with your cousin's widow? Somehow I think if I googled this I wouldn't get the kind of answers I'm looking for.

RainyBow

carbs make me a more tolerant person

I had dinner at my parents' house on Thursday, just because I hadn't seen them in a while. My mom's a great cook but dinner with them has changed a lot since my dad discovered he's a diabetic. He is a tiny bit of a crazy person (I'm trying to be nice here; please go with it) and is now on a crusade to "beat" his diabetes. Apparently diabetes is not really a disease, it's some made-up thing that the world has created as part of a conspiracy against him. But he's going to show them. This means he eats about five things. (Please note: I cannot explain this away by telling you that my dad is in his 70s, even though he is. He was always like this).

Dinner conversation began with the usual political debate, which always amuses me. My dad and I agree on absolutely nothing and if I didn't look like an exact replica of him, I would demand a Maury paternity test ("you are NOT the father!"). But I was a bit on edge from the beginning because dinner was composed of about 30% protein and 70% vegetables. My father has turned their house into a carb-free zone. This is apparently step 1 of the diabetes-slaying program. I am an active human being; I need carbs to survive.

After the political discussion subsided, my dad pulled out a stack of articles he'd pulled from magazines and papers. I kid you not when I use the word stack. He wanted me to read these articles so that I would be fully aware of all of the dangers of modern life. As I mentioned earlier, my parents are alarmists. Since my dad's been retired for years, he has more than enough time to get up in arms about everything. Here's how the pile started:

- Mattel toy recalls: which toys and why (I have no children and no longer play with children's toys myself)
- sitting-next-to-an-office-printer-is-like-sitting-next-to-a-smoker warnings (I already lied to them about this one)
- counterfeit hockey helmets stories: apparently some are so poorly made that a hockey stick can fit through the cage and injure the wearer (I do not play hockey now nor have I ever played hockey in the past)
- story of some tourist who was travelling in Buenos Aires with a friend and took a cab on her own and ended up getting kidnapped (as you may remember, the cab warnings began years ago, so, while I feel sorry for this woman, I also despise her for giving my dad more fodder)

These random warnings were too much to bear without carbs in my system. Next time I visit I'm going to bring my own bread.

RainyBow

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SunnyShine note: OMG. I love Maury. I need help. It's my guilty pleasure. There is nothing more fromage than an hour of Maury paternity tests. I can't decide if I prefer it when the guy is the father or when he isn't. The trash talk and jumping around is so fantastic. Good times.

the saga continues....

I believe I posted about how much I'm looking forward to the family dinner for my birthday. My dad called me on the weekend and informed me that he would be away for the weekend so we had to have birthday dinner on Tuesday. Yay. No need to plan my weekend down to the millisecond to avoid the long, drawn out dinner.

He asked me where I wanted to go. I decided that I would not make any requests this year 'cause really, what's the point. We're going to go somewhere he wants to go anyway. My only stipulations were that 1) the restaurant has to be within a 15 min drive of my house 2) dinner has to be at 7:30 or later.

Now, the proximity request would seem a little strange to you, gentle reader, but I assure you it is a necessity. I would rank it up there with oxygen. When we get together for dinner (sister, father, me) he tries to pick a place that would be central to all of us. His idea of central to all of us is a suburb that is approximately 60 minutes away for me. If traffic is really terrible, I can add 15 minutes to that. I'm not making this up. The stupid thing is that it is not easy for any of us to get there, yet he insists it is halfway. This is akin to looking for someplace halfway between Paris & London and ending up in Moscow.

The time restraint is necessary because I get home around 6:30 and then need to feed and walk the dogs. This is no surprise to him as we have the same argument just about every month when he tells me he wants to have dinner some weeknight at 6.

Anyway, back to the dinner at hand. Tonight I got the call with the details of where and when.

The place is within my driving limit. Shocking. It's a place he's wanted to go to for a long time. Not shocking.

Reservations are for 6:45. OMG.

I reminded him that I said I wouldn't get able to get anywhere until 7:30. He said that he would go at 6:45 and then wait for me until I got there. If he is going to wait until I get there, why didn't he just make the reservation at 7:30???!!!

I give up.

SunnyShine

what would you like to do?

My birthday is fast approaching and I normally go away for the weekend so I can avoid my family. Terrible, I know. This year, for a variety of reasons, I will be around this weekend.

My father insists on taking me out for dinner every year and always asks where I want to go. When I give him a suggestion, it is always met with some sort of objection. 'I don't feel like going there, what about this place?' It's much easier not to argue, believe me. Why ask me where I would like to go if that's not where we are going to go? I have no idea.

The other annoyance is that he asks me every single year what kind of cake I want and every single year I say the exact same thing. I bet you know where this is going. Every single year, I get some sort of cake I didn't ask for. Most of the time, it's a kind I don't like. The important thing is that someone likes it. One year, it was ice cream cake (hate) because my niece likes it. One year it was black forest (double yuck) because my step-brother likes it. One year it was chocolate fudge because my father loves it. Whether I like or don't like the cake is irrelevant to this conversation. Again, why ask me?

I used to really let this bother me but now I treat it like a game of guess the restaurant/cake. When I think about it this way, it ends up being quite amusing.

Now, I just go out and buy my own cake and bring it home. The cake ladies are amused when I tell them it's for me and no writing needed. Happy birthday to me.

SunnyShine

the opportunist strikes again

Today I had the pleasure (ahem) of looking after my 7 year old niece for the day. My sister roped me into this by saying that it would be 2 hours. After I said yes, the story changed and she said it might be longer because she was going to a baby shower and she had to help set up. Uh huh. Then, after she dropped her off, she said she would have to help clean up too. Uh huh. So, 2 hours turned into 7.

When she arrived to pick her up and saw that her daughter was smiling and still had all appendages in tact, she then asked if I would be willing to take her for a week. A week??!!! She must have smoked something at that shower. I normally max out at 3 hours so what I would do for 7 whole days is beyond me. I cannot even imagine having to take care of both Jethro and my niece for longer than I did today.

My sister says she's exhausted and wants a relaxing vacation so she can go to the beach whenever she wants and not have to entertain a child. So do I!!!! If I had to take care of a child for a week, I would need a month off. Scratch that, I would need two.

Let's recap. I do not have nor do I want any children. She wanted a child and had a child. She has spent nearly all of her time since trying to rope different people into taking care of her daughter for extended periods of time. Her excuse is that she's a single mother. How is this my problem? She designed it that way. Don't go thinking she's hard done by. This year alone, my niece has spent:

• 3 weeks with her father in another city
• 2 weeks in the Caribbean with my father
• 1 week at the cottage with my father and step-mother
• 1 week with my mother

So, if you add this up, my sister has had 7 weeks of freedom this year - 4 of which were this summer. (I haven't even added in the various nights and weekends she spends with my father and step-mother.) Would it not have been possible to take her relaxing vacation during these time periods?

Here's a suggestion. Why doesn't she take care of my dogs while I go on a much-needed vacation? She would say no before I finished the sentence.

SunnyShine

the end of a 50 plus year friendship

Today I said goodbye to my mom's best friend, Lucie, who I've known ever since I was born.

Lucie was always the strongest and most stubborn person I'd ever met, and she was a bit of a role model for me growing up. She became a dentist at a time when no women actually did that. She was single for most of her life in a time when that was unheard of too, only marrying when she was in her 40s (in her words, before she met her husband, "all of the men were stupid"). She travelled all over the world, sending postcards relaying the strangest tales of adventure and fun. And she loved to tell stories about taking her incapacitated father to strip shows, knowing it was the only time he was happy. It was hard to see someone who never compromised on anything throughout all of her life finally give in for the last time, to cancer.

My mother and Lucie shared an incredible friendship for over 50 years. This makes me sad for my mom, since I know it has to be very hard to say goodbye. But it also makes me strangely sentimental. I wonder if I'll ever be able to look back on my life and remember friendships like theirs, ones that seem to last forever.

A sentimental post, I know. Perhaps I'll get my edge back in the morning.


RainyBows

inane chatter is never interesting

Well, I've left SunnyShine alone, holding down the fort for the last couple of days (sorry, SunnyShine!). I was off at my parents' cottage for the long weekend, spending some quality time with the folks. This was perhaps overkill after the last weekend with my sister.

But I'll get to my point. I made one really interesting observation over the last two weekends: people who live with other people can drive someone who lives alone insane. Really. I've lived alone for so long that I've forgotten what it's like to have someone else in your space beyond a quick visit.

Forget the wrongly-squeezed toothpaste, toast sweat on the counter, and someone else's hair stuck in the drain. What's most annoying about people who live with other people is the endless chatter. When I come home to the place I live in by myself, I can safely say that there will be no spoken running commentary about the mundane bits of my life. However, put someone who lives with someone else in the picture and suddenly there's a lot of "Well, I think I'll have these crackers with peanut butter" and "This floss is really getting stuck in my teeth tonight" and "My nose sure is running today."

Please stop talking. Stop.


RainyBow

____________________

SunnyShine note: So so annoying. I especially hate the non-stop talk just after I have woken up. SHUT UP. Don't ask me how I slept or what I want to do each hour of the day. I'm sure if I slept badly, it will come out in conversation later. Also, don't talk to me when I'm reading, listening to music, watching a movie, meditating etc. People must just feel uncomfortable with quiet. I think it's one the of the greatest pleasures around. Give me silence any time.