I knit Keagan a blanket (my first attempt at anything larger than a dishcloth, and it actually looked pretty decent) and I wrote her a letter. I’d been toying with the idea of posting it and finally decided I would. So here it is, my letter to my lovely little niece:

Dear Keagan,

You’re finally here! We’ve all been waiting what seems like forever for you to come, and now that you’re here we all feel compelled to give you presents (and this will happen with great regularity because people LOVE to spoil cute babies).

My present is in the paper grocery bag along with your parent’s Supernatural CD. I would have wrapped it in something fancier, but Canada Post seems to know when you do things up nicely and then they drop your parcel in a puddle.

Anyway, my gift is a blanket that I knit for you. It’s pretty big considering how small you are. And given the heat wave going on in Ottawa, you probably won’t need it right away, but it will be handy come winter as a lap blanket or car-seat liner.

Here’s the really cool part about this blanket though – it’s not just some boring practical gift like socks or underwear, it’s actually a magical gift.

I know, I wouldn’t believe me either normally, but this really is a magical blanket.

Here are some of the uses I’ve discovered so far:

1. It makes a very comfortable flying carpet. That being said, if you’re off gallivanting in the Himalaya’s, do NOT let any yeti you meet use it. Yetis shed like mad and their hair is really hard to wash out – and this is a very washable flying carpet. Also, if some old guy in Cairo with a red hat and a cane offers you a bag of so-called ‘magic beans’ as trade for the carpet – say no and walk away. He’s a crafty one.
2. A very warm superhero cape. You’ll want to build up to really heroic feats though. Rescue a kitten in a tree a few times first and then maybe move on to rescuing folks in evil secret lairs. Lots of heroes think they can just start out big, but really, it’s like any other job – you start small, learn the ropes and work your way up. You’ll also find this cape great for rescuing people who got trapped in the Alps because they thought it would be fun to re-enact The Sound of Music. Try not to judge them too harshly, they can’t help being that stupid.
3. A small, but cozy, teddy bear fort. You’ll need two sticks and some string too, which I didn’t include because Canada Post won’t let me mail sticks. Something about them being a dirty safety hazard. Absolute rot in my opinion. If any of your bears start making lame excuses about needing to use the blanket to protect them from monsters, give them the blanket anyway; then follow them when they all sneak off to the annual Teddy Bear’s Picnic. You won’t taste better honey or sweets anywhere and the blanket does a fine job of keeping curious ants out of the custard.
4. DO NOT let your parents know about this one! This is secret information I’m about to divulge. Now, this blanket’s most useful magic is its ability to hide things. You’ll discover that hiding stuff under your bed when you’re told to “clean up that pig-pen you call a bedroom” will drive your parents absolutely wild. I could never see the big fuss either, I mean it’s all in one spot and easy to find right? Parents lose their minds over this sort of clear-headed logic

So, when you’re cleaning up, stuff everything under the bed as usual, and then put the blanket over the stuff. The blanket will create the illusion that there is nothing there – it’ll blend itself and all your things right into the floor.

That’s a very handy trick if you like collecting snakes, snails, rocks, cute toads or sticks and other things that destroy vacuum cleaners and make mothers shriek like old tea kettles. Trust me on this, I know.

That’s all I’ve discovered so far about the blanket, let me know if you find any new uses for it!

Welcome to the world little Firefly – I’ll try and visit just as soon as I possibly can.

Love,

Auntie R.

(and Uncle Joe too, though, he was no help at all with the knitting)

Don’t worry, I’m not typing this as I take my vows – I’m not that wired in.

I can just imagine what our wedding Tweets would look like:

Rambleicious: OMG!! I’m married!!1!

Joe: OMG – I’m having her committed!

I am writing this in the past to post in the future so you can read it in what is now your present.

Yes – I am a time travelling bride.

And…

OMG!! I’m married! Woo!!

I mention him from time to time: he’s the guy who brings me bananas, who never touches my bum crack in public, who is totally cool with me going away for a weekend by myself and for some reason has not smothered me in my sleep – and he could totally get away with it for these reasons (and many others too numerous to list here):

• I often stand around and read in the bathroom – even though I have absolutely no need to be in there and he’d like to use it.
• I leave water glasses all over the house.
• I leave books everywhere – even on his nightstand.
• I have woken him up yelling in my sleep (what can I say, hanging around on Angelina Jolie’s speedboat was exciting).
• I poke him awake when I am feeling hyper at 4:30 a.m.
• I tease him for being the slowest dish-washer ever.
• I bring home more books than we actually have space for.
• I can be as charming as a recalcitrant two year old when it comes to dinner some days.
• I’m a little too enthusiastic about throwing things out or donating them.
• I say evil things like, “But, sweetie – don’t you want me to be happy?” when justifying the purchase of yet another MEC bag (I only have three now – I’ve been good for a long time).
• I dedicate blog posts to him with  Backstreet Boys lyrics in the title (this all by itself would have the murder charges dropped).

Yet, he sticks around, does all the ironing, eats my cooking without complaint, brings me pretty rocks and video games, watches cartoons with me because he likes them too and is funny, cute, supportive, really smart, geeky, fun, and all round awesome.

So, just for the record Joe:

Thanks for being my best-friend.

Many of my family members have struggled with (and beaten) colon cancer, ovarian cancer and other below the belt issues – help me reach (and exceed!) my $300 goal by going to my personal page and making an online donation.

A $10 donation (super easy and totally safe) will get you a tax receipt – and I promise there will be photos of me in my fancy pants on the streets of Vancouver.

If you have suggestions for costumes – tell me in the comments! It has to be tasteful and cover all my naughty bits (there will be children there after all) but I’d love to hear the creative things you come up with!

I still have no idea what to write.

What stories can I tell about George Clements that will convey a clear and accurate picture of him?

There are the obvious things: he was an incredibly talented stone mason, he had a wonderfully dry sense of humour, he could be quite a stubborn smarty pants, he was generous, kind, handsome, a great whistler and stone skipper, built the best fires ever and grilled a mean hamburger.

He also taught me that no one is going to just let me win, I’d have to earn it (playing Battleship with Grandad was a sure-fire way to prove that however clever you thought you were – he’s far more clever). I learned that listening is a lot more useful than talking, paying good money for good things is smarter than paying a little money for cheap garbage and that honour and manners still matter.

But none of these things really convey the whole picture either.

Maybe it’s enough that I have the good fortune to be his granddaughter. You don’t get to choose your family, but I would have chosen him had I not been born to the right family.

I’m looking at a great picture of Grandad on the beach: he is looking up, eyes narrowed a little against the sun, just beginning to smile up at my aunt (and what you can’t see is the rusty little dinky car he’d found and offered her) with the waves just coming in on the shoreline.

That picture is my Grandad – it’s the perfect picture – relaxed, happy and just wandering along the shore of the beach looking for interesting things.

If there is a heaven, I hope that’s what he’s doing now.

For me at least, there is no goodbye, because I’ll always remember and I like to think I’ve learned enough from him to carry it with me into the world.

Are all of these words inadequate? You bet they are – but I’m not sure what else to say.

To be blunt, my Grandad is dying. He knows this, the DNR is signed and he’s in a good frame of mind all things considered.

When I first found out, my immediate and emotional response was to get myself on a plane to Ontario and go see him and the rest of the family. I can’t change the inevitable, but I hoped I could maybe do something useful (pretty nebulous thought really) and more selfishly there is a part of me that thought, “If I don’t see him now, I’ll feel horribly guilty later.”

Apparently some relatives of my Grandad’s in the U.K. had the same idea and wanted to fly here to see him. My Grandad was not at all happy about this and said no.

For my grandparents (and probably most people),  visitors create an obligation to entertain – to be civil, polite, cheerful and, well, entertaining. When these same visitors are there because you’re ill (and especially if you’re terminally ill) it creates the additional obligation of being kind, reassuring and soothing to alleviate any possible guilt your guests might feel about your illness or death.

And that last part is what bothers me now: how did something as personal as death become more about the people left behind and less about the person facing their own death?

How is my need to feel OK after he’s gone more important than his need now to spend whatever time remains to him with his wife of 60 years?

I’ve decided it isn’t.

Visitors are trying when you’re sick. They see you at your worst – weak, tired, loopy on pain medication, or just in pain and cranky. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be dying, but I can imagine the annoyance of having people seeking comfort and some kind of absolution from me when all I want to do is sleep or maybe just daydream a bit.

I have no aversion to his being ill or even seeing him sick – he’s always going to be Grandad to me. My love, respect and regard for him will never change. However, whether or not I have an aversion to seeing him now, he has asked for space and quiet; denying him that and forcing him to endure a visit that will tire him so I can feel better would be extremely disrespectful.

So, I’m staying in Vancouver until I get that final phone call. I saw him last November when he was still reasonably well and we got to hang out, talk, poke fun at stuff and share a nice meal together.

I get updates from Mum about them and she’ll let me know the days they might be up for a brief phone call just to say hello and share a little news – otherwise that’s all.

It still makes me feel utterly useless, but all I can offer is whatever they ask for.

What are your thoughts?

Prop 8 – the musical.

I would have embedded the video, but WordPress was not willing to co-operate – the above link will take you directly to the video.

Anyway, please go watch this – it’s hilarious (Jack Black as Jesus!), Neil Patrick Harris sings (awesome!) and they give you information about how to support the LGBTQ community (do it!) and with any luck, defeat Proposition 8.

It’s been a pretty relaxing visit so far. Usually I get hauled around in the car like a mostly inanimate object so I can visit with various relatives, but the car rides have been minimal this time and mostly to do fun things like shopping.

I have been to see both sets of grandparents though – which was really the whole purpose for the trip anyway.

Soon we’re off to pick up a few groceries and then we’re going to watch romantic comedies and Christmas movies all day.

How is your weekend going?

The backgrounds for these fakeries are awful too; there is the washed out Gentleman’s Library background, or the Fields of Gold background full of uniformly perfect wheat and an endless sky. Or worse, the Happy Christmas, Happy Families portrait with a grimacing family trying to look festive in their Cosby sweaters.

I can think of more entertaining ways to spend both the money and the time this farce would take up.

Besides, this is almost certainly what would happen if we attempted such a thing:

Hardly mantelpiece material.