10 DAYS AND COUNTING...

’10 days before we leave for Japan’ is the status my son wrote on Facebook. He had to be kidding!!

I checked the calendar. Damn, he was right. Now what? I have absolutely nothing prepared, other than my passport, which I will pick up 2 days before our departure date. I’m not even sure my grandson will be around for the dogs – he tells me he may be at work in the new location while we’re gone. His little girlfriend was to come upstairs at least once every day so that Smooch could get used to her, but that hasn’t been happening either – even though I mentioned it several times. ARRGH! I’ll have to get on both their cases tonight (Fred’s and his GF’s); I won’t have an easy mind if I’m worried about Smooch knocking her down in his over-exuberant, gleeful greetings.

If it’s true what they say, that one usually has the best time when not expecting it, I guess it will be my best trip ever. The incentive to go is extremely weak. There’s the work this time of year, the worry about the doggies, having to travel on a very skinny shoestring, the long flight, the constant activity during the visit (my DIL’S parents are determined to show me all of Japan in 8 days), the daily ‘minimal’ earthquake notices....and nobody mention nuclear, please.

Gulp.

Now – I’m depending on everyone who reads this to send me an encouraging word, to convince me that I will enjoy this trip, that all will go well, and that my airplane will stay in the sky when it is supposed to be there. I’m counting on y’all to make me SMILE!!

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

VERY,VERY BUSY...OR NOT.

My I-Phone beeped, signalling an incoming text message. The distinctive whistle told me it was from my youngest son, the daddy of the Rug rats. I was surprised. I hadn’t heard much from him since his last visit with the boys; the one where he had rushed them away within minutes of receiving his GF’s call, indignant that they were with me. The only contact after that was a short sentence saying he was too busy to help me move the china cabinet I had been given. He never did follow up to see if I had managed to take care of the move myself.

Now he was asking if I would be home later that evening. He added that his silence wasn’t due to his being angry (??) or anything, just that he was very, very busy, but he would like to drop by tonight. From the gist of his message, I could tell that his sister had read him the riot act – Mom misses you. After I assured him that I would be available, I contacted my daughter and she confirmed my suspicion. She had let him know that he was being unfair whether he realised or not.

“And just talk about him!” she warned me. “Don’t mention the GF.”

He showed up with a bottle of wine, but without the boys. He had already said that it was a school night, so too late for them to be up. We chatted while watching the hockey game. His new job, which he likes; the rug rats, they were fine; his busy-ness, renovating her house, children’s birthday parties invites, and visiting friends; his losing weight (too much in my opinion); my upcoming trip to Japan. He filled a bag with his moose meat from my freezer (he doesn’t have a large freezer at home), I gave him a loaf of fresh bread, and that was it. On his way out, he brought up the subject both of us were very careful to avoid.

“You could call the house sometimes,” he said. ‘She (his GF) is going on about you still not wanting to talk to her. You should call.”

“Hmmm – yes, but I’m very, very busy.” I used his excuse, and I hope he got it. One day maybe, but not yet; the wound has to heal.

I returned to my seat on the couch, my heart sad with the gap that now existed between us; hoping that, for his sake, she was worth it. My faithful doggies jumped up and cuddled, one on each side. Their action changed my attitude.

“It’s all about lack of loyalty,” I told them. “Maybe what I should do is go right over there and kick her ass! His too!! Get it over with! What do you guys think?”

They wagged their tails. As long as it wasn’t their asses getting kicked, they were fine with whatever I decided. Their reaction made me SMILE.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

THAT PREVENTIVE STUFF...

I dislike dealing with doctors or tests, so procrastinate as long as possible before doing those things one should do on a regular basis – preventive medicine, I believe it’s called. If I go at all, it’s because I’m sick. Of course, my timing is way off, meaning that when I am in need of his expertise, it’s still impossible to get an appointment with my family doctor before 6 to 8 weeks, if I’m lucky. Sitting for hours in hospital emergency clinic is not an option in my mind. I’ll go for private care if I have the money. Usually I’ll wait it out, using home or over the counter remedies to heal myself. Most of the time my methods are successful. Last December was not one of those times.

After being told that I had could die and organise a state funeral before my own doc would be available, and learning that the private clinic I had frequented on other occasions was now closed, I resorted to calling a place suggested by my daughter. They gave me an appointment for the next day, and I was examined by a young lady who questioned and probed, then prescribed antibiotics for acute bronchitis, but not before lining up a battery of tests and scans and x-rays that she insisted I should have done, due to my age, etc.

UGH!

I took the medicine, and it helped some, but not entirely, so after waiting for a bit, and because I was being badgered by Suzie, I decided to schedule the x-ray and scan. The results were to be sent to the young lady I had seen, as well as to my own doctor, with whom I was to follow up by appointment. Imagine my surprise when I arrived at my doc’s office to find that he had moved! Fortunately I was early so, after getting his address from the pharmacy downstairs, I actually arrived at his new downtown office without being late.

I was slightly miffed – why hadn’t I been told of the address change when the appointment was made? I ask the receptionist. Ummm – maybe because he has moved two years ago? she replied.

Oops.

I accepted his scolding with grace, even nodded when he gave me the ‘annual check-up’ spiel. I wasn’t so agreeable when he scheduled MORE tests and appointments; I’m sure it’s just so I uphold my end of our bargain on that preventive stuff.

There was a light moment when I wondered aloud why no-one had yet invented an ‘eternal youth’ potion.

“Too easy.” He remarked. “Then I’d never see you.”

“You think?” I asked, and we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in QUebec

PROLOGUE TO A STORY....

She opened her eyes to the hum of the machines that surrounded her bed. It took her a second to determine where she was, what she was doing there. A slight movement caused her to look over, and she found him sitting by her side, the warmth of his gaze touching her.

“Hey.’ He said softly. She grimaced.

“I’m still alive.” Even if it was a whisper, he could discern the flat tone. He nodded.

“Yes,” he agreed. She looked away.

“What in hell for?” Frustration evident now.

After a moment’s hesitation, he answered her. “Maybe because too many people will miss you when you go.”

“Wrong answer!” she grunted. He smiled again. Nothing could change that feisty temperament.

“Well, then...,” He spoke slowly, the smile still in his voice. “Maybe they’re not ready for you wherever you’re going. They’re worried. They need more time to prepare.” As he said it, he believed it.

No reaction to his words, but he suspected she was pleased.

“Right answer” she thought as she closed her eyes and slipped back into the drug-induced sleep. He sat watching her, then reached to take her limp hand in his own.

“And if you come back, be the same,” he pleaded. “Don’t change.”

Through the layers of fog, she heard his request, and sent her answer back.
”God forbid.”

TURNING THE PAGE.

She called around 6 PM, and asked if I could pick her up. She sounded exhausted, and slightly desperate. She was waiting outside her door when I arrived; anxious, disoriented somewhat, and although warmly dressed, shivering with cold...or fatigue. She had nothing on her stomach except a cup of coffee from early morning, she told me. We loaded the few plants she was bringing with her into my truck, then she climbed into the passenger seat without looking back at the house. She had lived there for all of the 53 years since her arrival in this country.

The money from the sale had not yet been deposited into her account, in spite of the papers being signed at the notary a week ago. The new owner requested the key; he wanted to move in that day at 8 AM. On the advice of others, she had refused. Money first, she told him, but she was worried. Nothing had been smooth with the transaction; it was delay after delay, doubting the competence of her agent, the honesty of the purchaser and/or his notary, and now compounded with calls and dire predictions from those around her. Everyone, her ex-husband included, was waiting for the funds to take the next step in their own preparations. Because she had been the one to instigate the sale, and was the contact for the procedures involved, she was feeling guilty for the way things had happened; wondering if she had been too trusting in her lack of knowledge, unsure now if her decision had even been the right one, anxious how it was affecting everyone else.

The furniture had already been moved out a few days prior, and she had slept on the floor...for those few hours she had slept at all. This, together with sporadic eating and the continual stress, probably the age factor too (she’s 71), had taken its toll. No matter how strong her character, events had finally overwhelmed her; she was ready to fold.

“Hot food.” I said. “Then sleep. Things look much better when you’re rested. There is absolutely nothing you can do about anything tonight. And tomorrow we’ll see how it goes.”

She listened. She finished her meal, drank her tea, and was snuggled in bed by 8:00 PM. I dimmed the lights, leaving just enough that she could find her way downstairs if needed, then I stoked the fire and retired to my office, hoping that the quiet and peace in my house would prove refreshing.

It worked. She stayed over the next day and night, taking care of what was left to do by telephone. During this time we discussed her options, the money was deposited, her car was serviced, and she regained the energy required to turn the page. I assured her that she was welcome anytime she needed a break, because we all do now and then.

This lady has been there for me when I needed her. Her help had been indispensable when both my mom and my brother succumbed to cancer. She had offered her services willingly and without expecting anything in return. I only wished I could do more for her now.

We hugged as she left; a strong warm hug between loyal friends.

‘You’ve got my number.” I reminded her. She motioned to her car.

“Somewhere there. In with all my other papers.” she replied, alluding to her faulty memory of late. “But it doesn’t matter. I know where you live.”

Of course! Nothing more needed to be said. When she waved goodbye, we were both SMILING.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.

CLEANING..UGH, AND COOKING, YEA!

I truly love my house. Except when it’s time to wash the floors.

So...once a week, I can’t say I DISLIKE my house, but I tend to grumble about its size during the few hours it takes to clean it. Note that having two doggies (three if we count Louka) coming in and out doesn’t help matters. Oh, and I must not forget Dora, my grandson’s cat who is as often up here as she is down in her own apartment. She plays tag with Smooch, and three times already she has knocked over a plant and dirt came cascading down on the floor and the stairs. Smooch didn’t catch her, and she’s darned lucky that Mistress didn’t catch her either! Well, not until Mistress cooled down some anyway.

Tomorrow night my friends Dawna & Malcolm, who just came back from a 6 week tour in India, and my Cuban couple are coming for supper, so I put some effort into getting this place presentable. The music was loud both in the kitchen area and in the living room; I like stereo music when I work, and the mop is easier to wield when pretending to dance with it. Grump, older and wiser, headed straight for the leather couches and made himself scarce. Smooch, younger and still very curious, decided to be supervisor. He sat 5 feet behind and watched as I gyrated with the mop. When I would get near him, he would move another 5 feet away. This went on until he didn’t have any choice but to climb up on the other leather couch....or to get yelled at. Wise doggie - he chose the couch.

Four hours later and the place looks as okay as it’s going to for the moment. That means tomorrow can be spent cooking, which both the doggies and I enjoy. Kool!!

I’ll be heading for the Jacuzzi now, and then Morpheus and I can slip into a dreamland where we’ll chop and simmer and stir, and drift high in the savory scent of cannelloni aux épinards (spinach), et à la viande au tomates (meat & tomato), and melt in the caress of warm, baked bread.

What do you think? Am I SMILING?

You bet! And, of course, sharing it with y’all.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec

THOSE CHANGES...

My friend, who turned a young 72 in January, has sold her house and will be moving this week. She has been living in this same house since she arrived from Germany as a boat-bride when she was 18. She will be staying in this province a little while longer, sharing an apartment with her son, then will be moving in with her daughter and 3 adolescent granddaughters in NB. It is an enormous change, and her feelings alternate between the excitement, and the fear, of turning the page.

She may be coming to stay with me for a couple of days while wrapping things up; her various appointments with doctor, automobile maintenance, the bank. I’ll prepare the room upstairs, and try to make her as physically comfortable as possible. I expect there will be some physiological hand-holding too. I imagine myself in her shoes, and hope that I can make the transition easier for her.

She gave me a piece of furniture that she has owned and loved for a long time; a corner china cabinet. Late yesterday afternoon my grandson, Fred, accompanied me and we wrapped it in blankets, laid it carefully in my truck, then carried it upstairs and installed it in my living room. She wanted it to be where she could see it occasionally. In its present place of honor, it will be the first thing in sight when she enters my home. I think she’ll be pleased.

Our lives shift as time marches on, altered by events not always of our own making, but also by actions of others. A point in case, I said to Fred during our drive back, is you becoming a daddy in a few months. It will affect all of us, maybe me more than some, seeing that we share a residence, or are you planning to move too? He assured me that no, he and mommy-to-be will make room for the baby in the apartment. His job requires that he be absent for periods of time, and he’ll feel better knowing that his little girlfriend will not be alone with first child; Mémère will be backup.

“Wise lad!” I declared. And we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec.